#house requingris

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Junelezen Day 2: Home

You are always welcome within these halls, my dear.

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Prompt 6: Onerous

They wanted thumbs.

That was it, that was their reason for wanting to work for her. Eliane could only blink owlishly down at the two little wyrmlings, who gazed back up at her with the largest, softest, blackest eyes she had ever seen. It didn’t help that those puppy eyes somehow reminded her of her own children, though that was likely due to the inherent mischief hiding just behind them.

“I...must say, that is certainly the most unique reason anyone has ever wanted to work for me,” Eliane managed at last. “But I fear you two have me at a loss. How would working in a manufactory allow you both to acquire thumbs?”

It is what happened to Ehll Tou, the blue wyrmling replied.

Indeed, said the red wyrmling. Ehll Tou says that working alongside Man is very fun! She says that it changed how she grew and now she can use tools the way Man does.

We want to be able to use tools too, said the blue wyrmling. So we need Men to work with.

But we do not want to wait for new claws, said the red wyrmling. Manufactories make many goods at great speed, so working in one will make the process quicker. Probably.

Eliane had to breathe a laugh. This was easily the most surreal conversation she’d ever had. But the pups’ claims did at least somewhat track: Ehll Tou was rather infamously the darling of the Firmament these suns, and rumors about her abound. She’d been roughly their size when she arrived in Ishgard, and after a few weeks of helping with the Restoration she had gone through an astounding growth spurt – which apparently was not unusual for dragons – during which time she’d developed opposable claws. Ehll Tou insisted that dragons were very sensitive to their environment, and that being exposed to Men in such a supportive manner had triggered her growth. Eliane could not say a word on it either way, for her expertise on dragon anatomy began and ended with Xanadu’s books, and, well...she wasn’t entirely certain anymore how accurate those were.

So she couldn’t honestly tell these little dragons whether or not working for her would give them thumbs, although she certainly doubted that working in a manufactory would make the process faster. Eliane told them as much, and warned them of the dangers, making certain to point out that her factory had not been made for people so small, let alone anyone who could fly.

But the dragons insisted, and she did not have the heart to tell them no.

That was when the trouble began.

Ishgard had a great many new policies in regards to dragonkind, and many people, yet rooted in the old ways, felt such laws had been erected by a power-hungry usurper who’d murdered his father. Unfortunately for them, said usurper had a close and lasting friendship with a living superweapon, and so long as the Warrior of Light drew breath no one was foolish enough to attempt assassinating Aymeric de Borel. What they could do, however, was make it as onerous as possible for dragons and ex-heretics to live in Ishgard.

The first week, Eliane was met with concerned inspectors who had received reports that she was using child labor. Eliane patiently explained that the wyrmlings were each over two-hundred years old and that they had come to her seeking employment.

“How old do they have to be,” she asked, “before they are no longer children?”

Unable to answer that, the inspectors left.

The next week she was told that she had not filed the proper paperwork required to hire foreign workers. Eliane lost the argument that Dravanians were not foreign given they were the original inhabitants of these lands, and was forced to fill out a mountain of redundant forms. This evil she passed unto her secretaries, along with an entire cake and a few bottles of wine by way of apology.

The third week, tax collectors arrived to inform her that the dragons were required register and pay tax on their wages. When Eliane informed them that, contrary to old legends, the dragons had no interest in Man’s concept of currency and had declined payment, she then got in trouble for not paying them. Eliane was forced to give gil to the wyrmlings who, at a loss for what to do with it, first tried eating it. When that proved unpleasant, they then gave it to their co-workers, who seemed more interested in it anyway.

But that singular act of innocence endeared them all the more to the workers of the Bellworks. They’d already enjoyed the presence of their unusual new comrades even before the wyrmlings had begun simply giving money away. Most were too honest to take it in the first place, and those who accepted it only did so because the pups were highly insistent. While Eliane was busy battling bureaucracy, she retired from her office each sun to find spirits on the foundry floor unusually high. Everyone was laughing and chattering, delighting in teaching the wyrmlings new things – and the wyrmlings, for their part, were giddy to be learning.

But on the fourth week, Eliane emerged into the yard to find that Barengar had been waiting for her. He’d brought the triplets, all of whom were far too mobile for one-year-olds courtesy of their Ala Mhigan blood. And there, she found them playing with the two wyrmlings. They squealed in delight as they chased the pups or were chased, and as the golden hour’s light caught upon the dragons’ scales she could swear they looked much bigger.

The Baroness could only stand and stare, smiling like a fool as her heart sang.

Perhaps there was something to all this after all.

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Prompt 13: Confluence

How soon these halls had fallen into disarray. A few short years ago, when the Inquisition was yet in its prime, there wouldn’t be a spider web nor speck of dust to be found. Dried leaves blew in from across the Sea of Clouds to rattle over the stonework; they crunched and hissed under Alvere Renaud’s boots now as he passed. Skrhh, skrhh, skrhh. The sound simultaneously prickled his skin and resonated with him. He scratched his hands absently, then his neck, only then noticing the tension in his jaw. Relax, relax.

