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Chapter Text

Brigid yawned softly, and Cred looked up at her, raising his arms. She laughed and knelt down to pick him up. “So smart you're bein',” she cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Aye, ‘tis bein' time for bed.”

Cred reached out in Thancred's direction, hand opening and closing, and Thancred easily took it. “I know,” he said with a smile. “I'm coming, just let me collect your papa.”

Cred nodded and cuddled up against his mother's chest, horn digging in as always. Brigid sighed and shook her head at Thancred, smiling weakly. He chuckled and leaned down to drop his own kiss to Cred's head before leaving to fetch Urianger.

Brigid, meanwhile, carried her son (who would soon be far too big to carry, and that tugged at her heart) to his room, bumping the door open with her hip. A blink of her eye, and the lamp in the corner of the room was lit, casting a soft glow around the room. “Dinnae see anythin' yet, me wee lad,” she whispered. “But we'll be sure once your da gets here.” Cred nodded again, and Brigid sighed to herself. So quiet, her lad was tonight.

Soon enough Thancred joined them, Urianger trailing behind, a thick book held in his arms. Cred perked up, tail wiggling happily as he caught sight of them. A hand reached out, opening and closing, and Urianger took it in his own, smiling, as Thancred brushed past them, knife in one hand.

He slowly circled the room, making a point to investigate dark corners and under the bed, checking the closet. It was a sad fact of life that even in the Leveilleur guest house, monsters hiding under the bed was not an unlikely thing. (And Brigid would argue that the alleged head of the house was one of those monsters.) After several long minutes Thancred rose from where he had been checking the space behind Cred’s bed, grinning widely and sheathing his knife. “Nothing to fear,” he murmured, collecting his son from Brigid. He bounced the five year old once, grinning even wider as he pulled a laugh from him. “Let’s get you changed, and Papa will read your story.”

“I hath brought a tale of an unknowing princess, cursed to slumber overlong,” Urianger offered, as Brigid slipped into the closet to fetch Cred’s night clothes. At Cred’s pleased sound Urianger nodded in return, settling down in the chair next to Cred’s bed as his other parents pulled the nightshirt over his head, Thancred making sure it didn’t catch on tiny horns. Once settled into bed, Cred listened intently to Urianger’s voice, giggling at the various voices his papa slid into.

Soon enough tiny eyes started to slide shut, and Urianger took that as his cue to wind down the chapter he was on, ready to quietly close the book so as not to disturb the small child. But then a tiny voice that matched tiny eyes asked, “Mama sing?”

Brigid laughed and settled into the chair once Urianger vacated it. “‘Course, mo ghrá,” she murmured.

It was their little routine, the four of them, ever since the three adults returned from the First. And now, after preventing the Final Days and since Brigid’s recovery, it was a comfort to the small child they all were more than happy to ensure continued.

Thancred had checked for monsters. Urianger had given him stories. And so of course, Brigid sang his lullaby. “Me wee child, be nay ‘fraid…”

Chapter Text

“Rise and shine~!” sang Aurora’s voice as she threw open the curtains, letting bright morning sunlight stream in.

Which landed directly on the bed where Hythlodaeus and Hades still slept.

Hades groaned and shoved his head under his pillow, while Hythlodaeus only laughed softly and slowly pulled up the mask he had over his eyes, letting them adjust to the light. His soft smile went even softer as he spied his beloved, perfectly framed by the dawn’s light.

Aurora had her hands clasped behind her back, leaning over slightly with a large grin on her face. Her soft pink hair was nearly out of the braid they had sleepily woven it in when she got home, late the previous night, before she all but crashed into bed with them, snuggling up against Hythlodaeus. At least she’d managed to change into a nightdress, the light yellow perfectly matching her highlights. Then she giggled and all but bounced over to Hades’s side of the bed, tugging at the pillow. She clearly wasn’t putting any effort into it, as Hythlodaeus knew that if she really wanted, she could easily pull it away.

“Hades~!” she sang again, pitching it in such a way that would absolutely annoy the man. “It’s a beautiful day!”

“Not right now it isn’t,” he grumbled, voice muffled by fabric and feathers.

Aurora scoffed, perching her hands on her hips in mock indignation. “Not with that attitude it isn’t!” she fussed. “It’s a beautiful day,” she repeated, blue eyes flicking over to Hythlodaeus. “And our Man of Nonsense has the day free from approving every single shark variation Elpis sends his way!”

“And our ever wandering Azem has seen fit to return to us, just as the dawn has,” Hythlodaeus added, reaching over Hades to lace his fingers with Aurora’s, who happily accepted. Hades stiffened under their joined hands, as if expecting Hythlodaeus to pull Aurora on top of him.

He would do no such thing, of course. Not this morning, at any rate.

“Your Azem,” he protested, more out of habit than with any real heat. Aurora only giggled again, squeezing Hythlodaeus’s hand before letting go.

“Hythlodaeus’s Azem,” she agreed, a slight edge coming to her smile. “Now! We should take advantage of this most fortuitous turn of events! We have a table at the new breakfast place in downtown Amaurot waiting on us!” And with that she bounced out of the room, presumably to get dressed for the day.

Hythlodaeus chuckled and shifted to get a proper look at Hades. He lifted the corner of the pillow and grinned widely to see a golden eye looking at him balefully. “Isn’t it wonderful to have her home?” he asked softly, sincerely.

Hades sighed and deflated slightly. “It isn’t the worst,” he conceded.

And that was good enough for Hythlodaeus.

Chapter Text

Matsu walked past the couch, where his brother and their boyfriend were perched. And then he doubled back (ignoring the slight feeling of deja vu), purple on purple eyes blinking in confusion.

Araki turned the page in his book, and Arthur narrowed his eyes, glasses settled at the tip of his nose.

Matsu made a confused noise, and came up behind them, kneeling down and resting his chin on the back of the couch. “Is something amiss?” he asked quietly, and allowed himself a smile when Arthur huffed.

“Araki got a new novel,” he grumbled, and nodded when Araki went to turn the page and glanced at him for confirmation.

“A bad one?” Matsu asked, and the two shrugged.

“Maybe?” Araki offered, running a hand through his already messy hair. “We can’t decide.”

Matsu glanced at the book. “You’re more than halfway through.” In fact, he would risk saying that they were nearly three quarters through.

