i am probably not going to take a very active part in ffxivwrite this year for a lot of personal reasons (i'm not going to stop writing ffxiv fic, i've just been busy and dealing with ongoing health problems this year) so instead i am linking my older works here for anyone who wishes to read them!
a lot of things in my writing and my longfic plans have changed from when i wrote some of these, but ffxivwrite has always made for very good writing exercises and has even helped me solidify backstory for my WoL, so i've left them up to that end.
collection 1, sept 2019: tales of radiance
collection 2, sept 2020: above the tide of hours
collection 3, sept 2021: the cold heavens (still in progress as this was written while i was actively in the middle of moving out of texas ;; but tbh this collection has some of my personal favorites so i'm very fond of it still!)
collection 4, sept 2022: my tale again for me shall sing (largely wol-centric backstory)
The late summer air in Mor Dhona lacked the warmth of Ul'dah or the temperate mugginess of the Shroud but here at the edge of Silvertear Lake there was a soft, cool breeze, whispering in her hair like a mother's touch. The sun had set a good two bells past; stars twinkled in a clear sky and she could see the black outlines of trees and branches. Past that, the serenely glowing sentinel that was the Crystal Tower, a great monument reaching for the heavens.
The place where - for her, at least, in many ways - her journey had truly started.
Aurelia bent over with a soft grunt to pick up one of the stones that lay scattered amongst the shards of crystal - not from the tower or even the Calamity but the ill-fated maiden journey of the Agrius - and tested its heft in her palm. It was a goodly weight, not so heavy as to sink into the water but not too light to skip across its surface in pleasing ripples.
She perched upon a nearby outcropping of rock lying not far from a rusting chunk of steel hull, drew back her hand, and tossed the stone with a neat snapping motion. It skipped three times, four, five, before it submerged: swallowed by the dark waters around the wreckage of the dreadnought and the skeleton still wrapped about its length.
"Neatly done," called a familiar voice at her back. Aurelia smiled over her shoulder at its owner: a tall, lanky man wearing a long and leather-chased linen longcoat, the hem dusty and somewhat the worse for wear these days. The moon's watery illumination dappled patches of silver against his flaxen hair.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said. "I hope you haven't been looking for me too long."
"No." He sauntered down to the water's edge, hands in his pockets. "Mistress Tataru told me you'd gone for a walk to get some air. I thought you might be headed this direction."
"Good guess." Aurelia patted the empty space on her right. "Care to join me, Scaeva?"
"In your rock-tossing?"
"I'd hoped you might keep me company but I'll skip stones with you too, if you're willing."
"Right. One moment."
She braced her hands against the rock's surface and let herself relax, watching him pick among the crystal and sand much as she had done moments ago, and cast her eyes up to the twinkling lights in the sky. What was it Meteion had told her, back in the wastes of Ultima Thule-- the shine of those stars came from dead worlds, civilizations gone thousands upon thousands of years, centuries even, before their light had reached Etheirys... but some of those worlds might yet bloom with life once more.
Perhaps Meteion - armed now with fresh purpose - would find joy in her discoveries.
A tap on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Nero seated alongside her, holding out a handful of skipping stones with a faintly quizzical expression. "I'm all right," she reassured him. "Just thinking."
"About the...?"
He gestured, somewhat comically, in the vague direction of her stomach. Aurelia grinned at him and shook her head.
"I'm not nearly far enough along to start fretting about that - just a little tired here and there. Why? You're not worried something might happen while we're on the road, are you?"
A year ago, his pause might have worried her. Now she understood it came neither from hesitation nor a refusal to answer. She could tell by the tilt of his chin that he was simply mulling over her question and deciding how best to respond to it.
"...At the moment," he replied at length, "I think my answer is 'not particularly'. Does that satisfy you?"
"Aye, it does." Aurelia reached for his knee- bony as ever despite all that muscle of his- and gave it an affectionate squeeze. His left hand settled over hers in the same moment that his right cast a stone out across the water. Six skips.
She gave a low whistle. "You're better at this than I am."
"Am I?"
"I only managed five."
"The night is young and you've still got plenty of stones yet," he pointed out. She laughed, hefted another rock with her left hand this time, and threw. Four skips.
"So," Nero said as they both watched the water's surface tension flex and ripple. "What are you thinking about?"
Aurelia shrugged. "It really wasn't anything momentous," she said. "I was thinking about a question someone asked me. If I had enjoyed the life I've led thus far."
She thought he might laugh it off, make some wisecrack, bring a touch of levity to the discussion. Instead Nero only looked at her, turning another stone between his fingers, but not throwing.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What did you say to them?"
Aurelia looked down at his large, warm palm where it enveloped hers, still resting on his knee. "To be honest... I couldn't really give them a satisfactory response at the time," she admitted. "That's not the sort of question with a 'yes' or 'no' answer, you know?"
"Everyone has a different... threshold? I suppose?"
"Well, yes, but so much of that answer depends upon where you are." She held up another stone, studying the small fissures and veins in the weak light, "It would be like stopping a traveler on the road to Ul'dah, or somewhere, and asking them if they were having a good trip. If you're just starting out, if you've had something good happen or something bad happen or you're tired or you're excited or really any old thing."
"Right."
He threw. The stone skipped. Six.
"I've had a bit more time to reflect upon it," she continued, "and I think... I think life is about moving forward. Or trying to, anyway."
"Unfortunately I know plenty of people who would argue that point - not that I'd take their opinions much under advisement."
"What I mean is... think about when you first came to Eorzea. Knowing what you know now, would you have rather stayed the course? Contented yourself with whatever research projects they allowed you to touch-"
"Yes, yes, I take your point. You're asking if I regret my decision to accept my losses, start anew, et cetera and no. I don't. Not even a little bit these days. The things I care about now are here."
"Well, that's a very sweet-"
"Lucrative contracts."
She scoffed. "Pillock."
"Caught you out."
"Because you were saving that one."
Nero didn't miss a beat. "Like a fine Dalmascan vintage."
"Awful man. I ask a serious question-"
"Well, you didn't let me finish, did you? What I have now, and I've no intention of giving up, is freedom. I can pursue any project I like. Go anywhere I wish."
"Friends," she pointed out. "You have those now."
