The quiet afternoon in the castle gardens had been filled with light laughter, the soft rustling of leaves, and the occasional chirping of distant birds. Zelda sat beside Adria, both women leaning in close over a small object that had become a source of shared fascination—Adria’s phone. It was a curious thing, so much like Zelda’s Purah Pad and yet, in many ways, completely different.
Zelda had initially been awestruck by the phone's capabilities. While her Purah Pad had a map, a detailed record of their surroundings, and could help locate materials, the phone seemed to offer a glimpse into another world entirely. It couldn't predict weather or pinpoint resources, but it could store something far more personal—memories and emotions.
They had spent hours comparing their devices, laughing over stories as they swiped through images and videos. Zelda had shown Adria pictures of the places she had traveled in her time, the cliffs of Zora’s Domain, the sweeping expanse of the Great Plateau, and the sight of the massive Divine Beasts that once roamed Hyrule’s lands. Adria, in turn, had shown her pictures of her family, friends, and strange landscapes Zelda had never imagined—tall buildings, bustling cities, people dressed in strange garments.
The most astonishing aspect of Adria’s phone, however, was its ability to play music. Zelda had known instruments, of course—the lyre, the flute, the soft hum of a Sheikah harp—but the phone was different. It played music from a distant place, without needing an instrument at all. The first time Adria had played a song from her device, Zelda had fallen off her chair in shock, her heart racing at the sudden, unfamiliar sound.
Adria had rushed to her side, her face filled with worry. But once Zelda had managed to calm herself, they had both laughed, the surprise giving way to amusement. “I’ve never seen anyone react like that to music before,” Adria had giggled, her eyes sparkling with warmth.
Zelda smiled at the memory. She still couldn’t get over how strange and wonderful the music was. Today, they were sitting in the garden, and Adria had once again let the music play softly through her phone. The tune was haunting, the voice deep and rich, filling the air with a melancholy beauty.
Adria sang along, her voice low and steady, perfectly matching the pace and tone of the song:
"When I was a child, I heard voices...
Some would sing and some would scream.
You'll soon find you have few choices...
I learned the voices died with me."
Zelda sat transfixed, her gaze resting on Adria as she sang. There was something magical about the way Adria’s voice blended with the music, as if she were not merely singing but sharing a piece of herself with the world. The words were heavy with emotion, and Zelda found herself enchanted by the melody and the meaning behind it.
“What a beautiful song,” Zelda whispered when Adria paused. “It feels… so personal. Where did you learn it?”
Adria smiled softly, tucking her phone back into the folds of her dress. “It’s from a singer back home. I used to listen to it a lot when I needed to think or… when I felt lost.” She looked up at Zelda, her expression thoughtful. “Music has a way of reaching places that words can’t. It helps me remember things.”
Zelda nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. She felt a strange sense of kinship with Adria in that moment, as if they both carried memories too heavy for words. “It reminds me of my time with the Champions,” Zelda said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “There were moments when all I had were my thoughts and the memories of their voices.”
The two women fell silent, the weight of shared memories hanging between them like a fragile thread. The afternoon light cast soft shadows across the garden, and for a brief moment, all was peaceful.
But then, a subtle shift in the air made Zelda’s senses tingle. She glanced up and caught sight of two figures in the distance—Kotake and Koume, the Gerudo guardswomen who had accompanied Ganondorf. They were watching again.
Zelda’s eyes narrowed slightly, her body instinctively tensing. She had no issue with the Gerudo as a people—quite the opposite, in fact. Urbosa, the former Gerudo Chief, had been like a second mother to her, a source of strength and wisdom. But Kotake and Koume… they were different. They exuded the same unsettling aura as Ganondorf himself. Something about their presence felt off, as if they were more than just warriors, as if they were always observing, always calculating.
Adria noticed Zelda’s sudden change in demeanor and followed her gaze. The smile she had been wearing faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity. “They’ve been watching us a lot lately,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think they mean any harm. Maybe they are shy?”
