#She was watching a bard playing a song in Limsa :)

[theworldwalkerswols]

The Warrior of Light and his Loves

A Kyler & Polycule Playlist

Pied Piper by The Senate | Kyler & Thancred - The Forgotten Knight

Video note: the song ends at 4:00. There's a long tail of cheering, etc.

The Forgotten Knight, interior. The atmosphere is lively and jubilant.

The Scions present are tipsy at the least, and Kyler is decidedly drunk; Gibrillont, knowing his concerns re: accepting drinks, has been bringing him his rather than letting anyone else do it. Kyler knows that Gibrillont tests everything he serves himself and isn't letting anyone else pour his drinks or even touch them. People have figured this out, and at this point the Savior of Ishgard could drink for free for a fortnight with all the money folk have put forth to keep him watered.

The downstairs patrons overflow the lower level. Someone starts playing music. Things get decidedly lively, and it inspires more folk up to listen and even dance. For the first time, the whole of the Forgotten Knight is packed with noble and commoner both, all mixed up together. Hilda and her two main men end up upstairs somewhere.

Thancred says something about this feeling like old times, and Y'shtola tells him he must be so out of practice that he's no proper Bard at all anymore. She knows full well she's provoking him. He knows it too, but he takes the bait.

Thancred calls for a lute, someone gives him one, he tunes it, stands and puts a boot on the seat of his chair, and starts playing.

"Kyler?" he calls out over the din of the crowd.

"Thancred??" he answers back, half a tankard of ale in one hand, and he manages to weave his way over near him.

Thancred raises his eyebrows, tilts his head at him, eggs him on. "Kyler?" he says again.

The opening bars are swiftly coming to a close. In his drunken state, Kyler's mind tells him 'if I don't sing it, no one will.' Unwilling to leave Thancred hanging, he steps up onto the table.

Kyler sings:

Well, there's a wolf among the sheep he's been talkin in his sleep he's denyin every word he's ever said

The path is short, the bricks are red the pilgrim bowed and cracked his head

He mimes a bow,

on the cobbled stones of conscience where the cowards dare to tread

He puts a hand up by his mouth, leaning to one side as though telling a secret,

And if I don't mean what I say don't take me for a liar - I'm the pied piper, the rebel town crier! Follow me down to the sea and follow where you will follow me to madness or let the water stand still

Kyler knocks back the end of his drink (to wide approval), lets out a piercing whistle, and tosses the empty tankard to Gibrillont behind the bar, who catches it without missing a beat.

By this point, Aymeric, Haurchefant, and Estinien have been fetched by Francel. Up on the packed balcony-entrance to the tavern, they have a clear view of the scene below, unbeknownst to Kyler. He sings,

He's been taught to turn his cheek tellin lies since he could speak he's been blinded by the light since he could see says, "Lord have mercy, glory be! Tell me what you mean to me if your most beloved angel won't be reconciled to thee!"

And if I don't mean what I say don't take me for a liar -

Kyler leans back and belts out, mimicking a crier and pointing at Hilda, who stands on something near the back wall; she whoops back at him and pumps her fist as he sings,

I'm the pied piper, the rebel town crier! Follow me down to the sea and follow where you will follow me to madness or let the water stand still

Kyler performs a brief stepdance on the table, the steps he learned from the Bloody Executioners in Limsa. He's out of practice and sloppy, but it's charming. He jumps down from the table.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, Eudestand, Hilda's left-hand Mongrel, has stepped up with another lute; he watches enough to identify the chords and then plays the rhythm part.

Thancred steps up, one boot on his chair and one on the table, now, to play the solo, focused and intense. He nails it, to broad approval.

Amidst all this, Alphinaud finds his way to Kyler's side, and Kyler throws an arm around his shoulders. Alphinaud delivers him water, which he gladly drinks. As Thancred's solo comes to a close, Kyler steps back up onto the table to sing:

Well, now the wolf has had his fill left me here, atop the hill with a secret that I'm not prepared to keep

But when I'm gone, my lips are sealed:

Here he holds a finger before his lips in a 'shh' motion,

won't you take me to the field? Won't you break the earth at sunset, won't you leave the buried deep?

Kyler crosses his forearms over his chest, hands in fists, mimicking how some corpses are laid to rest, almost a forceful gesture, but brief. He turns to Thancred and they focus on each other, listening hard and queueing off one another to sing in harmony,

And if I don't mean what I say don't take me for a liar - I'm the pied piper, the rebel town crier! Follow me down to the sea and follow where you will follow me to madness or let the water stand still!