"Aye. And Garlond." He paused, lips stretching in a slight rictus. "...Do me a solid, sweetling, don't tell him I said that. He's a big enough bloody head right now as it is what with me deciding to become a full-time engineer with his company. I'd never hear the end of it if he knew the truth."
Aurelia managed to keep a straight face. Only just.
"My lips are sealed."
"You're on that list of mine too, just so you know." Nero nudged her with a full-body lean until she leaned back with a soft chuckle. "But judging by that question I don't imagine you have many regrets yourself."
"No," she answered without hesitation. "Had I stayed I'd have... well, it's hardly worth musing upon now. But that's what I meant by asking. People don't ever really stay in one place. Not in my experience."
A glance at Nero's face showed a distant expression, eyes as far away as the light of the stars in the rift above.
"Good old Varis would have had me making more and more elaborate weapons until I was no longer of use-- or until that entire miserable house of cards finally collapsed beneath its own weight, as we saw. I'll not pretend it didn't take losing everything to have that moment of self-reflection, but for what it's worth I think we're of one mind. I don't believe it's in man's nature to stagnate, and that isn't a bad thing." He removed his hand from hers and stretched, biting back a small yawn. "It's certainly not in mine."
Aurelia smiled. "It never has been."
"Your turn."
"What?"
"You've still got one stone left."
"Hmm."
The light of Syrcus' massive spire caught her eye once more and the question resurfaced, like a stone washing up on the shore of an ancient lake.
And have you enjoyed your journey? Has it been good?
Tell me, my mirror. The life you chose-- did it bring you fulfillment?
Two different people in two wildly different contexts, one fundamentally identical question.
Was there one single answer? She still didn’t know.
I thought about giving up more than once. But I didn't. I set my feet forward, one before the other, even through the worst of it, and followed the road where it led me. I made choices, good and bad. I learned how to live with my mistakes and grow from them. I learned what love is, and I learned how to accept it. And I'm still learning.
They sat in uncharted territory now. The ancients were gone along with their grand dreams and terrible dooms, and with them Zodiark and Hydaelyn alike: the final vestiges of that long-bygone age. Silvertear Lake was just a lake now (though she didn't doubt it would see Midgardsormr's renewal eventually). Etheirys - their star - was just a star. One of the countless many spinning through the vast expanse.
Take your new life and live it, her mother still whispered.
Life was about moving forward. Even in this moment, they were only passing through to the next.
The breeze had returned, ruffling her hair. Aurelia shut her eyes for a long moment, reveling in it, before she opened them again. It was a beautiful clear night in the best company she could think of, the future stretched before them as a long and unknown road, and her only goal was to find whatever might lie over the next horizon.
Yes, she decided. The journey has been good.
Aurelia cast the final stone and watched as it sailed in seven smooth skips across the water.
"...Suppose we'll call it a draw," Nero said.
She slipped her arm about her companion's waist with a laugh. Together, the two adventurers turned their gaze to the heavens. The sea of stars wound a path around the tower and beyond like an uncharted path all its own.
"Before we begin the working," Lahabrea said, "there is... one thing. Something we must discuss."
The words stumbled over his lips as if he were reluctant to even speak them aloud. Nevertheless, the Convocation of Fourteen (absent its Fourteenth) turned as one to hear him-- almost as one. Emet-Selch slumped forward in his seat, staring at his interlocked fingers, braced upon the table's surface. He did not react to the Speaker's words, did not even seem to blink.
But he had the attention of the others, and he knew Emet-Selch would hear whether he wished to or not.
"Well?" Altima said. "Don't keep us in suspense."
He took a deep breath.
"The construct itself would simply be that: a construct. It possesses no intrinsic consciousness. The amount of aether needed not only for the summoning but for the great work itself is immense, but without a soul it is little more than a puppet. In order for the defensive aspect of this concept to work as intended, it will require a living soul to act as its heart."
He couldn't see Halmarut's frown, but he didn't need to; it was there in her voice when she asked, very slowly:
"Its heart. What do you mean by 'its heart'?"
"I mean that someone will have to use themselves as a focus. Once the summoning is complete, this creation - this 'god,' if you like - will consume the physical form while leaving the soul intact. Rather than returning to the star, the chosen will become one with this new form and set the barrier in place."
Emet-Selch looked up, finally. Behind the mask his eyes gleamed with suppressed bitterness.
"You have asked countless people to sacrifice themselves for a hypothesis. I expect more than a mere theory, Lahabrea, with stakes as high as these."
"It will work, Emet-Selch. I am certain of it. The souls that have offered themselves will not be destroyed. I assure you, this is but a temporary measure. Nothing more."
"And in the meantime?"
He sighed.
"In the meantime, this 'god' needs a heart. And we cannot choose just anyone-- no. It must be one of our own number. I would trust none other with the task, and we have already asked much of our people. Too much. Such a weighty decision must be our burden to bear and ours alone."
"How do you propose the choice be made?" Fandaniel, gentle but morose. His verdant eyes seemed even more solemn than usual. "If a volunteer is needed-"
"It must be a soul able to bear the burden not only of a new vessel, but to wield the aether necessary for your barrier. We need your aid, Fandaniel. We cannot ask you to volunteer." After another long moment, Lahabrea continued: "The most suitable candidate of all of us is Loghrif."
Time seemed to elongate, stretching minutes into hours as the assembled Convocation absorbed the words in stunned silence. It was broken by the sound of a chair scraping against marble. Loghrif - sweet, absentminded Loghrif - stood alone, the picture of calm save for the white-knuckled fists at her sides. Her face was pale: she was frightened, but at least outwardly resolved.
"For the sake of our people," she said gravely, "I will accept this task."
"No!"
The exclamation was almost immediate. In moments the man at her side had gained his footing. His hands fell upon her shoulders, bracing them firmly as he turned her frame towards him.
"Mitron," Loghrif said, her voice gentle and placating, "I must."
"Why? Why must you do it? Why not Lahabrea? Why not me?"
"Sit down, Artemis," someone else - Igeyorhm - snapped. "If she understands the risks and wishes to accept the Speaker's decision, it's her choice."
"How can you say that? Do you have any idea what-"
"She has a duty-"
"To the star!"
