R’nyath and Chuchupa: Nice.
Chapter 69: Hinganisme
Achiyo took Chuchupa and Tam, and set out to track down Yllamse to invite her to join the Scions. “She is a flighty wanderer, is she not?” Achiyo said to Tam, who almost certainly knew her best.
“Yes, but less so than you might think,” Tam said. “The first place to ask is Ala Mhigo.”
Achiyo blinked at him even as he began a group Teleport. “Do you not have her linkpearl?”
“No,” Tam said, and the Teleport went off.
They reappeared in the arid square, and found Raubahn nearby, just finishing a discussion with some Ala Mhigan officers. He saw them and came to greet them. “Back again so soon? I thought your next task was to discuss who might take over for young Rinala.”
“We have,” Achiyo said. “We are looking for Yllamse Yarlmos.”
Raubahn gave her a strange look of surprise, then a slow grin. “I knew she couldn’t disguise herself forever. But you know I’m not the General of the Immortal Flames anymore. You ought to ask Pipin.”
Achiyo stared in surprise of her own. “I had not known that she was a member of the Immortal Flames.”
“I did,” Tam said. Of course he did. “So I know she’s in the area. So if you see her…”
Raubahn shrugged. “Captain Yarlmos has served well over the years, and at some point it became clear to me that she has the Echo as you do. It’ll be a great honour to see her join the Scions. But I don’t know where she is at the moment. She was still within the city on Flame business yesterday.”
“I’ll check th’ taverns,” Chuchupa said. “Tam, ye go up to th’ wall and look around wit’ yer dumb Elezen sight. Achiyo… uh…”
“I’ll ask the Flames in the streets,” Achiyo said. “Let us meet at the main gates in three bells, or call if you find her.”
She crossed paths with Chuchupa often, and sometimes saw Tam jumping from rooftop to rooftop, but no sign or word of Yllamse emerged. If she had moved on to another city… Well, perhaps the moogle post would find her, and a small delay was acceptable. Achiyo resigned herself to adapt, and as the time drew near, dragged Chuchupa away from her twelfth mug of ale by the scruff of her collar.
But as they approached the main gate, Achiyo brightened, for there was an Elezen woman waiting for them in Flame uniform, her helm under her arm. “Yllamse! We have been looking for you.”
“How come ye never let on ye were in th’ Flames!?” Chuchupa demanded.
“You never asked!” Yllamse replied with a big grin.
“Oh,” Chuchupa said. Achiyo looked at the helm she carried. It had a face mask, and coupled with the rest of the uniform, hid her features so well that Achiyo could be standing next to Yllamse and not know it.
Yllamse laughed. “I’m here to help. I heard you’re in trouble? So here I am!”
“We’re not exactly in trouble,” Achiyo clarified. “But we are looking to add a new member to the Warriors of Light, and we know you to be a skilled fighter – and to possess the Echo. You needn’t answer immediately if you need some time to consider…”
“I don’t mind joining for a while!” Yllamse said. “My squad can do without me for a bit, and as far as I can tell, this campaign is over!” She gestured broadly at Ala Mhigo around them.
Achiyo smiled. “Then may we invite you to the Rising Stones in Revenant’s Toll to meet with everyone, that we may establish how our new team will operate?”
“Oh! Is that where the Scion headquarters is? All right, let’s go!” Yllamse stopped abruptly, thinking aloud. “Oh, wait, I guess it’ll just be me.”
“No, we came specifically to get you,” Tam said. “Get in the Teleport, Yarlmos.”
Yllamse giggled, gave a Flame salute, and joined the group Teleport back to Mor Dhona.
In the Rising Stones, they took her to meet all the present Scions – not to introduce her so much, as Yllamse was already known to most of them, but to make it known that she was now officially part of the group.
Thancred was present, leaning on the bar, and gave her a raised eyebrow behind his eyepatch. “So will you be going by your real name, or using your moniker?”
Yllamse gave him a sheepish look as the others stared in sudden surprise. “I suppose the coeurl is out of the bag if you’re asking. The reason I still use the moniker is to respect my adopted father, and that was the name I joined the military by. It was easier to keep it, but I’ll answer to my real name too.”
“Huh? What? Who?” came a clamour of questions.
“Oh, I might not have mentioned-” Thancred said.
“You certainly didn’t,” Vivienne said.
“Our pugilistic friend here, rumour has it, has recently rediscovered another identity. Care to share, to lay such rumours to rest?”
Yllamse nodded, and there was something sad about her smile. “My real name is Yelena Sandoval. I’m a child of the forest, originally from Gridania.”
“Oh, so we’re actually neighbours, you and I!” R’nyath piped up.
“Yeah, I didn’t know. Until recently I didn’t remember at all.” Yllamse stared into the distance, trying to recall. “Let’s just say the Calamity was not kind to me. I don’t even know if I still have family out there…”
“So how’d ye get adopted by an Ul’dahn merchant!?” exclaimed Chuchupa.
“He decided I was his lucky star when he found me,” Yllamse said. “He started looking up after that. He doesn’t even mind that I’m not part of the family business!”
“Probably because she’s the tallest person in that house,” muttered Thancred under his breath.
F’lhaminn came forward. “Well, that’s quite the tale. But you’re with friends now. I for one will call you Yelena, if you don’t mind. Now, can I show you your bedroom here at the Rising Stones?”
Yllamse brightened as she followed F’lhaminn. “I get to decorate my own room!?”
Tam ran a hand down his face. “Trees and stars, we’ll never see her again.”
“No, that’s not it,” Aentfryn said. “She will redecorate the entire Rising Stones. And possibly Seventh Heaven as well.”
“If she has the funds to do so,” Achiyo said. “Well, I am rubbish at decorating; if she sees fit to rearrange my few belongings, so be it.”
“And when she starts to chatter your ear off at the same time?” Vivienne said.
“Ah, that’s simple enough,” Tam said. “If you kiss her cheek, she stops talking for a few minutes in confusion.”
“Wait, what? Who kissed her? I know for a fact it wasn’t you!” R’nyath said.
Tam shrugged. “Somebody in spiky armour.”
“That narrows it down,” Thancred said sarcastically.
“I’m not resorting to that,” Vivienne said.
Rinala obediently followed F’lhaminn through the crowded Lominsan streets, heading for the sunny square that was being advertised as a performance venue today. She would rather have been at home in bed again, but… even if she was sick and sad and useless, she still adored F’lhaminn, and R’nyath was there to beg her company as well, and so the three Miqo’te had taken the ferry first to Crescent Cove and then from Vesper Bay to Limsa Lominsa.
And now they came to a wide, circular plaza with a fine surface of coloured tiles, and in the centre stood a Hyuran man in Thavnairian clothes. He had on loose, baggy pants gathered at the ankle, and with a brocade sash about his waist to rival any of R’nyath’s, a feathered turban covering his hair, and a small vest and mis-matched gloves that did absolutely nothing to conceal the sinuous muscles of his chest and arms.
He struck a pose, proclaiming: “So close, and yet so far… For all who cannot make the voyage to our home, we bring our art to yours… Hailing from Radz–at–Han across the sea, I present the incomparable, transcendent… Troupe Falsiam! Today, we have prepared a sumptuous feast for your eyes and ears. Let the soaring melodies and the stirring, striking steps of our dancers reach your heart and spirit you away to a distant world!”