Kyler jumps down from the table and dances with Alphinaud and Tataru, who has also appeared, spinning them both, one with each hand, on the final chord, and bursts out laughing after.

It's only the next day, once he's nursing a hangover and no longer drunk, that Kyler's shyness catches up to him. He is more mortified than he has ever been in his living memory.

He is not seen in Ishgard for a week, and not in the Forgotten Knight for a fortnight at least.

--

I wasn't planning on writing out the whole scene as a script but here we are!! I regularly consider doing a comic of this but let's be real, that's too much work for meeeeee

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!

The “he” in this has always, in my mind, also been Thordan VII. :)

#playlists #ffxiv fanfic #mini-fic #Thancred Waters #Playlist: The Warrior of Light and his Loves #scribbles #WoL!Kyler Drake

[idealistsinc]

02 // sway

wc: 1,279 content warning: some spice and bad nautical innuendos

“What will we do with a drunken sailor early in the mornin’? Stick ‘im in a scupper wi’a ‘osepipe bo’om — ”

“You went heavy on the ale, didn’t you?” said Rin. “You’re out of tune.”

Vhox stopped singing to grin wolfishly at him. Though Rin had watched him down two pints of The Drowning Wench’s finest barleywine, he was clear-eyed and altogether sharper than Rin would have been if Rin had dared partake more than a sip. The only sign of his impending inebriation was his accent, drink bringing to the fore all the slurs and dropped consonants of a salt-sprayed sailor who hadn’t got his landlegs. “I’ll have y’know I was a regular shan’yman, four-eyes.”

“Right. Is scupper even a word?”

“What, it’s not in your books, so it's not a word?” He feigned offense, sighing the sigh of a put-upon schoolmaster. “A scupper’s a drain for th’ deck. Y’stick the head in like it’s a stocks, then beat ‘im with a hose.” That grin, all teeth, took on a lascivious quality that sent a not-unpleasant shiver down Rin’s spine. “Interested?”

“I’ll...pass, thank you.” Rin looked desperately about the hall for something else to hold his attention. It was the wee bells of the morning, and the members of Baderon’s guild had long given way to the late-night pirates, determined to make the most of their time ashore by drinking themselves insensible before they were called once again aboard come the dawn. A Roegadyn bard stood on the dias, playing an upbeat ditty on a fiddle and singing something filthy about the conquest of women in foreign lands while a few hopelessly plastered seamen made humiliatingly inept attempts to dance in the circular basin of the tavern.

Refusing to be ignored, Vhox propped his elbows on the table and leaned over, close enough for Rin to smell the malt on his breath and, beyond it, the faintest trace of sea salt. “Per’aps the problem’s y’haven’t had enough ale.” Before Rin could muster a word of protest, Vhox called, “I’tolwann, a pint o’ the blonde!”

“Hells, I’ll take a blonde!” a miscellaneous voice shouted in response. The whole of The Drowning Wench descended into a riot of laughter, such that for several thundering moments conversation was blotted out by a roiling sea of snickering sailors.

“By the Twelve, Vhox, you don’t have to yell,” said I’tolwann, manifesting suddenly behind Vhox’s chair. Her tail swished irritably as she raised her voice over the general clamor to be heard. “Rowdy lot. Look at what you’ve started.”

Vhox simply shrugged, looking unaccountably pleased with the chaos he had caused. That was his way — easy and sure as a ship sailing windward. Rin often wished for a quarter of his confidence. Even in his new, Vhox-approved tunic, he felt out of place among the sharp smiles and still-sharper blades of the average Lominsan company, a Sharlayan sheep in wolf’s clothing.

His blonde, such that it was, arrived before Rin could lose himself completely in anxious rumination. He sniffed delicately and, surprisingly, was not keeled over by the searing reek of alcohol. “Light?”

“Very,” said Vhox. “For your delicate cons’itution. Unless you would like to end up under th’ table again.”

Rin was never going to live that down. No, he had not held his first true introduction to Lominsan ale well at all — small mercies he didn’t actually recall the experience. Dubiously, he tried the ale. It had a smooth, honeyed flavor much unlike the resiny taste of barleywine, subtle and...yes, light. Vhox looked ever more smug. “You like it,” he said.

“It’s all right,” Rin replied noncommittally, but he took another swig regardless.