"Mitron-"
"You cannot do this," his hands dropped to hers and squeezed. His lips bowed and trembled, pleading. "I couldn't bear it. Not you."
"Your selfishness will doom us all!" Emmerololth snapped, slamming her palms onto the table. "Sit down, Mitron. We'll follow protocol and put it to a vote. If there is abstention-"
"Then call me selfish," Mitron snarled. "I refuse. I will not watch her die."
"We are all dead if nothing is not done!" Nabriales' angry shout arose from the end of the assembly. "While we squabble amongst ourselves, more of our people perish by the hour!"
Voices which had for so many long centuries spoken as one no longer held any harmony. The angry, frightened shouting over each other was like the strings of a bent and broken lyre, jangling and discordant. Emet-Selch felt a chill down his spine. They would never come to a consensus, he realized. It didn't matter who they chose. Azem's prediction had been grimly accurate: the Convocation had lost themselves to despair.
Meanwhile, unseen to all--
Elidibus rose from his seat and lifted a hand.
The motion of his white robes caught Emet-Selch's eye but he could not hear what the young man was saying. His lips moved. Once, again, then a third time. Still there was no response from the arguing Amaurotines, until he reached for Lahabrea's gavel and struck it against its podium until the room went silent.
"The last thing we need right now is to divide ourselves," he said. "Speaker. There is no need to debate Loghrif's suitability for this task."
"What?"
"I volunteer myself in my capacity as Emissary of the Convocation."
"You can't-"
"I can and I will," Elidibus interrupted. "There will be no further discussion. There will be no vote."
"But you are our Emissary," Loghrif protested.
"So I am." His voice was as soothing and calm as ever. Absurd, Emet-Selch thought. "My purpose is to settle our worst disputes. Would that we had Azem's wisdom to guide us to a consensus, but we do not. In her absence, this is my decision."
Lahabrea shook his head. Beneath the serpent points of his mask his mouth pinched and buckled, as if he were in pain.
"Elidibus, you must understand. This concept," he began. "It is experimental. A great risk which requires a great deal of sacrifice, not only from our people but from the one chosen. I... I cannot speak to what may become of you. Emet-Selch had every right to voice his concerns. If you-"
"Keep your counsel, Speaker; I am not concerned for myself. What right do I have to claim I serve our people if I stand idly by and allow their wisest to flounder? What duty have I to Etheirys if not to save her?"
His smile was serene-- and Emet-Selch was not fooled. It was the same deep sorrow he had seen in Azem's eyes, when she had given him the mask and turned her back on them forever. You do not love the world as you love Amaurot, she said, so how can you hope to understand, and he didn't.
He still didn't. Amaurot was the world.
"Elidibus," Emet-Selch said quietly, "are you certain? Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"
Elidibus looked at him. His eyes were the color of the sky over Elpis, pure and pristine -- like an unspoken promise that all could be as it once was.
"This is my duty, Hades," he said. "That is all that matters."
It was the small hours of the morning, the coverlet and sheets at his side were rumpled and thrown back, and the bed was cold. Swiping at his eyes with a hand rendered clumsy from deep sleep, Cid squinted at the digital chronometer Nero had insisted on tossing in the pack for their long trip to Sharlayan until his vision had adjusted to the lights.
0530. He bit back a sigh. Nero was a night owl at the best of times but the man only ever eschewed sleep altogether when there was something weighing on his mind.
Cid considered letting it lie and catching another bell or so of sleep before deciding against it.
Stifling a deep yawn, he pushed himself from his elbows to a seated position and - with more than a little reluctance - kicked the quilt back to free his feet. Mistress Krile had given the senior Ironworks engineers use of the Students of Baldesion's semi-private sleeping quarters during their stay in Sharlayan, and the beds were remarkably comfortable even if the collegiate bunks were somewhat more austere than they'd hoped.
He dressed quickly. Like the surrounding air the marble floor was cold and slightly damp, owing no doubt to Sharlayan's wet northern climate. Cid grimaced at the brief shock of that chill against his bare feet but decided not to bother with the nearby house shoes hastily procured for him. He'd experienced far worse over the years, and he'd be used to the chill by the time he reached the door where his well-worn workboots waited for him.
Shoving his feet into stockings and then the boots, Cid glimpsed out of the corner of one eye through the dorm window that thin silver-grey line like starlight just on the edge of a blue so dark it was nearly black. A sure sign that dawn was imminent, and a sight he had seen countless times before himself having burned his own share of midnight oil over the years.
Somehow it all seemed strangely... still. The star turned as it had ever done even in the face of this latest crisis, yet the morning felt frozen in this one elastic moment that stretched and folded in on itself as if the world were holding its breath. And mayhap it is, he thought. He could feel his own anxiety driving his early morning restlessness, an invisible beast gnawing at the bars of its cage.
Warm light shimmered beneath the door. Cid paused, letting out a soft breath of relief.
When he pushed the door open he saw precisely what he had expected. Nero sat hunched over the unmanned lobby counter on a stool not meant for a man his size in a position that surely could not be comfortable, a decidedly rumpled-looking and half-opened linen undershirt draped over his wiry frame and a set of goldsmith's spectacles slipping down the bridge of his nose. He seemed heedless of the curling forelocks that drooped over his brow as he squinted at the object of his focus and muttered something under his breath.
Cid half-thought his approach had gone unnoticed until Nero spoke without even a wayward glance in his direction.
"You're up early."
"Looking for you. You haven't stayed up all night, have you?"
A listless lift and drop of the shoulders. "What time is it?"
"Half five. I saw you were gone- what are you doing?"
"Not your business, Garlond," and this time he could hear it: the telltale irritation threading itself through Nero's voice that indicated the other engineer had worked himself into a spate of ill temper. Cid crossed his arms and leaned against the threshold of the open door.
"Something's clearly bothering you."
"You are bothering me. I'm trying to concentrate."
"Well, you might as well take a break. I'm not leaving before you talk to me."
Finally, Nero set down the tool he held in his left hand - placed with notable care upon the varnished wood - and uttered an exasperated sigh. "As I've no doubt you intend to nag me incessantly about it, fine. Yes. I'm worried. As anyone with a modicum of sense should be."
