I wasn’t expecting this exposition to happen so soon but let’s roll with it! Also if the Ishgardians were actually French, the Fortemps boys would be using ‘tu’ with her now #justfrancophonethings

Did some re-reading of old chapters to check continuity, and I’m not sure I like what I saw. I may do some editing to 1) try and get Chuchupa’s accent more consistent, and 2) make sure it makes sense when people switch from consistently saying “Mistress Kensaki” to “Lady Achiyo”. …But not now. Now we’ve got celebratory fluff to write. Purely self-indulgent fluff, no MSQ. : D

Achiyo’s new sword is Baldur! Her new shield is the Fortemps shield. I figure she’d still been using the Holy Shield from the ARR Relic weapons until this point, even after getting the Fortemps shield from Artoirel a little while ago.

(Also I forgot that your patron isn’t necessarily tied to your birth month… So Achiyo is a Nymeia-patroned January baby.)

Chapter 39: Dragonsong

 

Chapter 40: Il était une fois…

Achiyo received many letters in the following days, some addressed to the Warriors of Light thanking them for their heroic deeds, and those she passed on to the Rising Stones so that her friends could read them and be gladdened by how many appreciated them. But a surprising number were addressed to her personally, and were of a… personal nature… being that they offered various levels of apologies for treatment she had endured upon first entering Ishgard. And after. 

Count Dzemael himself called upon Fortemps Manor before too long to apologize in person for his efforts to block her from entering the city. And others sometimes stopped her in the street to either thank her, or apologize for having doubted her or having insulted her. It was interesting to see them having to unbend their pride enough to admit to fault, and yet that self-same pride would not allow them to not apologize. It was different in her homeland, where nobility were not permitted admit to fault, no matter what; she had disliked that custom, but she had had an unusual upbringing. She liked that the Ishgardians were compelled to ask forgiveness, for it was what she would do were she to commit the same… indiscretions.

She forgave him, forgave them all. What else could she do? The past was the past, and refusing them would not bring them to a better future. And, too, they seemed more or less sincere. Whether or not they liked her, she had finally proven herself in their eyes – and then some, really.

She thought that privately, the Fortemps family rejoiced at her vindication. Or not so privately. Emmanellain was gleeful, and Artoirel was positively smug, though he restrained it in front of guests.

They expressed their thanks to her in other ways. Her sword and shield had been broken on Nidhogg, and she either needed them repaired or new ones. For the shield, at least, she had a ready replacement – the House Fortemps shield that Artoirel had given her, and the smiths were quick to place upon it the same enchantments that her old shield had had. The sword, however…

Achiyo was in her room in Fortemps Manor, mending her gambison with painstaking stitches, when there came a knock at the door. “Hello?”

The door opened and Artoirel came in. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady. -We have people who can do that for you, you know.”

She knew, and Rinala herself was an accomplished seamstress who would have done it even better, but… “I like to do it myself sometimes even when I do not have to. I mean no disrespect to your servants and craftsmen. It is… soothing to me.”

“Very well.” He held out her scabbard. “Your sword.” The smiths had finished repairing it.

“Ah, thank you! You did not have to deliver it yourself.”

“I wished to,” he said. “Because I also wished to ask if you would accept this sword as well.” He held out another scabbard, bound in cobalt blue leather, with more delicate, intricate silver filigree detail than her old sword had.

“It is beautiful,” she said, laying down her own sword and taking the new one, half drawing it to look at the blade. “I admit I would like to go to the sparring ground right away to try it. Or at least the garden.”

“Let us go, then!” It seemed to her that he was strangely eager about it.

The new sword was perfectly balanced, and was the exact same length as her old sword. It glittered in her hand as she made practice strokes in the garden.

“Do you like it?” Artoirel asked, watching her with his arms folded.

“Very much,” she said, smiling, sheathing it again. “I should be very pleased to wield it.”

“I am glad,” he said. “It was mine own sword.”

“Your- Lord Artoirel!” Flustered, she pushed it at him – to think he would do such a thing! It was rude to return a gift, such a precious gift, but – his own sword!

“Oh, it’s too late to give it back,” he said, with a smirk. “We’ve already resized it for you, Lady Achiyo. May it serve you as well as it served me.”

Such a personal gift left her speechless. All she could do was bow formally before him, clutching the sword in its scabbard to her heart, and hope he felt her appreciation.

 

Vivienne was walking through the Brume shortly before the turn of the new year when she heard a hail, and felt an impact as someone short hugged her. She turned and looked down. “Hello, Rielle.”

“You’re alive!” Rielle gasped. “I still can’t believe it.”

“She channelled the darkness within,” Sidurgu said, coming up behind Rielle. “Don’t be so clingy, Rielle.”

“It’s fine,” Vivienne said; far be it from her to deny comfort to a girl much too deprived of it to begin with. But Rielle detached herself and brushed down her light blue winter coat. “How have you been?”

“Never mind that,” Sidurgu said. “We’re fine. We saw your battle.”

“I think everyone in Ishgard saw the battle,” Rielle said. “But Sid was in the thick of the defence of the Brume, so we were right up on the walls. I was healing him, you see.”

“Ah,” Vivienne said. “I notice you’re moving about freely, yes.”

“Sid is still paranoid as anything,” Rielle said. “But no one has tried anything since… since that time.”

“I don’t let her out of my sight outside,” Sidurgu said. “But I’m starting to believe there is no danger. There’s no longer any danger to me, at least.”

“No more suspecting innocent Au Ra to be demonic Dravanian spies?” Vivienne asked sarcastically. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“But didn’t you get stabbed?” Rielle said. “It looked like you got stabbed right through at one part. When the dragon turned into the dragoon.”