Up the stairs, the bard paused. She coaxed a few trumpeting notes out of the fiddle like a king’s herald; then, the bow flew over the strings in a lively race, the tune leaping and bounding over itself in its haste to reach some distant finish. Rin’s ears perked. It reminded him of…

The effect of the music on the crowd was swift and startling. “A jig!” a Hyuran man in a rat-tattered coat hollered to the hall at large. “Git yer legs movin’, fellas!” Almost as one entity, in a motion that struck Rin as oddly surreal, the crowd of scar-riddled sailors stood up, women and men, Miqo’te and Roegadyn and Hyur alike, and swallowed the room at once in a tumult of wild dancing, the pent-up energy of a typhoon suddenly and violently released. 

Vhox didn’t have to say a word. He just smiled that jackal’s smile. Rin sank into his chair, holding out his pint as though to defend himself with it. “No.”

“Why not? It’s traditional. Anyroad, y’danced at that fancy Sharlayan shindig.”

“That was the quadrille,” said Rin, forgetting to be embarrassed that he knew how to dance the quadrille. “I don’t know the steps to a — a Lominsan jig — ”

The grin sharpened. “What steps?”

Before Rin could say another word, Vhox had dragged him out of his chair and near swept him into the center of the hall, Rin clutching the handle of his pint for dear life as the blonde ale sloshed over the rim onto the floor. “Wait — wait!”

Well, if he was going to do this…

Rin took a stout gulp of the ale. It burned a trail of fire going down that time, a feeling that had absolutely nothing, nothing to do with Vhox’s hand at his waist. Then, he slammed the pint down on a nearby table and, before he could think better of it, took him awkwardly by the shoulder and whirled Vhox in a wide circle.

Vhox’s answering smile could have lit every oil lamp in Limsa.

Later, Rin would remember very little of the dance. It was a blur of turbulence, like a galley lurching in a storm, the hall vibrating with a nearly electric energy as Rin and Vhox made a hectic turn about the outskirts of the room. Twice his hair flew in his face as though tossed about by a gale — and once, Vhox reached to push it off his forehead, a laughing grin in his eyes, so that Rin didn’t even notice when a nearby Roegadyn sailor was felled by his drink and his sealegs and had to be carried out the door by the combined effort of three unfortunate men. Vhox had him under sway by then. Completely.

“Sway up!” Vhox hollered in a fit of the theatrical, and before Rin altogether knew what was happening, he was being hauled full off his feet and to the top of the stairs. Together, they pivoted into the relative seclusion of the shadowed stone archway where the night crept in, cool on the heat of Rin’s face; inside, the song had ended to the scattered, hooting applause of the pirates for that immensely skilled Sea Wolf fiddler.

But Rin had long since stopped paying attention. Vhox was still holding him in a facsimile of the jig, his hand pressed hard in the small of Rin’s back and his breath coming heavy. Rin’s heart thrummed.

“What does ‘sway up’ mean?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Nau’ical term,” said Vhox, and added, in a tone ripe with entendre, “Means to ‘oist a mast.”

And the ale must have truly hit Rin, then, because he kissed him, right there under the archway, where any passersby might conceivably see them. Then — in a bubbling outburst that surprised even Rin — he laughed. 

“Perhaps — ” he said. “Perhaps we ought to...beat to quarters.”

In the half-light of the tavern, Vhox’s smile seemed all canines and carnal promises.

“Per’aps we ought.”

vhox’s sea shanty stolen borrowed from here: [ link ] vhox belongs to @mimiorzea

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv #ffxiv rin weise #and now for something completely different #i can't believe this is a thing i am letting people read with their precious eyes #mimi owns vhox but i wrote him first so there #my writing #no vhox didn't pay for their drinks and baderon just sighed and put it on vhox's tab #he's real tired of vhox using his establishment as a place to flirt #ffxiv vhox tia

[thegoldenembers]

The Letter.

The wind was brisk that late afternoon, as Captain Imraldera Starflower trod the deck towards the debarking Dauntless, recently returned from a covert mission.  She smiled and saluted the departing soldiers and crew, scanning the crowd for one target in particular.

Folding her arms and moving to the side, she smiled to herself.  The Maelstrom would often hire mercenaries, as did the Immortal Flames of Ul’dah.  This particular one was usually pretty easy to spot, and she scanned the heads about her for golden hair.  Then she tilted her head a bit, thinking, and reminded herself to also search for black hair. The Bard was a puzzle, but she owed him a lot.  She partially owed him for new life and career here in Limsa.  The Azim Steppes and the Ruby Sea were the only places she’d ever known before.  She’d fallen in love with the Eorzean Sea, she’d fallen in love with this Western world. She owed him for the whirlwind adventure that had brought her here, and, most of all, she owed him for her voice.

