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Chapter Text

Day 1: Esoteric

Pairing: Honoroit & Emmanellain (Platonic), Sicard/Emmanellain (lightly implied)

Rating: General

"Honoroit," Honoroit looked up from his book as Count Artoirel approached him, "is Emmanellain out?"

"Lord Emmanellain is in the washroom." Honoroit explained, closing his book. "If it's urgent, I could fetch him."

"No, no need." Artoirel waved him to stay seated and appeared relieved. "I actually came to speak with you."

Honoroit's face showed some surprise. Though he was quick witted enough to suspect what Artoirel wanted to speak of. Or specifically, who.

Lord Emmanellain was a difficult man to understand or make yourself understood to. Many times had Honoroit been approached by others that wanted something from his lord. Those seeking favor would ask of the pageboy what his lord liked as presents or subjects he was passionate about.

Normally, one could go to the person directly for such information... But none of those sort were ever willing to speak with Emmanellain longer than necessary. His manner of speech was flowery. Unfocused and without much merit for the listening party. Unless that party was drunk or else wanting fuel to use against Emmanellain, of course.

Though Count Artoirel had no ill will towards his brother, he dedicated no time for him. Their father had been no better. Though Honoroit had only been living with the family for five years, he knew the youngest son better than anyone in all of Hydaelyn.

"This morning Emmanellain came to volunteer as the new commander of Camp Dragonhead." Artoirel sounded wary. When Honoroit acknowledged this without surprise, he continued, "I fear his participation in the grand melee may have gotten to his head."

"Undoubtedly," Honoroit confirmed, "since the grand melee, my lord has seen fit to mention it to anyone who will listen."

"I see." Artoirel exhaled softly.

"Not to say he has shown any lack of enthusiasm or effort in his preparations for the role." Honoroit pointed out, with some muted pride. "I've not had to remind him to attend his lessons either. My lord has not been late to a single one."

"That... Is good." Artoirel said haltingly. "But I don't understand why."

Honoroit said nothing, waiting for the older man to expand on his words.

"Why would my brother, Emmanellain the Lofty," Honoroit's mouth twitched at the hand motion accompanying the title, "one of Ishgard's foremost carefree gossips, suddenly want to take on such a responsibility?"

Again Honoroit kept silent. It sounded like he doubted Emmanellain, and yet Honoroit knew that he had already approved the request. So he did not truly doubt Emmanellain's abilities. Artoirel doubted his brother's motivations. But much like how Emmanellain's words rarely matched his inner thoughts, Artoirel also spoke only a fraction of what he truly thought.

"What really troubles you, Count Artoirel?" Honoroit coaxed. "My lord is willing to take up your late brother's mantle. Is that not what your father hoped?"

"It is," he admitted with a frown, "though he doubts Emmanellain will perform well enough..."

"Do you harbor such doubts?" He asked, despite suspecting the answer.

"No. Of course not. As foolish and flippant as my brother is, I can see he's changed. But why? What is he hoping to gain? Father's approval... Mine?"

"Maybe in the past," Honoroit replied with a small smile, "but no. My lord Emmanellain volunteered because he wanted to. Not because you or your father wanted him to." It was just as Emmanellain had told the Warrior of Light, after all.

Artoirel studied Honoroit for a moment and his posture relaxed. Yet before he could say another word, the door opened and out stepped the subject of their conversation.

"Honoroit, have you--oh! Brother, what brings you to my room?"

"Ah," Artoirel awkwardly averted his gaze as Emmanellain wore only his bath robe, "sorry for intruding. I merely wanted to inform you that you'll be leaving for Camp Dragonhead first thing in the morning."

"Yes, my lord." Emmanellain snapped to attention, causing his brother's pale face to color.

"I need to get back to my paperwork." He excused himself and closed the door behind him.

"So Honoroit, What did my brother really want?"

"To know why." And just like that, there was nothing more that needed saying between the two. After all, no one understood Emmanellain and his reasons better than Honoroit.

... Until Emmanellain returned from the frozen wastes of Galemald, that is...

Honoroit sat on a crate that was yet to be loaded aboard the Astalicia. Perplexed, he watched her captain and his lord bicker. He had never seen Emmanellain so quick to pick a fight with anyone. Yet he contradicted this show of hostility when the captain was absent by speaking so highly of him.

These days, "Sicard" left his lips far more frequently than even more than "Lady Laniaitte." If Honoroit did not know his lord, he would think he even fancied the captain...

"What's got your lordship's bloomers in a bunch this time, cap'n?" One of the roegadyn Executioners called out as he carried freight.