"You're worried about Aurelia. You could have said as much."
"No. I couldn't. And this is precisely why."
"Nero-"
"You insist upon making a production of it every time my nose is even slightly out of joint. I merely decided to work on a personal project because I see no point in sitting about twiddling my thumbs. If I am forced to be useless, I might as well be productive."
"Let me finish. I understand. I do. But Aurelia is more than capable of handling herself."
Nero only afforded him a steady glare, mouth set in a grim and unyielding line of displeasure. "That Baldesion woman sent Zenos after her," he said flatly. "Were you aware?"
Cid froze. He didn't know that. After the Ragnarok's signal was lost he'd remained in the bowels of Labyrinthos to consult with Fourchenault Leveilleur and the Forum's engineers.
"Zenos yae Galvus?"
"No, Garlond, Zenos the florist who sells lilies down by the bloody harbor. Yes, Zenos yae Galvus. It's 'viator' now, by the by." Nero's fingers drummed against the countertop with an urgency anyone else would assume to be impatience but Cid knew full well was sheer nervous energy. "So, now that I've given you your answer, I trust you'll leave me be."
Zenos. Cid felt his stomach clench unpleasantly and his mouth seemed to have turned into its own personal wasteland in a span of mere seconds, but after a deep breath of his own he managed to reply, "I can't imagine that Mistress Krile of all people would have done such a thing without any regard for Aurelia's safety. Surely she had her reasons."
"Reasons which she has not seen fit to explain to anyone. Not that it matters. I doubt I would find them satisfactory."
Nero had picked up the tools again as he spoke, and when no response was forthcoming from Cid, returned to his work. His posture was even worse than it had been before, with so much muscular tension to fold his lanky body even farther in on itself, but he had regained his focus on- whatever it was he was doing.
"Will you at least tell me about your project?" Cid asked him.
"No."
"All right, I'll bite. Is there some reason you're being so closemouthed about it?" Nero set down the small hammer, this time opting for a set of thin and delicate-looking pincers. "You realize the toolkit we brought along has-"
"No. This is a matter of personal importance to me, Garlond. I refuse to cut corners for convenience's sake, and work which requires my full attention is a welcome distraction at present." After a moment, he added, somewhat grudgingly: "...That said, I appreciate the thought."
That was a downright amiable response coming from Nero Scaeva, especially given his foul mood, but watching the man's hunched shoulders Cid understood that he wasn't going to get anything more out of him. He shrugged, then ran a hand through his hair. He'd see to a proper brushing once he was a bit more awake. "The Last Stand opens in a half bell," he said. "Might as well break our fast. Do you want me to bring you anything?"
"Coffee. Black." A brief pause. "One of those chocolate eclairs, if they have any."
He hid his answering smile. Nero probably wasn't in the mood to be teased about his sweet tooth.
"I'll be back."
The door snicked shut. One beat passed, then another, and at last a quiet sigh echoed through the half-lit room. With another glance at the door, reassured that he was alone, Nero adjusted the magnifying lens over his left eye. The enhanced view would allow him to place the sapphire into its setting without any unfortunate incidents.
Carefully he lifted the pincers. The stone's tiny facets caught the lamplight with each minute tremor of his hand. They flickered in prismatic shimmers like sunlight dancing over sea waves.
"You'll find out what it is after she's seen it, Garlond," he said aloud, "and not a moment sooner."
Resolute, fear shunted securely into the back of his mind where it would no longer be so troublesome, Nero returned to the task at hand. With any luck he'd finish restoring the ring before her return.
Garlean Warrior of Light [Aurelia Laskaris], original characters, Gaius van Baelsar
AO3 LINK HERE
Fic beneath cut.
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A disconsolate sigh broke the silence, echoing against the purple-toned stones and granite floors.
The palace stood as a towering monument to Ala Mhigan might- or it had done so, once. Anshelm Cotter's descendants had sat the throne for a thousand years, their reign ended in ignominy but a handful of years ago. The XIVth Legion of the Garlean Empire had acted upon their opportunity and sacked the city. The wings full of grand rooms stood all but empty nowadays save for swarms of imperial bureaucrats and the odd legate officer.
The sole occupant of the massive guest wing hallway this evening was a young Garlean girl of ten and a half winters, chewing on the end of one errant forelock and glaring at the light that spilled from the opened doors ahead. She let her shoulders slump and heaved another loud and self-pitying sigh for good measure.
All for naught, it seemed, as none of the nearby adults appeared to take any notice.
Isn't there anything to do around here? I'm so bored.
Only a sennight past Father had announced over supper that there was to be a garden party at the viceroy's palace, hosting all the officers of the legion along with their families. Aurelia would be going, of course, he told L'haiya, and she was to have a new dress made for the occasion. "House Laskaris has our pride to consider," he said, "and I'll not have us put to shame before the other families."
Aurelia barely heard the rest of it. She was thrilled beyond words. The viceroy's palace! And Father wanted to take her with him to a grownup party! He was always going there for important meetings with the army, and now she was finally going to see inside a real palace, and Sazha and Elle would be coming too!
She tried to imagine what it would be like-- there would be fine food and music, no doubt. Maybe even dancing. They were going to a palace, after all.
It was all so exciting that she'd been unable to think of aught else: her studies or even her pianoforte lessons, and L'haiya had given up on forcing the matter halfway through the week.
When they'd arrived, however, she discovered that they were only allowed free reign in one small wing of the building. It consisted of a parlor, a dining room, a library with books full of words that her governess said would be too dense for Aurelia to read, and the small porch and garden beyond.
"But I want to see the whole palace," she complained, crossing her arms in a huff.
"Don't pout, Aurelia. It's unseemly. The reason we're not allowed elsewhere is because the palace is the viceroy's administrative building. The rest of the palace is meant for him and his staff. It's full of important things, and all the tasks the viceroy has to do to keep the province running as smoothly as possible."
"Important things? What sort of things?"
"Things not meant for young eyes," her governess had said, unmistakable irritation in her voice. Aurelia and Sazha exchanged dismayed glances; they both knew that meant her patience was at an end. "As for you, young mistress Laskaris-- you'll be minding me and your lord father and remain where you're bid, do you understand? No exploring out of bounds."