Zelda nodded, her expression tight. “They’re loyal to Ganondorf, and Ganondorf is… ambitious. They’re likely keeping an eye on us for him.”
Adria let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Great. And I'm not even in my nice outfit.”
Zelda placed a reassuring hand on Adria’s arm. “Just be careful around them. Kotake and Koume aren’t like Urbosa. They may seem friendly, but they have their own agenda.”
Adria sighed, leaning back against the stone bench they were sitting on. “I’ll keep that in mind. I just hope they don’t think I’m some sort of threat. I’m barely managing to keep myself together most days.”
Zelda smiled softly, though her eyes remained sharp. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Just… trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is.”
Adria nodded, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the bench’s surface. “You’re right. And I’ll try not to let their stares get to me.”
The two women shared a brief, knowing look before turning their attention back to the serene garden. Adria began singing a sing-song version of the phrase "I always feel like somebody's watchin' me~", making Zelda giggle.
The tension between them eased, but the presence of the Gerudo guardswomen lingered at the edge of their awareness, a reminder that even in moments of peace, the game was always being played.
When a case of mistaken identity results in Ignis taking on the role of tutor to young Iris Amicitia, things get off to a rocky — if amusing — start. After he makes the acquaintance of the hotheaded son of the lord of the manor, however, it becomes obvious that this posting may be more trouble than he had first bargained for.
To Ignis, Gladiolus is arrogant and ill-tempered, more interested in chasing skirts than in abiding by etiquette. To Gladiolus, Ignis is a prissy, insufferable city-slicker with a chip on his shoulder.
With time, they’ll both come to learn that there is so much more to each other than meets the eye.
I drew @starlikeknight for @agi92‘s ffxv small secret event! Ironically, we just got to talking to each other recently on Twitter :D
I know it’s not Christmas-themed, but it’s centred around friends and thankfulness. I hope you enjoy
Prompto stuffs his hands into his pockets as he and Noctis walk along the avenue, side-by-side.
The movie had been pretty terrible and the popcorn had been stale, but as birthdays go, it isn’t the worst. Definitely a cut above the one where his parents got him a bike, and then it wound up stolen that same day.
That… had been a low point.
‘Soooo,’ Noct says, bumping him with his shoulder. ‘My place? We can order in.’
Prompto shrugs.
‘I’unno,’ he replies. ‘I was kinda planning on hitting the hay.’
‘Dude.’
Noct jogs ahead, turning to face him, stopping him in the street.
‘Nuh-uh,’ he says, waving his hands. ‘Nope. You are not bailing. You only turn twenty once.’
The truth is, Prompto doesn’t like making a big deal of his birthday — not when it has a history of going monumentally wrong. This one’s been pretty chill, and he wants to end it on an okay note.
But… Noct looks so expectant, and it’s enough to have Prompto sighing and throwing his hands up in defeat.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Takeout at yours. What’s the worst that could happen?’
Noct nods, and Prompto’s almost sure he sees a smirk flicker across his friend’s face, but then Noct’s back is to him as he turns and sets off once more.
Noct makes a fuss of trying to get through the door; he misses the lock on the first try, then drops his keys noisily on the second.
‘You drunk, dude?’ Prompto says.
‘Nope,’ Noct replies, as the key finally slots into place. ‘All good.’
He edges the door open, flipping on the light switch, and as Prompto trails in after him, he’s assailed by a sudden burst of noise.
‘SURPRISE!’
Prompto blinks as Noct steps out of the way, letting him take in the full view ahead.
Somehow, everybody Prompto knows is there — from the nicer Citadel staff he’s met through Noct, to friends from school. Iggy and Gladio are at the front, holding a ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner between them.
Prompto’s cheeks burn as he steps forward, covering his mouth with his hands.
The crowd makes way and Iris emerges, holding a gigantic cake in the shape of a chocobo. Twenty candles are on top, twenty flames flickering merrily.
‘Gods,’ he whispers, hardly able to believe his eyes.
Noct is the first to sling an arm around him; soon Gladiolus comes over to fill the gap on the other side, and even though Ignis is awkward as he hovers nearby, there’s a warm smile on his face.