"Bloomers!?" Emmanellain gawped.

Honoroit felt sorry for his lord, having to deal with these pirates' insults. He moved to get off the crate, only for someone to speak up first.

"Oi, he'll have you know they're pantaloons, not bloomers." Sicard drawled, moving to stand at Emmanellain's side with his elbow reaching up to rest on his shoulder.

Honoroit expected his lord to swat the captain away. Instead, he lowered his shoulder and pressed against the hyur's side.

"Now get your arse movin'. These crates ain't gonna move themselves."

Once the roegadyn disappeared into the ship, Sicard's arm fell from its perch. Emmanellain gazed down at him, but jerked back when Honoroit moved to better read his lord's expression.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Honoroit called out in concern.

"Hm? Oh, quite alright. Thank you, old boy." He answered distractedly.

"He's just embarrassed." Sicard snickered.

"I am not!" Emmanellain denied.

"Sure ye are," Sicard invaded the other's boundaries once more and once more, the other allowed it, "yer voice went all pitchy like it usually does when yer lyin'."

"A gentleman doesn't lie-" Sicard's brow rose and Emmanellain hastily continued, "don't you dare finish that thought, you... You..."

"'Bilge rat'?" Sicard laughed and shrugged. "Aye, you'll just be hearin' it later anyways."

Honoroit awkwardly returned to sit on his crate. It seemed that Captain Sicard had learned much and more about his lord... Honoroit would need to do some studying to remain the one best-versed in the esoteric tastes and mannerisms of Lord Emmanellain.

Chapter Text

Day 2: Double Edged

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain, Bard Bois cameo

Rating: Teen

Sicard stepped up to the door, hearing the faintest sound of music and murmurings through the thick, ornately carved cedar. The knight whom had taken his little invitation watched his hesitation and tapped the former pirate's shoulder.

"The door is unlocked, sir." He prompted.

A group of young noblewomen tittered as they approached with invitations of their own. Sicard pulled the handle and went inside without bothering to hold the door. He was sure that would be considered rude, but he was no doorman. Nor did he care for the looks he was getting. Though the ones he got now were hardly any better.

The music was much slower than he was used to. There was noise, but nothing rowdy or rambunctious like he would expect back home. It was just as he feared it would be. Stuffy and dull.

As he moved further into the main hall, a young elezen Sicard nearly mistook for one he knew held out their hand.

"I can take your coat to the closet." She offered.

He had half a mind to turn her down, reluctant to rid himself of his sea-scented coat. The room was far warmer than he expected anywhere in Ishgard to be. Not just from the body heat radiating from the guests. Even under the pungent scent of their various perfumes, there was the smell of burning wood from a fireplace.

"Are you with the Contingent?" The girl asked as she helped him remove his heavy Maelstrom coat.

"Aye," came his quiet exhale before he finally took a proper look around, "anyone else arrive yet?"

"A pair in Adder coats seemed keen to study the musicians. You'll find them if you follow the wall. Lord Emmanellain will also be there. Refreshments are through the open doors on the left."

She disappeared through the right door. Sicard suspected it housed a coat closet bigger than his apartment. Following the girl's advice, Sicard followed the right wall. There was a crowd around the fireplace, the couches entirely filled with lords and ladies alike. He edged around the group towards the center of the back wall.

The music grew louder as he approached. Sicard soon spotted the pair he had been seeking. Dressed in a yellow shirt, Sanson stood out in the sea of cold and muted colors around him. Though Guydelot's teal jacket, with its high collar, was nearly as ostentatious. Sicard himself had dressed more similarly to the locals, thanks to his connections in Ishgard. Though he was far from comfortable, he better matched the burgundy wallpaper.

"Guy, Sanson." Sicard greeted the Gridanians, keeping his distance from the crowded platform stage which had not been there on his prior visit. "Anyone else here yet?"

"Captain Sicard!" Guydelot's shout seemed to have started one of the musicians as a flute played off-key. Yet they recovered quickly and Sicard paid it no mind. "You made it. Emmanellain didn't think you'd show."

"I wasn't planning to," Sicard admitted, "this ain't really my kind of shindig."

"It's not any kind of shindig." Sanson snorted and looked back at the stage. "Though Guydelot did try to liven it up... One of the musicians did not take well to his... Advice."

"His loss." The bard shrugged then nudged Sicard. "I thought Emmanellain had exaggerated the skill of his lips."