“I did,” Vivienne said. “Living Dead spell. Want to see the scar?” She tapped her lower chest.

“Eugh, no!” Rielle cried, flinching. “It’s already upsetting enough to know you were hurt-”

“I want to see!” cried another voice, and Yllamse, the loopy Elezen pugilist-mage appeared at Vivienne’s elbow.

“Gah!” Vivienne put her hand on Yllamse’s face and shoved her away as Yllamse giggled. “Gods, why do you show up at the weirdest times?”

Yllamse held up a finger. “Well you see-”

Vivienne let go of her face and turned away. “That was a rhetorical question. I don’t really care.”

Sidurgu squinted suspiciously at Yllamse. “Who… is this?”

“An adventurer who, despite her demeanour, is very helpful when we have to fight en masse,” Vivienne said. She looked between them, then sighed. “I had wanted to introduce you to the Warriors of Light first, but… Yllamse, Sidurgu and Rielle. Sidurgu, Rielle, this is Yllamse.”

“Nice to meet you!” Yllamse said, appearing completely impervious to Sidurgu’s suspicious death glare. 

“And you,” Rielle said politely. Sidurgu grunted.

“It seems Ishgard’s gates really do stand open to all comers now,” Vivienne mused, looking towards said gates. She had not used them since the fight against Nidhogg, preferring to Teleport the long distances she was travelling anyway. The bridge must be repaired enough to cross.

“They were open when I came in?” Yllamse said.

“Obviously,” Sidurgu said. “Otherwise you would not be in.”

“What are you doing here?” Vivienne asked in a long-suffering tone.

“Picking up some things for Chuchupa,” Yllamse said. “We’re going treasure hunting with some other folks.”

“Have fun, I’ll leave you to it,” Vivienne said. “Come, Sidurgu, Rielle – we can at least introduce you to Achiyo.” She walked away as Yllamse waved a hearty goodbye.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kekeniro said.

Lilidi huffed and turned her back.

“I’m sorry!” he said again. “We didn’t know when it was going to happen!”

“And that’s supposed to make up for going on a suicide mission without me?” she cried, spinning back around and jabbing him in the chest. “I’m going to sell my estate and move to Revenant’s Toll! Maybe then I’ll stop missing your most dangerous battles!”

“B-but what about Cent and Kane? What about Elwood and your other friends here?”

“My other friends aren’t in constant danger of dying and they’re not my husband. And yes, I know you have your Warrior friends with you, the Scions, but… Don’t you know how it feels for me?”

Chastened, he hung his head. “I’m sorry…”

She took his hand gently. “I want to be at your side through all your dangers and trials, come what may. Isn’t that what you said to me, years ago?”

“Yes. And I meant it! But I…” Anything he said now was going to sound like an excuse.

“And I don’t have many dangers and trials now that my uncle is gone,” she admitted. “I don’t blame you for wandering away. Life here in Ul’dah must be positively boring.”

“Not boring! Just… I want to see new places.”

Lilidi squeezed his hand. “I know. That’s always been your true heart’s desire. I still think I’d like to move to Revenant’s Toll. I’d like to officially become a Scion. Then I’ll feel like we’re together even if we end up on separate missions.”

“Oh. I mean, I would love that! But the…”

“Oh, hang the estate!” she cried. “No one cares about it. Except the steward, I suppose. I’ll give it to Elwood, he’ll take care of it. I know Cent and Kane like working for me, and they can come too if they want. But what’s more important – wealth and land, or – or love?”

“I mean, I would say love, but I come from a rural background and don’t care much for gil,” Kekeniro said.

“You’re not wrong,” Lilidi said. “Right. That’s settled. I’ll be in Revenant’s Toll in a few days.”

A noblewoman raised to be a huntress moved fast and decisively, and far be it from him to stop her. “I’ll let them know you’re coming. And I really am sorry. I’ll do better.”

“For the next world-ending crisis?” she said, and smiled. “No. I’m being a little selfish, I realize. Part of me is just happy that you’re getting the recognition that you deserve.”

“I don’t…”

“You do,” she said, and kissed him.

 

Achiyo hesitated before the heavy door of Count Edmont’s study. What if he should think her too bold? But it was wrong to hold back, now that she had made up her mind, and with how precious each new day was, she should not lose an instant – so she knocked.

“Come in,” said the Count’s voice, and she pushed open the door and entered. Artoirel stood by the desk, and Emmanellain lounged on a seat on the other side of the room with Honoroit beside him – good, she should not have to say things multiple times. “Ah, Lady Achiyo. What can I do for you?”

“I wished to… tell you something personal,” she said, and saw them all straighten in surprise. “If you are not busy.”

“I am never too busy for you, my lady,” he said, closing a ledger on his desk. “Speak freely.”

“Shall we go?” Artoirel said with a glance at Emmanellain.

“No, stay,” she said. “For you… you inspired it, in a way.”

The Count gestured that she should sit if she wished, but she did not; she was already short enough, surrounded by these tall men. “My lord, I…” And already her courage nearly fled her. If she started at the beginning, perhaps it would stay with her. “I came to Eorzea with nothing but my armour and weapons and a hope of finding a land free from fear. In Limsa I found friends, fast friends for whom I am grateful. But the land was not what I searched for. When I came to Coerthas, it is true at first I was rejected, suspected, despised – until I met Haurchefant. He welcomed us all without reservation, but I feel he welcomed me most, for he never once showed me aught but respect and care, despite my race.”

Count Edmont nodded. “Nor did he hesitate to praise you in the highest language he could, even from the beginning.”

