❥ - a childhood memory ((your choice of character <3))
In which I continue working my way down through the FFXIVWrite2019 prompts in character order and knock out some of the asks languishing in my inbox at the same time. Thank you for your patience!
Prompt 2: Bargain
Who: Rhetzedyr Guldarensyn and Guldaren Haldwintsyn
What: A young Zedyr is anxious to get to Aleport for market day.
Where: Along the coast of Western La Noscea, between Halfstone and Aleport.
When: Thirteen years before the Seventh Umbral Calamity.
Content notes: None - this one is rated E for Everyone.
The deck rolled under his feet, and Zedyr clutched at the purse hanging from his belt – half to reassure himself that it was still there, and half to reassure himself of the weight of its contents. Nearly a hundred gil sat against his hip, collected slowly over half a dozen moons.
The hand at his shoulder gave him a squeeze. “It ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Aren’s voice was a low drawl, soft like footsteps falling on newly-tilled earth, and Zedyr could hear the warm smile in it without looking.
“I know, Da.” Trying to settle, he tugged at his shirt-sleeves. He wanted to roll them up, but it was better to look sharp for market day. Even if he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, nine summers was more than old enough to be helping his father take the wheat to Aleport – anybody knew that. Still, he wanted the merchants to take him seriously: best to look as mature as he could manage. Besides, he’d spent too much time hemming the cuffs up just right to hide all that hard work.
Aren’s hand smoothed over his son’s dark hair, settling at the back of his neck. “Worried the tinker ain’t gonna be there?”
“Aye.” Zedyr turned and wrapped his arms around his father’s broad middle. “What if we get there an’ she don’t have the pocketknife no more?”
“She will, son, or a better one, even.” Aren smiled down at his son’s round face and the worried crease it bore. “One o’ those newfangled ones that has half a dozen things in it – how would you like that?”
Zedyr’s eyes widened. “…d’you think it might have a screwdriver, too?”
“It might.” Aren quirked an eyebrow, not quite able to suppress his grin. “Will we ever have a workin’ mantel clock again, if it does?”
Zedyr smiled, ducking his head. “Da. I put it back together right the second time!”
“Aye, son, that you did – even without a fancy pocketknife.” He gave Zedyr a hug about his shoulders. “We’ll sort it out, even if I have to haggle with the old girl myself.”
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Image credit: Robert Brinkley, Jr. on pexels.com
