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ancientechos · 4 years

Text

Sway

FFXIVwrite2020 | Masterlist

Ship: Emet-Selch x Arianna Rowen [WoL]

Expac/Verse: somewhere in the middle of ShB, no real spoilers though I guess

Words: 1808 words

Arianna is nose-deep in another fiction novel when the Ascian sees fit to interrupt her. Though, given that she hadn’t been especially listening to him very closely -- courtesy of the book, only the utterance of her name had roused her -- she’s left upturning a blank gaze to him as he stares at her expectantly, one hand out. Her eyes flicks from his face, basked in the peculiar light of the glowing -- mushroom? -- in this little corner of Il Mheg, to his gloved fingers.

“Sorry...?”

Emet-Selch clears his throat, looking vaguely irritated. “I asked if you wanted to dance.”

The surprise has her eyes widening slightly in bemusement. Not at his presence -- she’s known he was here, of course, doing his scheming or plotting or sleeping whilst she reads -- but to say that she ever expected that sort of question from him...

“You want to...dance...?” she repeats blankly, tilting her head to the side as she slowly closes her book. Though surely not because she wants to dance. She just doesn’t think she can concentrate on the words anymore after his impromptu query. Gently, she places the tome to the side, beneath the conveniently lamp-shaped and lamp-like luminescent mushroom.

“Isn’t that what you were reading about?” Emet-Selch gives a nod to her discarded book.

A mild flush rises to her cheeks as she brushes thin fingers through a few strands of wavy hair, her gaze averting. There had, indeed, been a ballroom scene within its pages; one she had been in the middle of reading, in fact. Voeburt dances truly must have been a sight to behold.

“Th-that — you’ve read this, too...?” Embarrassment fades into curiosity as Arianna glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She hadn’t expected him to read this sort of novel.

“No.” He allows a moment for this answer to sink in and smirks as the flush deepens in colour. “But I can see I’ve guessed correctly. So, I’ll ask again: would you like to dance with me, Arianna?”

Arianna rather feels as if she’s just been caught doing something she shouldn’t really be doing, though that’s ridiculous — ah, she supposes this technically counts, doesn’t it...

Though at his repeated question and his casual offer, she finds herself wondering. Would she like to dance?

Surely, the answer, normally, would be a resounding no. And yet why can she find herself feeling just a little bit curious...? She’s very curious...about how that might be like, with him, of all people. Though a part of her wonders if he’d simply step on her feet every which way and attempt to embarrass her at every turn --

Swallowing nervously, she slowly stands, very surreptitiously not looking at him as she quietly smooths the fabric of her robes. Only then does she finally, shyly look up at him.

“I-I suppose...I would not mind...”

At her assent, a grin crosses his features so large that she should probably feel concerned. But, Arianna assures herself, he has had plenty of opportunities to kill her before should he ever have felt the whim to do so...and besides, as the so-called warrior of light and darkness, it would be rather pathetic if she could not at least stall him if it came to that...

She would like to think it wouldn’t. She would not like to think about it at all.

“Excellent. Ah, but...” His tone turns thoughtful as he tilts his head to look toward the ground. “I fear we will need a change of venue. Not much place to dance here, after all.” Emet-Selch gestures toward the gently rippling stream that passes through this small cave, then his hand lifts. A void portal opens. “Do you mind? It’ll be faster than using that bird of yours.”

Arianna glances between him and the portal. Making a split second decision, she gently places her hand on his.

Closing her eyes, she allows herself to be lead along through --

And when she opens them again, they are still within Il Mheg, but this time on the wide, expansive balcony of Titania’s castle. The moon gleams above them, casting them both in a silvery glow.

“You don’t think they’d care, do you? This is what this place was made for, after all...if I recall.” Emet-Selch doesn’t let go of her hand; on the contrary, he pulls her further after him as the portal shuts. Pausing beneath the moonlight, he regards her for a moment. “But I think we need a change of clothes, too. These are rather plain for a midnight dance...”

His other hand slowly lifts, forming that tell-tale finger snap motion. Before she can think it through, or really think much at all, she’s grasped at his hand in an attempt to put a stop to him. Because, really, no, she does not want either of them to be changing clothes here, magically or not --

The boldness of the action has them both still for a moment. The Ascian is, perhaps, surprised, though his gaze does little to show it; and for once Arianna has little of a flush to her, too caught up in the trepidation of the impulse to actually feel self-conscious.

And then Emet-Selch smirks, and the hyuran woman blushes as if on reflex, and almost everything returns to normal.

“Did you really think I need to snap my fingers for a bit of magic?” The laugh that leaves him is neither malevolent nor affected; it seems almost far too normal from a man like him. He’s genuinely amused and not simply sardonic. “Oh dear, that’s adorable.”

“Y-you -- “ Arianna stammers as the red creeps up her face like a mass of crawling ants. She drops his hand as if he had burnt her, though he does not let her discard the other one -- and she’s suddenly too distracted by the sensation of her very bare arms to care for the moment.

Truly -- he hadn’t had to snap his fingers -- and yet she is very much not in her robes. Instead, she’s clad in a gently flowing blue dress -- surprisingly and blessedly modest. The Ascian has also chosen to change his attire to a traditional-looking suit, complete with a rose in his lapel.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.

At least she looks, she supposes...passable.

“Um...ah...th-thank you...for the dress...” Her voice is somewhat subdued as her eyebrows furrow in consternation -- mostly at the relief she feels. She also finds, for some reason -- that she cannot, actually, really, look at him, for some reason. The idea is too overwhelming. somehow.

Oh, but the rose is quite pretty. Even moreso that it’s fake. How charming -- would it be naive to assume it was because of her? Probably so.

The hand that holds hers tightens in a mild squeeze. “My pleasure, my dear.” Ah, she really, really cannot look at him. Especially when, for some reason, his voice is strangely soft, and makes her unable to breathe besides, “Shall we dance?”

The only response she can manage to give to him is a faint nod. There’s another light squeeze of her hand before he carefully pulls her along with him, simply pulling her. A part of her almost wants to ask if he’s mocking her --

And then, just as she manages to crawl from that delicate mind-state, there is...music.

There is no one here to play it, neither the pixies nor any phantom Voeburtites, and yet...there is music. A curious sort, unlike anything she’s ever heard before, but strangely nostalgic at the same time. There’s a certain bite to it, but it’s soft, pleasant, she finds she quite likes it. Perhaps it’s supposed to chase away her anxiety, and perhaps it does the trick. When Emet-Selch slowly moves to hold her properly, she allows him, even touching lightly -- but cautiously -- at one of his shoulders. Though she still cannot bring herself to look past his collarbone.

Neither of them step on one another’s feet; in fact, it is perhaps a bit too natural to be dancing like this, gently swaying to the music. Apart from her inability to look him in the eye, that is. Emet-Selch is, of course, the first to break the silence.

“You know,” he says with a sigh, “I think it’s quite rude not to look at your dance partner.” She does not reply -- though her green eyes look slowly up his neck, stop at his chin, and dart down to the rose at his pocket. The Ascian sighs again, though says nothing else.

Perhaps he’s chosen not to speak as his next move, but to do. Tiny motes of light -- like stars plucked from the heavens -- swirl around them both, a beautiful glow to them. One floats past the hyuran woman’s eye level, and she watches it curiously. Of course, it drifts directly past his face, undoubtedly of the Ascian’s own design, and Arianna’s gaze follows it unwittingly. She’s trapped into locking gazes with him, a stuttering of air in her lungs as she very soundly refuses to think to herself that he is any adjective synonymous to handsome, because she’s uncertain of what that might mean for either of them.

Emet-Selch smirks, and oh, but he is.

“Not that hard, is it?” he asks lightly, pulling her closer. The flush renews itself to her cheeks, though she can’t bring herself to look away from him. She draws breath very, very carefully.

Maybe a distant part of her was aware she would need it, for Emet-Selch takes his cue to pull her ever closer -- pushing her into a dip as he looms above her. Though her fingers clench in the fabric at his shoulder, so secure is his hold upon her that the thought he might drop her never once crosses her mind. This is -- just -- very -- she’s --

A stray shard of starlight passes between their gazes, separating them for a moment. He is much, much too close.

“Th-they’re very -- pretty -- ” she manages to stutter, her mind desperately turning for something to say other than being ridiculous and dull.

“Are they?” His mouth curves. “I’m glad you enjoy them. I do hope you’re enjoying our dance, as well.” He pulls her up, but instead of letting her go -- the music continues, and so does their dance, albeit there’s less distance between them than before.

“I -- ” She bites her lower lip lightly, before continuing. “...Yes. I-I...am.”

“Hmm. Then we have no reason to stop, do we?”

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finalfantasyxivwritings · 5 years

Text

Please Don’t Go

AO3 Version

Relationship: WoL!Reader/Emet-Selch

Rating: General

Summary: After seeing your worth and relenting his goals to bring about the Great Rejoining, Emet-Selch visits you one last time.

But you don't want him to leave.

[Loosely related/prequel ficlet of sorts]

For all the times that you’d seen Emet-Selch, it had never truly crossed your mind to the fact that the man was actually there. You’ve experience enough with spirits and specters for the caution to have some virtue, though it’s not one that you ever sought confirmation for--it simply never seemed relevant.

But you’ve gotten your answer at last, though it had not been your intention in even a few short minutes ago.

Arms wrapped tight around the man’s chest, tugging his body so close against yours that it nearly hurts. You had half-expected him to turn to smoke against your touch, so the surprise that fills your eyes when they look into the man’s gaze is as powerfully genuine as it is matched by shock in his own.

Your lips part. No words come out. Just a breath so soft that you hardly hear it yourself.

Though he makes no attempt to pull away from your grip, you can feel the Asican’s golden eyes upon you, as if boring into your very soul. Though it unnerves you, it does in the same way that most of him does--the way that his presence and form and voice but screams in being other, though it could have easily been due to your blessing naturally responding to a soul so opposite your own. So old. So ancient. So lonely.

The man tilts his head and breaks the trance of the moment. Suddenly you can breathe again, though your arms yet wrap tight around his body--and he does not move away.

“Did I hear you right?” The Ascian murmurs, just a touch too soft to be scathing. “Because I could have sworn I heard a voice call out ‘please don’t go!’ as if one was calling for their own parent.”

A moment passes, and so your grip lingers. Your eyes fall away from the Ascian’s gaze but you make no attempt to speak--those had been your words but moments ago, when you feared that Emet-Selch was about to leave your presence in a vortex of shadow.

You were terrified if you’d ever see him again after that.

You were horrified by the idea of the man, this Ascian, never once showing up again in your life. No snide remarks, no play of words or wit--it was more than just losing a familiar thorn pricked deep in your finger, but of someone you’d come to be comfortable around.

Someone who, despite it all, felt familiar to your very soul, though you could hardly place why.

With no answer forthcoming from you, the man seemed happy to fill it with the sound of his own voice, still as soft as before--a noticeable difference from how he tended to talk.

“Is that what you are now, dear warrior? Do you so prize the company of a being who has tried to kill you and your friends--so much that you may cry out with such fervor when I decide to take my leave?”

The words are painful but the tone lacks a bite, as if drained of venom. Hollow. When they fall upon the air they sound more like a challenge than an accusation.