“And when I came to Ishgard, you took us in, my lord, but more than that – I feel that you took me in. The others have their homes and families to return to in times of quiet.” Even Tam seemed to have found his own place easily. “I had no bonds to anywhere in this realm but for my friends, but here in Ishgard I found a feeling of safety and comfort such that I have rarely felt since I was a little girl.”

Artoirel snorted sardonically. “And that, with the constant battles you were forced to participate in.”

“I was never forced,” she said. “I wished to help. I came seeking a land free from fear and I have found it, a land that restored my hope, and that has already pledged my heart to her. But more than that…” She turned to Artoirel. “You said to me but recently that you thought of me as a sister. And I have never had a brother, but you have become so to me likewise. And you, Lord Emmanellain.” And she could not meet Count Edmont’s gaze as she finally admitted: “And you are like to a father to me, my lord. …If that is not too bold.”

Count Edmont had risen from his seat in amazement, and stared in silence. But Emmanellain sprang up from where he had been sitting and threw his arms about her, lifting her from the ground despite her startled squeak and Honoroit’s gasp. “We finally have a sister! Father, can we keep her!?”

“Unhand her, Emmanellain!” Artoirel said. “She’s not a lost puppy.”

Count Edmont came around his desk as Emmanellain let her down, and he was smiling. “Lady Achiyo, I am touched to the heart that you would think of us so. I have never had a daughter, but I would consider it the greatest honour that you think of my family as your own. If you wish formal adoption, I am happy to proceed on that path; else, we shall be as family in spirit just as strongly as by law.”

Count Dadmont flashed into her head, and she cursed R’nyath for the urge she had to giggle hysterically. “I had no thought of the law in my head… I only wished to tell you how much your kindness means to me,” she said.

“Then we shall leave things as they are. Come then! Shall we take a turn about the drawing room? I have much to ask you. For all you have lived with us all these moons, I still feel I know little about you, despite our fondness for each other. I do not even know your age.”

She smiled and bowed formally. “I am Achiyo Kensaki, born in Yamamatsu-jo in Hingashi, aged twenty-eight; my nameday is…” She stopped to do the conversions.

Emmanellain gasped. “You don’t even know your own nameday? Poor girl! We must-”

“I know what it is by the Hingan calendar,” she scolded him. “I have not celebrated it in a long time. Never since I came to Eorzea. I think it is the twenty-seventh of the first astral moon.”

“Ah, that is coming up!” Emmanellain said. “We shall have to mark the occasion.”

“I hope you do not regret telling him,” Artoirel said with a sigh.

Count Edmont took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “You would be barely younger than Haurchefant. If it is not too painful for you, I would hear your tale.”

Her past was laden with emotional traps like a Garlean minefield. But she could give them the short, hopeful version, as they reached the drawing room and began to walk about arm in arm. Artoirel and Emmanellain sat on separate couches to listen. “I was born an only child to a Hingan samurai, Tamehiro Kensaki. He was as a knight, the administrator of a small farming village named Yamamatsu-mura. My mother was Ayame Kensaki. They died when I was still quite young, twenty years ago now.”

“I do not remember them well… I remember they both had long, beautiful hair. My mother was quiet, and often spent time outdoors in the garden. My father was a sort to look very serious until he smiled, with his large horns, but he smiled often, and kept me near him while he worked if he could. I had a nurse…” She could not remember her name, for she had only called her Oba-chan, ‘auntie’, and she regretted it. But it couldn’t be helped. “I had a nurse, who loved me and took great care of me, but my parents both gave me love. I remember my mother reading to me… I remember my father’s sword – then I only liked it because it shone in the sun beautifully, not because I had any intimation that someday I should take up a sword myself.”

Count Edmont patted her hand sympathetically. “That, at least, is true of many of our young folk. I pray that it becomes less true from now. It was not your father’s sword that you wielded against Nidhogg, however, was it? I know regrettably little of Hingashi, but it seems to me that your gear is purely Eorzean.”

She nodded. “I do not know what became of my father’s sword. After my parents died, I left Yamamatsu-mura with an Eorzean as my guardian. He… he raised me…” She needed to not speak on him and hurried on. “When I was fifteen or sixteen, we went to Doma, where I spent some years at the court of Kaien-sama, learning etiquette as befitted a samurai’s daughter. Perhaps befitting the daughter of a more high-born samurai than one who administered a small farming village, but I am confident at least that I have never disgraced him. Then I served as a mercenary for some years… and thence I came to Eorzea.”

Artoirel made a sound of admiration, and Count Edmont patted her hand again. “I begin to see where your strength of arm and will come from. You have experienced much of the world since your youth. I would our young people had half the resiliency you have shown. But now be lonely no longer! Our family shall be yours, Lady Achiyo.”

“Then if I am part of your family, then you may – you must call me Achiyo,” she said.

“But I do already,” Emmanellain said.

“Aye, you show scandalous informality,” Count Edmont said. “But now it need not matter. I for one am pleased to call you Achiyo. If you are comfortable with calling me ‘father’ as the boys do, you may…”

“Mayhap it is early, but someday I would like to call you otousama, if you would permit it,” she said. “It is a Hingan word for ‘respected father’. Until then…” She glanced down. “I am afraid I must still call you ‘my lord’. I am still too… too shy to do otherwise…”

“You slew Nidhogg,” Emmanellain said. “Twice. And you call yourself shy?”

“She cannot forbear to refer to Ser Aymeric except with a Hingan title, and the other Warriors of Light are all content to call him by name,” Artoirel pointed out. “My lady’s etiquette training may have been too strong.”