He bowed and stood aside, joining a small band of musicians, and from behind him out stepped a copper-skinned, pink-headed Miqo’te clad in scanty, fluttery red silks adorned with golden chains and charms and bands; her slippered steps were light and graceful. The crowd cheered and applauded for the girl’s beauty.
A guitar strummed, and again, and launched into a swirling, lively song, joined by a flute and castanets. And the Miqo’te girl sprang into motion, holding a pair of rings in her hands, twirling, hopping, gliding to the music. Her silks followed her as she spun, tossing the rings and catching them again, her hair and tail flicking behind her as much a part of the dance as her hands, feet, and hips.
Rinala found her concentration interrupted by a woman muttering beside her. “Yes… just so, Ranaa… Betray not your trembling heart… Dance your dance till the last, and let them fall under your spell…” Rinala glanced at her in puzzlement – did she know the dancer? The woman felt her gaze and gave her a sheepish smile. “My apologies. I did not mean to intrude upon your… Lhaminn!?”
F’lhaminn smiled behind her. “Hello, Meira. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“And you! Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting to see you at our very first performance. But your aid has been instrumental.”
“Glad to hear it! But you are not dancing yourself?”
The woman winced. “I injured my leg during the voyage to Eorzea. My protégé Ranaa is very talented, however, and she makes her debut today. I hope you enjoy her performance. She’s trained quite hard for it.”
“My congratulations,” F’lhaminn said. “Yes, and we must catch up afterwards.”
The dance was captivating, the music thrilling; Rinala found herself wishing to be able to join in. …That was F’lhaminn’s plan, wasn’t it? To distract her from her illness? Well… Rinala hoped it worked. It was working so far.
Afterwards, as the dancer Ranaa received the accolades of the adoring public, F’lhaminn and her followers joined the woman by the rest of Troupe Falsiam. “I’d like to introduce two of my friends, Rinala Sweetwhisper and R’nyath Tia, both dance enthusiasts. Rinala dances a bit herself, and R’nyath is a bard.”
“Enchanted,” R’nyath said with a bow.
Rinala bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Just for fun, you know.”
The woman looked them both up and down through her glasses. “I must say, you do carry yourselves with a certain grace, don’t you? Allow me to introduce myself in turn. I am Nashmeira, principal dancer and leader of Troupe Falsiam. Ranaa, the girl whose performance you were admiring, is my number one student and protégé. F’lhaminn and I met many years ago, in our youth – so you definitely don’t wear the booty shorts anymore?”
F’lhaminn chuckled. “I found in my travels that large pockets were coming in more handy than mobility. So I made the switch to skirts and dresses. And in my present job, pockets are an absolute necessity.”
“Lady F’lhaminn used to wear booty shorts!?” R’nyath cried in disbelief.
“Oh, yes,” F’lhaminn said casually. “Easy to get around in. I believe that was a large reason why a certain minstrel was infatuated with me for some time.”
“And the last time we met was still in Radz-at-Han… what was it, two summers before this?” Nashmeira said.
“Indeed, after those horrific events unfolded in Ul’dah,” F’lhaminn said, nodding. “Meira invited me to join the troupe as a singer, and needless to say, song and dance go together rather well. I sang with them for a time, but I of course returned to the Scions when it was safe. So when she turned to me for assistance in planning Troupe Falsiam’s tour of Eorzea, I was more than happy to give it.”
“Ah, then you’ve met my brother R’inwa as well,” R’nyath said. “He may have mentioned Troupe Falsiam, but he’s usually short on details when he tells stories.”
“I do remember a red-headed Miqo’te, certainly,” Nashmeira said. “But Lhaminn, I don’t suppose you would consider joining our tour? Having a local star along will boost our presence even more.”
F’lhaminn shook her head. “I’ll come to as many shows as I can, but I have quite a bit to do running the Rising Stones, so I’m afraid I can’t commit to a full tour. But I’ll certainly aid in organizing the performances.”
Nashmeira shrugged and smiled. “Well, I had to ask. Ah, but now, Rinala and R’nyath, might I persuade the two of you? Forgive me – I know this is quite sudden. And yet, I cannot help myself: from the first moment I laid eyes on you, I saw – how can I put it? – a poise that could only be honed on the field of battle. There is no doubt in my mind… you would make fine dancers.”
“And…?” F’lhaminn prompted, looking at Ranaa.
“And… We have come with only two dancers – Ranaa and me – and I am still nursing this injury I suffered on the voyage over. My protégé is a talented one, but I can hardly ask her to bear the burden of tour alone. Even a novice would aid in lightening her load.”
“Wow, what an honour!” R’nyath said. “Uh, but I’m super busy right now – I’ve got so many Scion duties, and the Watch in Ishgard, and a few personal things – I can’t do a tour on top of that. Rinala’s free, though!”
Rinala shrank back as Nashmeira’s attention fell full upon her. She did want to dance. She wanted to dance like Ranaa. She loved dancing and she had been inspired. But… “I won’t fight.” Nashmeira had said ‘honed on the field of battle’ and that was the last thing she wanted.
“Huh?” R’nyath looked at her in confusion. “But you’re good at it! And at dancing!”
She shook her head, on the verge of tears. “Everything I’ve done as a grown-up has been all about fighting. Being a White Mage, being a Black Mage, being a Rogue, it’s all fighting. I just want something that’s not. Like weaving, except I don’t even like weaving right now.” The pleasure of creating clothes had evaporated somehow and even helping her parents with it again did not recover it. If Nashmeira wanted to teach her yet another way to hurt things, she was going home and back to bed. Even if it meant she’d never get better at dancing. It was already tiring enough having to tell her parents it wasn’t the Scions’ fault that she was sick and watching them not believe her. Why would they believe a sick person?
She almost didn’t see the others exchanging looks over her head, as she wiped her eyes. “Then we will not ask you to fight,” Nashmeira said gently. “I will teach you the steps of the battledances, for we use them in normal dances as well, but no one can force you to take the stage against your will, let alone the battlefield. Let your heart be at ease.”
“You really think I could be a dancer?” Rinala asked, trying to regain control. They were just being nice; surely they didn’t want someone who cried just from being asked.
Nashmeira nodded solemnly. “I believe you can – no, I believe it is imperative that you learn the dance. Perhaps you have already felt it, but it is thought that there are mystical powers to our movements, which can serve to heighten senses, lift spirits, and drive weakness and worry from people’s hearts.” She smiled at Rinala. Could she know?
“That sounds… exactly what I need right now,” Rinala said. “I have to ask my parents. But I would like to join you, and learn to dance, and help out…” Of course she would be required to help out with performances. Nashmeira couldn’t just teach her for free. But it sounded worth it.
“Wait, don’t tell me-” came a cry, and the lovely Miqo’te dancer came swooping over to grasp Rinala’s hands and beam at her. “Nashmeira has handpicked you to join our troupe and become a dancer! Is Ranaa right, or is Ranaa right!?”
The others all laughed. “Yes, you are right,” Rinala said, managing to smile. The other girl was so warm and cheery. “I have to ask my parents, but I’m looking forward to it, Miss Ranaa. I’m Rinala.”