So you hug him tighter. Emet-Selch feels warm against you, warm and strong and broken in some of the same ways you are. You can’t ignore the way you feel when he’s close to you--the buzzing deep in your chest, as if your soul can’t help but try and reach out to his.

Lonely, almost lost to the eons of empty time.

But you hug him. You hold him tight. Your fingers dig into the leather of his jacket and you can’t find the ounce of will to release the grip.

“...Yes,” the word spills from your lips, beginning a gentle torrent that can’t be staved or filtered quick enough. “Because I know you don’t want to leave.”

You hear the softest catch in the man’s breath.

But suddenly Emet-Selch scoffs and shakes his head lightly, as if to rid himself of even the idea itself.

“What gave you such a stupid notion?”

You tilt your head so you can look into the man’s eyes again. Though the words would have pushed a notion of the man’s growing agitation, their tone revealed the Ascian’s expression before you finally caught sight of it.

He looks confused.

“Perhaps your soul is more broken than I assumed. Fragile and foolish and.....”

It’s only then that the Acian seems to lose his words. They trail off into silence, one that lingers for several heavy seconds until, at last, all the man has for you is but one word:

“Why?”

It’s not easy to give him an answer, since you are balancing on the edge of impulse and instinct. But the words must be somewhere in your heart already, for they bubble up unscathed and untangled against your tongue and teeth that threaten to rattle with nervousness.

“You’re lonely too,” you murmur. “I...can feel it. I felt it. You don’t want to leave. You can stay here with me--help us make the world a better place.”

“And you think it would be that easy?”

“Of course not,” you argue gently, growing bold as your body catches onto the man’s material realness--his body heat, his gentle pressure. “But it’s better than hiding in some corner of a forgotten Shard.” Your brows knit together. “You told me not to forget--to remember you and your people. That you existed. Why not join us and keep their history alive by your actions?”

It’s hard to keep Emet-Selch’s gaze for longer than a few more seconds, as his silence begins to feel heavier and heavier upon your shoulders until it’s more than you can handle. It’s then that the shame and worry start to creep in, that perhaps you’ve let instinct go too far, that your words are foolish idealizations.

You worry for what feels like an eternity of its own.

But then it’s suddenly warm, your body, and the realization almost overwhelms you of arms slowly wrapping around your body. They hold tight, matching the power of your grip, until it hurts and you let out a soft noise of discomfort--

--and then they loosen. Just a little. Apologetic. Learning.

“...perhaps you are worthy to inherit what my people have left behind,” the Ascian finally murmurs, though the words feel more like feigned cover for something deeper behind them. “If you are yet so willing to keep me nearby, then I will take amusement in it. For now.”

And he hugs you in return. He hugs you in a way that feels awkward and new, like he’s yet to figure out the pressure to apply around your shoulders. He speaks like there’s eons of emotions beneath his words, thousands of lifetimes of thoughts and hopes and dreams.

He feels lonely in the same way you do deep inside, and yet his arms are firm and his gesture is honest.

It makes your soul feel warm.

#shb #shadowbringers #ffxiv #shb spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #5.0 spoilers #emet selch #emet-selch #emet selch readerinsert #emet-selch readerinsert #sfw #sfw readerinsert #writing

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theaetherhealerffxiv · 5 years

Text

Redemption pt 1

Part 2

Rating: PG17 for safety

Pairings: Wol x Emet-Selch

Summary:

Its over, the winner gets to write the next chapter of the story. So why, pray tell, wont the Warrior of Light let him die?

Word Count: 5906

He stood upon the precipice of death, he could feel it, the reaching of its cold fingers. The Underworld calling him down to rest. Hades’ shoulders slumped as he reached up to graze the glowing wound in his chest. A gentle smile crossed his lips as he heard her take a step forward. His gaze returned to her, the Viera that he had grown so fond of. He had followed her around during her adventure, only partially out of necessity for his plans. The other part had been curiosity, her soul glowed with familiarity and before their fight he realized why; realized who. His lover, his dear friend, the one who he tried to convince to help with Zodiark all those eons ago. Her, whose name he could not even fully recall.

The Viera’s mismatching eyes stared at him with an intense emotion he could not place. Her hands reaching out to him, he wanted to speak, to tell her to remember all of the lost souls in Amaurot, to take his burden of vengeance from him. Instead her hands now free of her weapons cradled his face, her lips moved, she was speaking to him. What could the Warrior of Light possibly have for him? Her hands were so warm compared to his cooling skin, he could happily let death take him here. She would remember for him, she would become the stewards of their souls. Their hopes, their dreams; she would do it for him.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide, even as the darkness settled in. She had her hands cradled around him: his body laying in her lap. One hand upon his chest, the other making sure his head was resting upon the soft spot in her armor. His name, she was calling his name; not Emet-Selch, not the Ascian, nay she was calling his true name.

“Hades,” Her broken voice reached his ears, “Hades yah cannot die here.”

Ah, but that was the point was it not? The winner decides the history, the winner gets to decide how to move forward. He was the loser, he was no longer needed in this story. His terrible contributions had already been written in the annals of history. It was her turn now, to shape the story of the world, to write the wrongs he brought upon the Source. Pain constantly laced through his shape, as if she was trying to capture his soul. To keep it whole and in the body that was before her. With what little strength he had Hades lifted his hand to touch hers. He could feel the tears splashing against his cheeks. While her form was blurring he patted her hand. She had to let him go, but what would let her do that?

“Hero,” His voice croaked, it was insanely hard to speak. To move his mortal lips as his very soul was being pulled into the Underworld. “No, Swath.” There was a choked sob as he realized he had her attention. “Remember us -”

“No,” She spat, silencing him. “I da not have tha time to remember somethin yah should be doing. Yah have a chance ta make up for things.” Her voice petered out for him, he could see she was still speaking, but could not hear her.

Nevertheless he smiled internally, his time was up could she not see this? Death was taking him, she was only fighting against the inevitable. Besides, why was she trying so hard to save her enemy? Had she too grown fond of him? Hades tried to squeeze her hand but found no strength remaining, instead his hand slipped, and fell to the side. Her lips moved, clearly a curse. Beside her the Miqo’te woman appeared touching her shoulder, probably telling her to let him go. That he was not worth it.

Good, she would knock some sense into the hard head of the Warrior of Light. Hades had seen her time and time again pay attention to the Miqo’te woman's words. It was clear that she held the blind woman in high regards. But with his fading eyesight he saw the Hero shrug off the hands that tried to stop her.

Why?

Why was she trying so hard to keep him alive?

Hades’ view of her finally faded and turned to white. In fact, everything around him was white; he no longer felt her hands clutching him, instead only feeling a small sting on his chest where he assumed that she was still trying to heal him. As he collected himself, Hades realized he was not alone: and that his body was not free. Dark chains kept him grounded to the spot, and a man clothed in a familiar white stood before him. It was a long moment of silence between them before the man stepped forward grabbing one of Hades’s hands and pulling - hard. With a sharp pain in his chest, a call and vision of the Warrior of Light, he felt the chains that bound him snap one by one. Suddenly, he was free, his body light airy and unnatural. No voices of the dead reached his ears, no whispers of the promised ending that he had been striving for. Nothing, his mind was silent except for his own spinning thoughts. Shocked he looked up to the man who had a mask that he knew.

“Hythlodaeus,” Hades breathed standing straight for the first time in eons. The other man beamed and smacked his friend on the shoulder; causing Hades to wince.

“Hades! How does it feel to finally be free of that Primal?” Hythlodaeus reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face that Hades did not recognize. It was of a Elezen man in his twenties, bright blue eyes and white hair adoring his face.

Hades felt his brow pull together in confusion. At the realization that he was free of the tempering, and that his friend wore a face that he did not know. “I cannot say.” He reached up, rolling his shoulders and looking down at the glowing blue hole in his chest. That as he turned to gaze back at his companion realized that Hythlodaeus had one as well. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak before a hand raised to silence him.

“Surely you can hear her?” Hythlodaeus glared at him with surprising ire. His friends sudden shift in tone brought even more confusion to his already spinning mind.

Hades could of course hear the Warrior of Light, Swath, calling and speaking to him. It was faint, but there. He nodded, and Hythlodaeus sighed a smile once again adorning his unfamiliar features. “Good, I knew she would not allow someone to die so similarly to I.”

Hades’s frown grew. “Excuse me?” It seemed he was only capable of short bursts of speech, perhaps it was the cascade of freed emotions that stunted his ability to speak, or perhaps the whirl of thoughts that echoed through his mind. All his thoughts, thoughts of her, of the past, of the fact he was freed. Thoughts of the other Ascians, still chained to Zodiark. He stared at Hythlodaeus with continued confusion, the other man doing little to explain himself. Hythlodaeus paced around Hades wagging his index finger in the air, as if he was counting to himself. Those deep blue eyes darting looking at the fading chains that lay on the ground around them before looking up at Hades with an even wider grin. A small thin string appearing in front of him. Hythlodaeus turned and presented it to Hades. Who only looked at him with awe of a man who was lost.

“This is your tie to her, fainter than I thought it would be honestly.” He regarded the string with curiosity and touched it, causing a sharp pain to shoot through the center of Hades’ wound. The golden eyed man crumpled to the ground and his old friend only laughed in triumph. “Faint but strong!”

Hades glared at Hythlodaeus from his position on the floor. “Pray forgive me, my old friend, but I am wholly confused about this situation.” Perhaps it had been the pain that cleared his mind, but for the moment he was able to focus on the strange, but familiar, asshole before him. “I am supposed to be dead, am I not?”

“You are only partially dead my dear friend.” The Elezen swooped down helping Hades stand and dusting him off. “She is clinging to you, I assume it may be because of the familiarity of your wound, or she has truly grown fond of you.” A gentle smile appeared on his face, content, happy. “It was time she moved on from me, and I am glad it is you that has allowed her to do so.”

Hades gripped his friend's arm with a frown. “You? Hythlodaeus you said to me eons ago that,”

“That I gave up on her? That I surrender and give her wholly to you?” A smirk graced Hythlodaeus’s lips. “Pray tell Hades, how did that go for you? Did you remain by her side even after the sundering as I? Did you support her even in her most dire moments?”

Hades paled, turning to look away. “Nay, you know I have done the opposite.”

“That's right,” Hythlodaeus shifted and pointed to the glowing thread. “And yet, that is still there for you. Her will to hold your soul, even though hers is broken.”

Hades winced, some lover he had truly been. He had pledged himself to Swaths whole form back in Amaurot, but he had fallen into contempt and anger whenever he saw a fragment of her soul.

Oh, if he just followed the plan she would be whole once more.

He would be able to hold her once more in his arms, and he would beg her forgiveness from his infidelity. Explain it was part of the plan to lay out the work towards bringing her and the others back from the brink of oblivion.

“Fool,” Hythlodaeus’s angry voice pulled him from his thoughts. “How much of that was Zodiark and how much was that you? The Hades I knew may have been a lazy good for nothing but he loved her. He would have remained by her side even if she was fragmented.”

