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alionne · 3 years

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5 | Deliberate (free write)

Sequel to Scale, because my brain really didn’t want to stop thinking about this. Spoilers for Stormblood. Cursing and flirting but no smut... yet. 3284 words.

He hears her coming, of course.

Estinien had heard her the first time, too, with the pugilist girl, one of the Scions he hadn’t met. Not that he needed to meet any more of them, mind you. The ones he’d encountered were bad enough.

‘Bad’ may not be the right word, he admits to himself, but he’d already helped them on this little trip, there was no need to start doling out compliments, too.

If anything, the cannon had been a welcome challenge. He doesn’t miss killing dragons, nor the rage surging through him each time he fought, but… he is the Azure Dragoon. He has power, and though he’d been trying to direct that power in a peaceable direction, lately, it’s pleasing when problems can be solved with his lance alone.

Of course, the problem with power is that there are all too many parties with an interest in how you use it. The cannon was one thing—what was he supposed to do, just let them all get shot to death?—but linger too long and he’d soon be on the receiving end of a tedious speech about duty and the future of Eorzea, and then he’d have to watch Alphinaud’s disappointment when he turned him down. And then probably sit through another lecture, because the boy was stubborn as all hell.

No, Estinien had come to Gyr Abania for one thing—the eyes of Nidhogg, which were his responsibility, and had somehow floated up from below the Steps of Faith and ended up here. Somewhere.

So he was lying low. After dodging the Imperials’ bullets, he’d set for the highest landmark he could find—an ancient ship, whose origins he did not know. It was a passable hideout, particularly since some ancient guardian attacked him as he approached. Estinien had dispatched it easily enough, but it fought with a ferocity that suggested that commoners and soldiers alike would avoid this place.

But of course, not a day later, he’d heard someone climbing the cliff—his cliff, he’d thought, stubbornly. Whoever it was was talking too loudly to be searching for an errant dragoon, though. Tucked away behind the ruined vessel, he’d waited until it seemed they were facing away, then stole a look.

Of course it was her. Who else would turn up on the very rock Estinien was hiding if not the bloody Warrior of Light, accompanied by yet another Scion of the Seventh Dawn? Still, they weren’t looking for him. They’d probably come to inspect the Garlean outpost and figure out why it wasn’t firing at them. If Estinien stayed out of sight, they’d figure it out soon enough and leave him be.

He hadn’t chanced a second look. Alionne was too bloody perceptive, sometimes, and who knew what powers the other girl had. Still, he could hear snippets of their conversation, when the wind was right— or rather, he could hear the one girl’s chatter, and then the occasional pause, when Alionne was presumably nodding in response.

She’d looked… quite lovely, he thought, mulling over his brief glance as he waited for them to leave. She’d exchanged her heavier Coerthan outfit for something more befitting the desert, and it revealed a great deal more of her form. She’d looked stronger, too, although mayhaps it was simply her outfit, exposing more muscle to admire. Still, even Estinien, who had been avoiding people for moons now, had heard of Doma’s miraculous rebellion. The whole thing reeked of Scion meddling, and where the Scions went, so too went the Warrior of Light, so she’d likely honed her skills on some far eastern magitek.

He’d love to examine her more… thoroughly. Certainly, their last dalliance suggested she’d be amenable, but a few conversations prior to his departure suggested that Aymeric had finally found his balls and was going to ask her out, properly. And while he was fairly sure he’d be welcome in that arrangement, it did mean she could lecture him on both the Scions’ and Ishgard’s behalf, and no potential dalliance was worth that mess.

It’s good to see her, though. Since leaving Ishgard, the only familiar face he’d seen was Hraesvaelgr's, and as… interesting as that encounter had been, there was a comfort in seeing his friends here, even if from a distance. Alphinaud, he’d spotted leaving the rubble of the tower, which was a relief, considering the carnage that had befallen it. And here is Alionne, equally uninjured. He’d done a good day’s work at Castrum Abania.