Arthur huffed again. “That’s what I’ve said.”

“Look, you just think the female lead is an idiot.”

“And you think both of the male leads are equally as stupid!”

“Well maybe if they looked at each other and realized they have just as much chemistry with each other as they do with her, the plot would have been resolved three chapters ago!”

Matsu rolled his eyes. “If you hate all the leads so much, why are you still reading it?”

Araki and Arthur looked at each other, then sighed.

“The background characters are compelling,” Arthur mumbled, and he sounded almost disappointed in that, somehow.

“I want to read more about the rest of the Yanxian harem,” Araki agreed, sounding just as disappointed. “It’s doing the heavy lifting here.”

“We’re hoping the author will write a sequel based on them.”

Matsu hummed in only slightly confused understanding. He was glad they’d found common ground on Araki’s “tawdry shite,” at least. Even if it did lead to moments like this. “Well, once you’re done pass it along to me.”

“You’re gonna hate it, dude,” Araki said, “but your choice I guess.”

Later on Matsu would have to agree, the leads would have been much happier if they’d all run away together, the harem intrigue was fascinating, and he very much would have rather read about them. He still finished the book though.

Chapter Text

“Li Li!”

William turned from where he was sorting through his bag to look over at his sister, who was walking over to him quickly, a scrap of paper between a pair of fingers. “Wha’d ye fergit, Bi Bi?” he asked, sounding only slightly annoyed.

Brigid huffed and crossed her arms, pouting up at him. “Dinnae forget anythin’,” she fussed. “Jus’ was havin’ things added to the list I wasnae ‘pectin’. And wasnae me addin’ to it, ‘fore you’re gettin’ thoughts like that in your head.”

William chuckled and plucked the list from her fingers, opening it up. “Ach, ‘tis Urianger’s fancy writin’,” he grumbled, now actually annoyed. “An’ Alphinaud’s.”

“You’re bein’ able to read Artie’s writin’.”

“Th’ runt’s chocobo scratch is bein’ different.”

“Liam.”

He sighed and slipped the list into his pocket. “Ah’ll see if Ah c’n find what they’re needin’,” he agreed. “But Ah’m ‘pectin’ th’ wee lordlin’ tae be payin’ me back.”

“Dinnae worry,” Brigid said with a grin, and held up a small bag. “He’s already passin’ ‘long the coin.” She tossed it over to her brother, who caught it and tucked it into his pocket. “‘Sides, I’m havin’ faith in your ‘bilities to haggle at the market.”

William laughed softly and opened his free arm, grinning as Brigid easily darted in for the offered hug. “Spoilin’ yer brithers,” he murmured into her hair.

“Someone’s needin’ to,” she murmured back, voice fond.

Chapter Text

Arthur dusted his feet off the best he could on the threadbare rug next to his bed before crawling into it, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Artie?” came a tiny voice from the other side of the room

Well. So much for that.

“Go back to sleep, Connor,” he whispered, pulling the covers up to his nose.

“Heard yellin’…”

“Just Bri and Will talking, don’t worry about it.”

There was silence between the two children for a long moment, and for that long moment Arthur thought Connor had done as he said and gone back to sleep. That hope was shattered when he heard little feet wiping themselves off on the other rug. He sighed and wordlessly lifted the covers so the seven year old could crawl into bed as well.

“I don’t like it when they yell,” he mumbled as he curled up against his older brother, and Arthur sighed.

“They didn’t yell much,” he soothed him, petting his hair. “Just Bri getting annoyed at Will.”

“What about?”

What about, indeed, Arthur thought to himself. Just her talking about leaving too, like everyone else older than the two of them already had. Even if she wasn’t going far, and not even soon. And Will getting mad about what she was going to do when she left. He was La Noscean, even if he was eleven he still knew what a brothel was.

“She’s thinking about getting a job he doesn’t like,” he said, softening it for the youngest of them.

“She shouldn’t do it then,” Connor fussed. “If Will doesn’t like it.”

“Will doesn’t like a lot of things.”

“And Llew shouldn’t get a job either!” Connor continued, as though Arthur hadn’t said anything. “They should be home! Da too!”

“I know,” he murmured, even as he held back a wince from the pitch Connor’s voice had taken. “I know.”

“Are you gonna get a job too?” Connor accused, looking up at him with the piercing green eyes that everyone but Llewellyn had inherited from their mother.

“I’m eleven, Connor. Eleven year olds can’t do the sorts of jobs that make it worth it.”

“Good.” Connor wrapped his arms around Arthur, without asking, and once Arthur managed to force back the ‘oh twelve no’ feeling that engendered he wrapped his own around Connor, though much less tightly. “You’re not allowed to leave too.”

He sighed and squeezed Connor for a second. “If I leave, it’ll be a long time from now. I promise.”

“Good.”

There wasn’t much Arthur could do about the state of his family, but one thing he could do was be a good big brother and protect Connor from it, as much as he could, for as long as he could.

Chapter Text

Brigid could pass as a proper lady. She was graceful and wore silks as easily as rough hewn cotton and linen. Thanks to her courtesan training she could serve tea as easily as she could slide a dagger into someone’s back. She could smile as prettily as an innocent babe, and dance as properly as a well placed courtier.

And then… she would open her mouth and prove she was anything but.

Her voice rolled like the waves of her native La Noscea, lending her singing a natural accompaniment. However, that same voice was rough, heavy in her native accent, not at all what one would expect of a “respectable” woman, or even a “respectable” Warrior of Light.

Not that Brigid cared.

She wasn’t a proper lady and had no desire to be. She didn’t want silks, to smile at insipid politicians. She would dance at their balls, but she was equally happy to dance with her blades, to sing amongst the bloodshed. To walk arm in arm with her husbands and her girlfriend, to scandalize the most uptight of Ishgard.

And then she would go home, snuggle her children, and tend to her garden. She was happy to be a bundle of walking contradictions, to fly in the face of all expectations.

Because she was not a proper lady. She was simply herself.

Chapter Text

Goro walked down the back streets of Hingashi, far from the sight of others, footsteps quiet. He shifted the files he carried in his hands, grumbling to himself. He hated debrief day. Even if it did only come every few moons, he hated it. It was a waste of his time, spent better on actually working on the cases, or doing his streaming job that Akira had pushed him into (gently suggested when they were young, and Goro had been a dumb, in love but not admitting to it yet, teenager).