Hades knew he was right, and could not face him because of that. No apologies would bring about forgiveness. He had pushed her, pushed Swath, to the very edge; to the point of having to kill him. All as a final test to see if she was worthy. She was, by the very creation magic that put him in this situation,she was. Her soul may have been split but she was still her. Which is why he had been so curious and drawn to her. The temptation to be with the one that he loved was ever present, even while he was tempered. Clutching his chest he felt the pain increasing, and looking towards the glowing thread he, surprisingly, felt tears come from his own eyes.

“Hythlodaeus.” He groaned, trying to pull away and finding no resistance from his friend. “I wish for another chance. I wish to be by her side, to make up for my mistakes to,” He froze as he almost touched the thread. Then feeling a pang of misery explode in his chest.

He had no right to ask for these things.

“That's right Hades, you do not have any right to ask for these things.” Hythlodaeus came to stand next to him watching Hades’ hand shake as it hovered of the thread. “But you want them anyways don't you?”

“Yes.” He hissed. “I wish for it, I crave it Hythlodaeus. I wish to see this world that she fought for so fervently through the eyes of a man untouched by a stronger beings will.”

“Even with the knowledge that she herself may be tempered?” Hythlodaeus had a familiar irritating smile dancing upon his unfamiliar face. Making Hades fight to resist the temptation of rolling his eyes at his long time friend.

“She fought for this world before being chosen to champion that dreaded creations will did she not?” He spat back, then blinked at the unbridled anger that he felt. He would not justify his actions and choices however tempered he was. But when it came to her he would fight for her actions because she did them with the belief that she could save everyone. Hythlodaeus’s smile grew wider, causing Hades to glare at him.

“There, that is the man I knew. It was if you yourself at one point did something similar.” Hythlodaeus leaned forward looking into his friend's eyes. “And in a way you did, did you not? You remember the fires well, you believed if you weaved the laws of the world anew, that you gave the world a will of its own, it would be for the benefit of those who existed upon it.”

“That is in the past, we understand and know how that ended Hythlodaeus.” Hades grumbled.

The strange Elezen leaned back and tapped his chin. “You where the best candidate. But no longer, now you must rise up again.” Turning to look at the thread he let his hand close over on Hades’. “You must cast aside the role originally given to you, you are no longer of the fourteen, you are no longer Emet-Selch.” Those blue eyes turned to glare at him. “You are now Hades once again, and will be hers. Your mighty magic under her supervision.” His hand squeezed his companions with force. It was not anger but determination that seethed from Hythlodaeus. As if he was entrusting everything upon Hades shoulders. “You will guide her, you will protect her, you will stand where both of us have failed her.” Hades’s eyes were drawn to the glowing hole in his chest.

“Hythlodaeus -” He began before being cut off by his friend.

“You will begin to right the thousands of wrongs you brought upon her beloved world, and to her. What you did was wrong, unjust, and of a tempered being.” Hythlodaeus stared at their clasped hands that hovered inches over the thread. “Your soul will be forever bound to her.”

“It was never unbound.” Hades kept his gaze fixated on their hands as well. He could hear the arguing she was having with her companions, with the Exarch specifically. How many of her friends were telling her to stop, that she may push herself to the brink of death as well, and how they did not wish for that. Only for her to spat back that for once she wished to do something inherently selfish. That this was her need to be selfish, that she wanted Hades to live. Suddenly Hythlodaeus withdrew from Hades, causing the man to suddenly feel pain so great it sucked the air from his lungs. Shocked he looked over at the sullen Elezen.

“My hot chocolate recipe is hidden under a false board in my office desk.” Hythlodaeus raised to point at his face. “This ones, my fragments office. It will bring her joy, learn to make it for her. She often burns her hands when dealing with hot drinks. But is a wonderful cook, and she can sew.” He smiled solemnly. “Return to her now, with your new found freedom Hades. Be there for her where I cannot.”

Many questions were left unanswered for Hades as the pain caused his hand to drop just enough to touch the thread. Gasping, he turned his head to look at is as it wound itself around him, through the wound in his chest, around his throat, creating binds around his wrists. It was not a stifling imprisonment but one where he could feel the warmth of another being. He heard a gentle laugh as his world once again fell into light. Hades left Hythlodaes in that unending place and was forcibly thrown back into his body, choking as air refilled his lungs.

Writhing and shivering he felt burning in his chest, and saw a weary smile spreading across the Viera’s face. “Aye, welcome back Hades.” Her tired voice reached his ears as he lifted his hand to hold hers that was still on his chest.

“By the twelve she did it.” Came a shocked male voice from beside them. The white haired one, that Lahabrea had possessed, was close by. It caused Hades to roll his eyes, still coughing, he felt something pass his lips and he groaned, everything hurt.

Shifting he felt her free her hand from his grasp to wipe away whatever was on his lips. Then leaning forward she pressed her forehead against his. He felt uncomfortable with her so close to him even though moments ago he was trying his damnedest to kill her.

“Yes, you brought him back wonderful. Are you going to carry the Ascian back too?” It was the Miqo’te woman, her frustration was palpable, and understandable. Hades sighed and glared at her with as much malice as he could muster, which in his tired state was less than he hoped for. It was not her anger towards him, but what was directed towards the Hero.

Then, shifting he struggled to sit up, his hand going to where the hole had been. Only to find an oozing blue scar. “Huh,” His voice, parched and strained came from his lips. It almost felt foreign, his body was so light despite being in such pain. Hades’s fingers glided across the sticky substance, which he realized was aether. Her aether. She had used so much as to infuse this body of his with enough to create new flesh. He turned, to a worried expression, she hovered near him, her disheveled white hair and blood splattered form looked at him as he took stock of himself. When she realized he was gazing at her she gave him a strained smile, as if she was regretting her choice. “Quite selfish, bringing me back.” He teased wiping the aether covered hand on his ruined cloak. “I guess I am in your debt though, hero.” Hades sighed and there was a scoff from beside them.

“Pray tell Ascian, how could you be in debt to our foolish friend?” Thancred, yes that was his name. Hades turned to stare at him with venom. They were right to be mad at her of course, Hades understood this; he was a liability, for all they could know he still had the same plans. He did not of course. His eyes could see the aether that tied the two of them together. Their very souls intermingling in a very intimate dance that cause Hades to try to avoid looking at her. Instead he looked at his accuser.

“Yes, pray tell, she only brought me back and freed me from Zodiarks grasp.” Hades shrugged, wincing at the movement bringing his hand back to his chest; only to find her hand pressed firmly to the oozing wound. His hand met hers and the glow of their souls nearly blinded him. Hades could not remember the last time his eyes betrayed him so. There was silence around them as she wrapped her free arm around his back encouraging him to stand. Hades allowed her to do so standing on unstead feet to face the scions, and the Exarch. Those he had tried to kill, but felt no more enmity for. They were broken of course that still disterbed him, but with the words of Hythlodaeus ringing in his mind he pushed his distaste away, as there was no need for it any longer.

“Explain thyself, Ascian. By what form dost thou claim liberation from thy dark master?” An Elezen took a step forward, Hades struggled to put a name to the face. He knew that this one held a lot of secrets, but he kept seeing the Elezen face of Hythlodaes overlapping with this man's own.

Hades rolled his eyes and shifted to lean heavily into the Viera beside him. “The chains of temperament are no more. I care not what happens to these worlds, my plan is in shambles and I feel nothing about it.” He let his head fall onto Swaths shoulder, it was partly because he was feeling exhausted from being brought back from death and the constant pain he was in; and another part because he craved the touch of the woman. Which he partially blamed on his conversation with Hythlodaeus bringing back emotions that had been long hindered by the chains. This thought caused him to frown for a moment, perhaps it was just because he was not being manipulated any longer. His body sagged a little more and he felt her hands easily hold him up. Letting his eyes dart back to the Scions he found them regarding him carefully.

“Your, aether, is a little different.” The Miqo’te woman muttered to herself. Her blind eyes staring at him with intent. Hades’s frown grew, it felt as if she was looking through him. Lifting his head he tried to stand as straight as he could, but found that the pain kept him in his familiar slouch.

“Its, like, how with Swath, her soul was breaking but now its not; his was all wrapped up in something and now its just, its like its being held together.” The little girl, Ryne, caught Hades attention. He winced, she was perceptive, perhaps too much so.

“Yes, you are right Ryne.” The woman’s cat ears perked up as she walked around Hades and his Hero. “Nevertheless, even though there is this evidence and your words, we shall not take our eyes off you. Swath, realize that you said yourself, your selfish action was to bring Emet-Selch back from death. He is your responsibility now.” She stopped in front of them, putting her hands on her hips and staring at the Viera with an expression that Hades could only see as ‘motherly frustration’.

“I’h know Y’shtola.” Swath muttered, her hands twitching from where they held him. Hades’s eyes darted to the side to see her wincing. No, it was not regret she was clearly feeling, it was concern. Was it concern for him? Hades felt a pang of his own frustration towards the Viera woman. She truly should have let him die; even though he was grateful he did not think his life was worth the stress she would be under.

But then again, he could not think of a time during her adventure when she was not put under some form of stress by others. If this was truly her stress why would he dare deny her such a thing? Shifting he saw the woman, Y’shtola sigh and move to look around the area in which they still stood. The Exarch, being aided by Thancred was also clearly in pain; and angry. Hades knew in which both were directed towards; him. Hades gazed at the red haired man, he had inflicted atrocities upon him in the name of his plan. He sighed heavily, letting his head fall.

“Hades?” Swaths voice brought him back and he looked up at her with a smile that surprised both of them.

“Yes, hero?” He asked, shifting in her grasp to better gaze at her wounded face. Her war paint was smudged, sometime during their fight she had also lost the eye patch that covered her right eye, which he could only guess was blind as it was white. Hades realized with steady horror that while he knew her soul and her motives he knew nothing of the woman herself. He did not know about the stories behind her scars, or her childhood. He knew nothing of this incarnation of his beloved. Yet, here he was falling in love with her.

Yes, he admitted to himself, he was falling in love with the Warrior of Light.

“Are yeh alright ta walk back? I’h cannot, carry yeh.” She sighed and gave him a weary smile once again. “Yeh put up a fight yeh know, took everythin I had.”

He gave a strained laugh. “Shall we lean against each other he-” Hades paused, correcting himself, “Swath, shall we lean against each other Swath.” Around him the silence was thick with disbelief. He looked over at the Scions, their faces scrunched with confusion and then the Exarch whose face was one of pure shock. Hades felt his lips twitch. “Yes, I too can call her by her name, am I forbidden from doing such?”

“I think you should be.” The Exarch sighed and then shrugged. “But who knows, perhaps you truly are freed from the darkness that held you.” He looked away towards the ruined buildings that Hades had created, the arena in which he and Swath fought. “And, as I am loathe to admit, we do need your help. Which way do we leave this place?”

Hades followed the Exarch’s gaze, shifting nervously. “In truth, originally I meant this as a graveyard for all of you. I assume you realize this,” He paused and felt her pull him closer to her side. Hades planted his feet firmer on the ground as he felt Swath wobble a little bit. “I was to remain here until the rejoining happened for this shard, then flee to the shadows.” He frowned, looking at the skeletons of the phantom home he had created. “I can see about willing forth a portal of such, but I know naught of my own strength. Nor the effect Swath’s aether will have upon me - there is also the problem of being free of temperament.” Raising a hand Hades rubbed his chin, loathe to feel stubble upon it. The group looked at him with expectation, and he sighed. Resigned to his fate Hades raised his hand and willed the magic from deep within his body, but only finding pain. It was minuscule at first, a prick, so he willed a little more. Focused on the darkness, to bring for a shadow portal. Then it erupted; gasping he found his strength stolen from him. Aether welled up in his throat and he shook violently, his knees giving out. Swath gave a shout of surprise as he went down.