He hates to leave a job unfinished—that was what had led to him tramping all over Gyr Abania in the first place, unfinished business—so when the Scions finally leave Estinien’s rock, he lingers. No doubt, the imperials will be hard at work repairing their weapon. The Resistance seems savvy enough to press the advantage, but he’d like to see things ended for himself. Besides, if they successfully eliminate the outpost, the Resistance will claim the entire region, and Estinien will be able to leave more easily, dodging only one army, and a much less bloodthirsty one, at that.

So he keeps an eye to the south as he sets up a camp. Movement suggests repairs to the ceruleum pipeline are indeed underway, but the cannon barrel stays put. By mid-afternoon, Estinien is dozing slightly, which is why he’s caught off-guard when there’s suddenly a large hole in the glass window of the castrum’s command room. On instinct, he leaps to his feet, grabbing his lance, before he realizes that whatever’s happened, it’s hardly something he can leap off and address. He sits back down, watching the outpost more closely.

In the next few minutes, the small dots moving to and from the broken pipeline suddenly cease. They’ve stopped repairing the pipeline, then. Well, that’s as sure a sign as any that the Resistance have done something. Pushed someone out a window, it seems.

No further activity comes from the castrum as night falls, and Estinien slowly relaxes. The cannon is dealt with, so he can resume his search for the Eyes. He doesn’t know how much aether remains in them after such a powerful summoning, but he’s confident he’ll recognize their signature, no matter how faint. He’d sensed nothing from the Resistance camps, so they were probably in the hands of the Garleans—besides, if the Eorzean Alliance had found the Eyes of Nidhogg, Aymeric himself would probably have arrived by now, bloody guilt complex the man carries.

So, East, then, to occupied territory, where the Resistance themselves are no doubt headed. And, assuming he finds the Eyes, perhaps further East, after that. No Eorzean had seen anything like the great dragon summoned over Baelsar’s Wall, but Estinien had found a tome of Far Eastern lore depicting such creatures. With Eorzea’s dragon troubles mostly-sorted, Estinien might be more useful in other parts of the world.

It would be a nice change, too, from this endless desert. Even Coerthas was more than snow, once you got far enough out. This… he’d never begrudge the Ala Mhigans their homeland, but it could do with a bit more color. And Estinien had heard that the hot springs in Kugane rivaled those of Ishgard.

He’s nearly drifted off, imagining it, when a familiar sound brings him to full alertness. The whistle of a rope, tossed over a hold, the scrape of shoes on stone. Someone is climbing his cliff, and a great deal more quietly than the Scions earlier.

Or… not that quietly, he amends, hearing a muttered curse. Not a stealth mission, then. Mayhaps the Resistance had sent a scout. Or a desperate Imperial was climbing to high ground, looking for intel.

Well. He was very good at hiding in the shadows. He would watch them from here. If it was a Resistance member, he’d stay out of sight, and they would never be the wiser. If it was an Imperial… well, they wouldn’t see him, or anything else, for that matter.

Silently, Estinien tucks his few belongings away, glad he hadn’t started a fire—there will be no trace of his presence if he leaps away. He hefts his lance, eyeing the cliff’s edge. The moon was near-full, so whoever it was hadn’t needed a torch. Or they knew the cliff well. Or they were desperate.

Or… a hand grasps the edge of the cliff, and Estinien stares at it a moment, trying to figure out why he recognizes a hand and, Halone’s swiving teats, it’s the Warrior of Light, of course it is, because Alionne is too lucky, or persistent, or something for her own good.

Estinien is frozen in indecision. Is she here for him? The imperials knew their cannon had been destroyed by just one man, and the Resistance likely had spies among them, given the lack of an all-out assault on the castrum. There weren’t many men who could single-handedly cause that much damage, and as much pride as that brings Estinien, the Scions might have guessed his presence. Although that didn’t explain why she knew he’d be here, on this particular rock… it could be another reason. She’d been here before, perhaps she was scouting something. He could jump away, while she wasn’t looking, and she’d never know he was here. He could do it now, in fact…

Which is fair strange, because he’s been staring at her unmoving fingers for far longer than it should have taken for her to climb up over the edge. What is she doing? What kind of person climbs a cliff (my cliff, Estinien thinks mutinously), just to stop, right at the end? Is she hurt? Is she daft?