Needless to say, Aurelia's disillusionment had caused the novelty of their palace visit to wear off very quickly. As if to add insult to injury, only moments after their arrival Father had taken Sazha with him and ordered her to remain in the parlor. L'haiya had been drawn into conversation by another Miqo'te woman, leaving Aurelia to her own devices once she was satisfied the girl wouldn't go into any of the restricted areas.
This wasn't turning out at all to be the exciting evening she had hoped for. Feeling quite put out indeed, Aurelia made her way towards the opened back doors, seeking a private place to sulk. Somewhere outside, where Elle couldn't find her and scold her for unladylike behavior.
Once she reached the heavy-looking porch railing she stood on her tiptoes and leveraged her weight up - heedless of the way her dress snagged on the rough-cut bricks and mortar - and stared out over the garden with a listless scowl.
The grounds were very pretty, she had to admit that. Father had called them 'lavish' when he'd described them to her and Elle. He had said this was the smallest of five, built for the old king's wife to host her guests from far away lands. They were still larger than anything Aurelia had ever seen before, certainly nothing like her own small flower bed and its tiny mosaic fountain.
Soft-looking lanterns hung in graceful loops along the outlines of pots and trellises, and the warm evening air sat like a soft blanket on her shoulders, laden with the scents of several flowers she didn't recognize. The greenery was all a kind of pungent-smelling shrub she'd never seen before: immense and close-cut things all trimmed into shapes as if they were statues. They stood like dark sentinels at each corner, guarding the neatly laid brick pathways (Aurelia couldn't help but wonder why the pretty brick footpaths were all just one big circle. They didn't seem to go anywhere interesting at all).
Clusters of officers, all men, milled about the paths in their dress uniforms, laughing and chatting with each other over their drinks. She spotted a few women as well in their evening gowns for the occasion. A few of them wore jewels to decorate their ears and wrists and necks but even those who didn't were no less dazzling to her eyes. Silk organza and sachet drifted about them like perfumed clouds, and in the encroaching twilight all those wispy-looking gowns reminded her of ghostly moth wings. They seemed to flutter about the lights, as if drawn to them.
Aurelia tried to listen to the adults' conversation for some few minutes, but heard nothing worth her attention. The ones who weren't gossiping about other grownups were talking about happenings in the far-off capital and things like trade routes-- subjects she either didn't understand or wasn't interested enough to care about.
With a certain sense of disgust she decided to explore the rest of the grounds by herself. If Sazha got mad that she'd gone ahead without him, well, it was his own fault.
She meandered past the long table with the big glass bowl and little crystal cups - the kitchen staff were scooping spoonfuls of something colorful into small bowls, but she wasn't curious enough to watch - and around the deck. Beyond the sweeping stairs and idle noise she made a discovery: the well-lit upper slope of a neatly trimmed verge. It rolled down a gentle hill and at its base lay sandstone walls and the very tall gates she had seen on their approach (L'haiya had sternly told her to stay away from them) and a few trees like the one by their parlor window at home.
The sound of voices nearby-- young voices-- stopped her in her tracks.
"No, no! You're doing it all wrong, Horatius," someone was saying. Aurelia's brow wrinkled in a frown. The lights from the party didn't go all the way out to the wall; part of the verge was dark and if she squinted she could just barely make out movement below. A bunch of-- boys, it sounded like? Some of the officers' kids, maybe. "You're just supposed to make him jump. Like this."
In almost the same instant she heard an answering clang and rattle, and the cluster of boys below broke into raucous laughter. Aurelia was halfway down the slope, snatching up a stone before she could even think about what she was doing.
The laughing was instantly silenced at the sight of her approach, and in the same instant she saw her best friend, crouched in the grass and staring steadily at his feet. His ears were flattened against his head, and his tail...
They had tied empty cans to his tail.
Enraged, Aurelia rounded on his tormentors, and as she did she recognized Horatius and Linus, two neighborhood boys who always went around causing trouble together. The third boy lived two houses down from the Laskaris villa, a timid lad even younger than herself. "Victor," she snapped at him, "go on. Get out of here."
His chin wobbled, but lifted in defiance nonetheless. "No girl tells me what to do."
"Victor bas Ennius," Aurelia put on the most threatening scowl she could muster, "you get out of here and go back to that party right now and maybe I won't have L'haiya tell your mum what I saw you doing. If you're lucky."
Victor looked from her cold and furious face to the two larger boys and she watched his resolve crumble like a piece of chalk left out in the rain. He stumbled backward a few steps, then took off running up the verge towards the garden. The two remaining boys, laughing, shouted insults after him, called him a coward.
Good, she thought angrily. It's what he deserves. He knows better.
"Relia," Sazha muttered at her back. His voice was unsteady enough to let her know that he was close to tears. "Don't."
"What's the matter?" Horatius' words were as cloying as the exaggerated pout he wore. "Aww, don't be so mad, Aurelia! We didn't know the ickle kitty cat was yours."
"You should put a collar on him in case he gets lost again," Linus chimed in, jabbing at his accomplice's ribs with one elbow, and the pair broke into a fresh wave of jeering laughter. Aurelia could feel the stone, still clasped securely within her closed fist as she stepped forward.
"Where did you get those cans, anyway, Linus?" she shot back. "Did you dig them out of the trash bin with you when you got up this morning?"
Linus' smile disappeared.
"You better watch your mouth if you know what's good for you and your friend, you little brat."
"And you better leave Sazha alone from now on. Or else."
"Or else what? You think we're scared of you?" Horatius shot back. "Think your pater's going to come beat us up for you? He doesn't have the stones. Not for the bastard he got stuck with."
Aurelia's face blanched to the color of paper. She was young yet, but she knew well enough what that word meant.
"You take that back!"
"Yeah? Are you gonna make me, bastard?"
"Stop, Relia!" Sazha shouted, dragging himself to his feet at last. "Don't let him-"
He was too late and Aurelia would have paid him no mind even if she had been willing to listen.
She reared back her fist and belted Horatius bas Dellius in the face as hard as she could. There was a loud and awful crunching noise, the rock in her hand lending force to the blow. Horatius' nose all but crumpled under her fist and a bright spray of red erupted behind it.