His whole body heaved as he threw up copious amounts of aether. Hades felt Swaths hands on his back and the hurried footsteps of the Scions. His body shook and he choked as he threw up more, his eyes wide as he stared at the physical aether on the floor before him. After a moment he managed to take a deep breath pushing himself unsteadily back on in a kneeling position his body drenched with sweat. “Well,” He rasped. “I will not be trying that again any time soon.”

“Perhaps not,” Y’shtola muttered kneeling and carefully examining the aether. “This seems to be the aether we attacked you with, not the abundant amounts that Swath infused within you to bring you back. It is very possible that our attack has disrupted your magic.” She stood and tapped her chin. “We clearly cannot rely on your abilities. We may have to attempt to return to the beginning.”

Swaths hands wrapped around Hades and helped him stand, he leaned more into her than he did before. Sighing and coughing, he nodded. “Perhaps, that would be preferable to me having to expel whatever is ailing me.” His voice was thick and slurred. He felt terrible, even more so, the pain which he had grown accustomed too was back one hundred fold. Hades now even wished that he had not gone at Swath with so much fervor so that she could carry him.

“I think you deserve the pain.” Thancred muttered. Hades raised his eyebrows at the man, who stared at him with contentment.

“Yes, while that is understandable, may I remind you that I clearly cannot possess bodies nor do I wish too. I have said this before, but I loathe Lahabrea’s choices. You need not put such ill will towards me at this very moment,” Hades mumbled back, causing Thancred to stare at him with disbelief. “There will be plenty of time for disdain for each other much later.”

“Oh, trust me, I shall regard you with plenty of contempt.” Thancred waved his hand and helped the Exarch to the area where they came into.

Hades eyes could see the exit; perhaps it was too faint for the aether seeing woman. He nudged Swath who looked down at him concerned, he gave her a tight lipped smile and mentioned to where the others where going. Together, they moved forward towards the edge of the area. When they got there they found Y’shtola tilting her head back and forth, clearly squinting at the faint traces of aether. It was remnants of his old tainted aether as well. Though the pain was still great Hades lifted his hand, earning a gasp from Swath. Her hand grabbing his.

“I will be fine,” He reiterated. “I will not push myself to the point of heaving again.” She was tense beside him as Hades closed his eyes, pushing himself towards the tainted aether. It rebelled against him, and he began to feel pain so he released it. His breaths coming quick, he found Ryne and Swath both watching him carefully. “The path is rejecting me.”

“Why?” Ryne asked stepping forward her hand hovering over the still oozing wound. Hades looked down at the girl with a feeling of surprising fondness. She truly was just a child that had been thrown into a world that she did not understand all because of another soul hiding within her.

“I assume, it is because of how my soul is being ‘held together’, as you put it child.” Hades reached out and gently patted her head earning a rather startled smile from the little girl. “You, child, are to perceptive for your own good.” She giggled then turned to look at the other adults worrying over how to get the path to open. Hades guessed that Y’shtola had noticed the wisps of residue.

“Is there nothing you can do Mr. Hades?” Ryne asked, looking up at him. His golden eyes regarded her with a tilt of his head. The tired gears of his mind trying to work towards a solution. He had never been cut off from his magic before, he was of the ‘true’ people. Never, in the history of their kind had one been cut off from either their creation magic, or magic in general. He frowned, looking back towards the gathering, and the slight glow that was his tainted aether.

“Perhaps together?” Swath moved one of her hands to grasp his, bringing Hades out of his thoughts to gaze at the Viera. “Perhaps if we tried together, Hades?” She looked at him with concern, he knew she was adept in magic; he did not know what magic as her weapon of choice as a giant axe. But it was not a bad idea.

“Yes,” He shifted so that their hands where interlocked. “Perhaps if we focused together, mayhaps I could use you as a conduit to properly manipulate the magic and open the pathway.” Hades frowned, and turned so that his chest was pressed against her abdomen, his head near her breasts. The man felt heat rising to grace his ears. The height difference was strange to him. He felt a hand grasp his back and they pointed their clasped hands towards the aether Hades could see.

There was a clap of hands from Ryne as she called out to the adults. “Hey! Swath and Mr. Hades are going to try something please move!” Thancred turned with a look of confusion at Ryne, but the group dispersed anyways. Ryne too moved away from them to give them room, her smile blinding now.

“Alright, anytime yah want to Hades. Use me as yah will.” He could not see her face, but he could hear the smile. She was enjoying herself; he was her selfish choice. Perhaps she regretted it, perhaps not, but at the moment he swore he would be useful to her.

Closing his eyes he focused on the woman before him. He could feel her aether, warm, powerful, suffocating as it flowed over him. Faint licks of her emotions grazed him, anger, at his speech, sorrow, for the loss of the spirit Ardbert, joy at the fact that he was standing with her. Hades focused on their hands, conjoined. The welling of his own aether, so closely tangled with hers. He focused on the threads that connected him to her, using them as a pathway for his magics. Hades heard her gasp, stronger emotion washing over him. Which he chose to ignore as he built up his power. It was starting to cause him pain again, he coughed a bit, feeling more aether come from his lips. But he ignored it, ignored the small voice of Ryne asking if he was alright, to focus on the gate.

There!

His eyes shot open and he turned his head quickly to the area their clasped hands pointed. Suddenly a shudder of aether appeared in the spot, ripping open a portal showing the burning Amaurot. Hades pushed away from Swath, hearing her call of surprise again, chose to ignore it. His hands raised he pushed more aether into the portal; he would bypass the final days, he would be useful to her. Pain violently ripped through him, but he still was connected to Swath so it did little to phase him. Sure, it hurt and normally would have brought him to his knees, but it was as if she still had her hands on his back: and of course he realized she did. She clearly did not like this choice of his, but was supporting him. Hades laughed to himself, aether coming from his lips and wound as the portal shimmered and warped. Then, suddenly, it showed the halls that had been the entrance to the entire ordeal. He focused, grounding their combined aether there. Then, he pulled back and let himself fall back into her arms.

“That should do it.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. His breaths coming quick, and thick with fluid. “We must hurry before the grounding I placed dissipates. I do not know how long it will remain.”

The Scions needed no other encouragement. They turned and quickly moved towards the portal; it was clear to Hades now that they too had their hurts. After the Elezen went through with the Exarch leaving Thancred, Ryne, Swath and Hades himself remaining he felt the small hands of the girl on his side. Then Thancred swiftly came to Swaths side.

“Alright, let's get you two through.” Thancred muttered ushering them towards the portal.

“Ah, and here I thought you greatly disliked me.” Hades teased gently, leaning into Swath for support. As she too did the same.

Thancred rolled his eyes. “Swath would never leave you, thus the most appropriate choice would be to assist you.”

Hades sighed, knowing that the white haired man was right. The Warrior of Light would not leave him; he was bound to her. As the portal approached he frowned, what sort of life would this be for him? What was in store for him now that he was free from Zodiark?

And most importantly, could he hold up the promise he made to his dearly departed friend?

#ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #wol x emet-selch #wol x hades #wol x solus zos galvus #emet-selch #emetxwol #emet selch/wol #emet selch x wol #solus zos glavus x wol #solus zos galvus #Remember Me [emetxwol]#Redemption #redemption arch #canon fix

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eliniei · 5 years

Text

Not As It Seems Part XI - Emet-Selch x WoL

Summary: When the WoL wakes up shouting a name after a nightmare, Emet-Selch tells her a story from another Shard.

Word Count: 1807

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

As always, if you have any requests you’d like to see show up in this series or any other Emet/WoL one-shot you’d like to see me write, please let me know!

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Wings and masks. Steel against crystal. Light against dark.

Feathers, feathers everywhere.

I watched across the platform as my opponent laid upon the stone, chest heaving, its life bleeding away.

I looked at my hands, red staining them to the elbows, dripping off my skin. Drip, drip, drip.

Horrified, I took a step back. Blood on my hands. Blood on my boots. Blood all over me.

“You...see…?” the dying creature across from me rasped.

The ground shook, threatening to pitch me over the edge. A wave of black hovered in front of me, rolling and foaming, ready to envelope me. I braced myself for the impact.

I was swept up in its currents, the liquid thick and hot. Try as I might to stop it, it forced its way up my nose, into my mouth, salty and metallic, drowning me.

I sunk, and sunk, and sunk. Down, down down.

I fought for a way to the surface- to breathe, to live… Did I deserve to live after the things I’ve done?

“You see, hero, you are no better than me.”

I paused and looked towards my enemy. He was no longer dying, the hole in his chest mended.

My enemy? Or was he my friend? I couldn’t…

I opened my mouth to call his name. His true name. The name I used to call him before the fall, before the break.

The word didn’t come. The word, on the very tip of my tongue… What was it again?

There was no hope for me. I inhaled, letting the darkness into my lungs.

He stood before me, now, my enemy and my friend, one of his many hands on my chin, looking down at me with a smile. Was it a smile?

“Say my name.”

“Hades!” I cried as I shot up in bed, heart pounding so hard in my chest I thought it’d burst. I gulped down air as if I was dying, chest rising and falling in quick succession. Twelve, that was-

I felt warm hands on my shoulders that I was not expecting and scrambled out of bed, summoning an orb of thunder to my hand.

Emet-Selch was sitting up, still under the covers, hands still raised, watching me carefully. I sighed and lowered my hands.

“I-I’m sorry.” I sighed and dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing my face with my hands. “I guess it was my turn to have a nightmare.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” he asked, softly. I closed my eyes again, imagining the great and terrible monster I had battled. The wave of black blood threatening to drown me. My hands clenched into fists.

“I don’t...really remember it,” I lied. He was quiet for a few long seconds.

“You’re really a terrible liar.”

I leaned forward on my legs, looking down at the floor between my feet. “Fine, then. I don’t want to talk about it.” My words came out harsher than I’d meant.

The bed shifted behind me as he moved, and I felt his hands on my neck as he brushed my hair over one side. He lowered his lips to my shoulder for a moment, then rubbed his hands up and down my arms. He pressed his cheek to the back of my head so his mouth was right next to my ear.

“Come, hero. Let me tell you a story,” the Ascian whispered, tugging me back. I twisted my torso and watched as he placed himself against the headboard and held his hand out to me. With another sigh, I did as he bid. He placed me between his legs and I willingly leaned against his chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“What kind of story is it?”

“Hmm,” he hummed. I could feel the vibration of his voice against my back and I closed my eyes. “There are some who say it’s true and some who say it is a myth.”

“What do you believe?”

He paused for a moment, but breathed a laugh. “What I think doesn’t matter, dear hero.” He nodded and he exhaled a long breath before continuing. “Long ago-”

“You’re really going to start your story like that?”

“If you’d rather I not-”

“No. I’ll be quiet.”

He raised his hands, holding them out in front of the both of us, palms up. I relaxed into him as an illusion of a girl appeared in one hand, bright and golden.