And then a white tiger crossed his path, looking up at him with eyes that were far more person than tiger. Goro sighed and shifted his files to free up a hand, which he then placed gently on the tiger’s head. “Byakuen,” he greeted, and the tiger rumbled a greeting in return. Byakuen turned and walked away, the “follow me” obvious in the waving of his tail. As though Goro didn’t know the way to that specific Sekisegumi office already.

It was tucked away from the main buildings, the five former samurai that manned it somehow afforded special treatment from the rest of the Sekisegumi. Not a one of them had ever explained, and Goro had not asked. There were things even a detective did not stick his nose into, and this, he sensed, was one of them.

One of their interns opened the door for the two of them, and he nodded in both thanks and greeting to her as they passed by. Soon after he reached the main office, the tiger still at his side. Goro rolled his eyes before pasting on his interview smile and knocked, hesitating a moment before walking in.

Blond hair met his eyes, the older man in a green kimono sitting behind his desk, lowering his brush before interlacing his fingers. “Akechi-san,” he greeted, before gesturing to the chair in front of him.

“Date-san,” Goro returned, bowing deeply before setting the files on the desk, next to the plate that said “Date Seiji,” and took his seat. Byakuen rumbled again before taking his place at the man’s side, and Goro would later swear that the tiger smiled as he was pet gently.

Seiji hummed softly as he took in the stack. “Not as many as I expected,” he said quietly, before taking the top one and opening it.

Goro breathed out a laugh and tilted his head perfectly. “I was surprised as well, but this will allow us to give each case the attention it deserves.”

The eye that wasn’t covered by blond hair narrowed, but the moment quickly passed as Seiji turned over the first page. “I suppose so. We’re starting with the Yasuda case.”

The bell passed by quickly, the intern from earlier bringing them tea halfway through. The stack of files decreased just as quickly, and Goro had to force back the near shudder that tried to run through him as Seiji picked up the last file.

“The Phantom Thieves,” he said, and his eye flicked up at Goro. “I’m going to assume still no progress?”

Goro sighed as the other man opened the folder, which was a solid ilm thick. “If I had any clues, you can be assured I would have perused them.”

Seiji hummed to himself and started flipping pages. “And nothing was found at the Brutus estate?”

“Other than Yotsuyu-san being smug once again, nothing.”

Another hum. “This is the third time,” he murmured, half to himself. “What is that Eorzean saying?”

“I’m afraid it is not the charm.”

“So it would seem.”

The sound of the outside door opening didn’t draw the attention of the two men, but the voices certainly did.

“Ah, Touma-kun—! Seiji-kun is in a meeting!” The intern, Goro noted.

(Wait, the intern addressing them with -kun?)

“Eh, don’t worry about it Kayura,” answered a carefree voice with a slight Eorzean accent laid over top of his Hingan. Goro saw Seiji silently pinch the bridge of his nose just before the door opened.

What was it Futaba sometimes said? Ah, yes. You picked him.

“Hey Seiji!” A man dressed in a dark blue kimono with long, only slightly lighter blue hair pulled back in a ponytail, all but cheered as he came inside the office. “Oh, you’re here too, Akechi?”

Goro rose and bowed. “Hashiba-san,” he greeted, waiting for Touma’s nod before returning to his seat.

“It’s debrief day, Touma,” Seiji murmured as Touma rounded the desk to first give Byakuen a pat and then press a kiss to Seiji’s head, which Goro politely pretended not to see.

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He glanced over at the folder and winced. “The latest Brutus case?”

“I’m afraid we’re making very little progress,” Goro said, allowing himself another sigh.

“Clearly,” Touma murmured, and Goro had to remind himself to not take offense, it was just Touma’s usual bluntness and not anything personal. “You don’t think Yotsuyu is hiring them, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Seiji grumbled, running a hand over his face. Touma took it, interlacing their fingers together, which Goro also pretended not to notice.

“C’mon, your bell’s up by now, isn’t it?”

Seiji sighed, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “The Phantom Thief case needs at least half a bell on its own,” he grumbled.

“Then schedule another debrief day. I think Akechi needs to get back to his spouses, don’t you agree?”

Taking the out that Touma had been kind enough to offer, Goro stood. “I do have to admit, Akira is expecting me home soon.” His husband could deal with being thrown under the chocobo cart for this, and would probably happily take the blame for it. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Touma waved his free hand, apparently having decided the meeting was over on his own. “None at all. Byakuen will show you out, right buddy?”

Byakuen rumbled and nearly bobbed his head in a nod before standing and padding over to the door. Goro bowed one more time. “Give my best to your family,” he said, only following the tiger to and out the door when Seiji waved his free hand in dismissal.

The two former samurai looked at the door for a long minute after the detective left.

“Do you still think he’s Loki?” Seiji eventually asked, and Touma nodded. Seiji sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face again. “A fine mess,” he grumbled.

“Got no proof,” Touma said on a sigh. “Just a hunch. And not even a good one, considering the way Arsene infuriates him.” The two were quiet again, and then Touma tugged at Seiji’s hand, still holding it gently. “C’mon, Shin’s waiting for us. He and Shuu made dinner.”

Seiji breathed out a laugh and stood, brushing out his own kimono as he did. “And we can’t leave either of them waiting.”

Chapter Text

“Bri—” Thancred poked his head into his, Brigid, and Urianger’s bedroom, the bright smile that graced his lips suddenly dropping as he took in the sight that greeted him.

Every single ball of yarn, every combed braid and top, and even every raw, unprocessed fleece that Brigid had collected over the years were spread out around the room, settled in haphazard piles. Even a dye pot was wedged into a corner, overflowing with more yarn.

And in the center of it all sat Brigid, blood colored curls even more of a mess than normal. She was frantically digging through a crate that contained yet even more yarn, muttering to herself in Ancient Mhachi.

(Distantly Thancred wondered if his wife perhaps had too much yarn, but knew better than to even consider voicing such a thought aloud.)

“Bri,” he tried again, and huffed out a breath when Brigid jolted and spun around, emerald eyes wide with strands of hair falling in the way. “What happened?”

She looked around, as though only now noticing the mess their bedroom was currently in, and she bit her lower lip. “‘Tis sorry I am,” she murmured, and Thancred came in the rest of the way to kneel down beside her (after gently moving a raw fleece out of the way). He brushed the hair out of her eyes and ran his thumb along her cheekbone, to settle on the mole at the corner of her eye.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he replied. “What happened?”