Something warm and wet struck her cheeks and her neck, but Aurelia barely noticed through her furious haze. She hit him a second time, and a third, and another, and another.
He fell to the ground and Aurelia fell with him.
Someone nearby was shouting an alarum. There were footsteps, multiple footsteps on the grass. Aurelia heard and didn't care. They weren't important. She hissed and spat and shouted the foulest curses she could remember overhearing from her father at the top of her lungs, fists flying with as many wild punches as her small and spindly body could manage to land.
Horatius recovered from his shock quickly. One of his own fists struck her square in the jaw and cheekbone-- but even the shocking flash of pain that cracked through her temple and the stars crackling at the edges of her vision weren't enough to stop her rampage. He grabbed one of her wrists and yanked her forward to grab a fistful of her curls, then lost his grip when teeth sank into the unprotected meat of his forearm.
"Get her off me!" he shouted, but Aurelia was not done.
"Father does want me!" she screamed, still pummeling. "He does! He does! You take that back, Horatius bas Dellius! You take that back!!"
"Make-"
"ENOUGH!"
A pair of hands scruffed them both and dragged them apart, as effortlessly as if they were pups fighting over table scraps. Aurelia dangled mid-air, still spitting curses as Horatius was dropped without ceremony to the ground. His left eye was blackened and his face was covered in blood-- what little she could see of it with him cupping his nose with both hands.
Her belly dropped through the ground when she saw her governess' face, livid with anger.
"Aurelia Constantia bas Laskaris," L'haiya dus Eyahri hissed, shaking her by the collar, "you are in a world of trouble, young miss."
"They were hurting Sazha! They were throwing rocks at him! And Horatius called me-"
"I do not care what he called you! You've humiliated me and you've made a fool of yourself and your father. Do you have any idea what-"
"Mistress Eyahri," a deep, mild voice interrupted, "if I may?"
A tall, bronzed man stepped forward, wearing a scarlet-trimmed black uniform. Father had some of the medals he wore on his chest, but this man had far more of them and there were quite a few of them that Aurelia didn't recognize. His expression was grave but she thought she saw the faint quirk of a smile turning up one corner of his mouth.
Elle immediately lowered her charge to the ground.
"My lord," she said, her bow and her speech both more formal than Aurelia had ever heard before. "I offer Lord rem Laskaris' most sincere apologies for his daughter's behavior. Pray forgive the girl; she is young and thoughtless."
The stranger still wore that oddly rueful half-smile. "There is nothing to forgive, madam," he replied. "Tribunus sas Dellius might feel otherwise, perhaps. All the same, he is a reasonable man, and I rather believe he will consider this incident highly educational for his son. Perhaps young Horatius will consider his actions -- and the odds -- more wisely in future."
Out of the corner of her eye Aurelia thought she saw the boy cringe and look away. Or maybe he was just trying to stop his nose from bleeding.
"As you say, lord viceroy."
He inclined his chin towards her governess in acknowledgement before turning his attention to Aurelia herself. She swallowed, her stomach turning in sudden apprehension (or perhaps it was the building throb of pain in her bruised face. Horatius' punch was starting to really hurt). She had attacked a tribune's son at the viceroy's garden party - a tribune who was one of her father's superiors.
Bad enough that Elle had seen it, but Lord van Baelsar had seen it too and that was so much worse. Father was going to be furious.
"Young mistress Laskaris, I presume," he said. He took her right hand - either not noticing or simply not minding that her knuckles were smeared red - and patted it gently. "A pleasure to meet you. Your father speaks well of you."
"He does?" Aurelia bit her lip, winced at a fresh wave of pain and the coppery taste of her own blood, and tried with all the pitiful dignity she still possessed to sketch him a curtsy. A very clumsy, wobbly curtsy; the world still spun a touch and she felt very dizzy. "P-pleased to meet you. Lord Viceroy. Ser."
"It was very brave of you to come to your young friend's rescue. You were outnumbered," he said. "Somewhat foolhardy, yes. But very brave. And strong. That strength will serve you well."
Aurelia wasn't sure if it was praise, not quite, but she'd take it. "Thank you, ser."
He was almost smiling; there was something like a twinkle in his pale golden eyes. "A word of advice, Mistress Laskaris." The legatus took her hand and balled it into a fist, then gently clasped her wrist and guided her arm in a slow arc through the air. "Aim like this the next time you throw a punch. You'll hit your target more often, you'll strike with more concentrated force, and you stand a far lesser chance of injuring yourself."
She couldn't think of anything to say except, "I'll remember that, ser."
As if no incident had transpired at all, the viceroy stood and strode back up the verge towards the garden without another word spoken. After a few bemused moments, the rest of the party followed.
~*~
"Was it worth it?" Sazha asked later. He'd grabbed his brush when she sneaked downstairs to get him, and now he sat on her bed while she brushed his freshly washed tail to a glorious, shining softness. Its tip twitched gently against the palm of her hand.
"Was what worth it?"
"Your da grounding you for the next fortnight."
"Aye, it was. ...Maybe. My dress is ruined from all the blood, I thi- Hey! Ow!" She slapped his hand away with a wince. "Don't poke my cheek! it hurts!"
"The medicus didn't heal it?"
"Not all of it. He said it has to heal on its own."
"Oh."
They fell silent for a moment. Aurelia could hear the burble of her little garden fountain through the open window. A cool breeze struck her face, whispering gently against her cheek and the eye that had swollen shut. She sighed.
"Sazha?"
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to say that... that I'm sorry. About tonight. I should have listened. I know you didn't want me to pick a fight, but I couldn't stop myself."
"I just didn't want you to get in trouble." His brow creased with a worried frown. "And are you all right? What they said to you about your father, that was cruel. I knew there was talk but-"
"What they said doesn't matter. Not really. It hurt but it just... on top of everything else it just made me mad more than anything. They were going to really hurt you, Sazha. I had to do something." She set down the brush in her hand. "...Have they been doing that kind of stuff to you this whole time?"
"Not the whole time." He shrugged listlessly, eyes cast away from hers. "I'm usually better at making sure they can't find me."
"Sazha, if you had just said something-"
"And then what? Relia, you don't understand how things are for me. Or for Elle. You can't, because you can't see them."