“There was a young Goddess of Spring, as beautiful as the day was bright. And there was an old god.” In the other, foreboding figure materialized, covered in shadow. “God of the Underworld, lonely in his cold, dark palace.”

The girl moved, dancing around a field of wildflowers, occasionally bending to pick the prettiest. The other watched from afar.

“One day, as the god ascended from his home, he found the goddess gathering the flowers she’d created for the world and he was instantly in love.”

He sighed against me. “There are many versions of this story, the words and actions of the characters changed over time.”

“Which one are you going to tell me?”

“The original one.” I nodded and continued watching the magical play in his hands continue. The God of the Underworld walked across Emet-Selch’s palms and the two sat together in the field, smiling and laughing. The Goddess fashioned a flower crown in her hands and gently laid it on his head. “She was of the same mind. So, he went to his brother- a king among gods- to ask permission to marry her. He did not oppose.”

“But, there was one obstacle.” A woman appeared in his free hand, similar in looks to the young goddess. “Her mother would never agree to this union and forbade her to ever see him again.”

The third figure vanished and a chariot replaced her in his free hand, sleek and black. It went forth, sweeping them both up, leaving behind an array of flowers in the field.

“At her behest, he stole her back to his domain.”

The gods disappeared and a tall, dark castle materialized in both of his hands. I sat forward, taking a closer look at it. The spires were… The Ascian paused his story for a moment, sitting up as well, pressing a lingering kiss to my shoulder blade, then sat his chin in the crook of my neck.

“They lived happily in his home. But it did not last for long.”

Dark clouds and lightning appeared above the palace. “Her mother was furious. Her anger served as a blight upon the world- killing everything in its path. So harmful, in fact, the king among the gods bade his brother return the young goddess to her mother.”

I frowned. “This does have a happy ending, right?”

“Not to fret, dear hero.”

I sighed and sat back against his chest again. He closed his hands, the scene vanishing and wound his arms around my chest, pulling me closer, nuzzling my neck with his nose.

“They resisted the will of her mother, but the poor goddess saw what their defiance did to the world. She grew listless, depressed...and so, unable to watch her wither away, the God of the Underworld offered to her a solution.”

He held his hands out again, a red fruit I’d never seen before appearing in his hands. It looked so real, I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through.

“Eating the fruit of the Underworld is said to seal a marriage. If the goddess were to eat one seed for each month of the year, she would be bound to the Underworld forever, no matter the will of the gods. He bade her eat six of the twelve so that she would sate her mother’s rage by spending half the year above ground, but at the same time, her mother could not argue that she must spend the rest of her time with him.”

“I hope she agreed to it,” I pouted. He huffed a laugh.

“She did. For half the year, she filled the world with vibrant, blooming flowers. The other half, she descended to the Underworld and ruled by his side as a fierce and powerful queen.”

“Not happy, exactly.”

“And why not?”

“She only gets to spend half the year with him!”

“Half a year is better than no time at all, is it not?”

“Mm,” I hummed, looking at the fruit again, still sitting in his hand. “I suppose. What kind of fruit is this? It’s not something we have in Eorzea.”

“Ah,” he said, pulling it closer to my face. “This fruit is called a pomegranate. It’s quite popular on the Ninth.”

I tilted my head to the side. “And you eat its seeds?”

“Yes,” he answered, the illusion splitting open so that I could see under the peel.

“Why did you choose this story to tell me?”

He paused for a moment before answering.

“The name you shouted when you woke is the name of this God of the Underworld.”

I raised a hand to my lips, thinking back to my nightmare, but it was mostly gone. And the name...What had it been, again?

He closed his hands once again, forcing the image away. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t remember…the name I called.”

He stretched his arms above his head and laid back on his pillow. “I’m sorry, hero,” he started, playfully. “That hardly seems like my problem. Could we, mayhap, go back to sleep now? I’m terribly exhausted.”

I flipped myself around so that I hovered over him, my lips tugging upwards. “You won’t tell me?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

I shook my head, an incredulous huff escaping my lips, but I leaned down, kissing him slowly, deeply. He put both of his hands on my face, one thumb stroking my cheek, as he returned with fervor, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

When I pulled away, he tried to follow me, but I sat up fully, straddling his hips.

“Was that nice enough for you?” He smirked.

“Oh, I suppose. He has many names, but most just call him Hades.” The Ascian sat up, slightly, sliding his hand around the back of my neck. “I think I am spending entirely too much time with you, my dear hero.”

I mimicked his smile. “And why do you think that?”

He pulled me back down over him, pressing his third eye against my forehead. “I think I’m beginning to rub off on you.”

I started to laugh, but he caught my lips with his and pulled me down onto the mattress, next to him and proceeded to kiss me until my nightmares were forgotten and my mind was at ease.

#emet-selch #emetselch #emet selch #emet-selch x warrior of light #emet selch x warrior of light #ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv shadowbringers #final fantasy xiv fanfiction #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #5.0 spoilers

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tea-and-conspiracy · 5 years

Text

Resignation (WoL AU)

Persephone hissed, flinching her fingers away as they accidentally brushed the sample. Somehow it bit through her gloves, and she hastily pulled them off lest it spread. Her fingertips were lightly reddened, but no further harm seemed to have been done.

She grabbed her tweezers and carefully re-ushered the spilled soil back into its bottle, where it fizzed like a carbonated drink. None of the physics made sense. Why was the star suddenly…breaking?

“Is five enough, I wonder…?” she mused aloud, corking the vial and slipping it into her satchel. Lahabrea had been in such haste that he’d never given her a number. But a sudden startled whinny broke her from her thoughts, and she lifted her head to see the corruption creeping for her. Persephone grabbed her instruments and fled to where Pegasus awaited her.

He was one of her earliest creations, and still her favorite. Afterwards the academics had sought to “improve” upon her formula, which meant staining it strange colors and making it glow. As far as she was concerned it was a downgrade, but it would be impolite to argue with the experts.

She stuffed her equipment into his saddlebags and climbed astride him, but already the corruption had gained momentum. Tendrils of it sputtered against the creature’s hooves as it bolted to a running start, springing for tattered skies. Whatever drove that dread force underneath was clearly displeased with their escape, and from the aether appeared two winged monstrosities who followed.

“By Creation!” she cried, spurring Pegasus onward. Nothing had been there to imagine these creatures – so where had they come from!?

Pegasus was swift, but he could not shake his pursuers while he held a passenger. Instead Persephone turned, calling upon Creation for its light, and blasted the nearest creature with searing starfire. It screamed and fell. The second hung back.

But before she could so much as exhale in relief, dozens more creatures spontaneously appeared, these ones smaller and faster. They swarmed Pegasus in a cloud, and he whinnied and bucked in an attempt to remove them. Persephone clung to him for dear life, reaching for anything her panicked mind could think of. She spawned a net, dropped stones, slung arrows, and at last conjured a veil of fog that she and Pegasus vanished into. But such reckless conjury came at a cost, and she slumped forward into the saddle, unconscious.

Persephone later awoke in the infirmary, only to find Hades hovering over her. He visibly sagged as she opened her eyes, and she realized the physicians had removed her mask and hood in order to care for her.

“Hello, stranger.” She managed a tired smile.

“You are a sight for sore eyes.” He glanced back but, convinced no one was near, gathered her hands into his. “Hythlodaeus found you collapsed in the square with Pegasus. What happened?”

“I made it mad.” Her eyes slid closed. “Did the samples survive?”

“I sent them to Anyder myself.”

“Good. And Elidibus…?”

“Still overseas. Last I heard he’d found something big.”

“And you?” her eyes opened again, though she could not see his through his mask.

He looked away. “Persephone…leave this to those of us who are expendable. There are some things we can ill afford to lose.”

She managed a weak laugh. “I am the least accomplished of the entire council! To this day I cannot fathom why you elected me Chairwoman.”

“Because you’re the sanest of us.” He breathed a laugh. “Cooler heads prevail, as they say, and we need that now more than ever.”

“Ilinrot is gone…” she whispered. “I never made it there.”

He bowed his head. “…As I said.”

Persephone sat up and reached for him, and he gathered her in close. She pressed her face into his shoulder. “…this feels so helpless…”

“It’s not.” He nuzzled into her hair. “Amaurot is full of the world’s most brilliant creative minds. There’s never once been a problem we could not solve. Give it just a bit more time.”

When Hades was eventually forced to leave, Persephone conjured him a wild rose and stuck it in his hood. “For luck,” she said as he departed. But once he was gone and the door was closed, she sunk in empty idleness in her bed. Sleep was impossible, not with so many thoughts whirring in her mind, so she turned instead for the smattering of books left on her bedstand. She grabbed one at random and opened it to discover that it was a book of oil paintings. The arts were the one thing still done the old-fashioned way, as there was a decided cheapness and inhumanity to merely conjuring it.

She idly flipped through the pages, occasionally pausing on a work she liked, but then came upon an image that arrested her. A brilliant seraph rose triumphant on glowing wings, crystalline skies spreading behind her. The piece was simply labeled, “Hydaelyn”.

“Hydaelyn,” she murmured, expression softening. Gods weren’t really something the Amaurotine worshiped; it was just passively acknowledged that they were there. Zodiark and Hydaelyn were responsible for all of Creation, but it was often the former who received reverence, for life was inherently chaotic. Hydaelyn was stasis, order, preservation…

Persephone closed the book and fell back on her pillow, drowning in her thoughts.

“The Prodigal Son returns,” Emet-Selch sang as Elidibus strode into the room. “I was about to hand your chair off to someone else.”

“Hilarious as ever, Architect,” the Emissary said, taking his customary seat.

“You have news from the West?” Persephone asked.

“And thensome.” He sounded smug. “First of all, we’ve managed to capture a most terrifying beast – perhaps the most complex example of spontaneous creation yet. It’s been confined to Anyder and is being examined as we speak. Once we know how it operates, we can determine a means of creating a defense against it.”

“Heartening news indeed!” She beamed behind her mask. “And our neighbors?”

To that, Elidibus only shook his head.

“You cannot be serious? The whole continent?” she asked.

“All gone, Chairwoman, and it will reach Amaurot sooner than we projected.”

The Council fell silent.

“I would, however, like to propose a solution.”

“Seconded,” Nabriales replied, cautiously.

Persephone inhaled. “It has been properly moved and seconded that a solution to spontaneous creation be proposed. Is there any debate?”

Elidibus rose. “My friends. What has become most clear from our forays into the unknown is that this calamity arises from within the very star itself. So far not a single attempt from our brightest minds has been able to quell it. Thus, if the star itself is spontaneously creating abominations, then I propose we give it sentience: the will to realize what it is doing, and likewise the will to stop it.”

“How, pray tell?” Mitron asked.

“By summoning Zodiark, and fusing him to the planet.”

Minutes of silence passed. Each council member looked to the other, but for once even Lahabrea was speechless.

“Come again, Emissary?” Persephone managed at last.

“Allow me to explain.” Elidibus strode up to her chair, his arms spread wide. “We already know that Creation magic follows the laws of equivalent exchange. For a certain amount of aether given, something can be conjured into existence. Thus, with the right amount of aether, we can theoretically summon either of the gods to our aid. If this problem is truly beyond us, then let us halt it before any further lives are lost. Zodiark, as the champion of life, will defend our star.”