Sicard opened his mouth to tell the bard off when Guydelot nodded with a smirk to the stage. Where Emmanellain happened to be performing alongside a young man with some resemblance to another of their contingent. Blue eyes met good before they darted away, his already rosy cheeks burning darker.

"Guess he had more of a silver flute than a spoon." Sicard quipped without any bite.

The performance ended shortly after, Emmanellain puffing as he stowed his instrument and made way for his replacement. His earlier embarrassment was absent as he looked upon his friends smugly.

"Did I not tell you that I could play?" He addressed the bard. "Why, not only have I been playing for years, but my brother even composed the piece we played."

Sanson's brows lifted at this, "Could you introduce us?"

"To my brother? Of course... Though I'm afraid it will have to wait for tomorrow. He's not one for parties and has locked himself away for the night."

"Pity." Guydelot murmured.

"Lord Emmanellain," the other musician approached them, "are these the bards my brother mentioned?"

"Francel! Why yes, they are. Allow me to introduce you. Guydelot, Sanson. This is Lord Francel de Haillenarte. Stephanivien's youngest brother."

Sicard tuned the introductions out, not much interested in the topic of fine music tastes. A growl rumbled from his gut and he found his gaze drifting towards the door which would lead to the dining hall. Having met with his companions from Ilsabard, he felt more at ease. He even spotted a few more familiar faces.

Without a word he pressed through the crowd, stopping only to reply to any of the Ilsabard Contingents that greeted him on his way to the dining hall. There was still a thick scent of perfume, but the food was surprisingly fragrant and the wine was strong. Sicard helped himself to a glass, though he wished for some ale, and approached the buffet.

"Did you see Emmanellain look at me?" Sicard choked on the pastry he had just stuffed in his mouth at the pleased sigh of a homely young woman. "Would it be wonderful if he would ask me to dance? I've heard he's good at it."

"Aye," a knight beside her nodded as she piled food on a plate, "better you than me."

"Oh, you say that, milady, but I saw you watching him." The woman teased. "You came all the way here from Cloudtop to see him, after all."

"I did," the knight replied calmly, "about an order I placed with him. Not for personal reasons. Though I'm sure he thinks otherwise."

Sicard realized belatedly that the knight was likely the "lovely rose" Emmanellain had liked to boast about at the beginning of their service in Ilsabard. She even had red hair to match the rose on her shield.

Even as his eyes had wandered to look at other women in Camp Broken Glass, Emmanellain had spoken fondly of his "destined partner." Though he had gradually talked about her less and less as he focused instead on his duties and bickered with Sicard. Emmanellain had stopped mentioning her altogether in Sicard's presence after what happened in Sharlayan.

As a man that knew exactly how skilled Emmanellain could be with his tongue, Sicard had no complaints. Her loss was his gain. Yet to hear her speak of him callously grated his ears. He had spoken so highly of her and yet she rebuffed him. Sicard would have killed to have half of the devotion Emmanellain had showed her.

"Then... Do you think you could introduce me?" The young woman batted her lashes.

"I might," the knight replied, suddenly wary, "but what do you seek to gain from approaching that preening fool?"

"Gain?" Sicard saw her tilt her head. "Aside from a dedicated husband? What more could there be?"

"Status. Wealth. Power." The knight listed. "Emmanellain is may be insufferable, but he's got his perks. He has a soft face that women love and an even softer heart."

"Isn't it romantic?" The woman replied with a sigh.

"Hardly. That soft heart of his is a double-edge sword."

The woman looked confused. But Sicard found himself agreeing. Too many times he had to tell a person off in Limsa for approaching Emmanellain for something or another. Always ready with a story that would have the fool fish out his coin purse before Sicard could stop him.

Not only did that soft heart make him an easy mark... But it softened Sicard's heart as well.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

"If you intend to court Emmanellain, you have to be willing to love him. All of him. Not just his face or status."

"I never... I didn't mention courting." The woman meekly took a step back from the knight whose expression had hardened. "I thought you weren't interested in him yet here you are rebuking my own interest." The woman grew bolder as embarrassment set in. "You're the one stringing the lord along. Either accept his affections or butt out of his affairs."

"Ain't much o' an affair if ye ask me." Sicard could no longer stand idle. "I bet he doesn't even know who ye are." He stressed his accent as he approached. "As for his affections... They're his to give as he pleases. Well, mostly. Frankly speakin', I ain't too keen on sharin' more'n I've had to."

"Wha-? Are you implying..." The woman pulled a face. "He would never have an interest in some... Some... Filthy cad."

Sicard snorted at the ridiculous insult. He'd heard far better from Emmanellain.