‘Happy birthday,’ Ignis says.
‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus chimes in, ruffling Prompto’s hair. ‘Happy birthday.’
Prompto feels a kiss on his cheek, rushed and chaste and shy, and when he looks at Noct his friend is blushing just as fiercely as he is.
‘Happy birthday, Prom,’ Noct says.
Looking around, Prompto can feel tears prickling at his eyes — but he’s determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. Still, as Gladiolus and Noct let him slip free so he can make his rounds, there’s a tightness in his throat as he tries not to cry.
‘You guys are awesome,’ he says, turning to look at his friends.
There are times when he feels like he doesn’t belong; times when he worries that they’re only friends with him out of pity.
What was happening? Zelda couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted beneath her nose. Kotake and Koume, once elusive and distant, were now... casually hanging out with Adria? It was as if they had appointed themselves her personal guards. The strangest part was how relaxed Adria now seemed around them, treating them more like friends than protectors.
When Zelda had first inquired about their constant presence, Adria only shrugged, looking as confused as Zelda was. "I don't know," she had said, "they just... started hanging around."
Zelda, in her growing concern, had asked the Gerudo twins directly why they were spending so much time with Adria. Their response? Silence. They offered no explanation, their expressions as unreadable as ever. It was unsettling.
And yet... Adria, somehow, could get them talking. Zelda had watched, equal parts amazed and uneasy, as her friend asked the two stoic women about their weapons, their jewelry, even their clothing. Adria’s curiosity was boundless and unafraid, an openness Zelda herself would never show around the witches. But Adria didn’t seem to share the same wariness.
Koume, for example, had proudly shown Adria her golden spear, embedded with a ruby that gave it the power of fire. Kotake had demonstrated her twin scimitars, each adorned with sapphires that gave them an icy sharpness. Their faces, usually so cold and severe, softened—just slightly—as they humored Adria’s interest.
There was something gentle about the way they interacted with her, even though their sharp natures were still very much intact. It was odd to see these two powerful women acting like this, their amusement apparent whenever Adria spoke with them.
Zelda couldn’t help but worry. Why were they so attached to Adria? What did they want from her? More importantly, why did Adria seem so content around them? She couldn’t deny that her friend was still very much herself—walking alongside Zelda and treating her like a sister, sharing laughter and stories just as before—but now, Adria had these two warriors practically hovering in the background, always there, always watching.
And then there was the matter of training. Zelda had overheard Kotake and Koume gently—for them—trying to convince Adria to take up some form of combat training. They hadn’t pushed, but their persistence was clear. What were they hoping to achieve?
The lack of answers gnawed at Zelda, but she had nothing concrete to go on. No evidence. No accusations. Just a vague sense that something was off. And yet, how could she say anything when Adria seemed perfectly fine with it? No, more than fine—comfortable.
It was unsettling, but for now, Zelda resolved to watch carefully. She wouldn’t make the mistake of letting her guard down, not when Kotake and Koume were involved. But she also wouldn’t push too hard. If Adria was happy and unharmed, Zelda would allow this strange arrangement to continue.
Still... she'd remain vigilant. Watching and waiting. There was more to this than met the eye, she was sure of it. But for now, she would treat the situation with care. Kindness wouldn’t hurt—but neither would caution.
Zelda leaned against the railing of the library’s upper level, trying to stifle her giggles as she watched the absurdly amusing scene below. Adria, barefoot and darting around like a shadow, was clearly trying to avoid Ganondorf. The Chieftain, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that his pursuit was anything but subtle.
From her vantage point, Zelda could see the whole scene unfold, and it was a masterclass in both evasion and frustration. Adria was moving gracefully between rows of shelves, her small frame slipping between patrons, her eyes scanning her surroundings with a blend of concentration and... panic? Zelda wasn’t sure whether Adria was actually scared or simply trying to avoid an awkward confrontation. Either way, her skill at dodging Ganondorf was commendable.
"Does he seriously think this is working?" Zelda whispered with a grin, glancing at Kotake and Koume beside her.