He’s taken a few steps towards her before he even notices, and that, more than anything, makes the decision for him. He’d been granted a second chance at life, and he’d vowed, upon waking, to make the most of it. For some reason, Alionne Bloody Ralnara is climbing his cliff in the middle of the night. Might as well see why.

In three strides, he’s at the edge, and he reaches down and grabs her—a little rougher than he means to, but maybe it will shake free whatever daydream has left her hanging from a cliff, like an idiot.

“Only a fool would climb a cliffside like this at night,” he grumbles as he pulls her up.

Irritatingly, his gruffness seems to calm her. “And only a fool would be waiting at the top,” she informs him, and he lets go of her wrist immediately.

They stare at each other, taking in the changes of the last few moons. Alionne eyes his new armor, and Estinien admires how fetchingly her dress sits atop her collarbones. Still, he’s suspicious, and that isn’t helped by the satisfied look she’s giving him.

When she doesn’t speak, he folds his arms. “Well? Out with it, then.”

Alionne gives him a curious look, and Estinien huffs. He hates this conversation already. She’s far too good at making him do the talking.

“You must have come all this way for something,” he points out. “Come to plead your case for the Resistance, then?”

Her gaze sharpens in disapproval. “No, actually,” she retorts. “I just missed you.”

Estinien’s traitor heart flares up beneath his breastplate, and he has no idea what to do with the feeling. “You climbed up a hundred-yalm cliff—which you shouldn’t have known I was on, mind you—because you missed me.” And now they’re glaring at each other, which doesn’t make any sense, she just got here.

“I saw you, from Castrum Abania,” Alionne informs him coldly. “Or, I thought I did. And I thought I might see if my friend, the one who might have destroyed an entire cannon for us, was still here.”

Ascending cliffs on the chance that friends might be present is not logical behavior, in Estinien’s opinion, but he also doubts arguing the point will get them anywhere. Which is why he hates talking.

“You let me find you,” adds Alionne, “so clearly, you missed me too.” And… gods, how had she read him so easily? He hadn’t realized it himself, until she’d said it, but something in him had warmed just because she was here.

And just like that, she’s won their conversation, and Estinien never had any chance, did he? She could ask him to assassinate Lord Zenos now, and he’d be too outmaneuvered to refuse.

“How did you become an expert in my emotions?” Estinien grumbles. It’s a concession more than a question, so he’s surprised when she answers him honestly.

"Oh, Aymeric told me,” she says, flashing him a smile, and Estinien is not qualified to interpret whatever feeling thrums in him at that revelation. “Estinien's fast,” she quotes, “so if you catch him, it’s because he’s let you. He said it’s how you show affection.”

It’s maddeningly accurate, and of course Aymeric is the one to have figured that out, he’d chased after Estinien often enough in their youth. But what has Estinien wanting to fling himself off the cliff edge is that he’s never noticed. Self-reflection has never been his strongest suit, but he’d thought he’d improved at it, lately, and yet, here Aymeric is, slicing him open from half a continent away.

“Alionne,” says Estinien, wearily. “Please stop telling me things about myself.”

She drops the subject (and why wouldn’t she, she’s already won) and looks over his shoulder curiously. “Where have you made camp, then? I thought I might join you.”

A suggestive remark sits on Estinien’s tongue, but he’s off-balance, and isn’t sure he wants to make it. “Pick wherever you like,” he sighs, instead.

And so, he finds himself helping the Warrior of Light set up a much more elaborate camp than he’d planned. He’s not sure when he went from leaning against the ship, arms crossed, to arranging rocks that will protect a small fire from the wind. “If there are any imperials left, we’ll draw them straight to us,” he complains.

Alionne raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to point out how ridiculous he sounds, and he scowls. Just because he’s lost doesn’t mean he has to lose gracefully.

