#swapffxivwrite

Feldspar let out a sigh as Amber circled him for the twelfth time this quarter bell. He’d learned all of her little tells over the last fifteen turns. It was as if he could read her every thought, or rather, every interaction between her geometry and his aether. Not that he was going to be pedantic about it as she chirped impatiently at him as he cleaned out his mother’s oven.

“Daddy, Amber wants something,” Chal added from his spot a few fulms away, where he’d previously been reading a children’s book in the dirt. His sister, Chrys, was off with Fennie feeding the birds, but Chal had decided to remain behind for some peace and quiet. Feldspar had chosen chores for the same reason, really.

“She wants to go fishing,” Feldspar explained.

“I wanna go fishing too!” Chal popped up.

Dusting as much of the coal off of his hands and onto his shorts as he could, Feldspar smiled. “I guess I don’t have much choice then, do I?” More to Amber than Chal, “One fish. We still need to come back and finish this before dinner.”

Amber perked up at that, bouncing impatiently from paw to paw.

Putting aside his things, Feldspar let Amber lead them into camp and to their usual spot near the stream, where he and Chal took a seat on the riverbank. “Stay out of the water,” Feldspar warned Chal, who nodded diligently as he sat to watch Amber work her magic.

Amber hopped into the water, glancing back at Feldspar, waiting for his command. Of course, it was technically possible for Amber to do this activity on her own. She was fairly independent for a carbuncle. He let her wander around the Toll, and she typically slept in the kids’ room at night, rather than his. But it wasn’t fishing for the sake of it that she enjoyed—it was the coordination between the two of them.

He swore he could see her beady black eyes twinkle as he lifted his hand, pointing to a silver flicker in the current, her mark, and nodded to give her an implicit command. She jumped as glittering yellow aether burst from her, shaking the ground enough in the process that he felt it underfoot from fulms away on the riverbed. Pleased, she caught the stunned fish in her mouth as it rolled over in the water, carrying it back to the riverbank and dropping it at their feet.

Chal reached out, then, patting Amber on the head. “Good job, Amber!”

Biting back a grin, Feldspar, for some reason, thought of the under-Archon who’d been attempting to study Amber as of late, claiming that dynamis had something to do with her unusual perceptiveness. 

There had been many arcanists over the years who’d envied his effortlessness with her, and who’d tried to recreate his methods to no avail. It would be much easier, they’d assumed, if they could isolate it to dynamis or the way she supposedly siphoned the aether off of him without his knowledge, but Feldspar knew the truth.

Feldspar had no special summoning technique. They’d merely spent a decade working on the most important part of their bond: trust. It was their coordination in navigating markets, greeting customers at the tavern, and “fishing” in this very stream that manifested in their so-called effortlessness on the battlefield. He knew she would obey his every whim, and she knew that, sometimes, he would obey hers, too.

“When I have a carbuncle, I want to take it fishing,” Chal concluded, poking the fish on the ground to check that it was really unconscious. “Will you take me, Daddy?”

Feldspar nodded, letting out an amused hum. “If your carbuncle likes to fish, we can bring it with us.”

“How do I know if it likes fishing?”

Amber glanced longingly back at the stream, obviously remembering the deal of one fish, but wanting to violate it anyway.

“Who do you think is going to slip first when reciting their vows? I was thinking Sanson, but I believe it might be Guydelot,” Estinien says, head deep in their closet trying to find a cravat.

Alinea smirks, “Guydelot will be a deer in the headlights when he sees Sanson walking down the aisle, but he won’t fall over his words. I promise you that.” 

Estinien chuckles, “Aye, fair enough. They are both more than ready for this. It feels years in the making.” 

Alinea rubs her rounded belly, “You’re right. I think Guydelot thought we’d be there first.” 

“But we’ve never been in a rush,” Estinien finishes for her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Indeed. Need some help tying that?” 

“Please.” 

Alinea’s fingers make quick work of tying the cravat at Estinien’s throat, while he hums a soft tune while rubbing her belly. 

“We must each do what is right for us, in our own time,” Estinien starts. “It’s only been 5 years since Meteion. Some days, it feels like no time has passed and then I see how far we’ve come. Gaius and Annabeth married, Alira and Sid too… I’m happy for them and for us.” 

Alinea presses a kiss to his lips and settles deep into his arms. 

“I never thought we’d be here. But I am ready for whatever comes next as long as I have you by my side, Estinien. We may not be bonded officially, but you know you’re the only man on Etheirys for me.”

“And you for me, my lady. There will never be anyone else but you.”