Kotake shook her head in disbelief. "He’s hopeless."
Koume, equally amused, couldn't stop the chuckle that left her. "We taught him better than this. He’s acting like a lovesick fool."
Adria’s barefoot tactic had worked wonders so far. The soft thud of her shoes would have given her away, but without them, she moved silently, evading Ganondorf’s sharp eyes and ears. Zelda pressed her hand to her mouth, struggling to contain her laughter. The whole situation was ridiculous, but in the best possible way.
Ganondorf, on the other hand, was far too focused to notice the not-completely-quiet audience above. His brow furrowed as he moved through the library, determined to find Adria. Every time he thought he was getting close, she’d disappear like smoke, leaving him even more frustrated.
"Kotake, Koume," Zelda whispered, still barely containing her mirth, "I think Adria could be an excellent spy for Hyrule if this whole sage thing doesn’t work out."
This time Kotake chuckled. "We might have to borrow her for the Gerudo at this rate."
"I doubt even we could have trained someone this quick to evade a Gerudo Chieftain," Koume muttered, a touch of pride in her voice, though aimed at Adria's cleverness. "And if Ganondorf can't corner her, it’s his own fault. He’s losing to an untrained Hyrulean woman."
Zelda’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but her attention was caught by Adria, who had just spotted Ganondorf changing his path. With an expression that screamed “desperation mixed with genius,” Adria suddenly pulled off one of her shoes and threw it across the library.
The shoe landed with a soft thud several shelves away, causing a few patrons to look around in confusion. Ganondorf, however, froze mid-step, his eyes snapping toward the source of the noise. Without hesitation, he turned and strode in that direction, clearly convinced that he was closing in on his elusive target.
Adria, on the other hand, seized her chance. With the finesse of someone who had done this far too often, she slipped behind a surprised patron, scooted toward the door, and made her escape without so much as a glance back.
Zelda couldn't hold it in any longer. A soft but delighted laugh escaped her lips as she watched Adria disappear into the hallway. “Did she really just throw her shoe to get away from him?” she whispered in amazement, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
Kotake and Koume were equally astonished. Kotake muttered something under her breath about "extra training" for Ganondorf, while Koume rubbed her forehead in disbelief. “Our Chieftain... the man who’s supposed to lead us all... tricked by a shoe,” she grumbled.
Zelda was practically wheezing at this point, her eyes misting with tears of laughter as Kotake and Koume began seriously debating how to increase Ganondorf’s training in both stealth and dealing with women. “We’ll make him climb Lynel Mountain twice for this,” Kotake declared with a scowl, though her voice still carried amusement. "He will be blind folded the second time, mark my words."
As the trio peered down, Zelda caught sight of Ganondorf standing in the middle of the library, Adria’s discarded shoe now in his hand. His expression was a mix of frustration and, oddly enough, a bit of admiration. Even from this distance, Zelda could see the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“He’s impressed,” Koume remarked dryly. “He may not admit it right now, but he’s definitely impressed.”
Zelda bit her lip, struggling to suppress another fit of laughter as she watched the towering Chieftain turn the shoe over in his hand. “Of course he is,” she murmured. “How could he not be?”
Ganondorf, however, wasn’t one to give up easily. His brows furrowed once more, and he scanned the area as if trying to calculate Adria’s next move. But with only her shoe as a clue, he was left with nothing but the sting of his own defeat for the day.
Zelda sighed, leaning back against the railing, still smiling. "Adria’s got him wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?"
Kotake smirked. "Indeed. He just hasn’t realized it yet."
As Ganondorf finally turned and left the library, still clutching Adria’s shoe like a trophy, Zelda couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. The poor man didn’t stand a chance against Adria’s cunning, and now, it seemed, he was even more determined than ever to win her over.
But for now, the morning belonged to Adria. And Zelda couldn’t wait to tease her about it later.
Victor Rookwood wasn’t a man easily startled. His life was filled with enough dark dealings and sinister magic that surprises were rarely a part of his world anymore. But as he entered his office at the pub, expecting to find his usual stack of reports and correspondence, something... unusual caught his eye.