“That is a logical fallacy,” Lahabrea replied. “The amount of aether required to conjure something as mighty as Zodiark would result in…” A lingering pause. “It would kill half of us. All of us.”

“We’ve already lost half of us to this madness!” Persephone cried.

“But isn’t it worth it, to guarantee our future safety?” Elidibus asked. “The needs of the many must needs outweigh the needs of the few.”

“How is ‘half’ the few?” Persephone shot to her feet.

“Councilwoman,” he chided. “You are a mediator. It is not your place to debate.”

She exhaled through her nostrils and sat back down.

“My friends…” Elidibus began to pace along the dais. “After witnessing the devastation in foreign lands, I find myself unable to articulate the urgency of this matter. Our scientists will not find a solution in time. It will be a matter of days before Amaurot, too, is destroyed. We have but one chance to thwart this madness, though it comes at a dreadful cost. But if so many lost will guarantee the future of all, then is it not a worthwhile sacrifice?”

The council began to murmur but, to Persephone’s dread, no one else stood to speak.

“Is there any further debate?” she asked.

They shook their heads.

“Then we shall vote on the motion. All in favor of…” It was surreal that she was even speaking these words. She felt suddenly disconnected from her body. “All in favor of summoning Zodiark, say ‘aye.’”

“Aye,” rang the room, including Emet-Selch. The gavel tumbled from her fingertips.

“You’re all mad…” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Elidibus asked.

“You heard me.” She stood, deliberately, pulled back her cowl, and threw her mask on the table. The council gasped. “I will not pass the motion. I resign from the council. This is not salvation, it is slaughter.”

Emet-Selch rose as she stormed out, but he did not follow.

“I do it so I won’t lose you…” he murmured.

#ffxiv #shadowbringers #spoilers #emet-selch #wol #au

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witchfall · 5 years

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thread

summary: They say she invented the harpsichord. The melody of birds.

(He won't remember this when he is born again.)

(And he is born again.)

---

Also on AO3

SPOILERS FOR SHADOWBRINGERS WITHIN.

{inspired by Tales from the Shadows, the new Keane album, and my general instinct to go absolutely ape shit over past lives/memories. beyond that i have no fuckin idea where this came from lmao. except some wild conjecture @vaniccio and I have about What It Could All Mean re: the future of the FFXIV MSQ.

WoL x Exarch and the strange friendship of Emet-Selch and an unnamed member of the Convocation...}

---

You are eight years old when you first realize the world is not the way it is supposed to be.

You don't understand the shattering incongruence of your thoughts as you watch the water run down the shower wall, but you suddenly know the world is different now. You see its crushing dullness. What is the point? Why do the people in this world even try to live? It is beautiful, but it is wrong. Like when a baby chocobo spooks and your friend falls and skids their elbows horribly bloody. You can't stop looking.

You stumble out of the shower and grab your towel, for you are big enough to do this on your own, and you run to the living room. Your wet feet slap the metal floors of the airship; in the distance you can hear Ma singing. Your hands feel hot. You squeeze them in and out of fists. Maybe this is what Ma means, when she sings about heartbreak. You feel shattered.

Ma is speaking animatedly about something. "But don't you think the chord progression is off?" she says. Da, sitting in a nearby chair with a tome in his lap, lifts his hands in assent, or perhaps the act of giving in.

"I've only ever been a scholar to your ear, my darling," he says, in the tone you know means he loves her even when she can be frustrating. You know that because he's used that tone on you many times.

"Oh, you're no -- " Ma starts, but then she sees you. She stops talking at once. She is by your side in three steps and tightens your towel cape at your collarbone. She kneels by you. She smells like Gramma's cookie spices. "You forgot your clothes, silly boy," she says softly, smiling warmly upon you, and it makes your eyes well up.

When you tell Ma about the thoughts and the weirdness -- Does it all matter? Is the world actually bad? -- she pulls you into her arms. She is warm and her skin squishes under your fingers and you sink your tears into her shoulder.

"Some things feel very big in our hearts," Ma says. Her voice reminds you of birds, sometimes, which makes you laugh and want to cry more. You don't know why. "Some things are hard for our souls to let go."

"My soul," you say, working through the bigness of that.

She smiles. She pushes your hair from your eyes and teases you about a haircut and tickles your ears and smothers your face in embarrassing kisses until you laugh and the thing around your heart relaxes just enough.

Ma rises to her feet. "I’m gonna go get your clothes, okay?" You nod.

Da has been standing there the whole time, watching. But then Da levels with you. Da's eyes are red like the pretty earrings Ma wears sometimes. Very red. Like you could fall into them forever.

"Souls are very strange," he says. He lays his hands on your shoulders. "I believe some of them even have memories."

You find this interesting. Your ears flick. "Was I thinking about a soul memory?"

Da makes the face you and Ma call the Old Man Sad Face. His eyes go out of focus and his mouth tilts into a smile with no mirth. He leans in, whispering a secret: "Maybe. What do you think?"

You aren't sure what Da wants you to say. You just shrug.

---

You love nothing in the world more than listening to Ma sing. You like it best when you are playing in the airship’s many halls and you hear it echoing from a lower floor, bubbling through the metal like steam. When no one is around to look, you’ll lay your head against the floor and feel transported very far away. You imagine the strangest things: lights that climb the sky. Buildings that shadow everything. A million, thousand stars. People cheering in auditoriums you have never seen...

“When did you first know you’d get married?” you like to ask Da. This time you ask while looking out over Aunt Lyna’s garden. The wind tosses your hair about and the air smells of roses.

“The first time she sang,” Da says.

Ma laughs every time at this. I was just 19. We were children. But Da always smiles. It’s alright. It’s always taken you a little bit to catch up to me. And then she whacks him with a spoon or something.

But you like to ask because it feels right, when he says that. Ma always tells the story of how Da reached through time and space to save her, and it is the best story of all time because it not only has travel through time and space but also Ma being awesome and killing monsters and bringing the night sky back. Then, then! She somehow reaches back through time and space to free Da from a tower, like a prince in a story. And then they get married and you’re born. It’s amazing.

“Your Da saved me so many times,” she says, when she tells you this story. You are sitting together, watching Da tell a frustrated Aunt Lyna how to plant a cabbage. “He’ll never admit it. But I think he is the more interesting character in that story.”

She says that, of course, and you nod. But you can’t help but think: If Ma’d been silent -- if Ma had never sang to Da, just the once -- there would be no world. You never would have been born.

---

You don't know much, but you know that Ma and Da are complicated.

One time when you were supposed to be sleeping you heard Ma talking about Da like he was once made of crystal. Sometimes I wonder if I'll wake and I'll still lose you to it, she said. Like it knows somehow that its supposed to take you back. The tower. I'll wake up and you'll be all crystalline and silent.

Oh no, Da said. We’re over. I left it at the first chance to find you again, love. I don't think it wants me like that anymore.

...you make it sound jealous.

Maybe it is.

They muttered together quietly until they started kissing, you're pretty sure, so you ran away immediately.

But this was very strange. Da is squishy and warm and has two blood red eyes and a tattoo on his arm and his neck and is not at all a man of crystal. You ask about this tattoo. He says it was from his time at school. You squint at this. You hope school does not make you get a tattoo, too. Everyone says you look like Da, except Da, who says you look like Ma, but they both have reddish hair and pale skin so it doesn't make a lot of difference to you. You even have one each of their eyes: one red and one seaglass green.

Ma has more wrinkles around her eyes and deep scratches on her face. She has a ragged, old gash on her shoulder. A few old burn marks here and there. Strange gold lines on her wrists where her veins should be. It makes you feel weird. Whenever you see them, you feel outside your own body with fascination and fury at whoever did this to Ma.

Not long after you overhear that, you get a terrible scratch by meddling with something in the engine room. So you decide to ask after her scars. Usually, she just laughs and tells you a big story about fighting a monster.

This time, Ma frowns. She touches your cheek and meets your gaze. Maybe it’s because she was talking about Da being a crystal man. Maybe she is just feeling sad. You don’t know.

"I fought in a lot of wars," she says. "I had to protect a lot of people. Because I was strong. And that's what strong people do."

You nod seriously. That's right. That's what all the heroes in all the tales do.

"I had to kill many people, too," she says.

You frown. "They were bad, though." Who would fight Ma, except people who were bad? Anyone that tried to hurt Ma deserved to die. You feel only a little guilt, thinking that.

Ma places her hand between your ears. Her eyes are dark and serious. "Not all of them, baby. Most of them were just...on the wrong side. Most of them thought that they were good."

Your heart speeds up. Your throat feels dry. "But they had to be bad," you say. "You're not bad, Ma."

She smiles down at you, but there's something broken about it. She rubs your ear. She says nothing for a long time, and guilt weighs on you in a thousand ways you do not understand. You think to run or squeeze her in a hug until she can't breathe but you are pinned by her gaze and so you do nothing. She says: "All we can do is try, my sweet pie."

And then she leans in very close, smiling as if she hadn't said anything at all. "Want to find the cookies I think your Da is hiding from us?"

You smile back, heart flying, and then she squeezes you in a hug instead. You feel forgiven and forgiveness in turn. Maybe you'll never know why.

---

They say she invented the harpsichord.

(He won't remember this when he is born again.)

The melody of birds.

(Maybe he doesn't deserve to be born again. Maybe that is his punishment.)

He still listens for it.

(But perhaps the weight of freedom would be most damning. The proof he had been wrong all along.)

---

You wake up and run to Da. As usual, he is already awake as if waiting for you to come to him, sitting on the observation deck of the airship and staring at the stars through great, rounded glass. The ship does not fly at night.

He turns toward the sound of your footsteps and beckons you to join him. You scramble onto his lap, suddenly feeling too cold to sit by him with dignity.

Da reminds you of the tales about mages in ancient cities that were swallowed up by water. Mages that knew everything there was to know. The gods smote them for knowing too many things. You hope very much that they do not turn their eyes upon Da.

"Trouble sleeping, my dear one?"

You nod into his chest. He wraps his warm arms around you and hums softly for a few moments, stroking your hair.

"Da," you say. "Where do people go when they die?"

Da takes a big breath and you move as his chest rises. His humming stops but he continues to stroke your hair. "Thinking deep thoughts tonight?" he asks, voice warm.

You 'hmph' against his chest.

"They go to the Lifestream. Though there is still much we do not know and may never know..."

"Do people know each other there?"

Da's hand falls still on your back. If this were Ma, she would begin asking why you want to know this so bad, but Da never does that. He answers your questions plainly. "We don't know. You live in a...much changed world, from when I was small."

You are unsure what to make of that.

"But that means there’s so many more worlds for you to know,” he says. “For you to explore. You know how we sometimes have to be very careful and sit still in our chairs? How the world around our airship goes Purple Wavy?"

You nod. "When we go between the worlds."

"Yes. We couldn't always do that, you know. Before you were born...it was all very complicated but the worlds were all closed. Now we can do Purple Wavy and get there. And maybe one day that will include the Lifestream."

"And then I will find you and Ma and Gramma and then it'll be fine," you say, explaining this anxiety before you can even name it.