Love and laughter erupted from Guydelot and Sanson’s bonding ceremony. There wasn’t a dry eye in attendance, either tears from touching moments or those of laughter due to fast-paced quips between the grooms. At the end of the evening, Guydelot motioned for Alinea to follow him to the balcony. 

A cool wind blew through the Shroud tonight and laughter continued to echo from behind them. Guydelot turned to face Alinea, with a small bouquet in hand. 

“These are for you. I know you and Estinien aren’t at the place for a formal bonding and I would never try to hurry you towards that. But,” he stops to sniff the flowers, before adjusting a petal, “I saw these this morning and I wanted to know that we, your family and friends, who love you, will be waiting to celebrate once you are ready to declare it to the world. For now, nurture it, keep it safe and happy.” He nods to Alinea’s pregnant belly, “Take care of you and your family first, but then, we will celebrate it. For you are allowed to be happy Alinea and to sing it from the rooftops, should you so choose it.” 

Alinea smiles and accepts the flowers. She breathes deeply from the petals before leaning over the railing.

“I choose him, Guydelot, every day. And I will choose this child everyday. The world is still changing, but it is safer now than before. We’re close. We talked about it today.” At this she smiles widely at Guydelot before continuing, “I even have some thoughts about it. Where we could have it, what the colors may be. Your wedding gave me a lot of inspiration.”

“You better not copy it,” he teases, nudging her hip with his own. 

She rolls her eyes, “No, I think we’ll have it in Thavnair. Away from prying eyes. But have it be a true celebration. For what we have done and what is yet to come.” She shuffles her feet and casts a guilty look at Guydelot. “I… also don’t want to get married under the Twelve.” 

He nods, “I’d be amazed if you did.” 

She nods, continuing, “I remember some of the soul bonds from before and I think that with his time as the Azure Dragoon and his connection with the eyes, I am Estinien’s mate. Therefore, I want to lean more into the soul-bonding aspect of this. I want to be equal with him as he is with me. In this life, I commit my all to him.”

Guydelot raises his brow, but the smile never fades from his lips. 

“No such things as half measures with you, are there? No wonder you’re waiting till the exact right moment,” he nods to himself. “I’d better be invited and I have a permanent plus one now till the end of time - don’t forget.” 

Alinea laughs, “Yes, yes, you are both invited. The very first guests.” 

“As it should be.” 

Alinea chuckles and nudges his hip in turn. “We should get back. Our partners are likely wondering what we’re getting up to.”

“Oh, I plan on keeping Sanson guessing for the rest of his life. Fancy a dance?”

Ella stood by the front doorway of the orphanage, waiting patiently for one of her kids, Daphne to be precise, to come down and wait for her new parents. It had been a long and rough process to pair up this particular child with her eager parents-to-be. The child had been on the streets for most of her ten years and she had the mental scars to prove it. The physical ones had healed but the mental scars? They’d be there for a long while.

“These leaves are actually from Thavnair, so you don’t need as many of them to get the same strength of tea as you might with leaves from, say, Coerthas…”

Feldspar nodded politely as Fennie rambled about his latest acquisition. Collecting and brewing various teas had always been one of Fennie’s hobbies, since long before he and Feldspar even met. 

In truth, Feldspar had always been more of a coffee person, perhaps because it was more often imported into Tailfeather for its stronger stimulating properties. He could make a decent cup of tea, sure—he served it among other drinks at the tavern, after all. And he drank it fairly often. But he certainly did not share his husband’s passion for the drink.

Fennie paused as he watched Feldspar take a sip, eagerly awaiting his reaction, eyes practically sparkling with anticipation.

It tasted, as he expected, like leaf water. Perfectly good leaf water. Feldspar smiled and nodded in approval anyway. 

Fennie grinned at that, and Feldspar found his own smile widening to a grin in response.

Alphinaud found Feldspar in the stables, thirteen summers old and ankle-deep in damp straw, the smell of ammonia filling the air. An emerald carbuncle perched on a bale of hay, tail flicking as Alphinaud approached. At the sound of footsteps, Feldspar spun, shovel still in hand, and scowled up at him.

As he realized who had interrupted, Feldspar straightened, over-enunciating and just a bit too polite, “A-Alphinaud? What brings you here?”

“Q'yantaa asked me to talk to you,” Alphinaud smiled sadly. “I regret that I haven't visited in a while. I hope to change that.” When Feldspar didn't bite, he filled the silence. “Your mother mentioned you’ve been upset lately.”

