#heirsofdiscord

“You look like shit.”

Moth’ir was missing his characteristic shades so all four occupants could clearly see the viera’s tactless comment send his eyes rolling. Five if the infant in his arms wasn’t soundly asleep. His comeback was snappy as always. “Thanks, kid. Thought I’d take a page from your book for a change.”

The Burn’s reaction was immediate. His rage coiled in his arms as he quickly changed stance. Ever one to turn to violence before reason. His voice rose as he started “,Why are you always-”

The rest was swallowed by a mitten plopped against his mouth. His smaller─but no less dangerous─companion shot him a long suffering look. Keeping The Burn’s temper under control was like trying to keep a lit match from igniting firedamp in a coal mine. Most folks had no hope but to abandon the mission to begin with. Ibuki was the sole exception. Though she could give him a good and proper dressing-down, it didn’t take much besides a sigh and disappointed look to upend his rampage before it started.

The anger didn’t go away, it just receded, but it allowed the pale and dark scaled auri to turn their attention back to their long missing friend. The three gathered around him with varying levels of interest. Leaving Havhen to flail helplessly as their presence was quickly forgotten in that of Moth’ir’s. Whom was obviously the more respected between the two when it came to their present company.

“You’ve been gone for months without word! We were really worried!” Ibuki stated, nearly whining with the intensity of her sincerity.

“We would have come sooner but there were a lot of things to take care of,” the Xaela man spoke apologetically. “There were so many festivals and trying to keep the bar staffed with so many people wanting days off and of course the Basement-”

Ibuki elbowed her much taller compatriot and cut his further worrying off by enthusing “,but Bukidai has dealt with all of it marvelously well so you don’t need to worry.”

“Oh?” Moth’ir looked at the Xaela with an appraising look. Though, paired with an easy grin, it was unlikely he was being serious. “Food baskets?”

“All delivered as of yesterday,” Bukidai, who was serious, assured him. “Thanks to our volunteers.”

“Volunteers is it? Did Mr. Auberdine show up?” Moth’ir asked and chuckled lightly when he saw Bukidai’s surprise.

“Ah, yes. Though we had to ask him to leave-”

“Because he was trying to convince everyone that volunteers deserved two baskets for their trouble.” Moth’ir interrupted, leaving Bukidai startled once again. “Did that every year. A few others too. Reason why I started delivering them my own damn self if I’m honest.”

“Every year?” Bukidai’s horror was indication enough that Mr. Auberdine had thrown one of his characteristic fits before he allowed himself to be let go.

“Grew up as a wealthy merchant’s son and then his family landed themselves in dire straights with bad investments,” Moth’ir shrugged. He was sympathetic but the sympathy was for Booker, not the man. “He’s remarkably less worse than he was but he’s never quite gotten over the idea he deserves more than everyone else.”

Bukidai sighed and shook his head. “Regardless, I think we can make do with our other volunteers if they want to pitch in again.”

“If you say so,” Moth’ir said dubiously. Bukidai held unto hope for dear life but Moth’ir had been divested of that a long long time ago. “Take care with old U’leh. Greying Miqo’te lady, very unassuming. She likes to troll through some of the donated items in Spring and Autumn for cakes to raffle off at her little charity parties.”

“She raffles off donated cakes?” Bukidai was aghast then pulled himself off the topic for another. “Spring is an awful long time away. Aren’t you coming back?”

“If you need to break out, we’ve got you,” Ibuki rose her sweater’s sleeve so she might flex her otherwise deceptively pudgy arm. Havhen─who had been watching their interaction with keen interest and was not familiar with Ibuki’s playful personality─shot Moth’ir an alarmed look over her shoulder.

“Contrary to whatever belief you might have, I am here of my own free will,” Moth’ir stated firm enough that they knew he meant it. He had certainly come of his own accord anyway. Staying was less than thrilling since he didn’t much care for the sole physician in this strange hospital. Divulging why was far more personal than he was comfortable sharing but he did add a “More or less.”

“More or less?” The Burn attention had been momentarily bought by the possibility of fighting.

Moth’ir gave him a stern look “,I’m staying.”

