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autumnslance · 2 months

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We can finally share our works for The Thancred Anthology, the free pdf fanzine.

Here's my short story, of Thancred checking on the specter of Pandaemonium in the Aitiascope, and having an unexpected but perhaps due conversation with Fourchenault.

On Ao3 and under the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.

Being one of the saviors of the star had its perks in certain places. No one questioned Thancred’s presence in Thaumazein, nor his use of the Aitiascope’s elevator to reach the research platforms built in the shallows of the Aetherial Sea.

Researchers measured and recorded the current unusual phenomenon: the presence of the ancient research facility and prison called Pandaemonium. The creation and responsibility of the Convocation’s Speaker.

Lahabrea.

Thancred could mostly touch on the topic when it rarely came up. So long as he did not linger, anyroad. There were still rare moments, however, when the thought of that red mask made him break out in a sudden sweat.

Much had happened since that day he had walked out of Raubahn’s office, dejected and self-remonstrating, and on his way to the Sapphire Exchange had been distracted by strangeness in an alley…

And then a looming blank period; only a few terrible, hazy scenes flashing through that darkness, until waking in an Adder tent with the Elder Seedseer leaning over him. Sometimes it seemed he was still waking from the nightmare, that he would blink and find Kan-E’s sad green eyes and calm voice explaining all he had done.

It was difficult to take that first step from the elevator.

On the Ragnarok, when they reached Ultima Thule’s crushing non-weight of uninhabitable despair, he had managed to trudge forward to protect the others. There was no avatar of despair holding him back now, but also no one to protect, no reason to force his feet closer to that inimical ancient visage.

Yet he kept moving, until he ran out of platform.

Thancred stood at the edge and watched the swinging cages and flickering torches. The reports—and a late-into-the-night discussion—of Lahabrea’s involvement had given him insights into his recurring nightmare that he had not expected.

A stubborn man dedicated to the burdens of his great responsibilities. Who loved his child but held him at arms’ length, keeping important secrets, telling himself it was for the child’s own good, unable to see the hurt he caused because he was so wrapped up in his own situation.

From his pocket, Thancred drew out a pink ribbon wrapped around a letter, Ryne’s handwriting covering the folded pages.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” A familiar deep voice said from behind him.

Thancred nodded. “It doesn’t match other Ancient architecture, as if purposefully twisted to match the terrors it kept inside.”

“If the reports are accurate,” Fourchenault said as he joined Thancred at the rail.

“Given who wrote them,” Thancred replied, tucking the letter back into a pocket. “They are.”

They stood in silence for a long while. They had always been awkward; Fourchenault had graduated from the Studium and was entering politics when his father brought home a Limsan orphan. Between the constant trips to and from the Motherland, and Thancred’s intense training, he and his foster brother had seen little of one another before Emporium was abandoned and Thancred sent to Ul’dah. Their differences in political opinions had not helped their bonds.

Now here they were a lifetime later, knowing only slightly better what had led each of them upon their respective paths.

“I’ve a question—unrelated to the current view,” Thancred said. Unrelated so far as Fourchenault was concerned. Thancred continued before losing his nerve. “Did parenting that pair of rapscallions highlight…well…the ways in which Louisoix…”

“Failed?” Fourchenault finished quietly. His blue eyes turned to the researchers engrossed in their duties.

“I wouldn’t put it quite so harshly, but…Yes, about the mistakes he made, I suppose. As a parent, specifically.”

“This is about the girl on the first reflection of Etheirys?”

“Naught gets left out of Alphinaud’s letters,” Thancred said dryly. “Yes; I found myself unexpectedly guardian to an adolescent. It was…” He suddenly floundered on how to explain.

“Enlightening,” Fourchenault said. “Terrifying, horrible…and wonderful.”

Thancred nodded.

Fourchenault sighed. “Yes, raising my children did highlight the matters I wished my father had handled…better. That I tried to handle better. At the same time, it showed me goals hopelessly out of my reach, my own shortcomings as a parent. You’re rather familiar with some of my failings already.”

“At one point, while in the First, Alisaie bluntly said I reminded her of you; in that instance, she did not mean it as a compliment.”

Fourchenault laughed, brief and a tad bitter. “Was she wrong?”