“There's nothing to be upset about,” Feldspar huffed. “Aside from the fact that I’m doing pointless chores instead of reading. Or practicing my summoning." He set aside the shovel and gestured to the too-large grimoire attached to his hip, the one Alphinaud had gifted him years ago.

At first, Alphinaud interpreted Feldspar's strange formality as defiance, but then he realized the specific vowels and consonants were his. Like he'd practiced it in a mirror, Feldspar was specifically trying to copy a Sharlayan accent. Alphinaud's accent. His heart sank. “Is that the only reason?” Alphinaud raised a brow, trying to offer the most sympathetic smile he could muster. "I won't tell your mother if it isn't."

Feldspar hesitated. “May I ask you something?”

Alphinaud held back his sigh of relief as he nodded.

“Mum insists that you’re not my father.” Feldspar averted Alphinaud’s gaze, tugging anxiously at his own sleeve. “But… I don't know who to believe. I want to hear it from you.”

The accent that sounded like he'd practiced it in a mirror, the carbuncle he was far too young to summon without a formal education, the hopeful look in his eyes as he glanced back up at him. Feldspar had worked so hard to build up an entire identity from scraps, and now Alphinaud had to be the one to destroy it.

Alphinaud had rehearsed less painful answers to this question over the years—not exactly, it's complicated—but none of them were true. He settled on the only answer that was.

“I'm not your father," Alphinaud hesitated, "no."

Feldspar blinked once, hard, as his jaw tightened. “But you do know who my parents are?” He asked, quieter. When Alphinaud nodded exactly once, practically feeling Q'yantaa's disapproval as he did, Feldspar continued, “So they are Scions…”

Even though it only hurt them both, Alphinaud felt a flicker of pride at the boy's skills of deduction. “I can tell you about them, if you’d like.”

"Are they alive?"

Alphinaud's mouth opened, unsure how to answer that, with one alive, and one not, but Feldspar's head was already shaking. His hesitation must have spoken for itself.

"Then no." Feldspar reached for the shovel again, driving the tip of it into the dirt. "I don't want to know. It doesn't matter"

“You are entitled to know, if you-”

Feldspar raised his voice, even as it wavered, his carbuncle standing and bristling as he did. “-I don’t!”

Alphinaud caught Feldspar’s gaze, almost taken aback by how much Feldspar resembled Zoisite in that moment. It was exactly the look Zoisite would give Alphinaud when he pressed too far, terrified and defensive. As much as he wanted to, he knew better than to overstep this boundary. The conversation was over, for now. “If one day you change your mind…”

Feldspar took a step back towards his work, straw crunching under his boot. The carbuncle dimmed as it settled back down again. Alphinaud turned to leave, flinching as he heard Feldspar's shovel come down hard behind him.

Feldspar shook the sand off each piece of laundry from their recent beach vacation, the smell of salt filling the air as he did, before adding them to the washtub. As he reached for a pair of still-damp swim trunks, he winced as a sharp edge cut his fingertip, blood already beading as he yanked it back to inspect the damage. 

Annoyed, he dug around for the culprit, fishing out a single seashell, clearly forgotten in someone’s pocket. He’d warned the kids about pockets before—sticks, rocks, now this—and here he was, bleeding.

He gritted his teeth and started drafting the lecture. How many times did he need to explain this? Did he need to shout at them like his mother would have, or make them do chores in penance? They were certainly getting old enough to know better about this kind of thing. He would never have made this kind of mistake at their ages.

Shell in hand, he made his way to the kids’ bedroom. Chrys and Chal were in the middle of an elaborate game they’d learned from older kids in Tailfeather, completely unaware of his presence looming in the doorway. Seeing their sunburnt noses wrinkle as they giggled, he couldn’t help but remember the trip itself, how excitedly they’d brought over every shell they’d found, them asking for help with sandcastles only to knock them down again.

Feldspar’s shoulders slumped as he softened, letting out a deep breath to calm himself down before he cleared his throat.

“Daddy?” Chrys asked, lighting up at the sight of him.

“I found this in the laundry,” Feldspar warned, holding up the shell with one hand, and his finger to show off the small wound with the other. “Please empty your pockets next time.”

“We’re sorry...” Chal frowned, looking somehow even younger than Feldspar had remembered in his earlier rage.

Feldspar smiled sadly. One day they would grow outgrow collecting sticks and seashells and whatever else.

He set the shell on their bookshelf, displaying it prominently.

Alisaie tried to remind herself to keep her jaw unclenched in her ethics seminar, but it somehow always ached by the second bell. This time it hurt before she even sat down.