Sitting squarely in the middle of his meticulously organized desk was a small, pastel pink lizard. And not just any lizard—it wore a tiny top hat, perched jauntily atop its squishy, almost comically soft body. For a moment, Victor just stood there, staring at the creature as it blinked up at him innocently, completely out of place in his dark, foreboding office.
He approached it cautiously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It didn’t move, didn’t scurry away like he’d expect from a normal lizard. It just sat there, as if it was waiting for something.
Victor glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to leap out and claim responsibility for this ridiculous prank. But no one came. The pub outside his office hummed with its usual noise, oblivious to the bizarre scene inside.
He reached out slowly, curiosity getting the better of him, and poked the lizard's soft side.
Suddenly, the tiny creature snapped to life.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!!" boomed a deep, thunderous voice from the tiny lizard, shaking the room with the force of it.
Victor jumped, his heart racing at the unexpected explosion of sound. His hand jerked back instinctively, and for a brief, absurd moment, he thought the lizard might actually try to cast the Killing Curse on him.
But no green light flashed. No curse came.
Instead, the little pink lizard went right back to blinking at him innocently, its tiny top hat still perfectly in place.
Victor stared at it in stunned silence, his mind trying to process what had just happened. He took a deep breath, smoothing back his hair as he regained his composure. He narrowed his eyes at the lizard.
"Who in Merlin’s name put you here?" he muttered, half to himself, half to the absurd creature.
The lizard, naturally, didn’t respond. It just squished down a little more, almost like it was inviting another poke.
Victor, after a moment of consideration, decided against testing it again.
When a case of mistaken identity results in Ignis taking on the role of tutor to young Iris Amicitia, things get off to a rocky — if amusing — start. After he makes the acquaintance of the hotheaded son of the lord of the manor, however, it becomes obvious that this posting may be more trouble than he had first bargained for.
To Ignis, Gladiolus is arrogant and ill-tempered, more interested in chasing skirts than in abiding by etiquette. To Gladiolus, Ignis is a prissy, insufferable city-slicker with a chip on his shoulder.
With time, they'll both come to learn that there is so much more to each other than meets the eye.
The carriage rocked uncomfortably, as it had all day. It had been bad enough on the cobblestones of Insomnia — now, on the rutted tracks of the countryside, it seemed to vibrate so badly that one of the wheels was likely to fall off at any moment.
The carriage went over a particularly violent bump, and Ignis Scientia clutched a gloved hand delicately to his mouth. It wouldn’t do to turn up to his new posting covered in his own ejecta.
The wave of nausea passed, mercifully, and he dared to part the voiles on the window beside him so that he could peek outside. He was pleased to see a reprieve from the dire, barren lands bordering Insomnia: now there were lush green fields and forests all around, mountains piercing the horizon in the distance. He couldn’t wait for that first breath of cool, crisp country air, away from the smog-ridden miasma that clung to the streets of the capital.
The carriage jostled again, sending him tumbling headfirst into the glass. A frantic check of his face told him that nothing had been damaged — particularly his spectacles, for which he was relieved.
The sooner this hellish ride was over, the better.
It was almost evening by the time the carriage drew to a halt at long last. Once the door was opened for him, Ignis hobbled down the steps on unsteady feet and sucked in lungful of fresh air. It helped him, somewhat; the nausea began to subside, the bitter taste fading from the back of his throat.
Other than his driver, the only person awaiting him was a young woman in an apron, her dark hair poorly pinned back such that it hung loose about her face.. Surely she couldn’t be the only one here to receive him — a maid of some sort. The housekeeper’s correspondence had implied that this family was of considerable means.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ the woman said, peering up at him expectantly.
Who was she waiting for, if she wasn’t here to receive him? Ignis gave an exasperated sigh and shot his driver a long-suffering glance; the man merely shrugged his shoulders and moved past him to retrieve his luggage.
‘I’m expected,’ Ignis said briskly.