It was the right thing to do. More than that, it was where Thancred had left him. Left them. The four of them descended into an awkward silence. None of whom seemed particularly thrilled with the prospect.

Ibuki, hopping from one foot to the next, tried her best to break the quiet. “Is the baby yours? Bukidai said you left because you were feeling sick and had suspected but we didn’t know for sure.”

“Ibuki!” Bukidai chastised her.

Moth’ir gave him a solid kick to the shin. Which might have actually hurt had he been wearing anything but his slippers. He gasped and proclaimed with played up scandalization “What a gossip!”

Havhen was likely the only one of them who noticed the slight hissing. Something which indicated an actual irritation from Moth’ir he hid by dramatizing it.

“Is it a boy or girl?” Ibuki asked before throwing her arms up and blithely gesturing “,you know, for now.”

It was a joke that three of them understood better than the other two. Though she wasn’t aware of Havhen’s case. She had quite nearly forgotten they were there at all. Which was more or less in their favor as they were busy taking mental notes. Specifically on Moth’ir’s face after Ibuki asked her question. Moth’ir had settled into fatherhood like a round peg in a square hole. He’d fallen in but the corners weren’t right. Fairly typical of new parents but he’d taken his ineptitude as immediate failure and the guilt had landed him here in Havhen’s care. He’d only just been able to acknowledge his daughter directly at all.

Moth’ir visibly braced himself before muttering “,it’s uh... she.”

“She’s so cute! Can I hold her?” Ibuki thrust her arms out exuberantly. Either not noticing the stumble or too polite to point it out. Moth’ir handed her over mayhaps a bit too eagerly but the fact he’d been carrying her without needing to was progress. Havhen made a note of it.

Holding a baby was something Ibuki had enough experience in that she hadn’t needed coaching. Utterly doting, she looked fairly natural cooing down at the fussy bundle who had begun to stir due to the commotion and movement. Moth’ir struggled not to look miserable watching the pair, ears flattened against his head. Grief that went unnoticed now that all attention was on the baby.

“What’s her name?” Bukidai asked pleasantly.

“Doesn’t have one.” Moth’ir said flatly. Bukidai looked to him with confusion but Moth’ir waved him off and continued. “Her dad thought I should name her but I’ve been preoccupied and just... haven’t.”

Havhen distinctly remembered the white haired hyur had mentioned he’d wanted Moth’ir to name her because it might help them bond. And something about having already named two girls but that hadn’t been meant for Havhen’s ears. The concern of Moth’ir’s friends weren’t at all alleviated by the explanation but Bukidai had enough sense to recognize Moth’ir’s agitation. He simply nodded and smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “I’m sure it will come to you soon.”

Moth’ir brushed him off, glanced over at the window and the dwindling light outside. Whatever he’d wanted to see there caused him to sigh. He postulated “,You three didn’t really have a plan once you got here, did you?”

Said three exchanged glances that said they hadn’t and then all four heads turned to Havhen. The physician shook their head and crossed their arms in front of them. “Absolutely, not! This is a mental care facility! Not an inn!”

“It’s not like you’ve got any other patients and there’s not exactly a line waiting,” Moth’ir stated sternly.

“Nevertheless there are professional standards I have to adhere to,” Haven pushed back with just as much authority.

“It’s a madhouse,” Moth’ir exclaimed incredulously “,You’re already a joke and a half!”

“Not a madhouse!” Haven corrected him with a great deal of passion. “Those facilities garner their reputation by focusing on containment and are as like to cause as much─if not more─damage to their patients had they just left them alone. This facility is for study and treatment with the intent of rehabilitation.”

Havhen was a generally genial person but this was a subject they were particularly staunch on. Moth’ir, on the other hand, was just normally stubborn and exceedingly opinionated. Where the standoff would go was any one’s guess but it wasn’t likely to be clean. With that in mind, Ibuki interjected “,that’s actually quite fascinating! I’d love to get an interview with you on the subject for an article. Mor Dhona isn’t that far from Ul’dah, I’m sure some of my readers would love to know more.”