“Have you had the chance to sample any of the local fare?” Alionne asks, ignoring his complaint. She pulls a tin from her bags, and sets it atop the fire to warm. “The bread is a little tough, but the stews are hearty, and the Resistance cooks seem to find ample herbs to spice them with, no matter where we camp.”

“I have not.” Where is she heading with this?

“Well, I have enough for two,” she says, smiling, and just like that, he’s out of patience for playing house, or whatever they’re doing.

“Alionne,” he bites out. “Why are you here.”

Her eyes search his face, more calculating than angry, and then she fixes him with a serious look. “I told you. I missed you, and I thought you might be here. So I came to see.”

Which doesn’t answer the real question in the slightest. “And now that you’ve seen me.”

“Now, I’d like to see what you think of this stew. And if you like, I can tell you about my time in Doma. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to thank you for destroying that cannon, because you saved a great many lives.”

She’s open, and honest, and there’s no way it can be that simple. “Do you have. Questions.”

She seems to genuinely consider it before shaking her head. “You seem to be dreading anything I could ask, so, no. I will hear anything you wish to share, but I will not ask anything of you.”

He catches her phrasing. Not, I will not ask you anything, but, I will not ask anything of you. No expectations. No requests, from well-intentioned Scions or Resistance leaders or… Aymerics. The tension drains from him, and he is only slightly annoyed at how quickly he’s trusted her.

Not that he hadn’t before. But before, he’d trusted her to watch his back, and to not make things too awkward if they ever had a falling-out. Now, he knows she won’t push, where it’s not welcome. That she’ll respect his choices, whatever they may be.

Shite, he trusts her with his heart, as awkward and starry-eyed as that sounds. He’ll be mooning over her, next. Or mayhaps he already is, since he’s been silent for far too long, now, and Alionne’s still looking at him intently, as though the longer she stares, the more he’ll believe her declaration of good faith.

“...Thank you,” he manages, stumbling only slightly, and her gentle smile warms him all the way through. And mayhaps this conversation was never one to be won, or lost.

Well, if that’s the case, he’s been an unsociable bastard. Estinien stares at the fire until he feels capable of stringing sentences together and being... well, not charming, but maybe— civil. “In light of your promise, this request is markedly unfair, but may I ask you questions?”

Alionne, who has been politely giving him space, suddenly beams. “I would be delighted.”

“In that case,” says Estinien, allowing himself to smirk at her. “Would you share your stew with me, then, and tell me of your time in Doma?”

The stew is remarkably flavorful, and tender, compared to the dried foodstuffs and hastily-roasted meats he’s been eating, lately. Though it is no doubt enhanced by the company, as Alionne tells him of pirates and shinobi, of underwater villages and nomadic warrior tribes. She keeps the tale light, even though Estinien knows it must have been far more difficult for the Scions than she lets on. He’s thankful—he doesn’t think he has the stomach for serious conversation, not unless she’s brought some spirits to accompany the stew. Besides, because it’s not important that he focus on the details, he can admire the way Alionne’s eyes flicker in the firelight.

Eventually, they’ve eaten their fill, and a comfortable silence stretches between them. When Estinien thinks of what he’d expected to do this night (very little), a deep thrum of satisfaction curls in his belly, powerful enough to take him by surprise. Until these last few moons, Estinien has never been indulgent, too focused on vengeance and discipline. His recent ventures have been instructive, and this night most of all.

“May I ask another question?” he asks her.

“If I haven’t been clear enough,” says Alionne, playfully exasperated, “you may ask me anything you like, Estinien, and I will do my best to answer it.”

For a moment, Estinien considers asking something embarrassing, but he quickly discards the impulse. There’s only one question he really wants to ask, anyway.

He gestures to their campground. “Did you come here just to talk?”

Alionne sends him another calculating look. Estinien returns it, confidently. He’d made his choice when he’d grabbed her wrist. “That depends on whether there’s more on offer,” she says, eventually, and Estinien can feel the space between them narrowing.

Wait. First things first. He leans backward, not breaking the mood, but prolonging it. “Have you and Aymeric talked, yet?”

