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part of the rewrite of my DRK zine fic i'm working on!
A knock at the door shattered his reverie; he blinked to refocus—still holding the jar of earth shards, still not a damned clue what he could do with them—and glanced up toward the front door, and Hanami, who had climbed up onto the counter to reach an upper cabinet. “You going to get that?” he asked. She was right there, after all, and it wasn’t as though Sid was particularly well-known for his neighborly hospitality.
“Not my house,” she said, and slammed the cabinet door for emphasis. “Not my problem.”
He heaved a sigh and abandoned the crystals, inching past her perch on the counter so he could reach the door. At least it had sounded like a polite knock, rather than the pounding thud-thud-thuds that had echoed through the alleyways when irate Temple Knights were making their rounds.
The man on the other side of the door was an elezen, sort of knobbly with age and nearly swallowed by the frills on the green coat he wore. Sid felt his shoulders set before his conscious thought could quite catch up—those were Haillenarte colors, what did this man want—but before he could say anything the man offered a swift, shallow bow. “Begging your pardons, ser,” he said. “I do apologize for the disturbance. I am Focrineau, and it is my deepest honor to serve at the pleasure of Lord Francel de Haillenarte—though I fear I must also apologize for my brevity, as it is business regarding Lord Francel that brings me here. Might there be a Lady Hagane on the premises?”
Well, at least he made no bones about the fact that he didn’t give a rat’s arse about Sid, which was somewhat comforting. Though he was going to have a word with Hanami if her showing up here meant even more of her stiff-collared friends would be turning up at all hours. He turned to catch sight of Hanami with her forehead pressed to the bottom of the cabinet, obviously on the tail end of a sigh.
“Don’t know that I’d call her a lady, but aye, she’s here,” he said, and stepped away as Hanami hopped down from the counter. “For you,” he added, and sidestepped the elbow she tried to drive into his gut as she passed.
Summary: Aymeric is a dutiful husband and orders coats for his wife--but he forgets a little detail.
Note: This is a late prize for @efrmellifer for being one of the winners of the Wondrous Tails event! I loved reading about her and Aymeric together, and I equally loved writing them. Their relationship is adorable and so wholesome UvU
It was a cold day in Ishgard, as many of them often were. With the bitter chill able to slip into one’s very bones if they were not properly clothed, Aymeric often wondered if it bothered Etien more than she cared to tell him. Though he and his fellow countrymen had barely several years to grow accustomed to the plummeting temperatures, she did not. Her home of the Black Shroud was certainly not as hot as the desert of Thanalan or the sea-swept La Noscea, but he knew enough to say it didn’t often experience anything less than late-nights of mild chill.
Similarly, he had heard many times over by way of rumor that those of her blood--Miqo’te--were oftentimes sensitive to the cold. Aymeric of course wasn’t the type of man to take a few errant rumours and assume them to be undoubtable fact, but it did certainly add to the man’s worry for Etien’s health as her husband.
And, ever the doting of partners, Aymeric had several coats commissioned for her, seeing as she had so few already, and what others she owned didn’t seem at all made for the bitter cold so often experienced through Ishgardian nights.
They were of hardy make, with thick layers of leather and fur that left an equally pleasing and durable design.
But there was one detail missed in the transaction of said coats--easily overlooked, as their marriage had been something of a hushed event, if only to make sure she was not accosted nor Aymeric constantly questioned each and every time they stepped foot in Ishgard together. Of course, any person with a decent sense of curiosity and patience would be able to piece together all the bits of information left between them to realize that both the Warrior of Light and Lord Commander were wed to one another.
But Aymeric respected the fact that it was something of an off-hand fact, not a piece of knowledge regularly known to even the noble houses of Ishgard. So of course, when he commissioned for coats, he had left out the fact that they were for his wife and not for himself—
And so when she went to try them on, Etien was completely engulfed in the material.
“I think there may be a detail or two that is off with them,” the young woman said, raising her hands so that the cuff of the coat hung over the empty space, too long for her arms. “I understand that you want me to stay warm, Aymeric, but this is perhaps…” she laughed and glanced down at how the coat practically smothered over her shoulders, only barely lifted from the ground about midway down her lower legs.