"See?"
"It's... never mind." It was Sazha's turn to sigh. "It's not something I can explain and it doesn't matter now anyway."
"Sazha-"
"I told you, never mind. I don't want to talk about it anymore." He slid off her bed, righted himself, then paused. The distant expression in his eyes was gone and the boy she knew was there once more, offering her a mischievous smirk. "...I'm not really all that sorry you stepped in, you know. I've never seen Horatius bas Dellius take a beating like that, and from someone half his size? I wager he had to empty his smalls when he got home."
"Elle was mad. Really mad."
"I know. She used your middle name."
"Right in front of Father's whole legion." Aurelia grinned. "I broke his nose."
"I think the viceroy was impressed."
"Father rather less so."
"It could have been worse."
"He'll never invite me to another dinner."
Sazha shrugged. "Maybe not, but do you really care?"
Aurelia considered the question for a beat. Recalled the elegance of the ladies' gowns, the uniforms, the grandeur of the palace and the food and the idle chatter. The gardens in their neat rows and the shaped shrubberies. At last she shook her head. The movement made her head throb in silent protest.
"Hells, no," she said with a short laugh. "That was the most boring party I've ever been to."
"You can say that again. Stay here."
"Where are you going?"
"To the kitchen. I don't know about you but I could eat a chocobo whole. Are you hungry? I can get you some mangoes."
"Sure!"
Aurelia beamed at Sazha. Once he had bounced through the door and drew it closed with a soft snick, she reached for one of the adventure stories from the shelf by her bed. She could practice reading her Eorzean letters while they ate.
The night, she thought cheerfully, was already improving.
The light in the room was dimmed but all she had to do was crack her eyes a sliver for it to stab like a thousand knives. The girl groaned weakly and pulled the blanket back over her head.
Something weighted down the edge of her mattress.
"Relia, dear, come now. You need to sit up."
"Don't want to," she rasped.
"The medicus will be here soon to check on you."
"I don't care." Her throat was so swollen that her voice seemed to crack and whistle like the sound of the wind around the eaves at night. "I don't want another of his draughts, Elle."
"The medicine will help you get well more quickly, dear."
"I don't care! It tastes bloody awful."
"Aurelia."
"What?"
"Language."
She scowled up at her Miqo'te caretaker. Her annoyance failed to impress L'haiya, if the woman's cool expression was aught to go by, and with a grumble Aurelia rolled over and buried her face in her pillow again.
"I hate being sick," the complaint was so muffled that it was little more than a vague mumble into the linens. "I'm too tired to do anything.”
“You should get some rest.”
“I don’t want to rest! I can’t sleep anyway. Can't Sazha come visit me? I'm so bored."
"You're clearly feeling better enough to complain. And no. He can't."
"Why not? I’ll stay in bed, Elle, I promise."
"Because you still have a fever, dear. He could catch your sour throat just keeping you company in the room for a few minutes," one strong hand grasped Aurelia's shoulder and rolled her over, then hauled her upward into a sitting position. L'haiya ignored her tiny squeak of surprised protest, "and frankly one ill child is tiresome enough for my liking. Drink this."
"Elle, I don't want-"
"For heavens' sake, girl! It isn't medicine, it's tea. With a bit of lemon in."
"I don't like tea."
"I put honey in it."
Aurelia stared doubtfully into the contents of the cup. She wasn't very fond of tea, really, it was too bitter for her liking, but... she hadn't really had much to eat or drink the past few days. Her throat felt like a windbreak that had been blown dry and blasted with sand. Anything she drank was going to hurt a lot, but maybe something warm wouldn't be so bad.
And she did like honey. Quite a lot, actually.
"Well," she said, lifting the teacup, "I guess I can try it."
Midsummer in Gyr Abania was hotter than the ashy rim of Ifrit's arsehole, especially in late afternoon when the heat waves were actually visible in shimmering sheets from the salt flats, but for the first time since they'd arrived in the fringes the perpetually miserable summer weather was the farthest thing from Wedge's mind.
The greatest minds of the Garlond Ironworks stood at the lip of a canyon the locals called the Yawn in bewildered silence. There was some degree of bemusement writ large on every face in their little congregation as they all stared into the decidedly suspicious-looking violet morass below. Even the Chief seemed to be at a loss.
"Well, um," the Warrior of Light said to no one in particular, "that just happened."
She didn't seem to have expected an answer. It was just one of those declaratory statements that didn't really have a response, Wedge decided. But he didn't want her to feel awkward so when he caught her eye he made sure to offer a sage nod.
She wasn't wrong, after all. It was, in fact, a thing, and that thing had certainly just happened. Was continuing to happen, as much as they all wished it would stop happening.
Besides, Wedge liked Miss Aurelia. World-famous hero (heroine?) or not, Garlean or not, she was friendly, gentle, and quick-witted. Rather reminded him of the Chief, really. Her returning smile and nod made him grateful; at least it was something to take his mind off of-
"Midgardsormr," Nero tol Scaeva was saying, shaking his head incredulously at her. "You know the Father of Dragons himself."
"Yes."
"Last I knew what was left of him was wrapped around that blasted shipwreck in the lake."
"That's also him. It's- listen, it's a long story and we don't really have time to explain. Can we just-"
"Kweh!" said the...
What was it, anyway? Some sort of... construct?
Wedge squinted at it. Brave little bugger, whatever it was. Didn't seem like a bad sort. Even if it had just come popping out of nowhere along with that rainbow dragon... thing. Dragon-thing.
"What is that?" Nero said, brows furrowed.
Wedge didn't like Nero. He was always looking for some reason to insult the Chief, and he'd been working for the Black Wolf until recently which wasn't exactly a point in his favor. But the Chief was playing nice, and if Miss Aurelia thought he meant them harm she'd have done something about him already. So Wedge decided he was going to be civil too. For now.
Ignoring Nero for now, Wedge knelt down in front of the little yellow creature. Its head, almost comically oversized for its short, squat body, tilted this way and that, a question in its large blue eyes.
"Kweh?" it chirped.
"It's a construct!" Wedge said. "A robot!"
Its chin and feathers sagged as one, as if he'd just called it something unmentionable.