"Sicard! There you are," as if summoned, the noble made his way through the crowd, oblivious to the mood. Though not to who stood before Sicard. "My lady Laniaitte! What are you doing here? I mean, not that I would protest. I merely thought you would be too busy. Not to mention how you dislike such events."

The woman's face changed awfully quick as Emmanellain approached. Before she could address him, Sicard slung his arm around the taller man's shoulders.

"You plannin' to introduce me, mate?"

Sicard eyed Laniaitte but was surprised when she smiled and offered her hand.

"You must be Captain Sicard," when Sicard remained draped over Emmanellain, continued, "I'm Ser Laniaitte de Haillenarte. Emmanellain's told me many things about you."

Shaking off the stupor he was in, Sicard clumsily shook her hand. "Oh did he? What kind of things?"

"Nothing quite as scandalous as you just shared... But it certainly explains some things."

"Scanda--Sicard? Just what have you been saying about me?" Emmanellain fretted.

"He implied you have... Affections... Towards him." That woman spoke up, making Sicard click his tongue. The one thing Emmanellain stressed in their relationship, it was that what happened aboard the Astalicia... And La Noscea... Stayed there.

"Implied?" Emmanellain scrutinized Sicard who felt himself tense in preparation for the denial. "I should think my affections for you are more than implied at this point."

Sicard's golden eyes focused fully on the other, his tension snapping in surprise. He hardly even noticed the woman recoil before hurrying off.

"You been helpin' yourself to that wine, have ye?" Sicard sighed in amusement.

"Only a glass," the elezen pouted.

"I think I'm going to need a few myself." Laniaitte rolled her eyes and excused herself.

"Mate, you just-"

"Declared my intent to court you? Yes. I believe I did. Now come accept it."