Alionne’s gaze goes distant, and softer, which answers Estinien’s question before she speaks. “We’ve talked a great deal, yes. As you suspect, some of it was about you. Neither of us is promised to the other exclusively, if that is your meaning.”

Something about her tone suggests that Aymeric and Alionne have been uncomfortably forthright about their feelings, in a way that Estinien can’t consider right now without bolting, but luckily, Alionne’s body language suggests she won’t mind cutting the conversation short.

Good. He may be a poor conversationalist, but Estinien is confident he will have the upper hand in this.

#*shrugs and goes straight for that ot3 content*#aymeric's not even here but he's in my brain alright #overuse of italics #there's like a 50-50 chance I write a smutty sequel eventually #and like a 99% chance I start fleshing out this timeline with HW-era stuff #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #ali writes #Estinien x WoL #aymeric x estinien x wol

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alionne · 3 years

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uhhh, it only took me 3 days of ffxivwrite to figure out how to add a ‘read more’ to my posts... sorry followers

#I'm learning #I swear

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alionne · 3 years

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3 | Scale

Stormblood spoilers up to & including the level 69 dungeon. 1409 words.

When Alionne first spied the figure, she thought it was a daydream, brought to life by her own desires. An unidentified male insurgent had destroyed the cannon at Specula Imperatoris, Stark had said. Which beggared belief, Alphinaud had pointed out. And Alionne’s thoughts had drifted to one such person, location unknown, with the strength to do such a thing.

Well. Mayhaps not anymore, not without the Eyes of Nidhogg. But those, too, had turned up in Gyr Abania, had they not? Perhaps he’d chased them, and… found the Eorzean Alliance, being attacked by a cannon, and… destroyed it, but without notifying anyone else?

It was the most ridiculously dramatic chain of events Alionne could imagine, which honestly made it sound more and more like Estinien, now that she’d thought about it. So, mayhaps he’d been on her mind while assaulting Castrum Abania. Mayhaps she’d looked for him, even, though if he had been the one to destroy the cannon, he’d certainly have left by now.

She hadn’t been thinking of Estinien in the command room, though— she’d been achingly worried for Alisaie, and then furious at Fordola, and Zenos, baffled by his invitation. She’d hefted Alisaie in her arms, and then looked back for one last glance in the direction Fordola had disappeared, hoping to catch a glimpse of the magitek armor bearing her away.

And instead, she’d seen… well. She couldn’t be sure. But armor did glint in a very particular way, and the shape of it had been so familiar...

Another moment, and it disappeared. She forced her gaze away, back to more important matters—Alisaie might no longer be bleeding out on the floor, but she still needed transport.

But, on the ground, Alisaie safely spirited away, they’d had a lull, the recent battle won, the next one not planned yet. A chance to catch their breath. And Alionne had never been one for resting, and she was curious…

She spies Lyse with Raubahn, which means the girl probably won’t do anything too foolhardy tonight. It takes a few minutes until the new leader of the Ala Mhigan resistance can be pulled aside, but Alionne eventually finds her chance. “Do you still have that climbing gear?”

“The stuff we used for Nyunkrepf’s Hope? I… yes, I do,” says Lyse, confused. “Are you planning another trip? We did just climb it.”

“I was thinking about it,” admits Alionne, though she doesn’t say why. “I’m feeling a little restless, and I thought a short camping trip might be a nice way to tire me out.”

“Shall I come with you, then?” Lyse asks, as if it were already decided, and Alionne scrambles to think of a reason why she should go alone.

“Oh! No need! You’re the new leader of the resistance, you should make yourself available to everyone!” says Alionne, a little too eagerly, she scolds herself. “They’ve known you as a comrade, but I don’t know that they’ve all had the chance to see you as a leader, yet. Or to realize that you’re just as approachable now as you were before, you know?”

“I... suppose that’s true,” says Lyse, reluctantly. “But, you will be careful, won’t you? I’d hate to find you injured, or worse, because a golem got a lucky shot in, or you fell off a cliff.”