“Oh, just Ranaa, please! And I knew it. I haven’t been doing this for as long as Mistress Nashmeira, but even I can see that your poise and posture is anything but ordinary.” Huh? Rinala hadn’t been attending to her posture in ages. She was sure her shoulders still had a defeated slump to them. But Ranaa rambled on, doing a twirl in her excitement. “But don’t get your hopes up too high – you’re going to have to work your arse off to outshine Ranaa Mihgo!”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Rinala said. “You can be the star. I just want to learn.”
“Let it suffice to say that I will be watching both of your performances with great interest,” Nashmeira said. “Ranaa, why don’t you take Rinala and introduce her to Kuihlud and the others?”
“Of course!” Ranaa said, grabbed Rinala’s hand again, and pulled her away to meet the handsome and beautiful Thavnairian musicians.
Nashmeira looked again at F’lhaminn. “She is in dire need of our particular aid. Is that why you brought her to me?”
F’lhaminn nodded. “Something greater than ordinary sadness and heartbreak afflicts her. If it is the thing that you fear…”
“Huh? What?” R’nyath put in. “Is Rinala more sick than we thought?”
“Let me explain,” Nashmeira said. “Though there is no proof yet that Rinala suffers from it. And as such, I expect you to keep it to yourself.”
R’nyath nodded fervently. “I promise.” Careless information could do more harm than good. That was why he hadn’t told Achiyo yet what he’d been learning about Captain Byers through Jehantel.
“When war and calamity ravage the land, fear and anger fill folk’s hearts,” Nashmeira said. “These emotions fester, reacting with the aether around us – in the air we breathe, the ground beneath our feet – to form an aetheric manifestation of malaise that spreads like a dark cloud across the land. The weak, the downtrodden, the scorned and suffering… Sadly, it is these people who are oft the quickest to fall prey to dark despair. Left unchecked, the shadow fully consumes them. Their hearts, their minds… in the end, even control of their very limbs is taken from them.”
R’nyath shivered. “Yeah, Rinala’s been in pain for a long time. I won’t tell her story for her, but if you can help her, we’d all be in your debt.”
“I will do my very best,” Nashmeira said, then let a twinkle into her eye. “Do come and see a show or two in a few sennights! I expect you’ll be blown away. She really does have talent; I’m not taking her in just because she needs our particular help.”
“Right!” R’nyath said. “Hey, send me music beforehand and I’ll join the band for it.” He was already going to have to add that song they’d been playing before into his repertoire, it was so catchy. “Good luck on the tour, and I’ll head out now.”
“Thank you, and may your day be blessed,” Nashmeira wished him.
Vivienne found herself taking Sidurgu, Rielle, and Myste up to the Churning Mists, to “those furry little shites” in Moghome – Sidurgu’s suggestion, which he immediately regretted when Rielle latched onto it with enthusiasm and would not let him back out of it. Fortunately for him, the moogles were giving Sidurgu a wide berth. “I don’t know why they’re so afraid of me,” he said dryly. “It’s not as though I threatened to kill every last one of them and burn their village to cinders. Not recently, at least.”
Vivienne snickered. “Enjoy it, will you? They can’t rope you into stupid games if they’re hiding from you.”
“Of course,” Sidurgu drawled, and Vivienne left him to find where Myste had wandered off to.
He was at the edge of Sohm Al, staring at Zenith the same way that Aymeric had when they brought him up – the same way she had when first she came. No one could help it, really. It was quite glorious in the sunset. “Hey. How are you holding up today?”
“Don’t worry,” Myste said solemnly. “I haven’t given up yet. How could I? You wouldn’t.”
“No,” she said. “We have to keep going. One foot in front of the other, even if there’s nothing else we can do.” Of course, she was remembering staggering through a battlefield, dragging her sword behind her, bleeding from every limb, and he probably… should not envision that. But anyway. “Enjoying the view?”
He turned to look at it again. “The wind in your hair, the sun on your face… Here you can immerse yourself in the beauty and the calm, and forget the horrors. Almost. How far we have come, you and I. The others, they hesitate… but you understand the obligation. The duty. The need for atonement.”
She almost glared at him – how could he know of her sins? But she didn’t. He was a kid in her care, and maybe he wasn’t even a real kid. “What do you need to atone for?”
His voice sank to a murmur. “We have lost… so, so much. So many friends and loved ones. So many moments. We thought we could keep and preserve them… but we are left with anguish in the end. Time strips us of even this bitter remainder, if we let it. But I cannot. This pain, this sadness… it is mine to bear. Mine alone. This I understand now. Their grief will be mine, and in return I will give them peace. But who and when and where, that is the question. Even we have our limits…” He turned to look at her with unsettling grey eyes. “Who did I lose? Everyone. No one. We have always been apart, have we not?” When she just stared, he shook his head. “Perhaps one day you will understand… and then you will share my loathing and contempt.”
“Why can’t you make me understand now?” Vivienne said. Something was frustrated inside her, stirring in her chest, trying to get out. “Try me. Or will it take too long?”
“Oh!” Myste jumped, and glanced at the setting sun. “I… I have been away from the others too long. Sid will be worried. We must return to them at once!” He ran away before she could stop him and nail down what the hells he was talking about once and for all.
Vivienne grimaced. Mysterious little boy would not let go of his mysteries. The frustrated feeling raged for a moment, then subsided. But she followed him back to the others near the aetheryte.
“There you are,” Sidurgu said. “I trust Myste has had ample time to reflect?”
“I have,” Myste said. “I am ready to resume my search for those I might help with my power. Difficult though it may be, I do not intend to give up.”
“Glad to hear it,” Sidurgu said. “In that case, there’s no need to remain here any longer. I say we leave this accursed place and never return.”
“There’s no people to fix here,” Vivienne agreed. The Mists weren’t so bad once you got away from the moogles – though it seemed they’d been up to something near Zenith, there was a pink thing there that hadn’t been there before. But for their quest, irrelevant.
Rielle shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Sid. I say we show Myste more of the Churning Mists. We did come all this way, you know.” She grabbed Myste’s hand and ran up the path into the hills. “Come on – there’s a place I’d like to show you…”
“Now wait just a godsdamned moment!” Sidurgu cried. “You can’t go running off on your own like that! You’ll get eaten by a three-headed goobbue! Rielle!? Rielle!” But the children were out of sight already, Rielle’s giggle trailing on the wind. “Bugger me with a bleeding…”
“Come on, they can’t have gone far,” Vivienne said. “We have longer legs, shouldn’t take long to catch them.”
Sidurgu sighed. “Watch out for belligerent Dravanians and mischievous moogles…”
The path split, and without a word they went separate ways. There was no sign of the children on Vivienne’s path, and when she came to where the two paths crossed again, she found Sidurgu standing over a handful of unconscious moogles, his greatsword in his hands, catching his breath.
She raised an eyebrow. He glared back. “…Don’t give me that look. If the little bastards didn’t want their heads caved in, they shouldn’t’ve tried to sneak up on me. Besides, they’re still alive. You ought to give me credit for holding back.”
She snorted. “As if you’d do anything that would upset Rielle. No sign of the kids on my end, though.”
“Nor mine. Damn, they’re quick. Or Rielle’s pranking us. But I’ll keep heading this way.”