Chapter Text

Day 3: Squidgy / Lace

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain

Rating: Mature

The Fogfens in Mor Dhona looked especially gloomy this evening. Thick miasma gathered on the road and above the swampy waters. Emmanellain and Sicard had intended to give The Tangle a wide berth, but neglected to notice the creature lurking in the mists.
"The Castrum's not much farther. We should see it before this weather get much wor-aurgh!"
"Emm!"
The noble had been facing Sicard and walking with his back to the road ahead. All the former pirate saw was something long and slimy wrap around Emmanellain. In a blink, he had vanished, dragged deep into The Tangle where the miasma had been thickest. With a curse, Sicard drew his firearm and pursued. The mud sucked at his boots, making it difficult to travel quickly.
Yet he could hear splashing nearby and the 'shwing' of a sword being drawn.
"Sicard!" Emmanellain called out, his voice strained and followed by a grunt. "Filthy toad! Release me!"
A croak echoed in the fog and Sicard could just make out the hulking shape of the gigantoad. While it was occupied with its catch, Sicard was able to get several good shots. The creature croaked and went still. With a cocky grin he stowed his weapon and looked to where he thought Emmanellain would be. Yet he was alone.
"Emm?" His smirk fell fast as worry set in and he waded deeper into the swamp, towards the creature. "Where'd you go off to now?"
His remark came out shakier than intended. While he did not panic, he did worry when he saw no sign of the knight. At least, not until he finished circling the creature and took a step towards it. Only for his foot to find a shallow spot in the water.
Bubbles formed under the murky sludge when he stepped on it. Recoiling, he removed his foot from the Fortemps shield. Emmanellain's legs were pinned under the weight of the wave in and his head sucked down by the mud anytime he tried to lift it. Sicard knelt down to hoist him out and used his sleeve to clean the mud from his mouth and nose.
"Sicard?" Emmanellain coughed and gagged. "Oh, this is absolutely dreadful."
"That toad really dragged you through the mud." Sicard pulled the inner lining of his shirt free to wipe the round face clean. "It's too thick to find the path too."
"Knowing my luck, we'd encounter a morbol if we tried to find it." Emmanellain whined, pulling back as his eyes were finally clean enough to open.
"So we're stayin' put then?" Sicard shook out the cloth and waded over to sit on the submerged carcass. "Thought you said we was close."
"We are." Emmanellain's face was scrunched up as he tried to wipe off his traveling clothes. "I'm not confident I can lead us out of here when I can hardly see a thing in front of me."
"Fair point," Sicard ceded, "there's a bit of dry land up that way. We can settle there."
Emmanellain waded through the water until he reached the bank. He gave an 'all clear' and Sicard trudged after him. Though he had not been submerged as the knight had, Sicard still felt soaked with swampy swill. Mor Dhona was no where near as cold as Coerthas where the had started their little journey. Yet Sicard was shivering from the lack of sun to dry them off.
Emmanellain pouted as he ran his fingers through his hair. It was messy on the best of days, but now it was caked with polluted mud. A branch had tangled itself at the back of his head. Without a word, Sicard stood and began to work on untangling the mess.
"There's no way I can show up like this." The socialite bemoaned. "Perhaps I aught to return to Dragonhead."
"Not a chance," Sicard snorted, tossing the freed twig into the water, "Jullus ain't comin' all that way from Garlemald for nothin'." He stepped back and pulled off his knapsack. "Didn't you pack a spare set o' clothes in this bag anyhow?"
"I did, but that outfit was meant to be worn once we arrived." Emmanellain sighed but set about unfastening his travel cloak. "Ugh, even my undergarments are soaked."
"Take 'em off then. Ain't no one 'round but me and the morbols and I doubt they care."
"The morbols aren't the one I'd have to worry about." Emmanellain quipped but pulled shirt over his head.
He went slow and careful to keep the mud from smearing him in the process. Sicard openly ogled as pale skin revealed itself. When his golden eyes met blue, there was an exasperated huff before the soiled shirt was thrown his way. The hyur dodged the fabric with a laugh and abandoned the bag by the roots before approaching his companion. Emmanellain ignored him, working on removing his pants.
"Didn't take ye to be the devious sort," Sicard crouched to unlace the noble's filthy boots, "if I morbol were to take an interest, would ye at least let me watch?"
"Sicard!" Emmanellain chided with a flushed face. "Please, do not even joke."
Remembering the feel of that nix's tongue around him made his shudder. A morbol would be even worse with its foul breath and wriggling limbs. He was shook from his thoughts by a tug at his pant leg. Sicard had finished his task. Emmanellain's face remained warm as he lifted his leg.
Though Emmanellain was accustomed to being assisted by Honoroit in such a manner, Sicard's assistance gave him a rush of feelings. He took his time to appreciate this rare show of care from the rough man. Sicard focused on his task, a knowing smirk on his face. When he removed the sock, he gave an unnecessary squeeze that pulled a groan from Emmanellain.
"You tease," he puffed, shifting his weight so Sicard could remove his other boot and sock.
"You like that 'bout me though, aye?" He returned smoothly.
Emmanellain grumbled mildly but did not deny it. Instead he dug his bared toes into the squidgy ground while Sicard's rough hands traveled up his legs. The unpleasantness of their environment did nothing to distract him from Sicard's attention. But he was painfully aware of the former pirate's fingers working their way under the band of not just his pants, but his undergarments too. Emmanellain expected the man to simply expose him with a single yank, but what he did was arguably worse.
With deliberate slowness, Sicard peeled the soaked clothes down, his hand brushing intentionally at Emmanellain's sensitive spots. The noble swallowed down his moan and glared--rather ineffectively--down at him. Once he was finally fully exposed, he took shaky steps out of the clothes. Sicard looked up at him with feigned innocence.
"Well, ain't you gonna get dressed, my lord?" He teased.
"You're incorrigible." Emmanellain huffed and pushed Sicard back. "If I get dressed now, you'll just dirty them too." He straddled the other's lap just as he managed to sit up.
"It ain't just gonna be me soilin' 'em." He quipped, looking quite pleased with himself. "You look fit to bust already."
"Oh hush and just grab the bottle. Don't think I didn't notice you pocket it."

Chapter Text

Day 4: Vapor

Pairing: Jannequinard & Rufin (platonic), Jannequinard & Quimperain (ambiguous)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning ⚠️ ("smoking", character death and some trauma of witnessing a violent death)

Quimperain checked his watch and then the sky, standing at the entrance of the apartments meant for Ishgard's foreign visitors. Gray clouds hung heavy with water refusing to fall and the sun was slowly setting. It was a terrible night for stargazing, yet that was the excuse Jannequinard had given for leaving the house so late in the evening. While many times this request was genuine, there had been several where it was not. Just an excuse to meet with some young lady or another.

So his predecessor had said. Yet Quimperain had yet to see it for himself. Today his younger charge was supposed to be meeting with the foreigner he had met while studying abroad. Which Quimperain had been certain was a man hardly any younger than himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of sirens in the distance. There was no concern at first. Until quickly the sound grew louder and lights reflected off the apartment windows. An ambulance skid to a stop just in front of his car and Quimperain stepped aside as the workers pulled a stretcher past him. Into the building. He withdrew his work phone and dialed the first contact on the list. There was many rings before the person on the other end answered, but was uncharacteristically silent.