The girl gave him a bemused look, raising her eyebrows almost comically, and she looked as if she might have questioned him on it had her attention not been drawn elsewhere.
Ignis followed the direction of her gaze to a young man, tall and bronzed, with long, dark hair tied at the base of his head. His skin had a sheen of sweat where it was visible above his collar and below the rolled sleeves of his shirt. Both clothes and skin were soiled, as though he’d taken a tumble in a flower bed.
‘You can leave those there,’ Ignis said to the driver. He turned his attention to the young man, ushering him over. ‘Excuse me. Excuse me. You can bring these in for me now.’
The man stopped feet away, watching him in cold silence. Ignis had the distinct feeling of being studied by those eyes, the colour of amber, as they ran up and down his form.
‘You got two arms, don’t you?’ the man said. ‘Why not put ‘em to good use?’
He didn’t wait for any sort of rebuke; side-stepping around Ignis, he headed straight through the front door of the manor without another word.
‘I’m afraid there must be some mistake.’
The lord of the manor did not look like the sort of man who made mistakes — yet here they both were, thoroughly at a loss.
‘Sir,’ Ignis said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. He could feel heat creeping up the collar of his already-crumpled shirt. ‘I assure you, I have all the correspondence with your housekeeper in my possession. If you’ll allow me to—’
Clarus Amicitia leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sigh he gave was so long and weary that Ignis genuinely feared the man might simply turn him out of the manor and send him all the way home.
‘Ms. Elshett?’ Mr. Amicitia said after a moment. ‘She’ll confirm this?’
Ignis nodded.
With another weary sigh, Mr. Amicitia stood from his seat, angled himself toward the door, and opened his mouth to give a shout.
‘Crowe!’ he bellowed, startling Ignis in the process.
It wasn’t long before the door tentatively opened behind Ignis and a young woman’s voice rang out from behind it.
‘Yes, sir?’ the voice said timidly. Ignis recognised it as the girl from earlier.
‘Crowe,’ Mr. Amicitia said, returning to his seat. ‘Where is Ms. Elshett?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’
Ignis flinched, watching the man’s jaw clench with annoyance.
‘Perhaps you might find her for me?’ the man said, his voice clipped.
‘Of course, sir.’
Ignis studied the room while he waited, taking great pains not to accidentally meet Mr. Amicitia’s eye along the way. There was a banner behind his desk — an eagle and a sword — and Ignis found himself wondering if this family were of any relation to the Amicitias that served as Shields to the royal line.
Before too long, the door opened once more and Ignis felt the air stir as a woman stepped up beside him.
‘Sir,’ the woman said.
‘Ms. Elshett,’ Mr. Amicitia said, clasping his fist with his other hand. ‘This gentleman tells me he’s Iris’s new tutor. I was under the impression you had hired a governess. ’
Ignis could barely resist the urge to turn to look at the housekeeper; from what little he could see of her in the periphery of his vision, she seemed remarkably composed in the face of the mixup.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re expecting Miss Scientia today.’
‘Master Scientia,’ Ignis interjected.
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ the woman replied curtly. ‘We’re expecting one Ignia Scientia.’
Cold dread filled Ignis’s veins, turning his limbs to ice where he sat. He understood, now — he wasn’t in the wrong place, nor had he somehow mistaken his position. The problem was that they were expecting a young woman , and they had received him.
A silence fell over the room, during which Ignis could only imagine the state of his future. He would be sent home, surely; a household seeking a governess had no room for a tutor. His uncle would certainly have a thing or two to say, particularly when he showed up empty-handed and out the handful of silver crowns for the privilege of a wasted journey.
Ignis waited, holding his breath, and then the unexpected happened.
The lord of the manor laughed.
If it was a surprising occurrence, Ms. Elshett made no show of it, merely standing with her hands clasped in front of her while she waited.
‘Master Scientia,’ the lord of the manor said. ‘Through circumstances that I don’t entirely understand, we find ourselves with a young man to carry out a governess’s duties, instead of a young woman. Tell me — you’re fully familiar with the three Rs, yes? Languages, history, geography as well?’