“Meet you at Asah,” she said, and continued. They left the moogles in the road.
She came to Asah in deep twilight and found the children just ahead of her. She’d steadied her pace to a brisk walk, yet it was still impressive – and bothersome – that they’d come so far and so fast. “Now look here, you two.”
“Hello, Vivienne!” Rielle waved. “I just wanted to show Myste this spot, at least.”
Myste nodded. “Rielle tells me she has rather fond memories of this place…”
Rielle giggled. “You should have seen the look on Sid’s face when the moogles started singing and dancing. He was utterly speechless!”
“Um…why were the moogles singing and dancing again?” Myste asked.
Vivienne forbore to answer, interested in Rielle’s analysis. Rielle sighed and shook her head. “It was stupid, really, but… I guess you could say that Sid had become obsessed with trying to live up to his master’s example. And for all the wrong reasons. He lost his family when he was younger than me. Ser Ompagne took care of him, and Fray, but then they died too. So it’s just the two of us now…” She faded off, then continued. “He was angry and shortsighted, but now… well, he’s still both those things… but not as much as before. So that’s progress, I suppose.” She shrugged sheepishly.
“Sid’s master was very dear to him, wasn’t he…” There was a mysterious smile on Myste’s face. Vivienne squinted at him.
Sidurgu came trudging over the hill, then ran the last of the way down to meet them. “Oh, thank the gods. You shouldn’t have run off like that.”
Myste turned to him. “Do you wish to see him again? Your master?”
Sidurgu blinked at him. “Huh? Where is this coming from? What has Rielle been telling you? I mean… there is much I wish I could have asked him before he passed, but-” He suddenly jumped, glared, and put a hand out to stop Myste. “Wait, no! Don’t you dare, you little shite!”
An older voice spoke from behind him. “Oh Sid. Charming as ever, I see.” A grey-haired, grizzled, bearded Elezen in dark armour stood there, a slight smirk on his lips.
Sidurgu flinched and whirled. “Master!”
The knight nodded to him, and looked at Vivienne. “And this must be Fray’s successor. A worthy one, I have no doubt. My name is Ompagne, and it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Vivienne. You did well to come so far on your own before meeting Sid. And together, you have both grown so much, in mind and body and soul. As Dark Knights, and as true heroes.”
“So who exactly are you?” Vivienne said. “Ser Ompagne?”
Ompagne stared off into the distance in reminiscence. “There was a time when I was hailed as a hero too. For deeds meritorious in the defence of Ishgard and in the name of the Fury… A brave and true Temple Knight, I was. Slayer of countless Dravanians. A commander beloved of and respected by his men. They would follow me into the seventh hell…”
He bowed his head. “…And indeed, that is where I led them. Time and time again. They would fall, and I would earn the accolades. And then they would give me more green boys with dreams of glory. Green boys with red blood, spilled on white snow. Again and again and again… And then, one day, I couldn’t… I couldn’t remember the first one’s face. I had forgotten the face of the first boy who gave his life for me… That was the day I left the Temple Knights.”
Sidurgu folded his arms and frowned. “I know that tale by heart… but not the tale of what came after… Why a goodly man with titles and wealth, a man who could have lived out his days in quiet comfort… why that man chose instead to walk the path… and to once more accept two children into his care…”
“Aye, you asked me that very question long ago, and I told you that one day you would understand… when you were older and wiser and stronger…” Ompagne fixed Sidurgu with a challenging look. “Shall we put you to the proof, Sid, and see if today is that day?”
Sidurgu shook his head and sighed. “You always were fond of your tests.”
Ompagne smirked. “Now, now, don’t be cross. You’ve only yourself to blame. These are your memories, remember? Hah, but of course you do… The point is, deep down, you wanted this. And while there’s no substitute for the genuine article, you could do a lot worse. So do me this honor – all of you! One last dance with the dead. Show me the man you have become, Sidurgu of the Obsidian Heart!” He drew the flame-edged greatsword from his back and dropped into a familiar combat stance.
Sidurgu cursed and drew his own sword. “Myste, go over there by that tree and stay there! Rielle, you’re on healing but stay back! Vivienne, back me up!”
“You’ll need my help?” Vivienne said, drawing her sword and following him. “It’s your master.” But Fray was eager to fight, she could feel it.
“Yes, dammit! You think I can defeat him alone!?” Sidurgu charged in with a leap and a bound.
Ompagne met him with a clash of sparks. “Hold nothing back, you three! Show me your all!”
Well, she didn’t need telling twice. This wasn’t even a real person, not really – memories and aether couldn’t bleed. She flanked Ompagne, Cronus flickering with violet and magenta sparks. He was good. She wasn’t going to say he was better than her… but he was faster than both of them. Now she saw why Sidurgu wanted help, and why Ompagne wanted to face them together.
Three greatswords clashing against each other made a towering racket through Asah. If there were any moogles about, they must surely be cowering in hiding now. Blades bit, just flesh wounds for now, blood began to trickle, none of them cared. Ompagne smirked at them. “Is that the best you can do? Hmph. You swore an oath, Sid, did you not? What will happen if you fail to uphold it?”
Rielle suddenly squeaked from behind them, encased in a pillar of dark light. “Help! Help!”
“Don’t you dare!” Sidurgu roared, sword blurring with rage-fueled speed.
“I got her!” Vivienne spun and ran to help Rielle, cleaving the umbral spell in twain over Rielle’s head. Rielle breathed gratitude and waved her conjurer’s wand to heal Sidurgu, who was taking a pummeling without Vivienne there to divide Ompagne’s attention.
“Death awaits those who walk this path alone, Sid…” Ompagne said, swinging down at Sidurgu’s head and following up with an umbral blast to the chest while he was parrying.
Sidurgu reeled back, and Vivienne jumped in with a great cleave – that Ompagne dodged – before he could take another hit. “Ugh! You were never one to hold back…”
Rielle ran to him, her little healing spells sparkling in the night. “Sid! Sid! Are you all right!? Hold on!”
As Vivienne slammed her greatsword against Ompagne’s, trying to overpower him, to bite past his defences to strike that smirk from his face, Sidurgu clambered to his feet and slid back to an offensive position, baring his teeth in defiance. “We’re still here, old man! What else have you got!?”
Ompagne snorted. “If it wasn’t for Vivienne, you’d be dead by now…” He spun, knocking back first one and then the other. Vivienne gritted her teeth. She should be the one knocking him back. He was only a shade!
Sidurgu took the hit less steadily than she liked. “Gah… He’s right. That’s one more I owe you…”
“I don’t care. Shut up and fight him,” she growled. She didn’t want thanks or debts or anything. They were partners in this fight, and that was all that mattered.
“Damn right.” Sidurgu howled again as he struck once more, forcing Ompagne back. Together, they were backing him into a corner.
He only grinned. “Well done, you two! You have exceeded all expectations! Consider this your reward!” He jumped back and raised his sword high, and before either of the Dark Knights could attack his dropped guard, violet umbral magic rained down from on high upon them. Vivienne’s heart jumped into her mouth and she whirled to cast Blackest Night on Rielle, enduring the searing pain until she could cast another shield on herself.