Brigid leaned against him, settling her head on his shoulder. “Was losin’ some yarn I was needin’ for a project. ‘Tis bein’ important, I’m bein’ paid for it.”

Oh. Well, that was a problem wasn’t it?

“Have you—” he started.

“Liam’s nay knowin’ where ‘tis either,” she finished. Hm. So much for that. Usually if Brigid couldn’t find something, the ever organized twin brother could.

“When did you last eat?” he asked instead, and Brigid paused before pulling back and looking at him.

“What?”

Thancred sighed fondly before rising, bringing her up alongside him. “We’ll eat, and then I’ll help you find it.”

She looked at him closely before nodding, leaning against him again and letting him wrap an arm around her waist. “Alreet, we can be doin’ that.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple as they headed for the door. “What color is it?”

“Gray.”

“…and you couldn’t find it? In that rainbow?”

“Aye, I’m knowin’!”

Chapter Text

“Mama!”

“What is it, mo ghrá?” Brigid asked, her son tugging on her hand as hard as the toddler could.

“Sheep!”

She looked around, taking in the marketplace until her eyes landed on a small paddock that did indeed have sheep happily ambling about, with other Au Ra children excitedly clustered around the fencing. They were trying to get the sheep to come closer, some armed with handfuls of hay and other treats. “Aye,” she breathed, smiling softly. “Many sheep.”

“C’n I go? Go see sheep?”

Brigid hesitated, biting her lower lip, and looked over to Thancred, who had walked up beside her. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll take him over,” he murmured. “You keep searching.”

She let loose a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and kissed Thancred’s cheek. “Thank you, miodóg,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome. We’ll be only a ‘pearl away.”

Brigid nodded and looked down to Cred, before passing his hand to Thancred’s. “Be good for your da,” she said, though she knew she didn’t need to as the toddler nodded.

She patted his head and turned in the direction of a nearby shopkeeper, hoping they could direct her to the nearest Mol tribe member they could find.

Chapter Text

Hades had had the worst luck the past sennight. If something could have gone wrong, it most assuredly did. Walk across a bridge? He found the one rotten board that had somehow been missed. Get out of bed? Trip on the rug. Join the unofficial Convocation table in the cafeteria for once? Got stuck between Pashtarot and Nabriales having some sort of spat.

It was, not to put too fine a point on it, absolutely bloody ridiculous.

Hythlodaeus tried to soothe ruffled feathers, making all the appropriate coos and giving placating pets until Hades scowled just a little less. He even promised to take Hades out for lunch soon. And Hades had to admit… that did sound rather nice.

And then Azem came home.

At first she smiled as she heard all the trials and tribulations that Hades had gone through as of late, but as the stories went on the smile slowly dropped from her face, slowly to be replaced with a very familiar scowl. She made a soft, disapproving noise, tapped Hades on the nose, and after laughing at the scrunched up face he made, she disappeared again, this time into the depths of the Akadaemia. Hades wasn’t especially broken up by that fact (not that Hythlodaeus believed him of course).

Another week of horrendous luck passed, which included a two day span of time where he had no memories, and oh wasn’t that galling, before Aurora returned.

And she dumped a bucket of water over his head.

Hades sputtered and spat, pushing soaking wet hair out of his face, while Hythlodaeus choked back what was surely peals of laughter. “Care to explain yourself?!” he finally managed, glaring at the woman that Hythlodaeus had, for some reason, gone and fallen in love with.

“Lahabrea’s idea,” she spat, and Hades blinked in surprise. Aurora hated Lahabrea. “Dilute Lethe water with Phlegethon. Forget the bad luck and burn away what can’t be forgotten. Should be better by tomorrow.” She tossed the bucket to the side and stalked off, presumably to create some towels for him out of the fallen leaves nearby.

Hythlodaeus transformed a handful of grass into a small towel to start drying Hades’s hair. “And you think she hates you,” he murmured, voice fond.

“She just hates Lahabrea more,” Hades all but pouted.

“Mm, if you say so.”

Chapter Text

Someday they would be called the great love story of Gridania. When Sammy and Llewellyn made their weekly appearances in the marketplace, there would always be at least one group of people watching them, then to whisper to each other, “Someday I will find a love like that.”

It was an unusual pairing, the Elezen white mage, the Lalafell machinist, both of them outsiders to the Twelveswood. That they had found each other, could be seen as nearly a miracle. And yet they had, and had been hand in hand from nearly the beginning.

Theirs was a quiet love, one that didn’t call for grand declarations, loud gestures, extravagant gifts. Theirs was one of flowers, of soft touches, of gentle smiles. One day they had simply started referring to each other as husbands, and somehow all in the Twelveswood had happily gone along with them.

Llewellyn rarely spoke, and when he did his words were sparse, but he needed only look at Sammy to make it perfectly clear how much he adored the other man. And Sammy needed only to lean against him, to laugh softly, to make his adoration just as clear.

Theirs was a love to desire, to emulate, and for some the greatest of the many O’Donnell romances. For who could deny such devotion?

Chapter Text

Urianger was always one for the library. The quiet, the muted light everywhere but the reading rooms, the sparse number of people down the shelves he frequented most, it was the most comfortable space he had known for most of his life. Those dusty old tomes were some of the best friends he had ever had, save only for Moenbryda. Was it any wonder, then, that he spoke like they read?

Sadly, his predilection for the library only furthered his difficulties with connecting with his peers. Those older than him, or younger, were far more easy to understand. Once Louisoix took him and Moenbryda under his wing, once Ameliance laid Alisaie and Alphinaud into his arms and tasked him with looking after them for a bell, his small circle of acquaintances grew. As he followed Louisoix and Moenbryda, so too did Alisaie and Alphinaud follow him.

Especially Alisaie. His precious little sister, happy to spend what little quiet moments she had with him, happy to listen to his odd words, as outgoing and eager to be a bridge for him as Moenbryda was. Even if she was as often driven by temper as often as she wasn’t, her heart was ever in the right place. He found himself offering her comfort, as she grew and clashed more and more with her father, even if neither of them truly understood what drove Fourchenault to such behavior.