“You’re a reporter?” Havhen asked, scrutinizing the pastel garbed auri woman closer.  “Publicity would be nice but your ilk are so fond of twisting things on their head for greater attention.”

“Well, you’re in luck because miss Bunji is far more partial toward fluff pieces,” Bukidai noted with a fair bit of amusement.

“Oh! I’m so tired of writing hard hitting news! Everyone is so wary of talking to me now but I don’t mean to find bad things! I’m just very good at tripping into them,” her sudden outburst sounded surprisingly sincere considering it’s absurdity. It had also upset the baby who she quickly went about soothing. “Oh! I’m so sorry, dear thing. It’s okay! Nothing’s wrong! You’re not running a money laundering business out of here are you?”

The last question was aimed at Havhen who simply held their hands up defensively. “If I was I wouldn’t be struggling to make rent.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ibuki sighed as she gently rocked the baby back to complacency.

Havhen considered the three newcomers and nodded approvingly. “Alright. You can stay for a short while.”

There was a short lived celebratory movement before Havhen added: “Under the condition you do chores around the building and submit yourselves for an interview of my own.”

Moth’ir balked. “Nevermind, everyone can go sleep outside.”

Havhen crossed his arms and said firmly “,if she’s going to write about my organization she might as well get the best understanding of what I’m trying to do.”

“I think we can handle some housework and questions,” Bukidai offered, trying to hearten Moth’ir whose grimace only deepened in return.

Moth’ir threw his hands up and shook his head but went to his next order of business “,Regardless, your kitchen stock is atrocious. Scribbles, go out and see what food stuffs you can pick up for tonight. It’s Starlight and almost sundown so don’t expect a lot.”

“You can count on me!” Ibuki chirped despite his sentiment and snapped off a salute unfamiliar to Havhen.

“You,” he pointed at The Burn “,there’s some weird creatures out of town. Ask around the adventurers, see what all is edible and how, kill it and bring the proper bits back.”

The Burn grinned and smacked his fists together. “I can do that.”

“As long as you can ask politely and don’t pick a fight,” Ibuki said to him as more of a warning than anything else.

“You’re with me in the kitchen,” Moth’ir nodded toward Bukidai “,let’s prep and you can see if you have any more ideas about what we have on hand than I.”

“And me?” Havhen pointed at themself.

“You’re on baby duty.” Moth’ir gestured dramatically toward his daughter, still in Ibuki’s arms who passed her off to them.

“Alright kids, we have a short amount of time and very little to work with. Let’s move,” Moth’ir gestured and his people went to do as they were asked.

Havhen and the child watched them all scatter. Before today Moth’ir had been antagonistic and withdrawn around them. This commanding man and the willingness of his peers to follow his direction was bemusing. Both attitudes were entirely alien from the way he had been with his beau. At least when he didn’t think Havhen was looking. Assuming different personae to suit different groups was normal enough but, when all was said and done, some of Moth’ir’s faces would likely have to die to save the host.

“It should be an interesting night for us, I think.” They cooed gently to the nameless girl.

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Havhen had hoped they might be able to observe something that would give them clarity on Moth’ir in the process of the night. What they happened to see was utter chaos. Babies need care and Moth’ir’s child was particularly fussy without any seeming need to be. A fact even her wet nurse had noted. Then there was the utter mess that Moth’ir and Bukidai were making in their kitchen. Which was adequate enough by Havhen’s standards but not theirs.

The Burn returned first. A bit bloodied for his trouble. He’d gotten a handful of strange looking material he all swore was good for eating in a variety of ways. Havhen had some doubts but Moth’ir took him at his word.

“Who did you piss off?” Moth’ir asked passively after getting a proper look at the viera’s nose.

“Some weird frogs, some newts, wriggly things, you know,” The Burn gestured toward his assorted meats as if the question in itself was inane.

“I said: who,” Moth’ir reiterated, pointedly.

The Burn crossed his arms and stood defiantly. Which unraveled under Moth’ir’s steely gaze and he finally yelled “,it was some roegadyn, okay? Didn’t like the way I asked and wouldn’t listen so he started punching. He was asking for it.”