Ignis nodded.
‘And you are still comfortable with schooling my daughter in the etiquette that citizens of the capital are so widely regarded for, yes?’
Once more, Ignis nodded.
Mr. Amicitia rose suddenly, extending his hands palms-upward to either side of him. Ignis was pleased to find, as he looked up at the man’s face, that his eyes were warm with mirth.
‘Then I believe,’ the lord of the manor said, ‘that we have our governess.’
They supplied him with a modest enough room, although it more than suited Ignis’s needs. The wallpaper was a recurring motif of the gardenia for which the manor was named, and the dormer window had a perfect view of the gardens where the flowers bloomed in abundance, carefully cultivated along twisting walkways.
It was a beautiful place, if a little smaller than Ignis had envisioned, and he could see himself quite happily spending the foreseeable future here.
His first meeting with the lord of the manor had certainly been interesting, and getting a laugh out of his new employer was probably a good sign — even if it had been for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps he would grow to like it in this unusual place.
A quiet knock came at the door, and he was so lost in the view he scarcely heard it. It came again, more insistent, and a voice drifted through.
‘Master Scientia?’
He recognised Crowe from her voice and found himself convinced that he would be hearing much more of it in the months to come.
‘Yes?’ he replied, scarcely turning.
He heard the hinges creak as the door carefully opened; heard the floorboards ache beneath the girl’s weight. When she did not immediately speak, he sighed and turned to face her.
Something of her name seemed to suit her, he decided, as he had the first chance to study her in private. Her nose was prominent enough to be noteworthy, although it only seemed to add character to her face. Her lively brown eyes took him in keenly, and seemed to betray an intellect that she probably had very little chance to show.
‘The young miss is back from her visiting her cousins,’ Crowe said. ‘The sir thought you might like to meet her before dinner.’
Ignis sighed and inclined his head. He had rather been looking forward to making his new charge’s acquaintance, prior to his arrival; now, after all the confusion, he found himself a little less sure. At the very least, he hoped he’d like her. He’d heard tales enough of the children of the landed gentry, and how they were so often spoilt.
No different than him growing up, really.
Crowe led him down to the front hall, where Mr. Amicitia stood with a young girl. She was unusually tall, although in the lanky way he’d seen of girls who would grow no taller after their fourteenth birthday. Her dark hair was cropped at jaw-length, hanging in uneven strands.
Ms. Elshett was there too, tutting and tsking while she inspected the girl’s hair. From what Ignis could gather, the haircut had been an impromptu one.
‘Ah,’ Mr. Amicitia said, turning to Ignis. ‘And here he is. Iris, this is Ignis Scientia, your new tutor. Master Scientia, my daughter, Iris.’
Ignis watched the girl’s eyes narrow shrewdly, and he felt a flutter of fear go through him that this would be the precise moment at which he could mark the steady decline of his career. It was embarrassing enough that he had thought he’d been answering the post of a tutor, not a governess, without the sharp wit of a young lady in making to add insult to injury.
She took him quite by surprise when she suddenly crossed the room, tersely sticking her hand out for him to shake.
It was so bald-faced that Ignis almost didn’t take her hand in turn, but she seemed unwilling to accept any sort of refusal from him. Just beyond her, Ms. Elshett shook her head and exchanged an amused glance with the lord of the manor.
‘Papa told me you were supposed to be a girl,’ Iris said, once Ignis had let go of her hand. ‘You don’t look much like a girl.’
‘Iris!’
The interjection came from Mr. Amicitia himself, who covered his face with his hand.
In spite of himself, Ignis couldn’t help but smile.
‘Will you be eating with us tonight?’ the girl said, turning to Ignis.
Ms. Elshett had mentioned something about Iris being incorrigible in their correspondence — that their last governess had been able to do little about her impertinence and clear disregard for etiquette.
Truly, Ms. Elshett’s first letter had said, I believe at times that the young miss believes she’s one of the boys.
‘He shall,’ Mr. Amicitia replied. ‘But first you need to wash up, Iris. You still have have muck from the road all over your skirt.’