Thancred had to laugh sheepishly as well. “Not at all.”

“We did have a singular model,” Fourchenault said. “Much as we perhaps tried to fight against that image.”

“Or did not, at the time, understand what we had,” Thancred replied quietly.

“You were a stubborn little wharf rat,” Fourchenault said, with little of the sting of their youth. “That stubbornness at least has not changed, thank the Twelve.” Fourchenault smiled genuinely, reminiscent of Alphinaud—or perhaps the other way around. “But I do recall thinking you ungrateful for the opportunity Father had inexplicably granted you.”

“I had more than a few unkind thoughts of you myself. ‘Tis only recently that they have…adjusted. In some ways.”

“I find myself in a similar frame of mind,” Fourchenault said, a ghost of that smile still visible. He studied Pandaemonium. “Did you come to see what new trouble your colleague dredged onto our doorstep—or to face your specters?” he asked, voice soft and almost kind.

“I suppose the letters included that as well.” Thancred had the terrible urge to drink until just before that darkness swallowed him again. He bit it down.

“Not explicitly. In stories since, however, quite a few of the Scions’ adventures have been detailed.” Fourchenault paused. “The twins enjoy my discomfort almost as much as their mother does.”

Thancred couldn’t help huffing out another laugh. “Well, you do make quite the graceful picture when tripping out of a room lest you faint,” he noted. Some things blessedly never changed.

“Bah,” Fourchenault waved a dismissive hand. “Though the tales of your time under the Ascians’ thrall sounded particularly horrifying.”

“It was.” Thancred rubbed his eyes; he would have to speak to Alphinaud about what he shared, even with family. “Though from the reports now I wonder if Lahabrea influenced me more than I’d first thought. Or perhaps…sought a familiar resonance.” Hand in his pocket, he threaded the ribbon through his fingers.

“From what little I’ve heard, there seem to be some superficial similarities,” Fourchenault said. “But the same might be said for my own tale as a parent. Or even Father’s choices. We do what we think is best for our children, and don’t always realize when we’re truly making it easier on ourselves. One doesn’t need an Ascian’s influence to fall into that trap.”

“Hrmph. I know the twins told you what a hash I made of things.” Even now, recalling how close his girl had come to tragedy due to his own actions ran around his mind in darker hours, though she would hate to hear that; it was past.

“They also told me how you admitted your errors and strove to do better by the girl, your comrades, and yourself,” Fourchenault said. “Lessons I myself yet struggle with, after a lifetime of assurance that I knew best.” He smiled wryly. “Not the first time that you’ve outpaced me; nor I suspect the last.”

Thancred stared at Fourchenault. Louisoix’s actual son, born to privilege, beloved of the amazing Ameliance, national leader, brilliant sage…

“If you try to deny it, I shall tell your fellow Scions,” Fourchenault continued blithely.

“We’re disbanded,” Thancred reminded him.

Fourchenault did not quite roll his eyes. “I once asked Father why he was more…available for the twins than myself,” he continued. “Or even for you, off with your master for much of your time under our roof. I remember the…regret, I think, in Father’s smile, when he said he had learned better since our youths. He urged me not to make the same mistakes, and I swore I would not. Yet here we are.” He turned to Thancred. “I think Father would be proud of you. Not just for all you’ve done as a Scion, but for your girl, and the man you’ve become. I am, for as little as it counts from me.”

Thancred couldn’t manage to say that it meant more than he had imagined, so he settled for “Thank you. Though I feel there’s still much to learn about parenting.”

“There always is. Especially when they’re far away. But we’ve now the time. And if that ancient sorcerer could learn better, we certainly can,” Fourchenault gestured at the ghost facility.

Thancred laughed, squeezing Ryne’s letter. “We do have that singular example.”

Fourchenault nodded, then took a breath. “You should—I was thinking—Would you join us for dinner?” As Thancred raised a brow he hastily continued, “Ameliance would love to see you.”

“Of course,” Thancred replied. Learning how to be better fathers wasn’t the only thing he and Fourchenault needed to figure out. But as he had said, there was now time to make even a belated start.

#final fantasy xiv #Lyn Writing #Fanzine #The Thancred Anthology #Thancred Waters #Fourchenault Leveilleur #Endwalker

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