“You thrice-damned son of a- Graaagh!” Sidurgu’s own shield broke and he collapsed to one knee, then slid to his face, his sword clanging to the ground.
Rielle rushed to his side, reaching out to him through the protective shadows encasing her. “Sid! Speak to me! Sid!”
“I am still your opponent!” Ompagne cried. “Defend yourself!” He charged at them all.
Vivienne planted her feet immovably before her vulnerable friends. “Sod off!” She swung a massive horizontal blow, gold sparks trailing the edge of her blade, and Ompagne was clobbered halfway across the battlefield. She stomped forward, following up with spells of her own, and swung down as he dodged them.
He fell to his knees with her sword digging in to his chestplate. “Magnificent, Vivienne. Fray would be proud.”
“He’d better be,” Vivienne said, but there was a fierceness in her chest at the praise. “I’ve been a Dark Knight for decades. Fray just brought me to the next level.”
“I stand corrected,” Ompagne said, and stood as she withdrew her blade. “And Sid… Sid, my boy. My beloved boy. You nearly had me-”
“Oh, spare me your sympathy, you bloody shade,” Sidurgu wheezed. “I lost, and that’s the end of it.”
Ompagne snorted. “You kept Rielle and the boy out of harm’s way, Sid. You did well. Learn to shut up and take the compliment.”
His smile faded. “You asked me once why I chose to walk the path. Why I chose to look after you and Fray, even though, deep down, you already know. But, since I lost, I owe you the answer from my lips.”
“I was angry. Angry with the Temple Knights, angry with myself, angry with this twisted world where good men die for nothing. I was seeking justice for my boys… and forgiveness for my sins. I saved lives and punished the wicked, and for a time, that was enough. But nothing lasts forever, does it? And a man ought to have a legacy… …I failed my boys as a Temple Knight, but you two were my second chance. I would teach you everything I knew, everything I learned from my mistakes so you wouldn’t have to make them. I would send you out into the world to do great things and maybe, maybe…it would all balance out…”
He stopped abruptly, with a matter-of-fact nod. “Well. That’s all I have to say about that. You know what comes next, don’t you?” He gave Vivienne a wry grin. “…Though I suppose I ought to give you a word of advice before I disappear in a puff of smoke. I am your predecessor’s master, after all. People like us will never know peace. Every moment brings us closer to death – those of our enemies, our loved ones, and yes… our very own. The fear of death is what keeps most people alive. That dread, that desperation to escape the inevitable, if only for a little longer. But we are not like most people. We have seen what awaits us beyond the abyss. We have tasted that despair, bathed in that oblivion. We have wept rivers for our dead and cursed the gods for their cruelty. That is our sword and our strength, and that is why you may one day stand above us all. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”
“And on yours, ser,” Vivienne said. It was too bad he was dead. He was the one who understood best. Better even than Sidurgu, or Fray, or Alain, or anyone else she’d ever met.
Ompagne looked at Sid, still sitting on the ground nursing his ribs. “Take care, Sid. Be nicer to the girl. And try to be less of a chocobo’s arse.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Sidurgu grumbled. Ompagne smirked, turned, and walked away. Before he’d gone five paces, he collapsed into a black, glimmering cloud of aether.
Sidurgu climbed to his feet with a groan. He looked like crap, though Rielle had stopped the bleeding, and his armour was in tatters. “For an illusion, that bastard hit awfully hard… Reclaim your aether so we can leave. I may need to visit a healer…”
Myste came over from his tree, wringing his hands. “They weren’t supposed to fight…”
Vivienne snorted. “You think the man who trained this man was not going to fight? Sidurgu fights everyone and everything, including himself. He got it from somewhere.”
“Sod off,” Sidurgu wheezed at her. “As for you, Myste, I distinctly recall telling you not to do that.”
Myste bowed his head in contrition. “Forgive me… had I known it would come to violence, I… I…”
“Don’t you dare start pouting,” Sidurgu growled. “I’m annoyed, aye, and sore all over, but it’s nothing that won’t heal with time. All I ask is that you promise not to do it again without warning and consent. Memories can be powerful and painful… in more ways than one. That said, he was right. I’ve only myself to blame. If I thought I could defeat him, I would’ve. But I didn’t think I had a chance… and so I didn’t. Ugh…” He turned and began to stumble in the direction of Moghome.
Rielle crept up to Vivienne, and said privately: “Sid’s in a bad way. I think Ser Ompagne may have overdone it a bit…”
“Right,” Vivienne said. “I can call Aentfryn and get him to meet us at Moghome.”
“Don’t bother,” Sidurgu called. “I’ll walk it off.”
“You stubborn bastard,” she called back. Sidurgu flipped her off. Rielle sighed.
“He… he will recover, yes?” Myste asked anxiously.
“Yes, he’s just being an arsehole because he thinks he doesn’t deserve proper healing,” Vivienne said, her fingers poised by her linkpearl anyway.
“For a moment I was certain he would fly into a fury…” Myste murmured. “Could it be that he is grateful for the experience after all?” Vivienne shrugged – but it was an encouraging shrug. She hoped. “Then… then it was not in vain. Tired and broken though he may be, he is nevertheless better for the pain, and in time… in time… we too may be… There is still hope. Redemption is not beyond us.”
“Mm,” Vivienne said, and called Aentfryn. The Scholar was not pleased to be woken, but agreed to come to Moghome to help her friend. Vivienne thanked him and walked after Sidurgu and Rielle, Myste trailing behind.
“Ugh… I’m afraid Rielle is right,” Sidurgu said to her in a low voice. “I’m going to need some time to recover. I’m not fit to travel in my condition. Which means… which means… oh, gods help me, I’m going to have to stay with those furry little shites even longer.”
“I called Aentfryn, so quit your bitching,” Vivienne told him. “It’ll at least speed up your recovery.”
“Urgh. Fine.” Sidurgu cast a glance back towards Myste. “Two more times, was it? Two more times and we’ll be finished with this boy’s crusade. Not soon enough…” He sighed. “Vivienne, be a dear and punch a moogle for me, would you?”
She grinned. “Yes, dear.”
“I’m not joking.”
Aymeric felt obligated to throw an engagement party for the upper crust of Ishgard to be made formally aware of their engagement, and it was his idea that they should wear the kimono Achiyo had obtained for them. She looked at him questioningly when he suggested it. “Will they not think you very strange for dressing like a foreigner?”
“Oh yes, undoubtedly. However.” He reached over and took her hand with the sapphire engagement ring. “You wear this ring, and it proclaims to all that you are mine. With this gesture, I shall equally proclaim to all that I am yours, that I embrace you and all you are, including the culture of the land of your birth that I know you still love. …And ‘twould be an immense shame not to wear these in public. They are gorgeous.” He gave her a teasing grin. “I suspect, if all goes well, a wave of Hinganisme shall sweep the nation in the coming moons, and then all will be wearing garb inspired by your gift.”
Well, she did not feel strongly either way; it would not be any different than Doma Court for her, so she agreed. Though choosing a date for the actual wedding was intensely stressful for her. Firstly, the Scions had just received a letter from Tataru in Kugane, saying that mysteriously familiar persons might have been spotted in Kugane, including a Roegadyn samurai. Naturally, Achiyo wished to go and search for any trace of Gosetsu, if it truly was him, before something bad happened to him, and Aymeric obligingly granted her the time for it, for it took time to plan a wedding of the appropriate grandeur.