“Ah,” Aymeric wasn’t sure whether he wanted to feel more amused, endeared, or embarrassed at the situation. “I neglected to inform the craftsperson about whom the commission was for.”
Etien’s eyes remained on the coat for a few moments, and she gestured lightly with her arms, as if testing how hard it was to move them while smothered with the heavy coat.
“Well, it’s warm regardless,” she turned around, watching herself in the mirror on the bedroom wall. “Perhaps they can be altered in some way? I’d hate for them to be wasted…”
Aymeric hummed at the suggestion.
“I can certainly inquire about that.”
Etien turned again, and again--both in body as much as her thoughts, the woman’s face set into a look of concentration.
Then, she looked towards Aymeric with a smile; the poor man felt his heartbeat skip from the sight alone.
“Can we donate them to the Brume? I know of several at least whose coats are worn paper-thin, and they would make far greater use of these than I ever will.”
The idea caught Aymeric off-guard for a moment, but quickly he felt like an even greater fool for not seeing such an easy solution to a problem that was entirely self-made.
“Of course!” he felt heat on his cheeks from both embarrassment and now-definite endearment. “Though, while silly of me to ask this, I request to keep just one of them.”
“And why is that?” Etien asked, tilting her head into the thick fur trim around the collar; it framed her face perfectly.
“Well,” the commander suddenly felt his voice grow quiet, and no amount of bravado could push it louder. “While a bit large, I admit that it looks….cute. On you.”
Etien was silent for a moment, but shuffled herself closer towards him. He could barely see her tail twitch beneath the coat (another detail that made them ill-fitting for her), and she moved until she could gently press her forehead to the front of his body.
“I don’t think it’s silly,” she murmurs against him. “And it makes me happy when you say such things about me.”
The two of them stood together for a few moments, with Aymeric eventually wrapping his arms around her and enjoying the moment of peace and domesticity they shared. When they were both such important people to so many others, there were often stretches of time when such moments seemed impossible to share.
so the thing is, hanami left doma (years ago now, and it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long until it does) completely single-minded: she would free doma from garlean rule, or she would die in the attempt. she lived her life with every waking moment dedicated to her warpath. for a long time, she only wanted to view eorzea as a training ground, or a stepping stone. just a way to get back home. then she went and got attached--to the places, but mostly to the people--and they changed her, as attachments do, and by the time she went home she was a very different woman than the one who had left, and home had changed too. and she freed it.
she got what she wanted. now what?
...now she needs to figure out what home really means, these days, and whether it has to be a place or people, and how far she’s willing to go to be there. whether she can have more than one home. and she needs to figure out how thin she can spread her heart before it snaps. so right now, she’d kill for some answers.
25. What is something they think they’re bad at, but are actually pretty competent at?
if we’re talking mundane everyday skills: cooking. she’s not bad, she just doesn’t enjoy it. same thing for academic study--she likes to present herself as this uneducated farm kid-turned-merc who doesn’t have time for the more cerebral pursuits, but she’s very smart and very teachable; it just has to be something that interests her, which usually means it has to be something she can do with her hands. if you say the word “aetherology” she will not listen to whatever words come after, but she loves working with aetherytes and enchanted machinery and has a lot of experience working with both. she won’t learn in a library or a lecture hall: stick her in a workshop and she’ll shine.
for a more meta answer: making friends. “i hate people,” says local lizard, looking very aloof next to her small army of loved ones, with four adopted teenagers clinging to her ankles.
27. Do they have any cool scar stories?
hanami has three kinds of scars. she has:
Plot-Relevant Scars, which are things like her broken horn, or the gash across her stomach from rhalgr’s reach; those are not things she considers cool or fun, and she prefers not to talk about them at all;
Gnarly Scars With Stupid Stories, such as the one up the back of her right thigh, which looks like an incredible battle scar and is actually from the time she fell off her roof while drunk and cut herself on a loose nail;
and Boring Scars With Incredible Origins, like the little pockmark on the inside of her palm from a piece of glass, except the piece of glass came from an imperial gunship that she ripped the windshield off of with her bare hands so that she could kill the pilot inside.