“I can handle myself,” Alionne tells her firmly, thinking of several cliffs she’s stepped off of willingly, without issue. Although, don’t tell her that, that’s not going to inspire confidence… instead, she winks at Lyse. “You won’t even notice I’m gone, promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” Lyse threatens, but she lets Alionne depart Ala Ghiri without further protest.

Retracing her steps is easy, automatic. As Lyse had pointed out, she’d just been here, and it leaves her mind free to wander.

Alisaie, Krile, and Y’shtola are all out of commission… although that feels like an understatement, in Krile’s case. The Resistance has won the Fringes and the Peaks, and no doubt there will be a plan to secure more of Ala Mhigo in the morning. Doma is freed, and Zenos’ attention is… on her, if Fordola’s unnerving eye contact had meant anything, but better her than anyone else.

Like the mysterious assailant who destroyed their cannons, she thinks, and then she’s thinking of Estinien again, as she hitches her rope to the first point Lyse had shown her.

It may not have been Estinien, she reminds herself. It could have been a trick of the light, or another wanderer. Even if it was, there’s no reason to think he’s still lingering here, now that the Resistance has taken Castrum Abania and the region is safe. Most likely, you’ll enjoy a nice climb and enjoy a nice view.

And with that, she pushes the dragoon out of her mind, focusing her attention on the climb. The dust on her palms, the edge of the rock digging into the pads of her fingers, the rough fibers of the rope as she loops it around her arm.

It’s a meditation, though not one that comes easily to her. Her thoughts turn to Fordola’s deep conviction and unnatural speed in the command room, and then she wrests them away, forcing herself to instead consider the cool desert air. Zenos’ “hunt” pops into her mind, and for a moment, she pauses, filled equally with the desire to fight and a worry about the outcome, but a burning in her arms forces her to refocus on the task at hand. Three-quarters of the way up, Alionne pauses on a small outcropping and suddenly thinks that Hien and Aymeric would like each other. If she weren’t so out of breath, she’d laugh at how unexpected, but right, the thought is.

The stars are coming out, and it reminds her of the Steppe and the Churning Mists and Thanalan all at once. The cliff, Alionne reminds herself, again. She feels a pleasant ache in her legs as she gets to her feet.

The last quarter will be slow-going, because even though Alionne’s already scaled this exact cliff in this exact way, it hadn’t been night last time. “What I wouldn’t give for a sodding chocobo right now,” she mutters to herself, and, alright, maybe she’s not trying to meditate anymore. Maybe she’s not avoiding thoughts of Estinien, either.

The thing is, if Alionne were a reclusive dragoon, this is the exact spot she’d hole up for a few days while her friends distracted the Empire. The ruins offer some measure of protection from inquisitive parties, and it’s very, maddeningly, stupidly high, she thinks, glaring at the rock face. Because gods forbid a dragoon stay on the bloody ground like anyone else, assuming there even is a godsdamned dragoon at the top of this godsdamned cliff, which there probably isn’t because Alionne has probably invented him, because she’s been looking for a familiar silhouette on top of every building she’s passed for months, ever since Aymeric had suggested that she’d be the most likely to see him of all of them, because he’s an uncommunicative, reclusive bastard.

And mayhaps frustration has propelled Alionne more quickly than expected, because she’s got a hand atop the cliff, now. The edge is an easy hold, and she lets the rest of her body weight hang, for a moment.

She’s too tired to lie about the feeling fluttering in her breast—she’s nervous. She’s been pretending all evening that it doesn’t matter if she finds him at the top, but she’d clearly come all this way for something. And even if Estinien is up here, she’s only going to find him if he wants to be found. Which he probably doesn’t, or he’d have contacted the Scions, or helped the Resistance, or even just been somewhere vaguely approachable.

You’re being ridiculous, Alionne tells herself, but something fond uncurls within her as she thinks it. It’s nice, to be nervous about something ridiculous, for once, instead of something potentially life- and nation-threatening. She’d climbed all this way, and here she was, hesitating on the very last step, for no good reason.

And just as she’s resolved to move, a hand grasps her wrist and starts to haul her the rest of the way up.

“Only a fool would climb a cliffside like this at night,” a reassuringly familiar voice growls at her.