Getting impatient, she finally noticed her target, dark hair and all, shouldering a duffel and jauntily making his way down the gang plank.  She absentmindedly checked that she had her messenger bag once more then inhaled and called out, “Eanrin Farthestshore!”

The Miqo’te paused at the sound of his name, and the deep feminine voice that called it like a clarion across the pier. Following his ears, he spied the one red jacket among many; and his was not the only head that turned.  Many men and women actually stood at attention and saluted before they realized they were not the target of the Captain and returned to their duties.

The preoccupied look on his face was replaced by a wide grin, and the man began shouldering his way in her direction.  

“My Lady Starflower!” Eanrin bowed happily when he finally reached her.  “I haven’t seen you in months!  How are you faring?”

The Xaela smirked.  “Very well, thank you.  And yourself, Master Bard?  I see and smell you need a good shower, so spare me those details.”

Laughing the Miqo’te turned and grinned.  “Causing trouble, as always.”  He said flippantly, shifting his duffel to the other side as he turned to walk beside her down the dock.  “Someone has to babysit your men.  And the Grand Admiral always does pay well.  Though the timing was a bit off with this call… I’d really rather wished it could have been delayed.”  His eyes were troubled.

She frowned a bit and decided not to waste time.  “I have a letter for you.”  She announced as she stepped off to the side again a bit further out of the way.

Eanrin’s eyebrows rose in question.  “You weren’t demoted to postmaster while I was away?”  The smirk at the corner of his mouth made her want to either laugh or slap him.  Maybe both.

“Of course not.  I’m a Captain now, thank you very much.”  She stood, her hands on her hips as she jokingly tipped her head back and forth. “No, actually, this letter was delivered to you a day before you left, but we couldn’t get it to you in time.  Actually, the private who accepted the letter wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, due to the fact that it looked a… a little sinister in nature.  He brought it to me, but I was away on a command mission.”  She began digging in her messenger bag.

“Private Mrywdllyr reported receiving it from a young Elezen girl.  He was quite startled, as she arrived and departed quite abruptly.  Upon examining the letter, he wanted to chase after the girl, but, since he was on duty, he could not leave his post.”  She found the letter and watched the change in his face at the mention of an Elezen girl. He looked like he was sea sick and yet hoping the galley cook was serving dessert all at the same time. She held the parchment up to him, and he stood there for a moment, before slowly taking it from her.

She watched him frown further as he flipped it over and back, focusing on the wax “seal,” if you could call it that.  It was merely regular candle wax, with the imprint of a finger on it.  The part that really caught your attention was the now browning stains mixed in.

“Is that blood?”  Eanrin queried, looking even more apprehensive.  He stood there, holding the paper for about a full minute before he finally seemed to steel himself and he worked open the letter.

She watched his face darken as he read it. It didn’t take much time.  His breathing grew heavier and his yellow eye seemed to glow brighter.  Before much more could be done, he seemed to reign himself in.  “Thank you for bringing this to me.”  He said shortly, and bowed to Imraldera.  It was jittery and abrupt and entirely out of his normal character.  “If you would pardon me, Dera.”  He said, even as he made a sudden about-face and hastened back towards the sea.

She watched the denizens of the dock scatter before the dark cloud that was a Miqo’te.  Frowning in concern, she picked up her pace and followed in the direction he had gone. She followed the protesting crowds until she eventually found him standing next to a fountain, looking out to sea.  His right hand was clenched tight, the other held the letter which was flapping in the breeze.  His shoulders were hunched, and he stared down at the water below him.  She noted the gold that had been present at the tips of his hair had singed away to a dull gray.  Walking up to him quietly, she saw from his face that he was far away somewhere.  She settled herself down next to him until he came back.

Darkness. 

He was surrounded by it.  He couldn’t see anything.  His right eye burned most, his head just a little less.  Everything hurt.  Well, everything that he could feel did.  He couldn’t feel his legs. He was pretty sure he was bleeding internally.  He didn’t know where he was, and he was terrified.

He heard noises around him.  Something was prowling in the dark, the presence like a giant wild animal.  He heard it’s breathing.  It would pause from time to time and then return to its pacing.