And then one day he had to leave Alisaie and Alphinaud, leave Moenbryda, to travel to Eorzea with Louisoix, and he would count that as perhaps the very first of what would become a very long list of regrets.

He was not yet close to any of the Circle of Knowing, as they were then. Not even Thancred, the orphan Louisoix had taken to foster after a previous sojourn to Eorzea. That would someday change, by the Twelve would that someday change, but not then. He would defer to Papalymo, as was correct for his senior, and to Y’shtola, for fear of angering her. He kept a watchful eye on Yda, but rarely was he needed, as Papalymo’s eye was even more watchful.

He would never be especially close to Yda (or even Lyse, later) or Papalymo. For once his peers were easier, perhaps because Y’shtola was just as studious as he was, and had a sharp wit to go along with it. And Thancred... well, he was Thancred, though Urianger didn’t understand at the time.

Then Dalamud fell. Louisoix fell. Urianger didn’t like to think about that time.

Alisaie was angry, far more angry than he had ever known her, even when her relationship with Fourchenault was at its worst. It was only a partial cover for her pain, for her grief, and as much as Urianger tried, he couldn’t help. Not the way he wanted, the way Alisaie needed.

(He couldn’t help Moenbryda, either.)

But then there was Brigid. She didn’t much care for him at first, he could see it whenever he chanced a look at her eyes, the way she would pause those first few moons they were acquainted. But they became used to each other, learned their respective quirks, and the day he found a knit pair of reading gloves left at his preferred seat in the Waking Sands library was one of the best days of his life.

Brigid was there when Alisaie needed to brave the Coils. Brigid was there when Moenbryda fell. She listened, followed along as best she could, let the both of them mourn as they needed. She claimed Alisaie as her little sister, called Moenbryda friend. And ever so slowly, he fell in love with a beautiful woman with a rose in her hair.

And ever so slowly, so slowly it took him years to realize it, he fell in love with a handsome man who took far too much blame on himself, who loved deeply and fiercely. Who had fallen in love with Brigid as well. And she had fallen, in turn, for Thancred.

And then one day, Urianger found they had, in turn, fallen in love with him. He didn’t understand it, but decided he didn’t need to, that one should not look askance at Menphina’s gifts. And oh, what a gift She had given him. His wife, his husband, and a small child that, though he could never say his name, had instead decided to call him Papa.

Chapter Text

Hilda slowly pushed open the door to the darkened room, Thancred at her back. She could make out the two forms settled on the bed, but not much else. She supposed it was kinder that way, judging from what she’d managed to get out of the Hyur.

Once her eyes adjusted she realized Brigid was settled on her side, her back to Hilda. Then the shape on Brigid’s other side must have been Urianger, she reasoned. She didn’t jump when Thancred let the door click shut, but it was a near thing.

“She looked worse, when she came back,” he whispered, lingering at the door.

She sounded bad enough, from the wheezing noises she made as she breathed. There was always a slight wheezing sound to her breath anyway, a consequence of her childhood of illness. And Hilda realized it had been worse in Ishgard, due to the ice and cold. But this was Sharlayan, and the room was almost too warm, thick with various herbs. That wheeze should barely be there, not audible from so far away.

“An’ she’s properly awake?” Hilda asked, throwing the barest of glances over her shoulder.

“Awake more than she sleeps,” Thancred confirmed. “But she still sleeps more than she ought.”

Hilda hummed and finally walked closer to her sleeping lady love, gently placing a bouquet of roses on the table. They were Hallinarte red, as opposed to the pretty thing’s preference for yellow, but those still hadn’t bloomed yet, still getting used to the Fortemps greenhouses Brigid had worked so hard to restore. Still, she knew Brigid would understand.

Arms now free she leaned over to see Brigid’s face, tucking a strand of hair behind the other woman’s ear. She was paler than she should be, still, and the wheezing was even louder. Perhaps it really was a blessing then, that she had been so busy with stabilizing Ishgard in the immediate aftermath of the Final Days and only now could come see her.

One of Urianger’s eyes cracked open, a sliver of gold that flicked upwards to look at her. He held a finger up to his lips before settling back down. Hilda nodded, and, after slipping off her boots, settled into the bed, tucking herself up behind Brigid, almost protectively.

Thancred continued to linger at the door for several more minutes before huffing out a breath and striding over as well, kicking off his boots and crawling in behind Urianger. Hilda found Brigid’s free hand first, the other already in Urianger’s own, and guided it to Thancred’s, so that they would all be connected, assured of Brigid’s continued survival.

Chapter Text

Alisaie checked the paper in her hand again as she wandered the Hingan streets. It had been Haru’s turn to pick the tea house, and Alisaie had been only slightly surprised it wasn’t one of her own locations, or Leblanc. It did mean, however, that she was slightly lost.

“Turn left here…” she muttered to herself, frowning down at the paper.

“Alisaie-chan!” called out a familiar voice, and Alisaie looked up to see both Haru Okumura and Mitsuru Kirijo already settled at an outside table… at the back of the tea house. Right. That… that was exactly what she needed, to embarrass herself in front of her fellow heiresses.

Haru was waving at her, bright smiles and fluffy, cloud-like light brown hair. Mitsuru was sipping her tea, pure elegance poured into an informal kimono, red hair tied up in a casual but no less perfect up-do.

(No she did not have a crush on her very married fencing senior, thank you very much.)

Thankfully this wasn’t one of the tea houses with a raised back section, but she still hesitated a moment before skipping the entrance to the establishment entirely. It wouldn’t be considered seemly for a woman to do such a thing in Hingashi or Sharlayan, but… well, it wasn’t as though Mitsuru hadn’t already seen Alisaie be less than ladylike, and Haru was not only a known associate of a delinquent, but married him besides.

(Not that Alisaie understood the problem; she’d met Akira and found him to be a perfectly lovely young man who adored his spouses to bits. But then, Hingashi was sometimes odd like that.)

She nearly went into an Eorzean bow before correcting herself and switching to Hingan. “Haru, Mitsuru,” she greeted before sliding into one of the remaining two empty chairs.

At the last minute Alisaie’s eyes lit on the figure nearly in shadow, behind Mitsuru. Feminine, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes. Aigis, her mind supplied, one of Mitsuru’s bodyguards. Alisaie was half convinced she was some sort of robotic relic of Allag, but she could never figure it out for sure. Either way, Aigis nodded at her silently, and Alisaie returned it. The woman was chattier when not on duty.