Da holds you tightly to him. "I have no doubts," he says, deep and warm. You don't look to see, but Da is looking up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. You are feeling sleepy again so you don't notice.

"When are we getting to Uncle Alphinaud? And Alisaie?" you ask.

"After you sleep tonight, love. One more sleep left."

"One more sleep until more books," you say, and that's all you remember before you drift off. When you wake up, you're tucked back in your bed. You think of the birds singing just outside your little window.

---

They say she invented the heart of music.

She wrote the tragedy about painters and light; it ends with a father giving in to the river of time. She wrote the comedy where three people marry in an explosion of color so beautiful that people in the audience sobbed. ("It is still, technically, a comedy," she would say when pressed.) She wrote music like velvet against the skin, heavy and sumptuous. She would pick your gaze apart in silence, distill you into notes that sung so high you'd see violet. The Convocation respected beauty, once -- respected creation that reached inside you and tore your heart from your ribs so you could examine it better.

This girl is not her.

This girl sings dirges and arias and poorly-paced limericks, yes, but her soul doesn't pull apart with each new composition. The world shifts around her, certainly, but the air no longer shimmers when she works. This girl doesn't sob over coffee because a boor called her latest draft "uninspired." This girl isn't her.

(Perhaps that is one subtle gift of the sundering. The world ends each day in little ways but they still believe in the promise of tomorrow.)

"Fond of her, are you?"

The Exarch had deigned him with silence, then, but Hades knows the truth. Even in this life, the souls around her are pulled toward her suffering brightness. In these last moments of his life, aether seeping from the gash in his body, he realizes they would have perished before her original glory.

He wishes for that. To be scalded, even a little bit, by her grace.

He fades into the light, and can only hope.

---

Your world is many places crossing the great sky. Your world is here in the airship with Ma and Da and maybe a sister soon, or so Ma keeps saying. You press your hands against the glass and hope you'll remember this always -- the way the world looks, perfect and green, as you fly over it like birds.

"What are you thinkin’ about so hard, cutie?"

Ma tousles your hair. Your love for her feels like it will eat the whole world.

"Nothin," you say. You look up at her and grin. "Just stories."

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #crystal exarch x wol #crystal exarch #emet-selch #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #otp: upon an eternal wind #kathryn writes

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forgiven-whimsy · 3 years

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5 favorite recent writing bits

So @kunstpause tagged me to share 5 recent writing bits I enjoyed and am proud of. Under the cut for length, with Ao3 links to the complete piece.

In no particular order: Wicked Apology Emet-Selch/Azem 5.3 and Tale from the Shadows spoilers, set right after the grape incident. Rated E

He followed her, slowly, stretching, missing her comforting heat and circled her with a self satisfied smirk, knowing full well her obeisance would take convincing, counted on it even. He snapped his fingers. His robe blinked from view leaving him in a simple tailored button down shirt and trousers. “If you are quite done with your impertinence, I might speak of consequences.”

A quick flick of her wrist divested Astrea of her outer robes, and Hades nostrils flared at the sight of her, she’d anticipated his game. She wore a short black skirt that was sinful in the way it hugged her hips and the flare of her bottom. Above she wore a corseted blouse, The neckline bordering indecent. Nestled between her veritable heaving bosoms was an amethyst pendant of deepest violet on a thin golden chain, a gift, a promise of forever. It was infused with his aether that she might have a piece of him regardless of how far her travels took her.

“And what does the esteemed Emet-Selch have to say pray tell.” She gave him a sweet smile that was anything but, matching his mischief as only his lover could.

“Restitution has been demanded of you from the convocation, and your duty demands your acquiescence. Lahabrea requests repayment for his good faith, to which you have agreed, and you have even freely offered repayment to Elidibus, though he demands nothing of you.” She followed him with her midnight eyes until he circled behind her. Delicately his fingers traced along the golden chain that held his pendant, goose flesh puckered the pale skin of her breasts. “And yet, dear heart,” he spoke directly into her ears, and though she fought it there was no hiding the fluttering of her pulse or the sharp inhale when he tugged the pendant free, body warmed, and thrumming with power. “You have offered nothing to the architect of your deliverance, your soul’s mate, whom you have wronged most gravely.” He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear and she swayed, leaning against his chest. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

From Shadows Estinien/WoL, set after 5.1, long fic, friends to lovers, roommates, PTSD. Rated E.

The exchange was a fortnight ago, but the guilt lingered, thoughts circling back to Shiloh time and again. His feelings towards her were complicated, a tightly wound knot he didn’t know how to start untangling so he ignored it, and avoided her. Watching her from afar was easier than facing her head on. Estinien rankled at his own cowardice. He cared for her far more than he would ever let on, admitting only that she was a dear friend, and he was fiercely protective of those he considered friends. He swelled with pride whenever he heard of her exploits. He was grateful to her for saving his life, he found a measure of peace since she’d rescued him, rediscovered who he was in the absence of revenge and hate, and the person who had emerged, though damaged, wasn’t a person he disliked.

And yet there was a current of resentment and anger. When nightmares gripped him, she was a chief player in the terrors his subconsciousness visited upon him, and he had killed and been killed by her more times than he could count. When a dark mood would plague him, which was, frustratingly, often, he cursed her name, and the second chance at life she and Alphinaud had gifted him. Estinien had asked Shiloh, specifically, to kill him, and she’d denied him that release. And always, always it all spiraled into guilt and shame, the guilt of surviving when far better people than him had gone to Halone’s halls, people Shiloh had loved. No, better to keep his distance, better for him, and for her. She was more than capable, the Warrior of Light didn’t need him. Let it Snow Aymeric/Wol, Self indulgent Starlight Fluff/smut. Rated E.

The wind howls through the tunnels connecting the Pillars to Foundation. The snow, if the tiny icy knives can be called snow, fall sideways, cutting into exposed skin. The air is heavy and damp, seeping directly into any unfortunate traveler's bones. It’s the kind of weather that aggravates old wounds, and old joints, the kind that claims the lives of the unwary. Halone’s own fury batters the city perched atop the peak of a mountain. Shiloh squints against the onslaught, each step through the heavy snow slow and measured, there’s ice beneath the snow, and unfortunate falls were not uncommon in Ishgard under these conditions.

There’s no turning back, her destination and her starting point stood at equal distance, so she soldiers through the snow drifts piling up throughout the tunnels. The Warrior of Light is bundled in what was an almost comical amount of layers, tail and horns wrapped in custom made knit scarves. Golden eyes and a bright red nose poke past her knit hat and the scarf she has wrapped around her face. Mittened hands clutch a small blue and silver box, fingers nearly gone numb, her toes not faring much better as they tramp through the ever deepening snow blanketing the city streets. Lord Edmont’s urging for her to change before leaving rings in her ears, and she regrets ignoring his advice. When she emerges from the tunnels she’s not sure if the wind is worse or better. The snow renews its attempt to bury her, or transform her into a snowman, her pace slows in the heavier accumulation, but at least now she can see her goal.

The doors to the congregation are flung open with a deafening slam, Shiloh turns and struggles to close them. The blowing snow eager to claim whatever space it can. Gone are Handeloup and Lucia, gone are the scribes, and the chirugeons, gone are the Temple Knights, all but one. It was Starlight eve afterall, and the Lord Commander insisted that those under his charge be with their loved ones, out of the cold on Ishgard’s most sacred night. That he didn’t apply the same compassion to himself fuels Shiloh’s frustration and gives her the additional strength she needs to finally close the heavy wooden double doors against the storm. A sigh puffs from her lips and she slides down the rattling wood, a draft flitting through the bottom cracks, she’s too drained, too cold from her trek to move. Aymeric runs into the congregation's main chamber, sword drawn, only to be met by the sight of Shiloh’s half buried figure, more snow then Au Ra, sitting on the floor.

“Shiloh?” He sheaths his weapon and hurries to her side. “What are you doing here? You should be with the Fortemps.”

“So should you.” Shiloh lifts the small gift she’d clutched to her heart in an effort to protect the shiny blue wrapping paper and delicate silver ribbons she’d taken such pains to get just right. “Happy Starlight?” She tugs the scarf from her face, and wills her lips to stop chattering long enough to give him what she hopes is a sweet smile.

Clamor ffxivwrite2020 prompt fill, Gaius and WoL. Rated T.

The smoke from the Ultima wreckage stung her eyes, and made it hard to breath. Shiloh secured Thancred to Maggie, checking his pulse again, checking his pupils, he was alive, unconscious but alive, and given the circumstances it would have to be enough. The metal of the decimated castrum creaked, and she was acutely aware that she was on a broken elevator. She moved quickly, ready to mount up and get out, only to be met with a long echoing groan. She froze, knowing it was Gaius Van Baelsar.

“Seven hells.” She muttered harshly under her breath before she stepped away from the magitek armor and sprinted towards the fallen Garlean.

She couldn’t find a pulse or even properly assess him with all of his armor in the way so she searched for a latch that would release his helmet. A click and a hiss later, she was pulling the metal horns from his head, his third eye shone amidst the blood and sweat marring his otherwise strong, dark features. She set to work, pushed her Aether into his body stopping the worst of the internal bleeding. She didn’t need magic to see that he was concussed, his pupils were pinpricks in his hazel eyes, but he was awake, and that was promising. After a tense moment he breathed deeply, a pain eased.

He tried to get up but Shiloh pushed him back down, “stay still.”

“Your mercy is a weakness.” The gravel of his baritone having lost much of its strength.

Shiloh kept working, focusing her energy on repairing a bleed close to his lungs.

“This isn’t mercy.” She spoke without looking at him.

“If not mercy, then what?”

“Justice.” Slowly she sat him up, keeping a glowing green hand close to his abdomen lest her delicate work be undone.

“One would think that dying among the castrums flames a fitting justice.” He winced and she slowly pulled him to his feet.

“That fate is far too kind, given your crimes.” Shiloh was diminutive next to Gaius, still she put one of his arms around her shoulders, letting him lean on her as they slowly made their way back to the waiting magitek armor. “Besides, long before I was a warrior or champion, I was a healer, I made an oath to offer succor to the sick and injured.” She glanced up at him, “even if the injured is my enemy.”

War of Hearts Zenos/WoL Arranged Marriage AU, long fic, enemies to friends to lovers, Rated M.

It was absurd, laughable almost were it not happening in real time. Before her stands Varis, not a priest of the Twelve, to her right stands the man she was marrying, not the love of her life, not even someone she might like, no, to her right stands her most hated enemy. Zenos Yae Galvus. And Shiloh stands stock still, in a gown of shimmering gold, trimmed in red, the three interlocking diamonds, symbol of her long standing enemy embroidered into the delicate fabric, the same colours repeating in the bouquet she holds. She’s surprised any flowers at all deign to grow in the northern waste that was Galremald. Strange that she can still be surprised considering the outrageous betrayal that brought her here. She speaks the words of fealty, words of love, words of promise, and dutiful to the last, she places her hand over Zenos’s and Varis twins the red and gold cord around their hands. The weight of the ring on her left hand itches, as if the metal had been tempered in acid.