Many of the others here looked as he did: bowed shoulders, wild-eyed. A hollowness that hadn’t been there before. Technically they all still had their stations. Technically they were all still inquisitors. But DeBorel had come and prized out their teeth, and now they had nothing, nothing.

Winged shadows now passed free over the cobbles below. Malformed miscreants were returning to their homes. And that was supposed to be normal now, as if overnight the Fury had changed Her mind.

Doomed. Damned. All of them. Degeneracy ran free in Ishgard, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He wheeled into his chambers, bolted the heavy door, hurried to the special locked drawer in his desk. It took too many tries for his trembling hands to fit key to lock. But it was still in there. Of course it was. It always was. No one knew about the box, so no one could disturb it.

Carefully, Alvere brought it to his chest and pulled the lid open. Within were two separate locks of spun copper. The first, and longer, he’d taken from Olivie Dufresne that fateful day he’d pushed her too far; the second, he’d snuck from Eliane in church when she was deep in prayer beside him. His treasures. They’d meant to give them to him as a promise, only, well – they hadn’t realized that yet. It wasn’t their fault. Alvere simply took it upon himself to make that promise for them.

Only now. Now! Now Olivie had left. She’d departed Ishgard forever. It was for the best, perhaps, as Halone was surely due to smite this fallen city any sun; but deep down he also knew that it was because of him. He’d wronged her, oh how he’d wronged her so! His heart shrivelled as he remembered her cries.

No, my beloved. That was not how it was meant to be.

Alvere paused a moment, clutching his head as it swam. So much dust. Black dust, everywhere. He swore sometimes that it followed him.

He sighed softly, and returned Olivie’s hair to the box – but then found himself staring at Eliane’s. She was still here, after all. A witch her mother may have been, but Eliane’s blood ran Ishgardian blue. She would never leave this city. And she understood. She did. How often she spent time with him, long after the tragedy had passed!

Only now she was trapped. Chained by wedding ring to that heathen. That brute. Alvere couldn’t comprehend what in the world could have happened to allow Eliane Dufresne to wind up in the arms of a highlander, but surely it wasn’t by choice. It was a matter he doubted Lord Emmereaux was especially pleased about; once upon a time he surely would have found an ally in the man, except Emmereaux had sworn to strangle him the next time they saw one another. Only Eliane still spoke to him anymore. Only Eliane, yes. Only Eliane.

He could still make amends, couldn’t he?

But first he had to free her.

Alvere put the box down, began to pace, coughed as he accidentally inhaled a bit more dust. There had to be a weak link here somewhere – there always was. Perhaps there was an old law leftover from the Autumn War, forbidding Ala Mhigans from holding Ishgardian lands or titles. Perhaps the man himself had secrets he’d rather not have come to light. Those were always fun strings to pull. Yes, there were options, there were always options.

It’d require a careful confluence of misfortune, but Barengar could be removed. Alvere highly doubted that beast could survive for long in the Game. His folly, for thinking he had any place up here to begin with.

And so, Alvere began to pull books. Law, scripture, census records – no, he needed more. He needed the Ala Mhigan’s entire paper trail. Past employment. Criminal records. Any and all gory details.

And he began to read. And he began to think.

And he was hounded, always hounded, by that damnable black dust.

[tea-and-conspiracy]

Junelezen 2022 Day 13: Stormblood

“Some say an Ala Mhigan does not -- could not -- belong here. But he’s more a knight than many who take the title; my love and my best friend besides. More than anyone or anything else, ‘tis Barengar who keeps me honest.”

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Junelezen 2022 Day 16: Lunar Cycle

“Uncle Cyrusoix has some...unorthodox ideas about the moon. If nothing else, it makes dinners with the Sharlayan side of the family very lively.”

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Pondering the triplets all grown up. Have some Elflanders.

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Apisteō (EW lv 82 spoilers)

Sharlayan was everything Eliane had expected and more.

Her memories of the Dravanian Sharlayan – of “Emporium”, as Mother still insisted on calling it – were by now faded paintings. Youth was so different that way. The sun had seemed brighter then, the sky bigger; the buildings towered in monolithic marble overhead. Now, standing on these turquoise paths, she had to inwardly laugh at her younger self. While there wasn’t a city on this star that could rival Ishgard’s monumental architecture, Old Sharlayan’s buildings put all but the Great Gubal Library in Emporium to shame. The pearlescent marble, the gilded trimmings, the susurrous gossip of water and hush of the marine forest in the humid salt breeze – all felt like swimming in a heavenly dream. In that moment she realized how much her mother must have loved her father, to have left for Ishgard instead of joining her family upon this idyllic isle.

At least, ‘idyllic’ had been the initial impression.

Her first few suns were as perfect as could be. She spent time wandering the markets with her brother as she had in turns past, rushing from stall to stall as the merchants held court. They seized books and baubles that suited their fancy, rushing home to compare treasures and learnings. At night their uncles would arrive with an army of cousins and a bounty of wine, and together the Lachansseaus and Dufresenes and Requingrises would cram around Grandmother and Grandfather’s not-quite-adequate table to share a meal and devolve into boisterous, buzzed debate. That was inevitably the point where Barengar would excuse himself, and Eliane would shortly follow with quiet apologies to her husband.