“What to do with you, boy?”  The presence finally spoke.  He didn’t understand the words at first.  They seemed to translate themselves in his head.  He realized then that his unseen adversary was a dragon. The voice was deep and sounded as old as the rocks themselves.

“A mortal with your power, making it to your age without any alliances.”  The dragon muttered curiously.  “How did you slip through the cracks, little one?”  The thuds of footfalls around him continued.  It paused, as if listening.  “You’ve been running.  Running all your life.”

“You are a mess.”  The voice echoed across the void.  Fear spiked through Eanrin as he felt himself laid bare before this unseen being.  A light flared into existence, blinding him.  He flinched as he realized it was a great eye.  It swerved and bobbed as the dragon continued his pacing.  The eye never losing its focus on him.  

“Deep down, you have a good heart.”  The light disappeared and Eanrin found himself relieved.  “You bear scars.”  At this, many of the scars on his body seemed to glow in the dark.  “You’ve taken many a blow meant for others.  Some on behalf of others.  I can see you are very caring.  It’s exhibited in your display at the banquet.”  The voice growled, and the sound reverberated in the nothingness. “You are also very disrespectful. I am almost as old as Midgardsormr himself.  I demand respect.  I will not tolerate being dishonored in front of so many beings.  If the farmers had come to me directly, I could’ve saved face and you wouldn’t be bleeding out on your friend’s floor!”  It almost roared.

Eanrin writhed a bit, and with his eyes still closed and his hands over his ears he shouted.  “They couldn’t get an audience with you directly.  They are mere farmers.  You live in Sohm Al.  They would be lucky if they could’ve reached Tailfeather!”

The dragon growled, continuing to pace.  “Nevertheless.”  It snapped, two eyes resting their painful light upon the ailing Miqo’te.  “You reek of selfishness; self-loathing, self-pity, pride, and self-indulgence.”  The voice ruthlessly analyzed.  “You have blood on your hands.  You let your emotions rule you.  You are broken.  Hopeless.” The last brutal word rang through his ailing head.

 There is no hope.

 Eanrin curled in on himself, his hands still on his head.  Every word the dragon said was true.  He didn’t deserve to live.  He wanted to die.  To end the pain.

“Father.”  A new voice rang out.  “I will stand for him.”  The voice sounded breathless.  Two smaller lights appeared in the distance.

“Aethelbald.”  The ancient dragon said fondly.  “Eldest son. Why would you stand for this mortal?”

“I have witnessed many of his acts with mine own eyes.”  The younger voice rolled across the distance.  “I too have seen his heart and I declare it worthy of being saved.  I will stand for him.”

Visions of a bird in a tree watching him as he danced with Giselle’s little girl.  An afternoon he had spent playing with and then feeding what he thought had been a stray hound.  The hound, sitting among the crates in a bloody alley in the Brume.  A cat scurrying by as he brought a smile to Zui’s face when she couldn’t figure out how to repair a project.  Bounties and beasts he took care of on behalf of the Ishgardians.  Various faces of people whose moods and hearts were changed from listening the songs he wrote, bearing his heart.  Rayn and Mallo nestled together with him while he glared away a passing wolf when they went camping one night.  So many visions, and he wondered how many were from his heart and how many this dragon had actually seen.  His heart felt wrung out.  Despite all that he saw, he still knew his heart.

 There is no hope.

The bright lights drew nearer, and the young dragon turned and bowed his head to his father.  “I will stand for him.”  Aethelbald was clearly out of breath.  He extended a talon and placed it over Eanrin’s head.  The pain immediately lessened, though it didn’t lessen entirely.  

The eldest dragon’s voice rumbled across the black. The words were not translating now, and the two dragons alternated speaking. His very body vibrated with their discussion.  The youngest never moved his paw off his head.  The pain was returning.  Tears were running down his face.  He had a feeling he was dying.  Soon. Soon he could step into the welcome arms of oblivion.  Maybe Ama was waiting for him; the thought flitted faintly across his mind.  He didn’t even notice when the roaring stopped.  He was as all alone in the dark.

 There is no hope.  

 Was it his imagination, or was it getting hard to breathe?  “There’s always hope.”  The young dragon was back.  He sat down next to Eanrin.  The conviction in his voice was like iron.  “I believe in you.  Will you believe in yourself?”

Eanrin’s hands slid from his ears to his face.  “I just want to die.”  He cried.  “Let me die!”