Mitsuru smiled, setting down her teacup. “A pleasure to see you, Alisaie-kun,” she said, as though this was a business meeting. But then, she was the heiress to the Kirijo Group, the largest technological group in Hingashi, it was only to be expected.

Haru, meanwhile, sighed softly. “So businesslike, Mitchan,” she said, shaking her head, hair brushing against the collar of her light pink kimono. Haru was the heiress of the Okumura Foods empire, scaling things back after the passing of her father. It was probably for the best, rumor had it that when it was under her father, the treatment of the workers was… less than pleasant.

Alisaie only shrugged and collected the teapot from the warmer at the center of the table. As the younger of the three it was now her duty to pour tea, and she topped off the other women’s cups before filling her own. “Are none of the others joining us?”

“Minako-kun is on her way,” Mitsuru said, eyes lowering with a sigh. “Ryoji-kun delayed her.”

“And Ann-chan has a modeling gig,” Haru added, selecting one of the daifuku from a plate near the teapot. “She’s asked me to collect as many sweets as I can for her.”

Alisaie laughed, just a little. Ann and her infamous sweet tooth. “I look forward to seeing Minako, at least.”

Mitsuru smiled, only barely hidden behind her teacup. “She was quite excited to see you,” she offered, and slid the bowl of amanatto over to Alisaie, who happily accepted the candied azuki beans.

“Then let’s hope Ryoji didn’t delay her too long,” Alisaie replied, as Haru laughed quietly.

The women chatted as they waited, inconsequential small talk to start. Mitsuru telling them all about the dinner Shinjiro, one of her husbands, had prepared the night before, and how Akihiko, her other husband, had needed to be banned from the kitchen entirely before he poured protein powder into the soup. Haru offering up some teenage hijinks that Akira and a couple of their now-spouses had gotten up to when they were still schoolmates.

Alisaie was about to launch into some tale at Alphinaud’s expense when a shout sounded from behind her. “Ali-chan!” She barely had the time to turn before footsteps clattered onto the wood of the seating area and she suddenly felt arms wrap around her in a tight hug.

Mitsuru gasped softly and rose, just a bit out of her chair, a hand raised in effort to stop the friendly attack. “Minako, we talked about this—!”

Alisaie could hear the pout above her head as she was freed, and Minako Arisato dropped into the seat between her and Haru. “I know, I know,” pouted the newly arrived redhead, dressed in an orange yukata that went surprisingly well with the orange tones in her hair. Her miqo’te ears were lowered and tail limp. “But Ali-chan said it was fine!”

“A moment to realize it’s you first, perhaps,” Alisaie said on a laugh. Truly, it was fine, her fellow twin knew her limits, even if she sometimes forgot them in her exuberance. It was rare enough Alisaie didn’t mind. “It’s good to see you.”

Minako perked back up, as did her ears and tail, grinning widely. “You too!” she cheered, and then launched an equally friendly attack on Haru, who only giggled and hugged right back.

Mitsuru gave a long suffering sigh and sat back down, sipping at her tea to cover her slight embarrassment. Alisaie topped off her tea when she lowered it again, and then filled Minako’s cup. And then instead of settling down for that cup, Minako bounced right back out of her chair and went to give the same treatment to Aigis, who had otherwise remained still and quiet. Though Alisaie did note the faint blush that came to Aigis’s face as she hesitantly hugged the woman back.

(Where did Minako get her energy from? she wondered.)

Finally though, Minako dropped right back into her seat and took a sip of her tea. “So much better than coffee,” she sighed, ignoring the mock scandalized look on Haru’s face.

Mitsuru laughed, eyes sparkling. “Don’t ever let Ken-kun hear you say that.”

“He was too young when he started drinking coffee anyway. Even Kiki would agree with me, wouldn’t he Haru?”

Haru sighed. “Akira would question why a ten year old was drinking coffee,” she agreed, sipping her tea.

Minako’s ear twitched in a way that Alisaie knew meant, See? and she sipped her tea with a palpable air of smugness that was somehow endearing.

Alisaie shook her head fondly and slid the plate of assorted mochi over to her. “How’s Minato?” she asked, and Minako sighed even as she picked up a strawberry flavored one.

“Same as always,” she murmured, before forcing a bright smile to her face. Which she then passed her hand over, revealing a completely flat affect, which did not suit her at all, but was a perfect recreation of the ever present expression on her twin brother’s face. “But he and Roro went on a date the other night, and when they came home?” she giggled and ate her mochi in a single bite. “I swear he was smiling, just a little bit.”

Haru clapped delightedly and Mitsuru smiled fondly. “Ryoji-kun has always been good for him,” she said, breaking a piece of karumeyaki off the larger serving she had been nibbling from through the earlier conversation. Behind her, Alisaie noticed Aigis twitch, just a little.

“What about Alphinaud?” Minako asked, getting another strawberry mochi before passing the plate over to Haru.

Alisaie sighed and shook her head. “In over his head with the approaching exhibit,” she grumbled, and all three women joined her.

“Yusuke is… oh how do I say this kindly…” Haru murmured, bitting her lower lip as she fretted.

“Gone insane?” Alisaie supplied, rolling her shoulder where her tattoo sat, covered by her own kimono.

Another sigh from Haru. “I hate saying that,” she said, even as she nodded. “We’ve needed both Goro and Ryuji to pull him out of his studio to make sure he eats lately.”

“And you already have trouble with that,” Minako added, patting her shoulder.

“Yoshino-san has, thankfully, remained calm,” Mitsuru said, lowering her cup with a little more force than necessary. “Junpei-kun, however…”

“I’m working on him, I swear,” Minako interrupted, holding out a placating hand. “But he’s as nervous as a new father.”

“Still, you know we have it easier than the Péngyǒu Royal Family,” Alisaie said, helping herself to some doriyaki.

“His poor manager…” Haru said, eyes full of sympathy.

There was a moment of silence, wishing well for those who had to deal with eccentric artists.

“On a hopefully more pleasant topic,” Mitsuru finally said, “Kirijo Group received your father’s invitation to your debut.”

Alisaie blinked in surprise, mouth dropping open slightly, and then looked at Haru as she made a sound of agreement. “Okumura Foods did as well,” she said, nodding even as she frowned. “Though I understand you’ve already invited Goro?”