"Sir, there is an ambulance out front." Quimperain informed him, ready to request they leave when he heard a muffled response.

"... too late..."

"Sir?"

The only thing he heard on the other end was distant talking before it went dead. Quimperain had not thought to ask which apartment Jannequinard was visiting and could only attempt to text--to the best of his limited abilities--for the floor. A police car arrived shortly after he hit send. It was an officer Quimperain recognized, and one that recognized him in turn.

"Quimperain," he greeted him with more formality than expected, "you might want to call your boss. I'll need to take your charge in for questioning."

"Wha-what for?" Quimperain asked but before the officer could answer, the paramedics returned.

His heart dropped at the sight of the bloody man on their stretcher. It was the very same man Jannequinard had come to see. Said teenager trailed behind the stretcher, red-stained hands wringing themselves as his pale eyes followed them.

The Sharlayan man's murder was hard on the young heir of family Durendaire. His involvement had quickly been suppressed--a benefit to owning the foremost news sources in the country and the man himself spoke nothing of it to Quimperain. The assistant was never one to pry either. Though he saw the change first hand.

Jannequinard had always been one for his academics and social life. But in the weeks following the event, he had withdrawn from the private academy months shy of graduating with honors and shut himself away. It was only on the third week that Quimperain was granted access. It had been a simple text, asking that Quimperain bring in a package he had received.

"Sir," he knocked on the door, "I have what you asked for."

"Come in." It had been awhile since he heard that voice and was surprised to find he rather missed it. As distracted as it was.

Quimperain opened the door for himself and entered, appalled by the mess within. Books and journals had piled up, though not from use. It appeared more like they had been thrown around in some form of fit and not been bothered with since. Several of the childish glowing stars around his room had been pulled off and thrown into a box.

He recalled the first time he had been introduced to the room. Jannequinard had vapoured about how every star was meticulously placed to mimc actual constellations. His love of stars and astrology had been a hobby scorned by his conservative fellows. Though he only met the Sharlayan once, he was aware that this love of astrology is what forged their bond.

"Excuse the mess," Jannequinard's voice came from his balcony, "and please don't bother the maid to help with it. You can leave that package on my desk."

Quimperain frowned, eying the overpiled surface. "There's not much room..."

"The bed then." He replied.

The state of the bed was just as bad. Heaving a sigh, Quimperain set the box by the door and rolled up his sleeves. He started with the pile of bullied books, flattening curled pages before closing the covers and setting them on their shelves. There was no sense of organization or reason to the order. His goal was simply to get them off the floor.

In all that time he spent on the pile, Jannequinard still had not left his balcony. The door was only opened a crack and the curtains were drawn, hiding him from view. But a sudden strong breeze forced the door open, bringing a strange smelling aroma along with it. Quimperain moved a crystal ball to weigh the papers he'd gathered down and left his task. A curious desire to see how his charge was faring hit and would not be denied.

Moving the curtains aside, Quimperain could see Jannequinard leaning over the rail with his back to his room and eyes on the sky. It was just as dreary as it had been on that awful day. The older man looked on in pity and then surprise when he saw a fresh wave of something billow out from Jannequinard's face.

"Are you... smoking?" An incredulous and disapproving tone left the man.

"Vaping, actually," the younger corrected, glancing back over his shoulder, "nobody smokes these days, old man."

Quimperain snorted and boldly approached, nose scrunching at the smell. "What is that smell?"

"It's supposed to be rolanberry..." Jannequinard smirked and brought the vape to his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"My job," he replied drily.

"You planning to report to my father?"

"About what? The mess or the drugs?"

"... I said I'd take care of it." He exhaled the sweet yet pungeant vapor then pocketed the contraption. "I didn't take you for a busybody."

"As I said," Quimperain ignored the insult and waved the lingering whisps away from his face, "I'm doing my job."

"Remind me again," he rolled his pale eyes and crossed his arms, "what, exactly, is your job? Babysitting? Spying?"

"Assisting you."

Now that Jannequinard was facing him, Quimperain could see that the robe he slept in and wore around the house was opened and nothing was worn underneath save for a pair of starry breifs. Politely, he averted his eyes and pulled the younger man back into the room.

"Starting with this mess." He closed the balcony doors and then the curtains, hiding the depressing sky from view. "Tie that thing properly or put some pants on and help."

"Why should I?" Jannequinard looked amused by his discomfort. "This is my room and it's not like you're some fair maiden I mean to seduce."