She hid a smile at the teasing. “I fear you are correct. But for you, I do not think it impossible for me to try… Artoirel.” He smiled and nodded.

“It’s a start, anyway,” Emmanellain. “We’ll get you practised up on speaking with informality, old girl!”

“I doubt she wishes to speak like you,” Artoirel told him.

She smiled brightly. “I am… very grateful, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Come now, let’s get you situated in one of the family rooms!” Emmanellain cried, grabbing her hand and dragging her out the door.

 

Achiyo knocked on the door of Borel Manor and heard the barking of dogs from within. The offer of drinks had evolved into an invitation to dinner, at the turning of the year, and now the other Warriors of Light and Alphinaud were clustered around her, with Lilidi, Hilda, Artoirel and Emmanellain, and Honoroit being unobtrusive as always. Rinala gasped at the sound and hid behind Aentfryn. “You don’t like dogs?” Aentfryn asked.

“No, they’re scary,” Rinala said. “Unless they’re really little. But they don’t sound little.”

The barking was growing louder, and then the door was flung open – by Aymeric himself, holding back two huge greyhounds. “Good evening- Tempête! Tonerre! Down, you two!” Rinala squeaked, and Achiyo could not blame her – the dogs were easily as tall as she was, and she had not been expecting to be nose-to-nose with what looked to be a very happy animal intent on welcoming her with as much sound and momentum as possible. “My apologies – Lucia! If you please!”

“Doggos!” shouted Hilda.

Lucia came from another room, shaking her head. “I could have told you this would happen, Ser Aymeric. You cannot greet your guests and introduce your pups at the same time.” She was dressed in an ivory-coloured Ishgardian coat and trousers of an understated elegance. She took hold of the dogs’ collars and gently shushed them, and the barking quieted somewhat, though the tails still wagged like clothes beaters and they sniffed at all the Warriors of Light with great curiosity.

Aymeric laughed sheepishly. “My apologies, friends, I only wished to introduce two of my dearest companions. The noisy one is Tonerre, and the one who stamps impatiently is his sister Tempête. Do come in, let me aid you with your coats…”

Rinala was hiding behind Aentfryn, but soon had to change her hiding place to Vivienne when Aentfryn quickly went with Hilda to greet the dogs, scrubbing their faces and giving them praise. “Do you not like dogs, Rinala?” Aymeric asked.

“I think they’re scary,” Rinala said. “I hate to say it, but especially your dogs. They’re as tall as me! They could knock me down without thinking about it!”

“So could a lot of things,” Tam said. “You’re not afraid of most monsters anymore though.

“You’re supposed to hurt monsters, and she’s perfectly capable of that,” Vivienne shot back. “Only monsters hurt dogs.”

“I have no wish to cause you discomfort,” Aymeric said to Rinala. “They are very friendly and would never deliberately harm you, but I acknowledge they could cause an accident to you. While you are here, I shall confine them to the bedroom. Tonerre may make his displeasure known… but he must be content with his lot.”

“I’d like to get to know them,” Aentfryn said. “I’ll make sure they’re not lonely.”

“I think I’d like to as well,” Hilda said. “You won’t miss me for a little while, will you?” she said to R’nyath.

“Have fun!” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Very well,” Aymeric said, and took one giant dog, and Aentfryn the other, and they disappeared for a moment with Hilda following them.

Lucia sighed and smiled. “He is so impetuous sometimes. But should any of you wish to visit the dogs at any point, ask him – or me. While Ser Aymeric’s servant Petreaux is the one who walks them most often, I have done it many a time and they are familiar with me. Come in and be comfortable, it is only us and Handeloup. Welcome, Lord Artoirel, Lord Emmanellain. Honoroit.”

“Hmph, what’s that?” Vivienne asked, pointing at a suit of armour in the hall.

“I believe that is his armour from when he was but a Temple Knight recruit,” Lucia said, leading them further into the house. “Before my time with him.”

“Not before mine,” Handeloup said, smiling, coming forward to greet them. “You already know him as the finest brother-in-arms any could wish for, and that has always been true, but some of the other tales I could tell you… Perhaps I’d better not.”

Aymeric returned as they entered a cozy parlour, and his steward, a kindly-looking old Elezen in sober black, poured wine for everyone. The parlour was wallpapered in deep blue – as it seemed, so far as Achiyo had yet seen, was every wall in Aymeric’s house – but the floor was of warm hardwood covered over with a plush cream-coloured rug, with cream-coloured brocade chairs and a sofa placed facing a lit fireplace. One wall was entirely covered in books, and soft organ music played from an orchestrion in the corner.

Most folk there were not shy, and soon they were all talking busily – of anything but serious topics. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to speak of the battle on the Steps of Faith.

“We all thank you deeply for inviting us to your home,” Achiyo said to Aymeric with an Eorzean curtsey – she had not had to curtsey since the last party they’d all been to, but Emmanellain had given her more instruction on it and she thought she was doing quite well with it.

“It is a very great pleasure to be here to spend time with you this Heavensturn,” Alphinaud said, with an equal bow.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Aymeric said, bowing back. “Truth be told, I have never had so many guests at one time before. Everyone is very excited, I assure you.”

“And this was the only possible day for it, I’m sure,” Artoirel said. “Given your new duties in addition to the old.”

Aymeric grimaced. “Indeed. But we shall make the most of it, shan’t we?”

“At least we get to wear these dress-up clothes again,” Vivienne said, indicating the sleek black silk ensemble she had worn to the last party. “Emmanellain’s purse not going to waste.”

“How could it go to waste?” Emmanellain protested. “Even to see everyone dressed up once had been worth it, but twice! Even better!”