“I— I did, but… Father sent invitations to you both?” she asked, slightly aghast. Such an overreach, even for him! Who else might he have thought to invite! Gods, what if he had invited the Ul’dhan Sultana! Or even the Elder Seedseer!

“Would you prefer we turn him down?” Mitsuru asked, pulling out her tomephone. “I was uncertain if we could fit it in, but if you need sympathetic company, I would be happy to reschedule some things.”

“I was going to publicly reject it anyway,” Haru said, her voice taking a hard edge, one that the women hardly ever heard from her. “Horrible man.”

“Toto, Roro, and I can crash it!” Minako offered, all bright eyes and mischievous smiles.

“We ‘have your back’, as they say,” agreed Aigis, finally speaking up.

In that moment Alisaie felt the creeping panic drain before she had even had enough of a chance to register it. Of course her friends would make such offers. Of course her friends were there for her, even the quiet, probably a robot bodyguard. She sighed shakily, and Minako made a worried sound as she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ali-chan?”

“Thank you, all of you,” she whispered, before looking up at all of them with a slight but strong smile. “I would love party crashers, sympathetic company, and Haru?”

“Yes?”

Alisaie’s smile turned nearly vicious. “Issue the cut direct.”

She giggled and delicately but pointedly pulled the head off of a taiyaki. “As you request.”

Chapter Text

Brigid held two dyed locks of wool up to the light, a frown forming on her face. She hummed softly, tilting her head to one side, then the other.

William sat to the side, going through Connor’s pack, grumbling softly at the multitude of scrap papers the young man had collected along the way. He gently uncrumpled them, eyes squinting as he checked them for anything that might be important. He then sorted them into a handful of piles, depending on what he managed to suss out.

“Li Li?” she asked after several long moments, still holding up her wool. William grunted in acknowledgment. “Are these two goin’ together?”

He looked up, and wordlessly Brigid tilted the wool so he could get a better look at them. One lock was a bright yellow, something he would associate with buttercups. The other was a muddy green, like trodden grass after a rainstorm. Another grunt before he went back to the bag in his lap. “Thinkin’ ye whaur havin’ a mixup in th’ dye pot,” he answered. “Sumthin’ wrong wi’ th’ green.”

She sighed and lowered her hands so she could get a closer look at the green. “Aye, thinkin’ you’re bein’ right. And the yellow’s bein’ brighter than it should.” Another sigh before she started digging through her sample drawer again. “Needin’ more blue,” she mumbled, half to herself. “Blue’s goin’ with most things.”

“If ye’re havin’ a lighter yellow an’ c’n be findin’ a proper green, culd be makin’ sumthin’ nice wi’ a light blue,” he offered. “‘Tis it ye’re makin’ anyway?”

Brigid paused, long enough that William looked up at her. He couldn’t really name her expression at first, until it fell into an almost sheepish smile.

“Baby blanket.”

Chapter Text

“It’s so nice,” Arthur murmured, running his hand down the fur, before bringing his hand back up to stroke down it again.

Araki laughed, tucking the fur blanket tighter around his boyfriend. “Yeah? I bet it is, your eyes are huge, dude.”

Arthur looked up at his boyfriend, glasses askew and giving Araki a clear view of exactly how big those eyes had gotten, pupil dilated so much Arthur’s irises were little more than a thin band of green. “So soft,” he said, as though that fact was the truth of the world.

Another laugh from Araki. “Glad you like it then,” he said fondly, patting the top of Arthur’s head before pulling the blanket up over him. “Now go to sleep, you sound like you’re high.”

Arthur blinked at him, confusion clear on his face. “But I’m not,” he protested weakly.

“I know you’re not, you’re more sleep deprived than I’ve seen you in ages.”

The hyur hummed under his breath softly, a hand still absently stroking the fur blanket.

“I need sleep,” he said after several long minutes.

Araki sighed and swept Arthur up into his arms, making the other man squeak. “You do. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Mmkay.”

Chapter Text

“I have an offer for you, if I may,” Aymeric said, sat behind his desk, hands opening as he spoke.

Brigid, Thancred, and Urianger glanced at each other before nodding.

“I would like to offer for Ishgard to host your upcoming bonding.”

Urianger’s eyebrow popped up. Thancred’s face remained implacable, and Brigid shifted in her seat. “We’re nay bein’ part of your church,” she said, a gentle but not outright refusal.

“I’m aware of that, of course,” he replied, a slight smile on his lips and in his voice. “However, I do not believe one must be a follower of Halone to be married in Her city. Consider it part of my gratitude for everything you have done for us, and part of our repayment, however paltry it may be.”

Thancred leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. Urianger glanced at Brigid, taking the hand nearest him and gently brushing his finger alongside it. The men were deferring to the bride to be, and Aymeric had to respect them for it. Brigid sighed, shaking her head slightly. “You’re nay needin’ to be repayin’ us,” she murmured. “‘Twas only bein’ the right thing to be doin’.”

“Nonetheless, it feels proper to offer.” And then his smile turned slightly sheepish. “And, if I may admit to my selfishness, I would very much like to share in your joy and support you however I may.”

Brigid laughed softly and took Thancred’s hand with her free one, the two of them having a silent conversation. After a moment Thancred smiled, one that Aymeric would call besotted, and Brigid beamed. She then turned to Urianger, who took barely a moment before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. She giggled again, blushing softly, before pulling her hands from her husbands to be and, to Aymeric’s surprise, took his.

“Then we’ll be takin’ you up on your kind offer, and nay be callin’ it selfishness, as you’re bein’ a dear friend.”

Aymeric looked at their hands, then looked up to her, and his surprise morphed into a smile. “You’re a dear friend as well.”

Chapter Text

G’raha had read everything he could get his hands on about the past one hundred years. Heavensward, scraps of reports from the Immortal Flames, tawdry romance novels hand bound and circulated through Limsa, even what little had gotten out of Garlemald.

If it was text on a surface, G’raha had read it. A time or two he had found grave rubbings, as much as he hated to use them. It was all he could do, as the Ironworks scattered around him, doing the preparations that his awakening had thrust upon them.

He had read everything. Except one letter.

It had been brought to him late one night, by one of the younger members. He couldn’t remember their name, or much of what they looked like, but he remembered the wooden box.