Quimperain gave him a plain look.

"What's that look, hm? I'm just saying, you're being rather prudish."

"That package is by the door." He opted to avoid arguing and return to cleaning the desk.

Jannequinard huffed but went to retrieve the package. He took it to his office chair, moving the piled up clothes to the floor. He even gave his assistant a cheeky glance.

Quimperain let him be, relieved to see that he was doing better than he originally expected. He had only been assigned to the young Durendaire rhe week before he returned from his study abroad. Perhaps this was Jannequinard's true self rather than the one he showed the public.

"Not going to ask what I got?" Jannequinard asked, opening the box.

"So long as it's not a bomb, it's no concern of mine."

"True enough."

For a moment, only the sound of papers was heard. As Jannequinard took his time with his package and Quimperain stacked even more papers. A sharp inhale drew his attention to his charge and he saw the book which had been wrapped. A plain and unassuming thing at a glance. But opening the cover, the light in the room reflected of some pattern printed on the dark surface.

"Rufin's diary..."

"Shouldn't that be in evidence?"

"... I may have pulled some strings."

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't trust the church to care for its contents." However, he did not open more than the cover before his dark face paled and he closed it once more. "... I'll just. Hold onto it. Yes," he nodded to himself and stood, ignoring that he wasn't alone. "I'll find some way to get it to his wife."

"Wife?" Quimperain felt a twinge of remorse for the widow. He was no stranger to losing those he cared about, but that was why he no longer had many to care about.

"Yes," he swallowed and rubbed the cover, "though I'd hate to cause her more grief." His voice wavered. "Godsdamnit, I never should have let him come back with me."

Quimperain froze at the sound of the first sob. By the third, he had already moved to Jannequinard's side. Though he lingered awkwardly, unsure of an appropriate action or words to comfort.

"His child's due any day now." Jannequinard hugged the diary and pressed his face to the man's chest. "How could I po-possibly... Where do I even... It's all my fault."

Quimperain folded his arms around his charge and shook his head.

"No, don't say that." He insisted. "You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"But I did!" He wailed. "I told him it was heresy. To challenge the laws set by the church would be a death sentence."

"Challenge what laws..?" Quimperain dared to ask, only for Jannequinard to shake his head and return the embrace. "... You don't think the church..."

Another shake but then a shrug. "I don't know," he uttered weakly. "I just know they're glad he's gone. We had made some pamphlets... I burned the remaining pamphlets and father is furious with me for using uncle's press for it."

It was little secret within the household that Jannequinard held little love of the church. He played along and attended diligently, of course. Yet every staff member had warned Quimperain on day one that their charge would speak blasphemy in the comfort of his home. The new generation was progressive and bold, challenging the actions and power of the church within Ishgard. A dangerous topic...

"Tell me... About Rufin." Quimperain suggested softly. "So I can honor his memory."

Jannequinard pulled back and studied his face, his own was wet with tears and puffy. Quimperain led them to the foot of the bed and shoved the mess to the floor so they could sit.

"You really... Want to know?"

"I do." He answered with conviction. "He was important to you. So I would like to know."

"... We had a lot in common," Jannequinard began once he'd collected himself, "but he was bold and far more passionate about our future dream... A dream for freedom to speak our minds and love freely..."

Chapter Text

Day 5: Fringe

Characters: Sicard & Honoroit

Rating: General

Sicard arrived at the Gates of Judgment, aptly named for all the staring he got. Emmanellain had invited him to visit Ishgard proper but neglected to provide him with the paperwork to enter. Though Ishgard had opened its borders, a recommend or invitation was still needed to be allowed into the city proper without an escort.

At least the rules were not as strict as Sharlayan. Even after helping to save the bloody world, the Astalicia was not allowed to pull into port without the proper permits.

"Captain Sicard, I presume?"

The Lominsan turned to see a young elezen boy that just about reached his elbow. Wearing the very same armor as Emmanellain, save a bow strapped to his back rather than a shield. Sicard frowned, noticing the scar above his eyebrow. He had heard stories about Ishgard's desperate measures in war, but this boy hardly looked suited for a scucuffle.

"Aye," he replied guarded, "you a knight of House Fortemps?"

"More of a page, really." He corrected with a twitch of his lips. "If my lord heard you mistake me for a knight, we might not hear the end of it for some time."

Sicard realized that this must be Honoroit. Back in Camp Broken Glass, Emmanellain had a habit of turning to his side with the name on his lips, only to be met with Sicard's bemused face. As they grew closer and Emmanellain continued to call him by another's name, Sicard finally demanded an explanation.