Today’s topic was worse than usual. The Circle of Knowing’s intervention in Eorzea prior to the Seventh Umbral Calamity. Her beloved grandfather, Louisoix Leveilleur, only deceased for three turns and already reduced to a case study and a debate prompt.

Alisaie bit the inside of her cheek. She knew better by now than to take the bait herself. The professors of these kinds of seminars always rewarded their points on validity, soundness, and then style, in that order. Even when she tried to join a classroom discussion, and propose her own arguments, they were invariably dismissed on account of being too emotional. Of course, if Alphinaud had made the argument with the same tone and delivery, he would have been applauded for his passion.

It was the blue ribbon in his hair, clearly.

This time, even the rest of the class seemed skittish to engage, which Alisaie suspected must have been because of her presence in particular. The family’s respective positions on this matter were fairly common knowledge among Sharlayan’s elite. No one wanted to risk having the wrong opinion on this subject in front of a Leveilleur. The silence as their professor asked for the class’s thoughts was deafening.

On the other side of the lecture hall, Alphinaud raised his hand.

Of course he did.

The couple of weeks after Fennie was punched during a routine inspection at the Arcanists' Guild were more eventful than they should have been. Fennie's Echo kept firing off at the most inconvenient possible times, flashbacks triggering like migraines, so they'd exiled themselves to their house in the Goblet and tried to consider it a "mini-vacation."

They mostly stayed in bed. Partly so that Fennie could rest, but also because Feldspar kept finding other ways to exhaust him. Feldspar cooked, did the dishes, changed the linens… and they argued constantly about just about everything. But also really about the same thing over and over again.

It didn't help that the Echo was conspiring against Feldspar to reveal all of his secrets. The first fight—Fennie's flash of Feldspar's recently bandaged shoulder—ended in a scolding about needless risks, a proposal to provide for both of them, and Feldspar bristling. Another flash dropped Fennie straight into the chaos of Feldspar's childhood, shortly after Hudde's death, and he came back with a headache and an apology.

There were a few other fights, too, one over Fennie over-exerting himself, one over Feldspar's annoyance at Fennie's patronizing tone when insisting on teaching him Esuna. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, by the end of their vacation, he felt closer to Fennie than ever. As they fought, apologized, and moved on, it only made it more obvious to Feldspar how perfect for each other they were, and that, across time and space and circumstance, it was a miracle they met at all. Almost fated, like it was meant to happen.

On their last day before returning to work, the two of them decided to spend the afternoon in Costa del Sol, just to get out of the house. In the spirit of fated coincidences, it started down-pouring a mere bell after they arrived.

Both of them soaked with salt water and rain, Fennie dragged Feldspar onto one of the covered platforms near the beach for shelter. They sat down near the edge, dangling their feet over the ocean beneath them, just barely shielded from the rain as they talked. Feldspar leant up against Fennie's side, watching the clouds roll over and the sky open, listening to the drum of rain on the thatched roof and the surface of the water, when the thumping of his own heart didn't drown it out instead.

"It's rather pretty out here," Feldspar pointed out. "Even with the rain."

"I suppose," Fennie trailed off, looking out across the water, "it is. I enjoy it out here when I get the chance." He reached for Feldspar's hand, laced their fingers together, and added the pulse of Fennie's wrist to the consistent drum of noise.

"Do you come here very often?" Feldspar asked, a smile stubbornly teasing at the corner of his lips at the contact. "I want you to show me everywhere you like to go," Feldspar admitted.

"Not often, no," he started, answering the first question. "I've been out here a few times, mostly to hosted parties. I think the last time I came out here for any length of time was just past Heavensturn." Fennie thought a moment about the second. "Places I like to go… I spent a lot of time in Mor Dhona, obviously, and Ishgard… And I rather enjoy parts of the Twelveswood… There are always a few pubs around that are nice. I guess I've never really thought of many places to go." He shrugged, turning to Feldspar and raising a brow. "Are there any places you'd like to go?"

"I can't think of anything specific, but," Feldspar chuckled awkwardly. "This might sound… contrived, but even the places I've been before feel different when you're with me." The rain, mercifully, trickled to a stop before Feldspar could embarrass himself any further with his sentiment, the clouds dispersing and sunshine starting to re-emerge. Feldspar's eyes lit up. "The sun is back."

"Actually—there are a few places I'd like to visit someday, but—" Fennie smiled, glancing up at the sunshine. "Back into the water for now, I suppose?"

"I'd like that." Feldspar stood, offering a hand out to Fennie. He rambled, "both visiting any places you'd like to go, and swimming…"