It was small, clearly made for holding letters, perhaps only a couple of ilms deep. He knew the style of carving was the one Araki Ryuzaki had practiced, and the small Hingan lettering carved on the bottom only confirmed it. It was only slightly adorned, trailing vines and flowers that served to accentuate the grain of the cherry wood.

Inside it held the few letters Connor — Twelve, Connor — had written G’raha after he’d sealed himself away, and one other.

G’raha had read the first set of letters over and over again, desperate to know, to understand, the man his friend had become in his absence. Even if it hurt, he had to know. And hurt, it did.

(Eternal Wind had survived, and still had no words. G’raha wasn’t sure if he could ever write them, now.)

That final letter, however. From one Thancred William O’Donnell-Waters.

He knew the story by now, of course. The surprise child of Brigid O’Donnell and Dzoldzaya Mol, born in the midst of the Dragonsong War. A bright child, clearly loved and loving.

Who had lost both mother and adopted father, along with the rest of his Eorzean family, to the Black Rose while he was spending time with his sire, safe in the Azim Steppe. Which was why he alone of the O’Donnells survived. Survived to be raised by his Au Ra family, survived to become a senior member of the Ironworks, survived the longest of them all through his Elezen and Au Ra blood. Who had decided they needed to awaken the Tower, perhaps even awaken G’raha himself.

Who had but recently passed.

Well, ten years ago recently. But not before leaving G’raha a final letter.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before picking it up and carefully opening it.

G’raha,

If my plan was successful, you’ve awoken. And if you’re reading this instead of hearing it from me… I did not live to see it. I wish I could have met you, Uncle Nor always spoke highly of you, though it clearly tore his heart to remember you.

You’ve heard my story by now, and through it I hope you know I do not begrudge you for my uncle’s pain. The least bad choice of a wealth of bad choices. A sensation I am all too familiar with.

You also know what Uncles Cid and Ro left for you. The plan to travel through time, to save the world. When they suggested it originally I nearly laughed at the redc redcul absurdity of it. Even with Lex, as I’m told Mama would call him, directing it, how could we manage it?

And then I remembered the Tower. I remembered you, and the pained joy you brought my uncle. Things I am also told I should not remember, yet I do. If I remember such things from such a young age, how could they not be important? When I suggested the Tower, suggested you, everything began to move so fast, even for the slow pace of wedded Eorzean and Garlean deserter tech.

All three of us are gone now. The remaining ones will tell you, as my uncles said for them to tell you, that this we leave you is an offering, not an edict. And it is.

But it is also the last wish of an almost completely orphaned three year old boy, cut off from his Eorzean homeland in an instant. Who loved his aav, yes, and loved him dearly, but he was not Mama. He was not Da. He wasn’t Uncle Lyn, Li Li, Artie, Nor. Wasn’t home.

Please, please, grant this boy’s wish. Please save his family.

Forgive my selfishness for wanting my family over the world.

May you ever walk in the light of the Crystal,
— Thancred Wil Cred O’Donnell

The final few paragraphs were marked with tearstains, and several more joined them before G’raha managed to shove the letter away, his hand jerking back as if it had burned. He curled up in a ball, ears flat and tail wrapped around himself as he held back heaving sobs, hidden in his crossed arms.

It was an edict he had been offered, from the hands of a little boy. How could he ever refuse it?

Chapter Text

Arthur sat, cross legged on the floor, as he stared down the animals that sat across from him. He frowned at them, glaring even as his glasses slowly slid down his nose.

The animals were, in fact, a pair of chickens. One white, one purple. They stared back at Arthur, completely unbothered by this situtation.

Ame was fast asleep behind him, equally unbothered.

Arthur glared deeper.

The chickens stared back. The purple one clucked.

“I’m the one asking the questions here!” Arthur instantly shot back.

The chickens did not respond.

“Who do you work for?” he hissed.

One of Ame’s ears flicked.

Still no response from the chickens.

Arthur leaned in closer. The chickens didn’t move. “You might act like there’s not a thought behind those beady little eyes, but I know there’s at least one. Explain yourselves!”

The white one clucked, turning to look at the purple one. The purple one did what Arthur would swear was the closest approximation to a shrug a chicken could do, before the white one looked back at him. The purple one clucked again.

“A likely story!”

Araki sighed, and turned from where he was looking over the back of the couch to look at his twin. Matsu was reading that harem drama Araki and Arthur had been reading just a few sennights before. “Should we do something?” he asked, as Matsu turned a page.

“It’ll do him good to get it out,” Matsu said, frowning as he read. “The birds will leave when they get bored.”

“Yeah you’re probably right.”

Another cluck.

“Pull the other one!”

Araki and Matsu both sighed. Ame only snored.

Chapter Text

“I’m suddenly understandin’ how your brother was turnin’ out the way he was at the start,” Brigid grumbled as she and Alisaie wandered the Sharlayan marketplace. The suddenness of it made Alisaie laugh before she choked it back.

“If you’ll recall, I was hardly much better,” she attempted to defend her brother, weakly smiling as Brigid turned a flat look on her.

“Oh, you were bein’ much better than him, I’m promisin’ you. The way he was speakin’ to poor Cid after walkin’ into the Church of Saint Adama like he was ownin’ the place…” she pursed her lips and tsked, shaking her head. “Dinnae think you’d ever be doin’ such a thing.”

Alisaie sighed, shaking her head. “You do have a point…” she reluctantly agreed. “That’s all Fa… all Fourchenault, I’m afraid.”

Brigid hummed softly and wrapped an arm around Alisaie’s shoulders. Her precious adopted sister had finally reached her growth spurt, and was well on her way to being taller than Brigid. But not yet. “So I’m seein’, but he’s gettin’ better, and I’m bein’ proud of him.”

“But not so proud you’ll let him forget, of course.”

“‘Course nay! First, ‘tis bein’ the right and proper duty of a sister to be playfully teasin’ her wee brothers, and second, he’s needin’ to be rememberin’ where he was startin’ so he’s nay givin’ any thought to goin’ back to it. Cannae be riskin’ that, now can we?”

This time Alisaie let herself laugh, even if it was a quiet one. “We certainly cannae,” she agreed, letting herself dip a little into Brigid’s accent.

And given the way Brigid’s face lit up with a bright grin, Alisaie decided she might do it more often.