With tears in his eyes, the dragon rested his head on the Miqo’te’s chest.  “Just as the clouds cannot extinguish the sun, darkness cannot quench the light. We are not bound to what we’ve done. The choice remains: to stay in the shadows or step into the light.”

“I’m not bound?”  Eanrin’s reply was hateful and a bit skeptic.  “Life is nothing but bondage and loneliness.  I am through with it.”

“What about Zui, Giselle, Sybelle, Merrin, Orion…” Aethelbald’s list ran on and on, capping off with “Mallo, and Rayn?”

Eanrin’s eyes closed in pain.  “There is no hope.”  He whispered. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. Didn’t want to believe it was true. The smallest part of him didn’t want to die.  It seemed to be shouting.  And in the silence, not even that small part could be ignored. And the dragon heard it too. And he looked long and hard at Eanrin.

Aethelbald sat back on his hind feet and extended a talon. “Let’s get you back up on your feet. I will help you.  You will never be alone. There is always hope.  Let me prove it to you.”

Eanrin extended his hand.  The dragon clasped it, and the world erupted into light.

The setting sun was in his eyes.  He blinked hard and focused back on where he was standing.  The paper crinkling in the wind, the salt in the air… he turned and saw Imraldera staring quietly at him.

“Welcome back.”  She smiled gently.

Shaking his head, he ran his hand down his face.  “Dera.”  He spoke as he sighed.

“Must’ve been something written in that letter to send you so far off.”  She turned and watched a seagull fly over.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes.  It was just a bit of correspondence with a girl here in Limsa.  I said something and she disagreed.”  He was picking the wax off the paper, warming it with his hands and forming it into a ball.

Imraldera’s eye twitched.  “You used the Maelstrom to correspond with a girl?”  Her voice was flat.  “Was she sending you a death threat?”  Her voice was a little wry.  Eanrin jumped a bit and turned around.

“It isn’t like that.  It was important.”  His voice was adamant.  “I promise, Dera.  You know I wouldn’t use the Maelstrom like that.”  He pulled out one of Zui’s pens from the duffel he’d let drop behind him. He tapped the pen and laid the slightly crinkled paper down on top of the rock wall.

Dera glanced down and caught the single sentence scratched viciously into the center of the page.  There is no hope.

She watched as he scratched “There is light. Be brave.”  Underneath it.  Then he signed his name with his typical flourish.

“Thank you for bringing the letter, Dera.”  He said quietly as he placed the ball of bloody wax in the center.

“Any time.” Dera replied.  “Is she going to be okay?”  The Xaela sat forward and watched as Eanrin began to fold the paper.

“I honestly don’t know.”  He frowned. “It looks pretty dire.  And I don’t know how to help her.”  His hands moved with practiced ease until he held a small Doman wishing crane in his hands.

Eanrin closed his eyes, holding the bird in his hands.  Then he opened them and took a deep breath and blew on the bird, his breath manifesting in blue, aetherial wisps.  They wrapped around the paper bird and consumed it in flames. When the flames died away, a small snowy dove stood and shook itself before leaping from his hands into the sky.

Dera watched with sparkling eyes as the bird flew back around to them.  She extended a finger and the bird landed on it. “You rarely use dragon magic.” She said quietly.

“Yes.  I don’t.”  He answered quietly.

Dera leaned her head down and kissed the bird on the forehead before releasing it back into the sky.

“How long will it last?”  She inquired.

“I don’t know.”  Eanrin replied.  They both watched the white bird fly until it was no more.  “It’s a prayer.”  Eanrin said finally.  “That someone will stand for her.”

Imraldera nodded.  Eanrin picked up his duffle.  “I need to get home.  I have to get to Ishgard as soon as possible.”

The burdens Eanrin shouldered sometimes broke Imraldera’s heart.  But she knew he wasn’t alone.  She put her hand on his shoulder and walked with him back to the airship landing.  “Why’d you choose Lavender Beds anyways?”  She joked. “What’s wrong with the Mist?”

“And be that close to you?”  Eanrin shot back.  She elbowed him in the side.  “I’d never be able to breathe properly again!”  He wheezed.

“Speaking of breathing properly… you really should take at least a little time to clean up before you travel.  Even if it’s an airship… with air... people might thank you for it.”  Dera grinned.

Eanrin’s shoulders slumped in mock defeat.  “Fine.  A shower. And how about dinner?  My treat!”

#The Golden Embers #Eanrin Farthestshore #Imraldera Starflower