Iris didn’t even seem to hear her father’s words, instead spinning around as though searching for someone.
‘Is Gladdy home?’ she said, staring pointedly at her father.
‘Later,’ Mr. Amicitia said, with an impatient wave of his hands. ‘Go wash up, before I have Ms. Elshett carry you.’
As if to prove his words, the housekeeper took a sudden step toward Iris, which sent the girl running up the stairs, squealing in play-terror as she went.
‘Do you find your room to your liking, Master Scientia?’ Mr. Amicitia said, shortly after Iris had disappeared.
Ignis nodded politely.
‘It has a wonderful view, sir,’ he said. ‘The gardens are truly magnificent.’
‘My late wife’s influence,’ Mr. Amicitia replied. ‘I’m afraid I was quite at a loss when I inherited not only the estate, but the flowers that came with it. You can, of course, wander freely about the gardens as you please. Iris’s last governess used to take lessons with her outside, when the weather was fine.’
The exchange of pleasantries was an intimidating prospect for Ignis; he had been raised to make small talk with those of similar standing, but this was the first time he had ever really been in the company of someone who was now his social better. It was going to be quite an adjustment.
He was saved the anxiety of floundering for something polite to say as a young man stepped into the room. It was the one from earlier, who had been so rude on Ignis’s arrived. He looked a great deal cleaner and more put-together.
Ignis regarded him coolly, but the young man didn’t so much as bother returning his glance.
‘Gladiolus,’ Mr. Amicitia said. ‘Now is as good a time as any to introduce you to Iris’s new tutor, Ignis Scientia. Master Scientia, this is my son, Gladiolus.’
Ignis’s heart lurched. It couldn’t really be true — this man, who had arrived at the door all filthy and dishevelled, was Mr. Amicitia’s son?
Ignis could feel the colour drain from his face. He had addressed this young man as though he were a servant; no wonder he had been so curt in response.
‘We’ve met,’ Gladiolus said bluntly. ‘Iris home yet?’
His father seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, although Ms. Elshett’s eyes flicked from Ignis to Gladiolus and back again, as though she were somehow privy to the situation. Perhaps Crowe had filled her in.
‘Just arrived,’ Mr. Amicitia said. ‘Although—’ he put out a hand to stop Gladiolus here, with a stern look ‘—I had enough trouble sending her off to wash up without you distracting her all the more. You’ll see her at dinner. Master Scientia will be there, too.’
Gladiolus turned, and for the first time since their formal introduction, he met Ignis’s eye. His upbringing was plain to see now, in the way he held himself: the tilt of his jaw, the cut of his clothes. He had a labourer’s muscles hidden away, however, under his brocade vest and neatly-pressed shirt — and his skin was deeply tanned, as if from hours spent under the sun.
‘I guess I’ll see you then,’ the young man said, his eyes never leaving Ignis’s.
Ignis looked away first, his heart thudding, and Gladiolus passed him on the steps, knocking his shoulder ever so slightly as he went.
Title: Blacktop & Blue Skies
Day: 1
Rating: T
Side ship: Lunyx (mentioned, not focal)
For @glaiveweek day 1, ‘origins/background’!
They’re calling it the wedding of the century — a whirlwind romance between the Oracle Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, and a former member of the Lucian Kingsglaive.
Before Nyx Ulric can tie the knot with the love of his life, however, his three closest friends have to get him there.
Chapter 1/?
They’re all waiting for him when he leaves his apartment, leaning against Lib’s car and chattering away amongst themselves. They haven’t seen him yet; for a little while he just stands in his doorway and watches them, smiling to himself.
He’s going to miss this.
Libertus spots him first, of course, as Nyx had known he would. They’ve always been like that — in tune with each other.
‘Hey!’ Libertus shouts, in that bellowing voice of his. ‘It’s the groom!’
All at once, the three of them drop into bows so synchronised that it’s almost comical: Crowe, with a sardonic little smirk; Pelna, the most formal of the bunch; Libertus, the most sincere.