Moth’ir shrugged and shook his head. He wasn’t exactly pleased but the disappointment didn’t stick. He said to The Burn “,Thanks for the bits, kid. Since you’re here, try and keep that one out of our hair.”

Moth’ir gestured toward Havhen, saying to them: “And you? Good luck.”

It was a particularly perplexing series of statements that cleared itself up over the course of a brief conversation. Havhen came to the conclusion that The Burn would make a good case study if he’d allow it. Alas, it was unlikely that The Burn would avail himself to their care so Havhen was forced to deal with him on a social level. Which was an exceedingly unpleasant task. He was combative, sullen, and downright rude without any self awareness. A hungry malboro would have made better company.

Luckily, Ibuki returned not too long after. If her strength had been in question, it was not now as she managed to juggle a notable number of boxes. Of which she was more hampered by the awkwardice of their distribution than their weight.

“What did you do? Buy the whole market?” Bukidai exclaimed as he started offloading her parcels.

“There’s a lot more in the market than food, you know,” Ibuki retorted. “I just got things that they said were edible and looked good.”

“Is that a whole dodo?” Moth’ir asked as he eyeballed what she’d brought in.

“Yup! The man said I could have it cheap because it’s Starlight,” she said as she divested herself of her last package. Arms free, Ibuki turned to Havhen and stretched them out to them “,let me see the baby!”

They could hardly deny her after she asked so passionately.

“More likely that the seller misjudged his buyer’s needs and wanted to offload it quickly,” Moth’ir commented looking the bird over. He’d found little wrong with it all the same.

“Oh! Oh!” She hopped back around to face him after having secured the baby in her arms “,I was thinking maybe a hot pot would be good?” Ibuki’s suggestion sounded more like the favorite child pleading a favor of an otherwise stern parent. 

“I think I saw a burner for one,” Bukidai added with a questioning note. Indirectly asking why Havhen would have one to begin with.

“I’m quite particular towards hot pot dishes, myself,” Havhen explained “,I should have noodles too.”

Ibuki looked enthused for all of a second before she schooled herself back and asked “,like, spaghetti?”

Havhen gave her a sympathetic look and patted her and the shoulder “,I’m not sure I’ve had pasta in a hot pot. Personally, I’m preferential toward glass noodles but I have udon too.”

This suitably reignited Ibuki’s excitement. She nearly launched herself at Havhen, might have had it not been for the babe, asking “,you have a lot of stuff from Othard here, actually. Have you gone to Kugane?”

Havhen suspected the woman might be a tad homesick but unfortunately had to shake their head. “Not myself. The matrons of my clan told me stories of Yanxia from when we’d travel before the Garlean occupation. I believe it’s a short boat ride between?”

Moth’ir audibly hissed. A thing so uncharacteristic that it completely silenced the room a second and then was immediately moved on from. Moth’ir’s friends assuming it had been unintentional; like a sneeze. They hadn’t been told that Havhen had just happened to be Moth’ir’s long lost sibling. That their clan had once been his. At least, before they’d left him to die as a small child. But Havhen did.

They gave him an apologetic look. Divulging details about their clan hadn’t been their intent. It was an act which Moth’ir had very clearly expressed wanting nothing to do with. Their conciliation did little to quell the absolute rage that Moth’ir was having trouble keeping from his face. Cooking did though.

Havhen and Ibuki settled into chatting idly about Othard while the babe slept in her arms. The Burn─whose chaotic nature had been hard contained just moments before─sat calmly watching Ibuki. A man who was seeing his girlfriend in a domestic light for the first time and wasn’t sure what to think. Havhen rather thought he looked awed. The dining table they sat at and the kitchen were hardly separated. Only a partition that covered perhaps half the room from view. With The Burn preoccupied, he could hardly stop Havhen from observing Moth’ir.

Havhen had thought Bukidai might be in charge of the hot pot, seeing a Xaela would surely know more of the concept than a Eorzean born miqo’te. He was no doubt talented but it was to Moth’ir’s beck and call that he scurried. Ibuki mentioned to them that the pair had come to Kugane some time ago and that’s when Moth’ir had picked up some new techniques. Havhen was fairly impressed that anyone could simply “pick up” traditional methods from one trip but there was a great deal they did not know about Moth’ir.