Achiyo was not loath to wear the pink Ishgardian gown again, not for this, and this time she had asked Rinala to help with her hair. Most of the hairstyles she knew were Eastern, and would have looked odd with the gown, but Rinala had drawn the hair from her temples into a half-up braided thing, something that looked both effortless and graceful. Rinala’s own hair was in braids wrapped around her head like a crown. Even Chuchupa had popped her head in and demanded to be ‘fancified’, and Achiyo had smoothed and parted the Lalafell’s pink hair into a rather masculine style, rakish and dashing.

“Even the city has dressed her best,” Alphinaud said. “I noted the decorations for the Starlight Celebration on my return, and it was delightful to hear carollers in the streets.” It had definitely seemed to Achiyo that the city, suddenly released from the fear of the dragon, had hastily burst out into extra celebration for how staid they normally seemed. Though there was still damage and homelessness and hunger everywhere, especially the Brume, there was also hope.

“And the snow makes everything sparkle,” Lilidi said. “I have not seen much snow in my life; it’s like the Sagolii but white. And cold.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I had to visit St. Adama Landama again on an errand for my parents, and it was raining again,” Rinala said. “I swear, Camp Drybone is a misnomer.”

“Perhaps it used to be drier,” Kekeniro said; ‘before the Calamity’ went unsaid. “It’s pretty close to the Black Shroud, especially the swamps in the south there – I bet a lot of moisture gets blown down when the wind is right.”

“It was not raining in the South Shroud while I was there,” Vivienne said.

“That’s because obviously all the rain went to Thanalan,” Tam said. “Do keep up.”

Vivienne glared at him. “I was only making an observation, you smug know-it-all. Perhaps we were there on different days.”

“So, uh, how’s Syndael?” R’nyath asked Handeloup, trying to distract from the rising tensions on that side of the room. “He was helping us with a quest with Penelope and Linnea, but you guys see him way more, I’m sure.”

Unfortunately, it only traded one tension for another. Handeloup and Lucia traded worried glances. “He is on medical leave,” Handeloup said. “I think his mother is very happy to have him home for the holidays… Ah, but Commander Lucia, have you heard about Dame Harriette?”

“What about her?” Lucia asked. “Has she actually accepted that absolute clown who keeps leaving her letters?”

“Nay! She bundled them all up, took them to his doorstep, and set them aflame.” Handeloup chuckled, and Lucia followed.

“What’s this about Dame Harriette?” Aymeric asked. “Someone was bothering her?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, ser,” Handeloup said. “She assured me she could handle it, and she has.”

“Aye, that will stop the incessant flood of poetry,” Lucia said. “I only wish she had done it sooner, at swordpoint…”

“Commander,” Handeloup said chidingly. “I know that’s how you dealt with your admirers but-”

“Not another word!” Lucia cried, flushing.

“Wait, Dame Lucia has a love life??” R’nyath cried, and was skewered by Lucia’s death glare.

“N- I dare not speak,” Aymeric said, watching Lucia carefully.

Lucia rolled her eyes. “Fury grant me patience. May we speak of our subordinates again instead?”

“I did have a question for you,” Achiyo said, gladly coming to her rescue. “If you were trained in Garlemald, you must have learned to wield a gunblade. Was it strange to take up a shield instead?”

Lucia turned to her with a warm look. “Aye, at first. Even now, my style is very different from standard Ishgardian trainings due to my past. But now, how do you come from the Far East with such great competence in Eorzean weapons yourself?”

“My teacher was Eorzean,” Achiyo explained. “And though he trained me meticulously and well, I have long felt the lack of others to compare myself to.”

“Then look not to me,” Lucia said with a smile. “For mine is not exactly orthodox. Lord Artoirel, now, could certainly shed new light on it for you.”

“We have already had several discussions on it,” Artoirel said. “It is mutually enlightening.”

“Artoirel himself gave me a new sword,” Achiyo said with pride, and the three of them descended into technical discourse. Achiyo wondered if Aymeric might have been inclined to join their discussion, but he was deep in conversation with Kekeniro, Lilidi, and Chuchupa, speaking of the sights of the realm.

 

Their mingling was hardly over, but dinner was ready. It took both maids and the steward several trips to bring the food for everyone, seventeen people all told. Honoroit had offered to help, but had been told that he was a guest on this occasion as well, which left the boy speechless with glad surprise. Aymeric had actually never had a dinner party before – at least not one that was not simply Lucia, Haurchefant, and maybe Estinien if he was in town. And even those had happened rarely, and without formality. So the old Borel manor was filled as it had not been since his adopted parents’ passing, and yet his five staff had insisted that they could handle it. He suspected it was a point of pride for them to not need help, despite the unusual circumstances.

He was seated between Lucia and Achiyo, and across from Rinala with R’nyath and Kekeniro on each side of her. He’d spent far too long on the seating plan, and more than one sheet of speech notes from the House of Lords had scribbles of revised ideas. He had nearly decided to place Achiyo across from him, he desired to see her so much, but that would be entirely too distracting; he would spend more time watching her than eating, and then Lucia would be upset with him.

Even having her beside him was awfully distracting. Even without looking directly at her, he could see her delicate hands – and noticed that they were thin and worn-looking. Everyone had been through such intense hardship recently, but he wondered… the way the tendons stood out, even when her hands lay at rest, if she had ever not known hardship…

Those were not appropriate thoughts for this gathering. There was to be no sadness tonight – save for one moment of remembrance he had planned.