"....maybe a chocobo?"
"Kweh!" the robot... chocobo answered, with a small and cheerful hop. Biggs shook his head.
"That doesn't look like any chocobo I've ever seen," he said.
"What? He's yellow and he's got the beak and feathers and all, hasn't he? And he kwehs, doesn't he? Maybe he's just... some unknown species or something. Or maybe even the first of his kind! We could call him Alpha!"
Nero pinched the bridge of his nose.
"A chocobo that sprang fully formed from the same purple primordial soup as another construct that would have eaten us whole if it had taken a corporeal form. You'll pardon me if I seem somewhat doubtful it’s what it appears to be."
"If it kwehs like a chocobo it's a chocobo. That's what I think."
Wedge folded his arms as if the matter was solved and discussion ended. Nero shrugged.
"As you like," he said. "It's a chocobo, then. A unique species worthy of further study."
"I agree. We should-"
"We should dissect it and examine its absurdly enlarged head," Nero continued. "For science."
"What- you are not dissecting Alpha!" Wedge scowled at the Garlean as fiercely as a three fulm-six ilm tall Lalafell could manage. "And his head is just fine the way it is!"
Alpha squinted at Nero, made a displeased wark, and fluffed its bright yellow feathers.
At almost that precise moment, the Warrior of Light rolled up her handful of hunt-mark bills, stood on her tiptoes, and with a long-suffering sigh whapped Nero tol Scaeva upside the head.
NOTE: This is part 1 of the follow-up to the prompt fill “Ultracrepidarian” from FFXIVWrite 2020. If you haven’t read it, you can find that link here.
Fic under cut.
===
"I really don't know why you're going to all this trouble," Aurelia said. Her words went all but unnoticed by her aunt, currently situated in a nearby chair poring over a book while the tailor's assistant silently hemmed and hawed and scribbled something on his tablet between measurements.
Despite the bone-numbing cold of the street outdoors, the small boutique felt stiflingly hot. The ceruleum heater chugging away in the corner was the obvious culprit, as Aurelia could see from her perch that the dial was turned all the way up for some mad reason. She could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down her temples and into the valley betwixt her breasts: a decidedly unpleasant sensation that also left her feeling acutely self-conscious. Her arms ached from shoulder to elbow for holding them up and out without moving for so long, an added discomfort which wasn't helping to improve her mood.
She tried again.
"Aunt Marcella?"
Marcella het Laskaris heaved an annoyed sigh, stuck her finger in the spine of the book to mark her place, and met her niece's gaze with undisguised impatience in her pale grey eyes. "Glory be, child! You and your questions will be the death of me."
"What? I just wanted to know if you heard what I said, that's all."
"Yes, dear. I heard you. This is a generous gift, so kindly be grateful for it and stop concerning yourself with the whys and wherefores. It's not as if the expense is coming out of your pocket."
"Oh hells, here we go again," Aurelia muttered under her breath. For the first time that afternoon she found herself thankful for the loud rattle of the space heater.
"What?"
"Nothing. Never mind." She didn't know why she was even surprised by these exchanges anymore. Aunt Marcella had been like this since the day she'd come to live under her aunt and uncle's roof six years ago: always ready to dish out a hearty serving of advice to her brother-in-law's only daughter, whether it was solicited or not. Along with that gravy boat full of piping hot cultural guilt to pour on top, Aurelia thought dismally.
But any altercation she had with her aunt in a public place would get back to her uncle and that was its own headache she didn't want to deal with, so in the end Aurelia settled for the answer most likely to placate her.
"Aunt, I don't need a new dress yet. It can wait until matriculation."
"That's not the point, dear."
"We're not attending a ball, aunt-"
"And what sort of attitude is that? Why are you being so difficult, Aurelia? I simply want you to look your best for our guests."
"Aunt," she was no longer patient enough to keep the irritation from her voice, "I have half a dozen evening frocks that will serve quite well enough for a dinner with Uncle's friends."
"Not this one," Aunt Marcella said. Aurelia frowned.
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
Her aunt had returned to her reading and either didn't hear her, or (and Aurelia thought this rather more likely) chose not to. The heater rattled into the tense silence for a few more beats.
"You may drop your arms, young mistress," the man said, and Aurelia obeyed with a barely suppressed sigh of relief. It took conscious effort not to shake the stiffness out of her arms. "Thank you for your patience, my lady. Shall we look at some fabric samples? We've just received a shipment from Nagxia."
"Oh, there's no need to trouble yourself," Aunt Marcella interrupted. She strode towards them, imposing despite her relatively meager height, tucking her book into her handbag as she closed the distance. "Hannish silk will do very well for this event, I think. That is, if you still have it in stock."
"I'm quite certain we do, my lady. A moment, pray."
The assistant took his leave to return a few minutes later with a brace of cloth bolts, one tucked beneath each arm, which he spread out upon the table for perusal. The first was a delicate pale peach-toned rose that put Aurelia in mind of the tea roses in their greenhouse. Pretty enough, but it reminded her too much of the dresses she wore as a child.
The second was pastel green, a leafy color that she would have chosen for herself. She cast a hopeful glance at her aunt, but Marcella was already shaking her head. "You said it yourself, dear," she said. "We aren't planning to attend a ball and green is all wrong for this time of year."
Aurelia began, "Neither is-"
"I'll hear no more, Aurelia. You'll enjoy the end result, that shade of pink will be very becoming on you."
Equal parts embarrassed and annoyed, she left them each to their tasks - the assistant to roll out the yalmage and cut, her aunt to confirm that the actual work would be completed by Master Ignatius himself and dictate when she expected the finished product to be delivered - and drifted toward the window to watch the sky deposit a few more ilms of snow onto Garlemald's streets. It fell in an ethereal white curtain, softening even the stark lines and unrelenting ugliness of imperial architecture.
That veneer of serenity wouldn't last, of course. The forecast on national radio just that morning had predicted there would be a storm rolling in. Not a large one by any means but by nightfall everything from the palace to the outlying regiones plebes would be blanketed in a fulm at least and the roads would be nigh impassable. It was probably why her aunt had been so insistent they complete the errand today.
But that cryptic response nagged at the back of her mind all the way back to the villa.