Ibuki and his hyur “friend” had both spoken about Moth’ir’s prowess as a craftsman. The man had asked him to make a dress for their child and what he produced was of a higher quality than Havhen had expected. The act of putting the dress on the baby had helped Moth’ir acknowledge her and he’d since made several articles of it’s ilk. They had encouraged it because it seemed to be a source of catharsis for him. In the kitchen, Moth’ir seemed just as at home as he did with a sewing needle. Though these two fields were not the limits of his capabilities, Ibuki confirmed they were two specialties of his many interests.

He also seemed to be cooking more or less as a stress relief at the moment. As evidenced by the increasing number of plates Bukidai was producing.

“This is actually pretty early for us.”

It was a lovely little spread. Maybe more geared toward ten people than five. Ibuki had gotten her hot pot. Her eyes glittered despite the fact some of the ingredients used were… questionable in texture. It did look appetizing despite knowing where some of it had come from.

“Do you usually make so much food too?” Havhen eyed the spread and glanced to Bukidai.

“Uh…” Bukidai sheepishly responded, rubbing the back of his neck and then taking a moment to remove his neck tie as he’d suddenly become cognizant of it. “Yes and no? Traditionally, we cook a lot more but we also share with the neighborhood.”

“They do that at the end of every moon but Starlight is supposed to be special,” The Burn noted dully.

“Must be profitable in Ul’dah,” Havhen suggested without having any real clue.

“Oh, it’s all free though.” Ibuki commented cheerily.

“Who knew you were such a philanthropist?” Havhen remarked, turning around only to find Moth’ir missing. They stepped into the kitchen and found him sitting behind the partition. His head between his knees and both hands resting on the back of his neck.

“Gimme a moment.” He’d murmured, completely devoid of any venom he’d usually summon. He could only turn with a facsimile of it when Havhen sat beside him but the comment he’d expected to have to beat off never came. They simply sat there quietly.

Bukidai pretended to busy himself with the spread once again. Shooing Moth’ir’s clockwork toy off the table. He remarked “,that thing has a mind of it’s own.” A statement that started Ibuki and The Burn on a discussion on whether it had been set to follow the babe─since it was never far away from her─or if it was actually possessed. For that matter, where was the other one? None of the three had seen that one in a while. They only made indirect mentions of the man whose countenance both automatons shared. Neither Ibuki or The Burn knew what his relation was to Moth’ir though they’d seen him from time to time. Only Bukidai had any clue.

Bukidai who much preferred this to impeding on Moth’ir’s privacy any more than he already had.

They sat like that for a long time. The three younger ones chatting amicably amongst themselves while the miqo’te siblings sat out of view. After a bit, Moth’ir had gathered himself enough to pull himself to a more relaxed position. Havhen gave him a moment before risking a quiet remark “,they sound like family.”

Moth’ir only hmm’d at first. When he managed to speak, his voice was quiet too but the lack of force was from the palpable exhaustion that colored the tone. The kind of exhaustion unrelated to sleep. He replied “,Maybe they are. Ul’dah is a long way from the Steppes, Hingashi and wherever the hell The Burn fell out of.”

“Ul’dah is a long way from the Twelveswood too,” Havhen said gently as they could “,but you seem keener to keep your distance.”

“So many questions,” Moth’ir spat but even this indignation lacked fire.

“When one cannot find answers they are often left with nothing but questions,” Havhen replied pleasantly enough. It still pissed Moth’ir off.

The Burn was yelling about something but Ibuki and Bukidai were laughing. At his worst there was a request he calm down because he was disturbing the baby. Words which were also choked with laughter.

Moth’ir let them hang there. Content to sit and listen and not at all up to acknowledging what was a valid statement. He was supposed to be getting better after all but sometimes Havhen and their questions made him want to disappear into the swamp.

“If you don’t celebrate on Starlight, what do you do?” Havhen asked him, trying another angle.

Moth’ir sighed with his whole body. He tried to say “stuff” but all he managed was a weak roll of his wrist.

“You and your man must have some traditions?” Havhen offered.