And anyway, Rinala was also very engaging to watch, in a different way. Certainly the Warriors of Light would be no strangers to excellent Ishgardian cuisine after staying at Fortemps Manor as honoured guests for so long, but he fancied that old Renaux his cook had outdone himself tonight, as he watched Rinala’s eyes roll up in pleasure. “By Menphina, this salmon!”

“It’s so good,” R’nyath enthused beside her. “Though I’m also partial to these tiny flaky buns.”

“So this is how the upper crust dine,” Hilda said, with a teasing flick of her eyes from where she sat beside R’nyath. “Little bits with too much butter and cream.”

“For me, only on special occasions,” Aymeric assured her, taking the teasing in the spirit it was intended. “This would hardly be practical for every day.”

R’nyath leaned over to whisper in Hilda’s ear, and she looked in surprise at Artoirel and Emmanellain. “Really? Even the High Houses?”

Artoirel figured out her question first. “I am not only a noble, but a knight. To eat too much rich food would be completely unbeneficial.”

“Count Durendaire, however, I wouldn’t put it past him to dine like this daily,” Emmanellain put in cheekily.

“Nah,” Tam said, and did not elaborate.

“You’ve been to dinner with Count Durendaire?” Alphinaud asked incredulously. “No. You know this some other way.” Tam gave him a wink.

 

When the courses were done, Aymeric took his wine in hand and stood. “My dear friends, I thank you for coming. Such mirth and merriment this ancient house has not seen in many a year, and I pray it shall be repeated soon. But though we are gathered here to celebrate each other’s company, I would ask now for a moment of remembrance for dear departed. In particular, one who would have been the most ecstatic at this gathering. One who could never be praised enough, though he would laugh it off with all humbleness – one who was the noblest, bravest, kindest man I ever knew. To Haurchefant.”

The others as one rose to their feet and lifted their glasses. “To Haurchefant.”

To Haurchefant, who was sorely missed this Starlight. Who would never see another Heavensturn. Who slept in eternal vigil over the city he loved, who would never see it blossom as a peaceful republic. Aymeric had been to the place earlier that day and seen other recent footprints in the snow there. He drank his wine and swallowed tears as well.

It took a few minutes for the melancholy mood to shift, but he did not think it had been ill-done. And as they returned to the parlour with tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, talk began to brighten again.

He was mildly surprised at how well Chuchupa was doing. He would have expected her to be wildly bored at a social function like a dinner party and had instructed his steward Amaury to keep her well-lubricated to try to make it up to her, but although she was drinking his wine – and now coffee-tinged whisky – faster than the other Warriors of Light, she looked to be properly appreciating it as well. Which was gratifying as it was quality alcohol. Though he could also see her fidgeting restlessly a little, but still she was making a mighty effort to be on her best behaviour. It was flattering.

Hilda was looking around at everyone still talking, looking a little confused. “Ain’t there supposed to be dancin’ at these sorts of shindigs?”

“There often is,” he told her. “We can if it pleases you, but I am… not really one for dancing.” Certainly not right after dining.

“Nor I,” said Lucia flatly, and most everyone else in the room concurred. The only ones who really looked disappointed were R’nyath and Emmanellain.

“Well, all right then,” Hilda said. “That’s all right. I was just curious.”

He looked around the room. Lucia was talking to Kekeniro and Alphinaud about tactics – did she ever stop working? – Achiyo was talking to Lilidi about Dravania, it sounded like, and Tam looked like he was going to disappear as soon as he’d finished his whisky. Well, Aymeric would not stop him; he supposed he should be gratified that the dragoon had stayed put long enough to spend time with them all to begin with.

Rinala was looking at a painting on the wall, and he went to her. “Do you like it?”

“Very much,” Rinala said. “She’s very pretty. Who is she?”

It was a woman in a fluttering white robe, her hands full of lilies. “It is an image of Saint Reinette, the Charitable. It is true that she slew a dragon to avenge her lover, but then she dedicated her life to helping others, especially the poor and downtrodden.”

“There seem to be a lot of saints in Ishgard’s history,” Rinala said. “How does one get to be a saint?”

“There are a few ways,” he said. “Most through the living of a virtuous life. Often ‘virtuous’ is defined by deprivation, self-inflicted or otherwise, so few truly aspire to it with the genuine fervour that marks sainthood.” It was true that a disproportionate number of well-known saints were nobility who had sacrificed something; if it were merely deprivation that granted sainthood, then every young child in the Brume might be a saint. He thought that would be more fair… though best of all would be if no one had to suffer deprivation. The House of Commons had been making some strides towards that effect, at least. “Perhaps they worked a miracle, or did some great deed for Ishgard.”

She glanced up at him with great big trusting blue eyes. “Well, you brought peace with the dragons, that’s a pretty great deed; maybe you’ll be a saint one day!”

Saint Aymeric did not sound well to him, and he retreated from the praise. “I hardly lead a particularly virtuous life…” He had a comfortable home, he wielded immense power, and he had slain many dragons up to this point.

“Oh. Well, maybe you’ll be in a fairy tale instead.”

“We do have many fairie tales,” he said, seizing upon the subject change. “Though we have not had a king in a thousand years, we have many tales of princes and princesses, knights and noble commoners.”

“Is that so?” said a gentle voice, and he turned to see Achiyo coming to join their discussion. “So do we in Hingashi.”

“We have lots of folk tales, but I don’t know if they would be called ‘fairy tales’,” Rinala said, thinking. “Though now I’m not sure what the difference is. Lots of tales of magical objects and how they change the fortunes of those who discover them.”

“Such as magical swords, and… er… scabbards, and… chocobos?” he asked. Ishgard seemed to only care for magic that enhanced her knights, now that he thought about it.