And yet she did not know how long such a mission would take, or if more crises would shake the realm before she was done – Garlean, Ascian, or primal. And she would wish for the Scions to attend – perhaps it would be asking too much to expect Hien, Yugiri, and Cirina as well, but she could at least invite them while she was in the East.
Aymeric simply smiled ruefully at her fears. “Fate will as the Fury wills. Of course you must go and find your friend, that cannot be delayed. But as I said before, nothing can be certain until a definite peace has been achieved with Garlemald. If we must delay, then we shall. But let us prepare as if naught shall interrupt us.”
Which preparations included the engagement party so the nobles of Ishgard could have something to gossip about. A few days before the party, she went to teach Aymeric and Amaury about kimono, and brought hers along as well. Amaury had set up a mannequin in the sitting room, and was a most attentive learner as she explained the layers, the ties, the precision required especially for formal kimono; she had him practise several of the trickier bits. At least the obi knot was simpler for men. Then they retreated to Aymeric’s dressing room while Achiyo was shown to another room she could change in, with a maid named Evrinne ready to help her if needed.
It took her a while, as it always did, between the make-up and the hair and the ornaments and then the complex layers of clothes themselves, and Evrinne naturally had never tied an obi knot before. But eventually it was done, her lips reddened, her bangs and side hair framing her face, a golden comb adorned with sakura on top of her head and with kanzashi hairsticks radiating from the loose bun, golden trinkets hanging from the tips of her horns, the sleeves of the rosy sakura-spangled furisode hanging nearly to the ground, and her green-and-gold obi hanging long down her back. She was satisfied that her teacher at Doma Castle would not be ashamed of her, though it had been over a decade since she had last been this dressed up.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said as she re-entered the sitting room. Aymeric turned to look at her, resplendent in dark blue silk and the black haori, his pale skin beautifully contrasting the rich colour just as she had thought it would, and stopped breathing with his jaw dropped, his tea-cup hovering forgotten in his hand halfway to his mouth. Amaury collected the tea-cup and put it on a side-table, withdrawing quietly, and Aymeric was free to fall to his knees before her.
“Oh my lady,” he said, breathlessly, and she covered her face with her sleeve to hide her blush. “Now I see you as you truly are. You are noble in armour, and charming in gowns, but in the garb of your homeland you are as a princess – a queen – a heavenly spirit come to show us what beauty truly is.”
“Aymeric!” she cried, completely overwhelmed. This had been exactly how she had hoped he would react, and now in actually experiencing his reaction, she was embarrassed. Kawanami had once given her elaborate compliments akin to what he’d just said, but… Kawanami had just been stringing air together. Aymeric actually meant them, and would stop at nothing to convince her that he meant them, and that meant she was completely defenceless against them. And to hear such praise from her beloved while he was dressed as a Hingan lord made her heart skip several beats. That hint of collarbone was absolutely alluring. “You go too far, anata. I am but a samurai’s daughter, dressed as a samurai’s daughter ought. Should you have come to Doma’s court in its heyday, or if you should go to Bukyo, you would see many like me.” Not that she’d been to Bukyo herself. But she knew it by reputation.
“Not like you,” he said, still staring reverently, his light blue eyes shimmering with adoration. She could stare into his eyes forever. “Never like you, my lovely Achiyo.”
She held out her hands to him, to pull him to his feet, and that too was different. Kimono sleeves did not reach all the way down the arm, and she had never seen past his wrists before. She clasped his hands… and did not stop, sliding up his wrists halfway up his forearms, marveling at the… this was an inappropriate touch. Scandalously rude in formal circumstances in the East, not just to look but to touch what the sleeve ought to cover, though this moment was not formal, was it? To feel the smoothness of his skin, and the strength of the muscles beneath it… But his hands were clasping her forearms as well, his thumbs tenderly tracing the edge of the scales that wrapped around her arms, and that had her heart racing. They had not stopped staring, both completely overcome at the sight of each other.
Despite having considered him quite seriously in her mind in various states of undress with increasing frequency, if this was how she reacted to his forearms in real life she wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with more than that when it came time. “I-is it comfortable?” she asked, trying to move away from the mutual shock and awe, to regain control.
“Aye, very comfortable,” he murmured. “Surprisingly warm. Achiyo, you are truly radiant.”
She pulled him to his feet. “Are you pleased to have found something to spend your hoarded wealth on?” she asked, teasing.
That brought him to laughter. “Yes, indeed – I can think of nothing better, and I hope to finance further purchases in the future. Although…” He sobered. “I think I see why those who pursued you did not understand why you rejected them. Just now I said I see you as you truly are, but it is a vision tempered by my knowledge of your courage, your love, your determination, your wish to protect. To see you dressed in the garb of your homeland gives me a puzzle piece to understanding you that I did not have before. If they only saw you in this manner, then I can well imagine they could not dream of you on the field of battle. That they could only see your beauty, and not your strength.”
Chuchupa had said something similar when she was picking the outfit. “Hence why I rather rejected kimono for a while after I left Doma Castle. But for the clothes themselves, I do love them, and for you I wish to be beautiful.”
“That, you have succeeded in beyond my wildest expectations,” he said. “Even without trying you easily succeed at that, and dressed as the princess Chuchupa calls you makes you divinely breathtaking…”
“She teases,” she protested, blushing again.
“I do not think she is far off the mark,” Aymeric said, clasping her right hand in both of his. Oh no, he looked like he wanted to kiss her, and she did not know how her make-up would stand up to that. “Achiyo-sama.”
The honorific – which he had doubtless learned from hearing her use it on him for years – filled her with unexpected revulsion. “No no no no. You cannot use ‘sama’ on me. The only direction you may go in now is less formal.”
“Less formal, say you?” he said, leaning in, his eyes teasing. Kami, he was going to be the death of her.
“Would you like to learn about the complex system of Hingan and Doman honorifics?” she asked quickly. Not that any of them applied to him anymore.
“In a minute,” he said, his gaze still on her lips. “Surely it is not worse than Ishgardian noble titles.”
“Having learned those recently, it is much worse,” she said. “Much, much worse. You have no idea, for it is not only nobles.”
For a moment he looked startled. “In a minute,” he said again, and kissed her, and she pressed close to his silk-swathed chest and gave in.
She was horrifically anxious in the lead-up to the party, and flung herself feverishly into practicing etiquette and dancing with Emmanellain, who was not loathe to train her up, especially in ballroom dancing. The plan was to appear in the first half in kimono, and then after dinner change to Ishgardian clothes to dance Ishgardian dances. There was no way she could dance Ishgardian gavottes and minuets decently in kimono. Thus far, with Saulette’s aid, she could transform from one outfit to the other in about fifteen minutes, make-up and hair and all. Hopefully that was quick enough.
Artoirel did not help her state of mind, though it was not his intent to unnerve her. “Watch yourself, Sister,” he said to her after being invited. “I’ve heard it said that if you considered civic politics to be vicious, they are naught compared to noblewomen in pursuit of an eligible bachelor. And you are claiming one of the most esteemed men in the city.”