Moth’ir snorted. The idea of Thancred being any one person’s was cute to him. Even after the hyur had confessed all those things to him before he’d left. Before Moth’ir had had the ability to say it back. Words that he so desperately wanted to say back. They pooled in the back of his throat and begged to be released so Moth’ir did something uncharacteristic of him and spoke about him. If just to speak of him at all. “Thancred’s not usually home when the holidays come around. ‘Specially not these last couple years but when he is it’s just a drink and then sleeping in.”

“Festive,” Havhen said with a chuckle.

Admittedly it didn’t sound like much but it had meaning for him. Maybe Thancred too. A tradition started nearly a decade ago. A rare occasion when Thancred hadn’t had any luck with any fair maiden despite his “silver tongue.” Too inebriated to make it to his lodgings but just sober enough to crash against the backdoor of Moth’ir’s home and workplace. Thancred almost looked dignified sitting there, looking like a misplaced gift from Nymeia’s Saint after Moth’ir’s very long and miserable day.

Thancred somehow talked him into one single drink for the occasion despite Moth’ir’s distaste for alcohol. So they might be on equal footing or some line of the sort. Though Moth’ir wasn’t anywhere near as intoxicated by the time he’d managed to dump Thancred in his bed. Then they’d passed out in a sleep near as deep as death itself. An act remarkable for the both of them.

All their important moments seemed to be in that bed. Very few─if any─had a thing to do with Thancred’s typical salacious activities. It was another sort of intimacy only available to them in the privacy and relative safety of Moth’ir’s room. Honestly and vulnerability that they’d not allowed themselves anywhere else. And yet...

“I didn’t realize you lived together.”

Moth’ir rolled a hand dismissively again. “Some of his stuff is at my place but I don’t think he lives anywhere anymore.”

“Too busy doing what he does.” Havhen said with some meaning. Near everyone who paid attention to the daily happenings around them had some conception of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn even if they didn’t know each member. Savior’s of the realm and at their center the indomitable Warriors of Light.

But Thancred was quite faliable. It was one of his charms.

“I don’t want to go back.” Moth’ir said so quietly Havhen almost didn’t hear him.

Havhen lightly bumped his shoulder against Moth’ir’s. “His life is largely here in Mor Dhona now, isn’t it?”

Moth’ir crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his eyes there to shut out the pressure from behind his eyes. He’d had some conception of Thancred’s work but it was something alien and distant. He imagined it was much the same for Thancred and Moth’ir’s work outside the Tavern. They’d known each other in a way that no one else did─that no one was supposed to─but they’d lived separate lives save where they let it intertwine. A special and private part of themselves tailor made for each other. It had worked. Might have continued to work but then Thancred had taken him from this hospital to the Rising Stones.

He’d met the women who’d given Thancred a shave and a haircut and found he’d liked them both despite that. Hadn’t recognized the man with the sun and stars before he spoke because he’d been missing the goggles and shroud he’d seen him in before. Lightly roasted Thancred with a Seeker woman with whom he shared new material to his friend’s chagrin. One of them would tell him if anything happened to Thancred while he was on the field. Thancred had assured him of such before he’d left.

And he’d liked that. He liked the idea that he’d be one of the first to know. He liked that Thancred had shown him context to the part of his life that had been a thin outline. But Moth’ir could never go back to waiting and wondering and subtext and half told stories they were too tired to finish telling because living it had been too much. He liked knowing and he liked being here and he knew he could never ever go back to that room. It’s privacy and false safety be damned.

He’d fooled himself into thinking he’d feel differently once he returned and started to go around the usual rounds but here he was. The same comedy routine fit like a glove but it was a glove that weighed as much as a buffalo and he was so tired. More than that: “They don’t need me,” Moth’ir said, choking back something that might have been a sob. Though he didn’t know why or what he was feeling exactly.

“It’s gonna get co~ld,” Ibuki’s voice came from beyond the partition.

Bukidai’s voice came after, raised suspiciously “,alright! alright! But make sure you don’t eat everything!” His added emphasis that the couple had had a habit of scarfing down an absurd amount of food returned to a normal pitch but the reaction to it was no less raucous.