“No, just about anything can be magical,” Rinala said. “Swords, sure, but also, like, lamps, or jewels, or cups, or fruit.”

“That almost sounds like yokai,” Achiyo said. “The definition of yokai is very broad, so there are many spirits and monsters, even animals who are considered yokai, but also simple objects. When something reaches one hundred years in age, we believe it gains a spirit. This is believed to be particularly common of household objects.”

“Household objects?” he said. “Really?”

Her eyes were sparkling with amusement. “How many of your possessions are more than a hundred years old, Aymeric-sama?”

He blinked. “I have wine that’s more than a hundred years old.”

She sipped her tea with put-on nonchalance. “Your wine is probably a yokai.”

“So if I drink it, do I become possessed?” he asked, and she laughed.

“I guess that sounds kind of like our magic items,” Rinala said. “They don’t necessarily have a spirit in them, though. Although often the lamps do.”

“We must trade tales,” Achiyo said to her. “I should like to hear more.”

 

The party slowly began to dissolve; Lucia and Handeloup left first, saying they had work the next day. Tam had already disappeared, which was rude, but Achiyo supposed it was a surprise that he had come at all. Aentfryn made one more visit to the dogs, and then left with Rinala, Kekeniro, and Lilidi, and Vivienne and Artoirel and Alphinaud followed them. The orchestrion had run out of rolls and no one made a move to restart it.

Yet Achiyo stayed, even as her friends thinned out – she should have led them home, so that Aymeric could also rest for the next day, and yet… she lingered, foolishly, looking at the wall of bookshelves that covered the south side of the parlour. It was so tall, that even for an Elezen, it might be a reach to find books from the top shelf – and so there was a shelf ladder to one side. She found it amusing to imagine Aymeric climbing up there.

Aymeric was approaching her again, having just bid Emmanellain and Honoroit a good night, and she turned to him. “You have a considerable number of books.”

He smiled. “Most of them are from my foster parents. I do not have much time to read anymore… but my favourites are on this shelf here.” It was just over her head, but that meant it was at eye level for him.

She missed the wink that passed between R’nyath and Chuchupa, but she did not miss R’nyath speaking up. “Begging your pardon, but I think we’ll head on home now, Chu and Hilda and me…”

“Ah, just a moment, I’ll come with you,” she said, a little annoyed that they’d picked now to head out, just when she’d begun to converse with Aymeric again.

“No, no, no!” R’nyath shook his head and waved his hands, and Chuchupa huffed at her. “You just started talking about books, and I don’t wanna interrupt. You can come on back when you’re done. Don’t let us bother you.” Hilda looked confused at R’nyath’s emphatic protestations, but said nothing.

“Yeah, I got no interest in readin’, knock yerselves out,” Chuchupa said.

“I don’t wish to impose-” Achiyo began.

“’Tis no imposition,” Aymeric broke in smoothly. “Do stay a while longer – but give me a moment, Lady Achiyo, while I see our friends off. Please-” He gestured at the bookshelf, and followed the others out of the room.

Achiyo gave R’nyath’s back a suspicious look, but stayed where she was. She knew this was improper, even if everyone else seemed to think it was nothing out of the ordinary – but she still wanted to spend more time talking with Aymeric. Just a little bit.

In the meantime, she climbed up a few rungs of the shelf ladder to peer at the titles on his favourite shelf. Many of them were in Old Ishgardian, with elegant flourishing script printed in worn gold on the spines of soft leather. She stared at them, tilting her head sideways – the Echo might help with spoken language, but it was not so much help with written language, especially at odd angles.

“This one’s very good,” said a deep voice nearly in her ear, and a long arm reached past her to pluck a book from the shelf. She gasped, and jumped, wobbling on the ladder, and felt a broad hand catch her back, steadying her – and she turned to see pale blue eyes, long nose, firm lips right beside her. How had he gotten so close without her hearing him?

She stared into his eyes as if transfixed, paralyzed, breathless, and he stared back, looking as astonished as she felt. It seemed an eternity before she recovered enough to realize that this was definitely, absolutely not proper, to stare at him from practically within his arms, and rasped out- “Sumimasen, watakushi– er, I apologize, I was startled-” She felt a huge blush bloom on her face and could not help it. Oh, kami strike her down for losing control! And yet she could not look away.

“No, I apologize,” he said, in a whisper as hoarse as hers, and… also blushed!? His cheeks, his neck, even his long ears turned bright pink. “I did not mean to startle you. I… forgive me.”

He was instantly forgiven, but how could she tell him that when he was still so close she could see the detail of his irises? When his hand was still on her back, supporting her? Her heart was racing and she wondered if he could hear it. She blinked and tried to breathe deeply to break the spell, and climbed back down the ladder – he snatched away his hand as if burned – and gathered herself. “You are forgiven,” she said, smothering everything under politeness, but with a little smile to let him know she was sincere.

“Ah. Well. Thank you.” He flipped open the book; was he still flustered? He recovered himself quickly, as she was attempting to. “You said you liked faerie tales, Lady Achiyo?”

“Ah… I suppose I did… Is that a faerie tale?”

“It is indeed. An old story, but one that I’ve loved for a long time, the Tale of Isobelle and Martellot, a tale of love and valiant heroics in an imaginary land. I was wondering if you would be interested in my reading it to- Ah, but it is in Old Ishgardian, I forgot you cannot understand…”

“I might be able to,” she said. “The Echo grants me understanding of the thoughts of the heart, and thus I can understand anyone, from the most outlandish of foreigners to the Ascians themselves.”