“And only a fool would be waiting at the top,” she replies sweetly, and finds her feet at last.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #estinien #lyse #me: well let's not lock down ships too early #also me: yeah but wol/aymeric/estinien tho

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alionne · 3 years

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2 | Aberrant

Spoilers for the quests leading up to the third Crystal Tower raid. 381 words.

(This scene comes from the fact that I gave myself one red eye before I knew that it could potentially have plot significance.)

“Do you know what I thought, when I first saw you?” G’raha asks.

“No, considering I didn’t know you were there,” says Alionne, snippily. More snippily than G’raha deserves, perhaps, but she’s still cross with him for the trick with the aethersand. Her Miqo’te compatriot shrugs apologetically, and she softens a little, gesturing for him to continue.

“I thought, is she like me? Because of your eye,” he says, gesturing to Alionne’s right eye, and she starts to lift a hand before she realizes—

It’s red. A dark crimson, a shade that is not quite but very close to the Allagan Eye, on the same side as his.

“Oh! Gods, I’m sorry,” Alionne starts, but G’raha stops her.

“No, don’t apologize, neither of us chose our eye colors. Or, I assume you didn’t. And trust me, you don’t want all the baggage of this one.” he tells her, a little sadly.

“The truth of your eye lies rests with Allag,” Alionne repeats, thinking of the secret G’raha had shared earlier that day. The sentence hangs in the air between them, and suddenly, Alionne wants nothing more than to get the serious look off of her usually-cheery friend’s face.

“The truth of my eye just rests with my parents’ genetics, I’m afraid.” It’s a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, but it makes G’raha smile, so she commits to the mood. “No, really —you try getting away with anything as a child when your mother has red eyes. She said she could see lies! It was terrifying!”

G’raha laughs, and his weariness seems to fall away as he begins to banter with her. “Really, I should be thankful, Alionne. You fight so well, I’d hate to think what you’d have accomplished studying Allagan history. I’d be lucky to get a footnote in your essays.”

“I can’t imagine any circumstances that would lead me to becoming a scholar, let alone an accomplished one,” she replies, frowning.

“Have you given it a go?” G’raha asks, an impish look in his eyes. “I’ve known many who scoffed at research, only to end up loving it in the end.”

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but chain me to a desk, and you will end up buying another desk,” threatens Alionne, and G’raha just laughs again.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #ali writes #g'raha tia

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alionne · 3 years

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1 | Foster

MSQ spoilers up until the 65 dungeon. 1027 words.

(I did get a blowtorch for my birthday last week, so the combination of looking for foods to set on fire and this prompt may actually make me make bananas foster)

It is rare that Alionne finds herself with nothing to do. There is usually someone doing something that she can try her hand at, but it’s a particularly chilly night in Ishgard, and the streets of the Pillars are near-empty, as if everyone has decided that tonight would be a good night to indulge in rest.

And… she should probably be resting, too. Tomorrow, she and Estinien are to properly test Biggs and Wedge’s new manacutters, and set forth to do battle with Nidhogg himself. But testing brand-new airships alone might keep her from sleeping early, and the thought of battling dragons tomorrow has Alionne’s blood singing in anticipation.

Still, there’s nothing to be done out here, so she returns to Fortemps Manor. Perhaps the head chef will relent and let her in the kitchens, for once. What Alionne lacks in culinary talent, she’s sure she can make up for in enthusiasm and knife skills.

Fortunately (for the Fortemps staff, at least, who have insisted, repeatedly that a guest cannot be allowed to help, it would be terribly rude of them) Count Edmont catches her on the way.

“Alionne,” he calls from his study, and Alionne enters, just catching her gracious host tucking away a large journal.

Edmont gestures to a seat across the desk, which she takes, feeling slightly like a child in a teacher’s office. “Biscuit?” he offers, which doesn’t alleviate the feeling in the slightest. “Alphinaud mentioned your plans to assault Nidhogg. I can tell you are a woman of action, and I thought I might divert you, this evening, with some company.”

