Thundering Dusk poured himself a cup of tea and settled into his favorite chair with a sigh. The large house was empty for once, and the silence was a touch unnerving. Bhaldstyr spent most of her time in Ishgard now, which was only proper; his eldest grandchild had a young family of her own, with the Lord Commander of all people. Dusk liked the man well enough, but by the Twelve, he’d never dreamed that the brilliant, eternally-restless Star would aim so high.
Dusk sipped his tea and watch the flames dance in the fireplace. Sadly, while the heat was very real–thanks to the fire shard array Bhaldstyr had invented–the flames themselves were illusion. He smiled as he remembered Bhaldstyr’s earnest explanation after the Calamity, when the village had realized the unnatural cold was here to stay in Coerthas: “We can’t count on trees continuing to grow properly, let alone in the same numbers, Old Man. Instead of wasting wood we need to build with, let’s try this instead…”
He chuckled, recollecting how his adopted brother, Walking Oak, had agreed with that wild plan. Then again, if anyone would be able to determine how plants could adapt, it would be a master botanist. How many times over the decades had Dusk listened to Oak’s lectures, theories, and sometimes mad conjectures? Then again, the man was right far more often than he was wrong, as evidenced by the careful proliferation of flora around the snowy village. Some of their people, Dusk included, had foreign plantings thriving in their yards, like the twin wisteria trees out front.
Dusk loosely crossed his legs at the ankle, his gaze drifting to the stairs leading to the bedrooms, all of which were empty at the moment. Joyful Dawn, his second grandchild, had married her childhood love and split her time between home and Ala Mhigo. Dawn and Ochre Canyon were part of the Resistance, and whenever they visited, they filled his ears with stories, some of which were probably the reason his hairline was making a continual retreat. Dusk wished those two would just come home and stay, but he doubted they ever would; they’d been miserable when the snows had come. Desert souls, those two were, and he couldn’t fault them for it.
The older Hellsguard finished his cup and poured himself more, his eyes shifting to a closed book across from him, on the purple living room table. His third grandchild, Wandering Moon, had left it there before leaving to join his friends a few hours ago. Bless the young man, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind on whether to follow his mother into goldsmithing, or his stepfather into magitek. For all Dusk knew, Moon would somehow find a way to combine the two; certainly, Moon’s scarred face lit up when the boy started talking about the merits of both, though Dusk would never admit how baffled he was by the bizarreness of those conversations. Why not settle on one? Granted, Dusk knew that Cid had goldsmithing knowledge and made both disciplines work, but still…
The front doors blew open, making Dusk jump a little. He craned his head to peer around one of the display cabinets as a veritable horde piled inside, filling the house with a cacophony of laughing voices. Styrmsatza’s rose over the hubbub, roaring everyone into silence for a moment that lasted only long enough for someone to shut the cold out again, and a flurry of giggles as someone else reminded the rowdies about the boots at the door rule. Dusk simply waited, refilling his cup again. When he looked up, his white eyebrows rose as…so many people, ye gods…
Fordola and Arenvald: the former surly as always, but her throat finally bare of that accursed death sentence; the latter seated in his wheeled chair, a broad grin on his white-painted face. Bhaldstyr and Aymeric, the latter holding a six-month-old girl, with a pre-teen Elezen girl bouncing on her toes. (Catrine insisted Mama Star and Papa Aymeric hadn’t adopted her, she’d adopted them.) There was a flash of silvery-white hair behind Aymeric, and Dusk caught a glimpse of Estinien’s rare smile.
Joyful Dawn and Ochre Canyon popped up behind Fordola, who shockingly didn’t glare at their proximity. Wandering Moon had his toddler half-brother, Laughing Sky, on his broad shoulders, the small boy waving excitedly at his bemused grandfather. Someone pushed Cid through the crowd, Dusk never did see who, and someone else playfully shoved X’rhun through as well. X’rhun dragged the ever-tiny Alphinaud and Alisaie with him, and Storm and her twin’s grinning faces suddenly appeared at the back of the melee. The jostling suddenly stopped as Storm Singer let loose a piercing whistle; poor X’rhun’s ears actually pinned back with a wince.
“All right, you lot. Is someone going to tell me just why a not-so-small army has invaded my living room?” Dusk demanded, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the barely-retrained chaos.
Estinien’s slightly-roughened voice spoke up. “Well, Old Man, a big red birdie told us it’s your nameday. As we could not figure out what to give the man who had given this family so much–”
“Well, we did have some ideas, but–” Ochre started, only to grunt as Fordola stomped on his toes.
X’rhun chuckled and crossed his arms, flicking an ear with amusement. “How many times, over the years, have you listened to all of our tales of joy and woe, fiction and fact?”
Dusk narrowed his eyes, then whipped around to stare at the dragon’s eye that peered through the window at him. “Hekaarn–”
-Fear not, Old Man. I’m not joining your flock in there. This time.-
Before Dusk could do more than splutter, Catrine bounced over to his chair and strangled him with a fierce hug. “We wanted to lend an ear to your stories tonight. Unless you wanted to be buried in gifts…”
Forget breathing; Dusk wrapped the girl in a bear-hug before she could let go, then released his hold, gazing at his massive family–blood and otherwise. At some point, Walking Oak had snuck in, beaming at his brother from near the kitchen–the only spot big enough for him.
“By the gods, you lot are the best gift anyone could ask for. All right. Oak, if you could brew enough tea for this crowd, and Styrmsatza, if you’d be kind enough to pass out enough cushions so everyone’s comfortable?” Dusk watched as everyone found somewhere to sit. Alisaie pulled the fat cat rug over from the staircase-bookshelf, and the three Elezen youths claimed it as their own, seated at Dusk’s feet.