Havhen shook their head in agreement and said “,Maybe once, but they do seem to have themselves covered now.”

“Wish I did,” Moth’ir breathed. Drawing himself up and closing his eyes, trying to center himself once more.

It was quiet between them again. The only sound coming from Ibuki singing over what was assumedly a well done meal. But Moth’ir broke the silence by turning to them and stating “,I never wanted children.”

Havhen cocked an eyebrow at him but let him continue on his own without prompting. So Moth’ir continued. “I did when I decided to keep her but I never wanted children. I don’t know how to do this and I don’t… how do we do this? I don’t know how to name kids.”

Havhen considered the distance Moth’ir had kept himself from his family and friends. They considered that he carried internalized feelings of guilt as if his abandonment was due to his own fault. The way he shied away from his daughter and the way he tormented himself for having done so. They wondered if “I never wanted” simply meant he hadn’t thought he should as if he was not worthy.

Moth’ir could simply have been asking for their opinion but the emphasis on “we” seemed like more. They did not know if he meant as keepers or as a clan. They weren’t sure if offering their typical naming conventions would be much use to him. Havhen offered a smile and said “,Oh, I’m not sure it’s all very complicated. You just pick something you think sounds nice or has meaning to you.”

Moth’ir sighed, clearly unsatisfied by that answer. Answers to a question that wasn’t the one he wanted to ask would never be sufficient.

“I think picking a name of someone important to you is suitable as well. As a tribute of sorts,” Havhen tried again despite the futility.

Moth’ir’s eyes stared upward as he considered various people whom he’d had some attachment to. It was an ordeal when one specifically kept people at arms length with few exceptions. “Can’t just name her Menphina, can I?”

“I mean,” Havhen shrugged and said flippantly “,your fellow Eorzeans might find that blasphemous but it’s your daughter.” They received a gentle elbow to the ribs for their trouble.

“Moth.”

“After your mother?” Havhen asked.

Moth’ir eyed him warily. Karga clan was very distinctly something that was his and his alone. It was never far from his mind that Havhen had only ever had their gods forsaken clan. He did not know what they saw when they thought of him and his siblings and his mother together. They all had meant the world and more to him and he misliked the idea of someone belittling that.

Havhen continued to smile at him warmly as he tried to assure him “,I think it’s a lovely name. And, from what your brother has told me, a woman deserving of such dedication.”

Moth’ir only knew that Moth’wo had trusted Havhen with the health of his brother. He’d not had a clue said brother and they were related by blood. How close the two actually were was a mystery to him. He hadn’t even ventured to ask so he had no choice but to accept the comment at face value. Or at least he had no energy to grill them about it.

Eased somewhat he turned his attention inward. He reiterated the name Moth in a whisper. More for himself than Havhen’s benefit. Making it real. Making her real. He closed his eyes and used it as a point to center himself.

Havhen ventured to tap his shoulder to grab his attention before holding their arm out, hopefully offering a hug. Moth’ir regarded them irritably but leaned his shoulder against theirs and allowed himself to be pulled closer. Havhen lightly pressed his head against Moth’ir’s and so they sat. Silent while idly listening to the other three while their minds were elsewhere. For their part, Havhen was busy committing the moment to memory. A small victory for them that may mean nothing but a memento of their brother when he left them for good but that in itself would be enough.

“Hey, you think she can eat some of this meat?” The Burn’s voice asked from beyond the partition.

Moth’ir snapped to, breaking Havhen’s precious moment. On his feet and away in a second. “You feed that baby anything and I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Havhen let themself linger for a moment. Wrapped their arms around their knees and listening to the new argument. Havhen had been walking with Moth’ir’s ghost for over a decade. They’d been convinced of his death by their mother and it haunted them. But then he’d returned alive; so very much alive. That life had been a messy and painful one. Whether he cared to know or not, Havhen’s had been much the same. The mystery of what laid before them could very much be more of the same but that wasn’t the important part. That they were alive is what gave those lives meaning. Nothing more, nothing less. Which is why they allowed themselves a moment to linger and not a moment more.

A life must be lived.