“I know,” she said, and kept her smile light. On one hand, she had been through the social grindmill that was Doma Court under occupation; on the other hand, she had not had such motivation then as she did now to ensure that everything about herself was perfect. Those who wished to find fault with her would not be stopped no matter what she did, yet she would not give them any accidental cause through her manners, that any criticism they had of her would look foolish.
He gave her an answering smile. “Though of course if any truly slight you, they shall have to deal with all of House Fortemps.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “I shall fight my own battles. They must see that I am prepared to live among them.” He nodded approvingly.
“And prepared you shall be!” Emmanellain exclaimed. “Come, Sister, let us continue practicing! Honoroit, the music!”
All her preparations did not prevent her from being nauseous with nerves on the morning of the party. Such feelings had afflicted her in the past as well, on other occasions surrounded with great anticipation. One very good reason why she preferred being a mercenary, a knight, to being a lady: the anticipation of combat against a deadly foe could fill her with fear, but it did not make her ill. There was no time to be ill in battle, only to succeed or fail, using skills that she had utter confidence in. The consequences did not linger as they did with social events.
The party was at Aymeric’s house in the evening, and it was so packed she wondered how there was going to be room for dancing at all. The dogs had gone to Fortemps Manor for the evening to keep them from being underfoot. Most of the Scions had been invited, though in the end it was only Alphinaud, R’nyath, Vivienne, and Chuchupa who came and that was probably for the best. Though she did not see the crowd at first, getting ready in private upstairs as Aymeric was, both preparing for a rather dramatic entrance. At the appointed hour, she was ready, and stepped out of the dressing room to see him emerging from his own. He was as gorgeous as before, and they smiled to see each other as he gave her his arm and together they went downstairs to the sitting room. Her smile solidified into the gracious, pleasant mask she’d mastered in Doma.
Everyone grew silent to see them when it had been terribly noisy a moment before. Everyone stared at them, at their clothes, and she could not tell whether it was with approbation or not. Achiyo did not let her face change, but her hand tightened on Aymeric’s arm.
Then Alphinaud, the Warriors of Light, Emmanellain, and Lucia began to applaud, and in seconds the room was filled with applause. Whether it was sincere or not from those people she did not know, it set Achiyo at ease. And Aymeric was so tall and confident beside her, completely accustomed to such attention. There was nothing to fear, and suddenly all her nerves seemed silly.
Aymeric gave her hand a subtle squeeze with his elbow and raised his other arm to speak. “You honour us with your presence at this celebration of our betrothal. You all know my fiancée, but allow me to introduce her to you once more: Kensaki no Achiyo-dono of Hingashi, daughter of Kensaki no Tamehiro and Ayame of Yamamatsu-jo, ward of Percival Byers, adopted daughter of Lord Edmont de Fortemps; the Silver Lady of the Warriors of Light, Primal-slayer, Dragon-rider, Saviour of Ishgard, Liberator of Ala Mhigo – and my heart’s joy, Achiyo Kensaki.” He had practised those names most earnestly, until he could say the foreign sounds without stumbling.
That was her cue. “I am honoured to be in your midst. When I left Hingashi, I could never know that one day I would come to Eorzea, let alone Ishgard. Yet here have I come to your very midst, and she has given me life and happiness beyond my imagination. I am deeply honoured by the favour that you have bestowed upon me, and though we appear before you now in the raiment of my people, know that I love Ishgard as my home, and Ser Aymeric as the best of men.”
Aymeric left off smiling at her to wrap up their welcome. “Though it would be the desire of us both to be wed soon, circumstances dictate that we must be patient. Thus the date is set for the second astral moon after Heavensturn.” The blossoming trees would be in bloom, which would be nice.
Those gathered applauded them again, and then the party could properly begin. It was an eventful evening, as perhaps it must be with so many people present. First to greet them were the Counts of the High Houses, naturally, with coolly tempered smiles of their own – even Artoirel was hiding his true feelings here. Lord Edmont made his greeting and then faded to the background, conversing with Count Haillenarte. Count Dzemael was as stiff as ever. He probably still didn’t like her even if he had apologized for trying to keep her out of the city previously. Count Durendaire was more sincere, congratulating them with shades of ‘forming an alliance with the famous dragonslayer was very satisfactory for Ishgard’ in his address.
She reminded herself she cared what he thought about as much as she had cared what Doma’s Agricultural Minister had thought about her, and Alphinaud was there to run interference and schmooze anyway.
Chuchupa waved her over, polishing off a glass of wine. “I just came to see ye dolled up wit’ yer man. Ye both look very pretty, but this lot ain’t worth stayin’ round for. I’ll see ye at sparrin’ practise tomorrow.”
“Thank you for coming to support me, Chuchupa,” Achiyo said, smiling, “and thank you for not staying to cause chaos.”
Chuchupa snickered. “That’s right. Dunno how ye put up with it. Bye!”
Achiyo caught some words in Old Ishgardian, and looked around to see some young Elezen ladies gossiping behind their fans. “She’s wearing a bathrobe to her fiancé’s engagement party. And she made him wear one too. So gauche.”
“I’d be sooo embarrassed if that were me. She doesn’t deserve him. Why did he pick her? She fought Nidhogg, but she doesn’t know how to dress properly.”
Achiyo could see Vivienne inhaling to unload on them, and walked over to them, smiling sweetly. She really needed to learn to speak Old Ishgardian, but at least she understood it thanks to the Echo. “If you believe me to be wearing only a bathrobe, you must imagine the gowns of the Far East to be magnificent indeed.”
The two girls squeaked, blushed, and fled further within the crowd. Well, if that was the worst impertinence she encountered that evening, it would be a blessing.
Vivienne frowned at her. “You could have let me handle it.”
“You’d terrify the wits out of them.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s fine,” Achiyo told her. “I am used to this sort of thing. You do not have to protect me.”
“I don’t like it,” Vivienne said, glowering around at the nobles, most of whom avoided eye contact. “They’re like wolves behind those fine clothes. Aymeric has Lucia watching out for him, but who do you have?”
A kind and loyal thought, but she did not really want a Dark Knight with no social graces in that job. “Thank you, but I had no such protection in Doma. Should I somehow truly find trouble I cannot handle, both Artoirel and Aymeric will come to my aid. Please, relax and enjoy the… wine.”
Vivienne snorted, taking her point. “Fine. I will refrain from doing more than glaring.”
It was undeniable that there were several other jealous women present; she could see their looks and sense their hostility, though she also noticed R’nyath and Emmanellain making it their mission to distract and disarm such people. And someone touched her tail, which was horribly rude and they got smacked with it ‘accidentally’. But as it transpired, catty maidens aside, most of the party was quite pleasant. While she sensed political manoeuvring in some of her conversations, no one seemed interested in tearing her or Aymeric down socially, no one tried to assassinate her, and the next scene that arose had nothing to do with her. “But Lord Artoirel!” rose a feminine voice. “Truly, I love you! Even if you do not, you must see how beneficial such an arrangement would be!”
“My answer is final, Lady Noralaitte,” Artoirel answered, and the guests drew back to give space to a golden-haired woman, her hands clasped before her beseechingly. Artoirel stood before her, half-turned away, stiff and unyielding. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “Even were I inclined to consider your proposal – which I am not – surely you must realize how inappropriate it is to make such an offer at an engagement party.”