This wasn’t the place for him, she knew. It wasn’t just that he was out of his element here; Sharlayan was fundamentally opposed to just about everything Barengar believed in. At least Ishgard had its moments of harmony with Ala Mhigo, in the martial sense if nothing else – but in Sharlayan nothing was simple or direct. That he was here at all spoke of his love for her, and his respect for her lady mother.

But Mother was where this trip in its entirety grew strange.

It’d been over half a turn now when Mother became tense, insisting that the family as a whole travel to Sharlayan. She claimed it was so that her own aging mother and father could meet the triplets, but Eliane had spent far too long in the Pillars – and in the business world – to be able to ignore a lie. Mother had seen something in the stars, or perhaps heard something from her Archon brothers, and it was bothering her tremendously. Yet after everything Mother had suffered, how could Eliane tell her no? How could she deny a trip to Sharlayan, to Mother’s home, when she had lost a near decade or so of her life to the Inquisition?

And now that they were here, Eliane could tell that Mother was equal parts overjoyed and trepidatious. Love and relief shone in her sea-green eyes, but tension remained in her shoulders. Late at night, when she assumed all were asleep, Eliane would hear her murmuring with Uncle Dartanaux in the kitchen. It was not a relaxed tone of voice.

But it wasn’t until she caught her cousin Odette in the Studium one sun that Eliane truly began to wonder.

Unlike Uncle Cyrusoix, Odette hadn’t spent much actual time in Ishgard upon arrival. She’d set out to various corners of Eorzea on the Requingris dime, insisting it was for her studies. This much Eliane was happy to allow. But as she half-collided with her cousin in the crowd that day, finding her in the green coat of the Gleaners, well...

“Eliane,” Odette breathed, wide-eyed.

“What...” Eliane shook her head to clear it. “You haven’t graduated. What are you wearing that for?”

“I...” Odette swallowed thickly. “Did I...not tell you?”

“You explained your theory, aye. About the rate of floral and faunal aetherpull from the land. But...” Eliane squinted. “You neglected to mention that you were a Gleaner.”

“I’m not! I mean! I want to be.” Odette shook her head quickly, her bob of black waves bouncing around her head. “That’s my aim. That’s why I’m studying blue magic – so that I can be the best Gleaner that Sharlayan has. But that’s the thing: they’ve been so overloaded with requests lately that they’re starting to recruit students. They said I could earn credits so long as I worked to fulfill Forum requests. And it allowed Father to secure passports for you all, so...it worked out, right?”

“Hold, hold.” Now it was Eliane’s turn to try and clear her mind. She squinted at Odette, eyes rapt upon the younger woman’s features. “The Gleaners are so busy that they need undergraduates to help with orders? Is that why you were sent to the Library?”

Odette’s eyes found the tiled stones. “...Aye.”

Eliane squinted. “What has them so overloaded?”

“I...don’t know.” Odette shook her head. “They only told us that there was an unusual volume of requests and that, in order to fulfill them, they needed student volunteers. They’re paying us a bit, partially in gil and the rest in credits. They say that they’ll expedite our graduation if we help out...how could I turn that down?”

Eliane nodded slowly. “That’s certainly understandable, but...why the secrecy, dear? Why lie to your own family? Had you been upfront about it we’d have been all the more happy to accommodate you.”

Odette winced her eyes closed. “I wasn’t trying to deceive you, I promise. It’s just that they had us sign this...non-disclosure agreement. We’re not supposed to discuss our assignments to the outside world, even if they’re family. For whatever reason the Forum really wants to keep it on the down-low.”

Now Eliane’s mind whirred. She tried to recall all the specimens that Odette brought home, and the books they’d all looted from Gubal. The only general theme she could piece together was one of homesteading: Odette had returned from her travels with grain and fungal samples and small animals capable of producing meat and eggs; Uncle Cyrusoix had looted books detailing various tradecrafts, a subject far removed from his usual trademark obsession with the moon.

So why keep that a secret? Was it simple a matter of intellectual property? Was Sharlayan so keen on milking tuition from its students? Eliane’s business-brain could think of no other alternative – after all, Father had occasionally bemoaned the ransom he’d once surrendered to his brief Emporium studies.

The Baroness drew in a deep breath and met her cousin’s pale eyes. She forced a smile.

“Well...in the future, if you can be honest with us at all...pray do so, my dear. Alright?”

Odette nodded quickly; Eliane could tell she had no intent to deceive, and that was the worst part about it. Odette was as loyal and loving of her family as she was her academic instructors. In her mind, nothing wrong had occurred.

“I’ll do my best, I swear it! Honestly I hate that we have to be quiet about it, because I’d love to talk your ear off!”

Eliane had to smile at that. She sent Odette on her way and continued to the Noumenon.

But the Baroness could not shake the itchy, nagging feeling now clawing into her shoulders.

Some ancient, scaly instinct told her that something was not right...and yet she could not place quite what.

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Junelezen Day 15 - Love

“They might seem the most unlikely couple in all of Ishgard...until you manage to catch them in a private moment together.”