Hm. Okay. Entertaining their host feels like a duty Alphinaud might assign her, which helps her restlessness somewhat. “I could do with some diversion,” Alionne admits. “I have never been one for sitting idly.”

“You remind me of Haurchefant, when he was younger,” says the Count, with a slightly bitter smile. “Always running about, though I hear he has learned the value of words by now.”

Alionne returns the smile, hoping it doesn’t look as awkward as she feels. The relationship between Edmont and Haurchefant is… complex, she’s figured out that much.

Luckily, Edmont is happy to continue talking. “It’s the cold. Ishgardians were ever fond of the written word— journals make up a third of the works in the Saint Endalim Scholasticate— and now, with our freezing clime, the nights offer little else but an excuse to withdraw to pen and page.”

“Is that what you were doing when I came in?” Alionne asks.

“Indeed,” agrees Edmont. “Have you any interest in journaling?”

Alionne can’t help but wrinkle her nose at the thought, and Edmont laughs. “A few more nights like this, and perhaps you’ll give it a try. We’ll make you a child of Ishgard, one day.”

“Ishgard has been a home unlike any I’ve known,” Alionne admits. “Mostly because of you and yours.” The Waking Sands had been nice, but Alionne had been eager to prove herself, and as promising as the Rising Stones had been, they’d barely gotten set up before… everything. Haurchefant, and Aymeric, and all of Fortemps had been welcoming, first and foremost. Sure, she and Alphinaud had sought to make themselves as useful as possible, but it had never been an expectation. It was greatly comforting, and goodness knows the remaining Scions (for now, Alionne reminded herself sternly) had especially needed some comfort. After… everything.

“Full glad am I to hear that we have welcomed you,” says Edmont, “but fair unhappy, as well, to hear that you did not find such welcome as a child.”

And… oh. Thinking of home, and Alionne hadn’t thought of her family at all.

“My childhood was not an unhappy one,” she says, stumbling over herself to not give Edmont the wrong impression. Two parents who loved her well enough, nothing like… well, Haurchefant’s childhood must have been. “But my family is… particular. I don’t think any of them understood why I wanted to leave them, or even venture into the world at all.”

“One not need understand their children to support them,” says Edmont, rueful. “Halone knows, whenever I think I understand mine, I seem to be off the mark.”

Whatever expression Alionne is making causes him to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to suggest your parents are… better than your experience of them. Indeed, I wish they’d been more supportive. I wish I’d been more supportive of my children, growing up,” he confides, and Alionne decides that it is the perfect time for a strategic biscuit, because she has no idea what to say.

“It’s taken me years to learn… well, it was never about understanding. I now strive to provide my family with a place where, regardless of understanding, they can find food, and shelter, and guidance, be it on how best to serve Ishgard, or how to distract themselves for a night,” he says, gesturing to Alionne. “A home, where they will be welcomed. If they forgive you, and accept it,” he says, a distant look in his eyes, and Alionne doesn’t need to ask which child he’s thinking of.

“And if you are lucky,” he continues, “your children will repay you in kind. They may not understand you, but they will emulate the best parts of you, mixed with the best parts of themselves.”

Alionne thinks of the last Fortemps who offered her food and shelter and guidance, and thinks that Haurchefant may be more like his father than either realizes, which is why she’s so surprised when Edmont continues, “Take you, for instance.”

It takes a moment for Alionne’s brain to restart, and based on Edmont’s slight smile, he knows it. “Me?”

“You came to Ishgard without an understanding of our customs, or our history. You know the origins of our war, now, but you do not understand it the way someone who grew up with it would. And yet, you are storming Nidhogg’s keep tomorrow, in support of our cause.”

“I… well, I— that is—“

“A warm meal, a space to rest, some conversation— you will always find them, here,” Edmont promises. A home, he doesn’t say, but Alionne hears it nonetheless.

#spoilers for level 65 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #edmont de fortemps #my concept of family is not the same as edmont's but that's ok it's still rather sweet #i'm not sure I'm capable of writing something under 1k so we'll see how many days of ffxivwrite I do #ali writes

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