“How can you-! You are too cruel, my lord!” The woman lunged forward to grab his coat.
Lucia appeared beside her as if by magic. “My lady, you are disturbing the peace.”
“But I- Lord Artoirel!”
Artoirel turned his back on her, freeing his coat from her grasp, and Lucia firmly took the woman by the arm and led her out. Achiyo approached her brother. “Are you well?”
He pressed his lips together. “I warned you that noblewomen are ruthless in pursuit of an eligible match. I had not thought I would be so accosted tonight of all nights… Fortunately, Lucia was there to save us all.”
“I certainly was,” Lucia said, rejoining them. “I had thought be watching Ser Aymeric’s back, but I’m glad to be of service to you as well, Count Fortemps.”
Artoirel nodded. “Would you be my partner for the first dance, Dame Lucia? And Achiyo the second, after you have danced with Ser Aymeric? Then I can avoid further attention for at least two of the dances.”
“I don’t dance,” Lucia said flatly.
“A pity for me,” Artoirel said. “Then I shall have to endure…”
“But I shall dance with you after Aymeric,” Achiyo assured him.
It was well into the early hours of the morning when the party ended, and nearly all the guests had gone away, and those servants from House Fortemps that Lord Edmont had loaned for the evening. Only Emmanellain remained to escort Achiyo back home when she was ready, but even he was dozing in an armchair as he waited. Alphinaud had taken Honoroit and Saulette home a while ago with Artoirel.
In the other room, Aymeric took Achiyo’s hand and swept her into a spin, dancing without music. The hired musicians had also gone home a while ago, and in the return of quiet to his home he had no wish to so much as put on an orchestrion roll. But he still wished to dance more with Achiyo. She was now exquisite in burgundy velvet, which contrasted beautifully with her white tail, though no colour suited her quite as well as the soft pink of her kimono. By the Fury, he would love to see her wear it daily. “Are you well? It was a strenuous evening, and I apologize for the rudeness of some of my countrymen.” They’d both expected it – but that did not make it sting less. He wished he could guard her from it.
She smiled serenely up at him, sleepiness in her luminous eyes as they swayed together, so small and beautiful and perfect she was. “I am fine. They could say nothing that could truly bother me.” Then her quietness was only weariness, which was a relief. But maybe he should stop dancing with her.
He led her to the window instead, to gaze out at the night sky. “Did you enjoy the dancing?”
She smiled broadly and leaned against his arm. “Very much.”
“I’m glad, for I enjoy it very much as well, and even more with you. When first we both attended a ball, you did not yet know.”
“I practised very hard.”
“‘Tis evident. I dare say you are better than I – my last lessons were over a decade ago, and as a knight first and foremost I get less practise than I would like, though as Lord Commander I am invited often to events.”
She chuckled. “I noticed no fault.”
“Kind of you to say.” He put his arm around her shoulders and they looked at the dimming stars for a while.
“May I ask another question?” Aymeric said. When she nodded, he went on. “On occasion, you call me ‘anata‘. Clearly some endearment, but what does it mean?”
She tensed a little. “Literally, it means ‘you’, especially in formal circumstances. But in informal usage, it is for married women to call their husbands. I have been… overeager. I should not be saying it yet. But then you have called me all sorts of things that no one would think of in Hingashi.”
“Truly? I did not think I said anything outrageous to you…”
“I do not think you did for Eorzea,” she assured him. “But to call one ‘beloved’ or ‘dearest’… such words do not exist in Hingan.”
Utterly astonishing. “Why not?”
She laughed. “I do not know. We are a very… formal, and slightly repressed, people.”
He would never again complain about the emotional repression of Ishgard’s upper class. “Then what would I call you in Hingan?”
She pulled away to look up at his face again, and her expression was confused. “I do not know. I do not think you would call me by aught but my plain name. Perhaps with a syllable knocked off, to make it more intimate.”
“Like… Chiyo?”
“Yes.”
That would not do. He wanted options. “What would you say to Old Ishgardian terms?”
“Such as?”
“Mon cœur, mon bijou, ma foi…”
She hid her face in his chest, blushing. “I regret asking.”
“There are dozens more. If you do not like these ones, I can keep going.”
She shook her head violently, though she took care with her horns. “No, you may call me whatever you wish. I am only… It is embarrassing.”
Was it only that her culture did not call women sweet things? Or that she herself was not used to receiving affection? He would lavish it upon her if she would let him. “You may also use them on me, if you like.”
“That would be even more embarrassing.”
He tilted her face up and leaned down to kiss her. “The Silver Lady, embarrassed by affectionate words.”
“The Lord Commander is embarrassingly affectionate,” she retorted, and kissed him back.
He could not get enough of her, but suddenly she pulled back and covered a yawn. “Kami, forgive me…”
“The fault is mine,” he said. “I have been selfishly delaying your rest. I will let you depart, and pray that you are able to sleep well with what is left of the night.”
“I hope you may sleep too,” Achiyo said, and pulled him down willingly by the lapels for another kiss.
He saw her out with Emmanellain, who was yawning his own head off, and turned to the task of preparing for bed. He would be able to sleep as she wished him, probably; there was no parliament on the morrow, and the Temple Knights would have to excuse him for being late to work this one time.
One thought that would not leave his mind was the back of her neck. He’d never seen it before, concealed beneath armour and gambeson and shining silken hair and often a helm as well, and now he was obsessed with it. How her hair was gathered up and away, the scales trailing down into the drooping collar of the kimono that seemed to dip down purposefully to show it – the whole outfit was so concealing, neat and prim and precise, except for that bit. He did not understand; some fashions even in Ishgard showed more of the upper back and he had not found them half as alluring. Was it because it was her, or because such overall concealment only emphasized such tantalizing glimpses?
It was driving him crazy, if indeed he was not already crazy for allowing his thoughts to be so consumed by it. He wanted to kiss the back of her neck, to put his arms about her and clasp her against him, to draw his tongue up her neck to see if she would moan breathlessly… And… so on.
Why were they not already married? This was maddening.
Chapter 70: The Sword of Tamehiro
Author’s notes: someone left a comment on the last chapter on ff.net, thank you very much! The website won’t show it to me though. If you still remember your thoughts, you can probably DM me, or comment on my AO3 version of the fic instead, and then I’ll see it!
F’lhaminn says she and Nashmeira go “far, far back” – as far as the start of Heavensward, which is what, two years, tops? That’s not very far back at all. So I headcanon that at the very least, she spent some of the five years between Calamity and ARR in Radz-at-Han, and maybe even some time before that (I don’t know the plot of 1.0 but I bet there were opportunities). Also it gives me a chance to bring up the booty shorts which always amuses me. She dresses like an elegant grandma now. It’s a nice dress but a bit 180° in the character design department, I don’t think she’s that old.
Had to listen to some Beast in Black for Sidurgu and Vivienne. : D (Heart of Steel might be about Guts from Berserk but since Sidurgu is cast from the same mould it fits like a glove.)
I feel I should have named “Old Ishgardian” as “Old Coerthan”, so I might do that sometime – just go through with the ol’ find-and-replace.
Also I realized in this chapter that Tataru is supposed to be in Kugane this whole time, so… I’ve edited the previous chapter to remove her presence.