“That is amazing,” he said. “Else, I shall attempt to translate… which may be somewhat slower. Then if you would, pray sit?” He gestured to an armchair near to the fire, and took the end of the sofa near to the chair.

She took the chair, and though her tail fidgeted for a moment to be trapped in her dress like that, she made herself comfortable and waited. He found that fidget very interesting, apparently, but then flipped open the book with those long, dexterous fingers, and began to read.

“Il était une fois…” She closed her eyes to listen better, to give the Echo a chance to let both sound and meaning seep into her. The night was silent but for his voice and the crackling of the fire. “…au pays de fantasie, il y avait une belle princesse. La princesse avait les cheveux vert-argenté et les yeux les plus captivants…”

She opened her eyes to give him a suspicious look, arching one eyebrow. The corners of his mouth seemed to twitch, but he ignored her gaze and continued on. “Elle était la fille d’un puissant roi…”

 

“And that’s the end of the chapter,” he said some time later, and she came back to herself with a start. “Did you like it?”

“Oui, mais ra purincesse– But the princess-” She broke off as he stifled a laugh. “Does she truly have silver-green hair?” Like her own? How much should she read into “the most captivating eyes”?

“In truth, she has golden hair and crystal blue eyes,” he admitted. “Does it truly displease you?”

Well… no, there was no harm in it. “If it pleases you, I will not stop you.”

“I thank you for your forbearance. May I tell you that you have the most charming accent, especially in Old Ishgardian?” he said to her, his own blue eyes still lit with mirth.

For an instant she froze. Was… Aymeric de Borel… flirting with her? Was she still capable of breathing? But she raised her chin defiantly. “Thank you kindly, though it is entirely the fault of the Echo, Aymeric-sama.”

“Please, call me Aymeric,” he said, with that soft smile.

The bell rang the time somewhere outside, and she started. Had it gotten so late? The chapter had not seemed that long! “Perhaps another time, Aymeric-sama,” she said, standing and curtseying. “It is past time I returned to Fortemps Manor, tonight.”

He rose with her and walked with her to the door, held her coat for her as she put it on. “Thank you for coming over. All of you, but you especially, Lady Achiyo. It’s marvellous to have almost all my closest friends to visit at once, though normally I enjoy smaller gatherings. I hope we might meet again like this.”

“We are all grateful for your gracious hospitality,” she said, and he bowed deeply to her and she curtseyed once again. “I would be very happy to come again… when you have the time.”

“Aye, that’s the rub, isn’t it?” he said, with a wry twinkle in his eye. “Petreaux, please see Lady Achiyo home.”

She looked up at the stars on the walk back. Petreaux was a dutiful companion, but didn’t intrude on her thoughts – whether from being a quiet person, or from a class barrier between them, she didn’t know, but she had much to think about anyway. Aymeric had blushed to be close to her – had teased her – had all but outright flirted with her. He liked her! Romantically! Surely it was not wishful thinking after such signs. Mayhap there had been other hints before but she had not believed they were anything that could not be explained away otherwise, not until now. 

She could command her heart to be calm, but it would not obey her. For so long she had grown to love him while never letting herself consider her love seriously – for fear of gossip, for Lucia’s sake. But she loved him. She loved him so, and these attentions made her happier than she’d ever been in her life before. This giddiness… how intoxicating it was!

How long had he liked her, she wondered? He’d been showing her such favour, such… affection for some time, if she interpreted her memories correctly, even before the trial of Hraesvelgr when he had begun to be less guarded about it. Yet everyone she was friendly with had shown her much favour since coming to Ishgard. And she knew he had to be careful. She yet remembered the things said by the ignorant when she first came. So the fact that he would come so close to her and be so unguarded was precious to her.

And oh, his eyes! She greatly wished to see him again in such an intimate setting, and soon. 

 

She was even more radiant up close, and he wanted to throw himself down on the sofa and bask in the memories of her that were like precious jewels gifted to him by Halone Herself. Memories of her smile, her laugh, the way the lamplight played on her hair and her scales and her horns, the grace with which she moved… Her glorious eyes and those delicate lips… He had been sorely tempted to kiss her, in that one moment, and only the fear that she would reject his forwardness had held him back. But though surely his staff must already strongly suspect his feelings, and though he knew they would support him whole-heartedly, he could not be so unguarded yet. So he went about his normal end-of-day routine and tried to act normally.

But her blushes… Her skin was a beautiful colour, a slightly greenish gold that darkened to copper when flushed, and she’d blushed at him, at his closeness – he hadn’t meant to startle her, hadn’t meant to be that close to her… but it had been revealing. She had been so serene and collected the entire time he’d known her, friendly enough to him but with any further feelings usually tightly controlled, that he’d often wondered what she really thought of him. Now he was certain: she found him attractive, and that made him happy.

He knew he was attractive to most; he’d been blessed with handsome features, and did not mind helping them along with skincare and so on, even more so now that it was so perpetually cold and dry. He’d received many propositions, of all kinds, since he came of age, and had mostly found it more a nuisance than not, even when they were not politically motivated. It was… actually something of a relief to know that his appearance also had an effect on the person he cared about, even if he would wish for his actions to speak loudest of all.

And now he’d seen her smile and laugh and tease, for more than a mere moment, seen her outside of her role as Warrior of Light or even her noble birth, and he craved more. Her melancholy had drawn him, but now that he knew her, he wanted nothing more than for that melancholy to be banished forever. Which was incredibly selfish of him… and probably impossible, with the burden laid upon her.

Someday, when he was free to speak his mind, or courageous enough to speak his mind, he would try to do his part to make her happy on this star.

 

41: The Fall of Diabolos