Shiloh had been many things in the preceding years, weapon, symbol, and now, bribe. She was the cost the Eorzean and Doman Alliances have paid for peace. She is the concession, by giving her to Garlemald, Varis has effectively disarmed his opponents, not that he hadn’t given back, the castrums in Eorzea and Doma are being dismantled as the farce carries on. The leaders, for their part, had done a good job of wringing their hands in a show of contrition and regret, but ultimately their people had to come first, even the Scions, her friends, or so she’d thought, had said it was for the good of the realm. No one, not a single one, had thought to put her wants, or her needs first. They were present, all of them watching as she turns, watching as Zenos, towering over her, takes her chin in his hands and bends to kiss her. That she doesn't recoil, or fill his mouth with bile is a miracle, likely her last. Hydealyn is ever silent, even as the crowd claps for the royal couple. She is named princess, and a gaudy Garlean crown is placed on her head. Absurd. Shiloh is in the seventh hell.

When the ceremony ends she takes Zenos’s arm and is led to the grande reception hall. He even pulls the chair out for her, ever the polite monster. They sit on a raised dais, course after course of food brought before them, and each tastes like ash in her mouth. Garlean nobles and Erozeans alike present gifts, one after the other the alliance leaders declare their friendship and present a gift that would remind her of home. She does not smile, she does not pretend, let the alliance leader's final memory be of her disdain, she hopes they choke on their guilt. If she could have burned the gifts, she would have, sadly thurmaturgy was not her strength, though she knew enough to light the entire pile on fire, were it not for the aether dampening shackles she’d been given upon her arrival in Garlemald. They appeare to be nothing more than golden bangles, but they were narrow enough that they could not be removed, and removing them required a controller. A controller Varis held. The emperor had cited safety, knowing full well she was present under duress, knowing full well the destruction she was capable of. He promised he would unshackle her when he knew he could trust her not to kill them all while they slept. She supposed she would be wearing them until her dying breath.

As for who I would tag, Everyone I would have, has been tagged, so if you see this and would like to participate, consider yourself tagged.

#whimsy writes #whimsy words #ffxiv #choosing 5 was hard...I wish I could have chosen a passage from a later chapter from From Shadows...but it wouldn't make sense #cries in multishipper #Shiloh is busy #Also there are pieces here that arn't actually part of her canon #but I just like writing her #one day I'll write a piece for Sofi too

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theaetherhealerffxiv · 5 years

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An Ascians Memories

A FFXIV fanfiction - One shot

Pairing: Wol/wod x Emet-Selch

Rated: PG-17 [for safety]

WoL/Wod is NB with female leaning [you/yours/etc]

Word Count: 2107

Summary: Emet is reminiscing about past lives of yours.

He watched you from afar, scurrying to and fro. Doing this and that for the citizens of the Crystarium. You had been ordered to rest by your companions, ‘Fighting Fit” was just a phrase he had used to describe you. He could clearly see the fractures in your beautiful soul. It pained him more than anything in the various shards. Your soul burned brighter after every cataclysm that they had caused, more whole than the other pale souls next to you. Beautiful and glowing, your light continually washed over him when he stood in your presence. Making him wish more and more to steal you away from your fate as a hero. To dote upon you to hold you close and hide you away from both Zodiark and the dreaded Hydalen. No more fighting, no more pain; no more fractures upon your soul.

Emet-selch shifted as you ran under his hiding spot to another person. Sweat clear upon your brow when usually there would be none. He squinted, his heart aching, the final act was drawing close. What he would wish to pull you into his arms and kiss you - rejoining be damned.

Pain shot from the back of his skull as he thought those words, shifting he rubbed it.

“And what if it comes into fruition! What if you bring about the grand rejoining and my soul is no more? That you cannot bring it back! Or that you sacrifice it?!”

“I will not. Zodiark will bring them back, we just have to create an appropriate sacrifice.”

Groaning he pressed his head against the cool stone of the building. That's right, everything will be right if he follows the original plan. Even your fractured soul will be healed, he had to believe in it otherwise everything would come crumbling down. His very soul would be overwhelmed if he did not believe. With the pain throbbing in his head he gazed back down at you, bent over in an alleyway trying to catch your breath. Emet knew he could easily port down there, wrap his arms around you and whisk you back away to his room. To force you to rest until you had gained back some semblance of your strength. But he knew it was futile, the plan was falling into place and he must play his part. And he knew his part had nothing to do with holding you close.

Leaning his head back he closed his eyes. There was a time of course that he would have done just that; forget his plan, forget the countless eyes upon him, he would steal away into your chambers for a passionate kiss. For a night of pressing his body to yours, of whispered promises and hopes. It had perhaps only been about one hundred years since the last time that the two of you had been together in such an embrace. He had possessed a child; grown and lived a life of a human. The life of Solus zos Glavus. A smile stretched across his face as he remembered.

Meeting you in the military academy, your eyes bright, your soul even brighter. Instantly he had assigned you as his personal guard. It of course had been the first lifetime in many years that he had been in a position of power while you had not. Why in the Allagan empire you had been his empress, and even later a fellow lord which he threw himself upon in times of trouble. Your arms had ever been accepting; but that lifetime as Solus had been truly special. Duty bound him, and duty bound you, but it never stopped you from sneaking him out of the castle at his request to have a picnic in the hills. To stay by his side during a battle and easily strike down anyone that had gotten close to him. You, instead of he, had set about the courting process. Emet-selch had founding amusing at first, but then found that he loved it. He loved being in your arms after a long day, your soft whispers in his ear telling him it was alright. That he could not please everyone, that even his family had no right to question his methods. You had been devoted to him, to the point that if it were not for status he would have wed you right away. No, instead his family wed him to a woman of pedigree, whom he had bed with disdain. After the act he would always steal away to the room that the two of you shared. Emet had even gone as far as to name you his consort. The people did not care; it was not as if the two of you could have children.

No, in that lifetime you had been male after all. The people found it romantic, you would not be mentioned in any history books as the royalty and lords did not like you, but the commoners would remember your heroic tales.

In fact, thinking of such things reminded him of one specific memory…

------

It was a battlefield; together the two of you where in the Emperor's tent, and Solus was tending to your wounds.

“Such a foolish act, what if you had been killed Gyrus?” The Emporer chided you as you laughed, wincing as the man pull tight a bandage on your back.

“But I am fine my love!” You teased leaning back to peck him on the cheek. For a Garlean you always found the emperor to be comically small. He scoffed and slapped your wound, causing you to cry out, then devolve into a chuckle. Watching him pout as he washed his bloodied hands in a bowl of fresh water. “Solus,” You murmured as you watched his shoulders slump. “Solus I am fine, my dear Emperor, please I beg of you turn to face me.” Standing you suppressed a gasp of pain that shot through your shoulder; you had thrown yourself in a way of an assassin that had snuck behind your battlements. You had of course been prepared for such an attack by the enemy. Regardless of what you had not anticipated was that they had company. Reaching out you wrapped your arms around Solus, who leaned back into your embrace with comfortable ease.

“Gyrus you fool.” He grumbled in your arms. Was he, crying? You frowned and pushed back his greying hair. No, his golden eyes stared at you with frustrated intensity. Leaning down you pressed a kiss against his third eye. The Emperor shivered and twisted in your grasp until he could plant a firm kiss upon your lips. Sighing you leaned back and pressed your forehead against his. Your third eyes gently rubbing against each other.

“A fool for you,” You teased, your voice breathy. Another stolen kiss; your bodies pressed up against one another in unfulfilled passion.

Suddenly a cough came from the entrance of the tent. Solus pulled back from you reluctantly and called out to them. It was a messenger to tell the two of them of the battle ahead of them…

----

A bird landing next to Emet shocked him out of his memories, then he heard someone call his name; there was only one person that would actively call out to him. Turning he expected your face, instead he found one of the twins, the female. He frowned, but teleported from his resting place to an area in front of her. He glared down at her. “Yes?” He asked folding his arms before him as the young girl clenched her fists as she stared at him. The Ascian knew what she wanted to ask; her face showed it. Turning away he frowned. “If I knew how to properly deal with that overwhelming amount of Light I would have told you all already.” He waved his hand at her, answering Alisaes question before she even had a chance to ask. Tears brimmed in her eyes before she turned on her heel without a second word and stormed off. He couldn't help but frown at her retreating figure, when had she been told about your condition? He had thought that the woman Y’sthola was trying to keep it a secret from them. When she vanished from his view he turned away raising his hand to his chest he gazed down at the floor. His chest burned; regret. Emet-selch knew a few tricks to mitigate the light, but that girl knew he would not share them. He also knew he could not aid them in such a way. Clenching the cloth at his breast he felt a torrent of emotional pain; tears threatening to form in his eyes.

You had been Gyrus just a mere one hundred years ago, before that? Ellana, and even further than that Inomina - he could name every single one of your reincarnations. Each one special in his heart. But Emet cast his mind further back even still, back to when your true home had still stood. Before the final days. When the two of you walked the pale streets, studied various methods of creations… had weaved your magics together to create life. Pulling himself back into the darkness he found himself once again perched high up in the buildings. Even though he fought back tears he found himself blushing at the memory. Your magics had been strong, but even though you two had always tried to weave new creations you always fell in each others arms.

Every lifetime he thought. In every lifetime the two of you had easily fallen into each other's arms. Passionate kisses, touches, and bodies often pressed against one another. Instead, in this lifetime, perhaps the final one you two stayed away from each other. Perhaps, he thought, it was best this way.

Best for you not to become attached to him. For him to be the tag along, the plus one to your merry band of Scions. Sure, you two had stolen kisses and touches from each other in this lifetime. But compared to the others it was minor. You would not be too affected when the time came. If he won, he would cradle your body until you passed into the final Lightwarden. In fact he would stay with you until the moment this shard was no more. Perhaps even then he would find a way to steal your soul and hold onto it until he could find a way to make you reincarnate. But, if you won he would perhaps ask you to kiss him one last time. Perhaps he would touch your face as his body disappeared.

Wincing once more at the pain in the back of his skull he sighed. He could not lose of course, for the sake of the thousands of dead. He could not have the fleeting whimsy of wanting to love you when his goal was so close. Emet knew he would have to succeed if he wanted to bring you back. He had too. Gazing down he found that you were gazing up at him, sweat clinging to your beautiful face. Emet sat up quickly as he noted that there were more fractures in your soul. Your eyes strained with pain and without a second thought he willed himself from his seat to before you.

You smiled weakly as he appeared in a cloud of darkness before you. His face surprisingly wild, his golden eyes searching yours. “Ah, I saw you up there and was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat?” You asked. Sure, the deal with the Greatwood warden had hurt you more than you had wished to admit. Everyone was starting to see that it was affecting you, but true to your word you did not want them to worry. Your smile vanished as you felt his arms grab you and pull you into him. His hands digging into your clothing. You raised your hands to hug him back. “Emet, what is wrong?”

“Nothing hero.” He responded quickly pulling away and producing a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently dabbing away the sweat on your brow. “Do you have a place in mind you wish to try?” Emet asked sticking the damp handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Oh yes!” You exclaimed with forced energy. Throwing your arm around his you pulled it close to your chest and grinned. “There is this place up the way that sells delightful sandwiches. I wanted to and the little Oracle but they already ran off somewhere!” Pouting you tugged his arm. He sighed dramatically and allowed you to pull him along.

Perhaps, The Ascian thought. Just a little longer…

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