"Apologies, old boy," he had muttered with some misery, "I'm just not used to having anyone but Honoroit at my side."

At the time, Sicard had been confused when that explanation spiked his irritation. Of course, now that they'd been apart, Sicard had time to reflect on the mess of feelings he felt whilst serving the Ilsabard Contingent. He had been jealous. Emmanellain had been quick to quell the feeling, boasting about how he taught the boy everything he knew. Sicard had made a quip and the topic had dropped in favor of another of their petty squabbles.

Though after that day, Emmanellain had brought the name up more and more with Sicard. That and he finally began to turn to his side with Sicard's name on his lips instead. Which made him preen in some sense of victory. Just recalling that time made his face heat in embarrassment for how obvious he had been.

"So yer Emmanellain's little shadow."

"I prefer his attendant or manservant. Or page, as I stated earlier." Honoroit gave a strained smile. Sicard throught perhaps he had upset the boy, but then gave a more genuine smile. "I heard you looked after my lord in Garlemald. You have my gratitude for seeing him home unharmed and in high spirits."

"Where is the daft dandy now?" Sicard scowled. "I told him I'd be arrivin' in the mornin' but after he's had his beauty rest. But I've been here for a bell and a half."

"Your knowledge of my lord's routine is astounding." He remarked. "Though he overslept after having a late night at the Forgotten Knight. That and he was under the impression you would be arriving by airship."

"I took a detour through Gridania to grab somethin' and catch up."

"If you're planning to bribe my lord, then I hope you brought wine." Honoroit eyed the sack slung over his shoulder.

"Dunno much about a bribe, but I did bring wine. And a little somethin' extra." Sicard followed his gaze and patted it, amused by the boy's curious look. "I ain't gonna show you. So don't ask."

Honoroit's disappointment carried a bit of guilt, but he did not pry. Instead, he motioned for Sicard to accompany him up to the Gates of Judgement.

"I have with me a guest of House Fortemps."

"I thought he looked familiar." A knight which hadn't been addressed by Honoroit spoke up, stepping up to greet Sicard. "You're the pirate that kept Lord Emmanellain in check."

Sicard swallowed his flash of irritation at the claim. Yet it paled in comparison to Honoroit's.

"You forget yourself, ser." Honoroit chastised. "My lord does not need to be kept in check and for you to jest as much is an insult to House Fortemps."

The knight looked as though he wanted to make a quip, but bit his tongue.

"Aye, Emmanellain's a bit of a handful, but well worth the effort." Sicard left it at that, nudging at the silent pageboy. "So I take it Emm's waiting at the airship landin'?"

"... Should be." Honoroit's tone was short but he dutifully led his guest through the gates.

Whilst crossing the bridge, an uncomfortable silence stretched. Sicard wondered if his guide was still fuming over the slight against Emmanellain, or simply the silent sort. He reasoned it could be the latter. A talkative person would not have fared well serving a man that hardly let others get a word in edgewise. Unless, of course, you didn't give a damn how the lord would take the interruption.

Sicard occupied himself by taking in the sights instead. There was some damage to the massive bridge, likely leftover from that war he's heard about. He grew curious about what lay below, even daring to look over the edge. He gave a low whistle, taking several safe steps back. There was no coming back from that kind of fall. If there was land or water, he had no idea and no intention to find out.

By the time the reached the entrance to the city proper, Sicard was exhausted. He had been walking since Florentel's Spire, after all. The trek through Coerthas had been hard, even as he followed the path. Perhaps it would have been wise for him to rest when he reached Camp Dragonhead, but he had felt there was no point if Emmanellain were absent.

"Mind your step," Honoroit spoke up as they passed through, "it's easy to trip over the rubble and there are patches of ice.

"Right," Sicard replied with a cocky grin, "no problem."

Honoroit looked dubious, but Sicard strode after him with his chin high. After all, Camp Broken Glass was named for the ice underfoot. The Ishgardian boy didn't need to know that it took him day before he could take more than a couple steps on ice without slipping. If not for Emmanellain, it might have taken weeks.

Sicard started to walk up the main path, but Honoroit tugged his sleeve.

"This way."

Sicard frowned as Honoroit pointed to ruined area to the right with rickety looking wooden platforms. It was more remisce of the run down docks of Lominsa than the imposing white stone of Emmanellain's high born home. Reasoning there was a detour only a local would know, he followed him down.

Beggars sat under the eaves of damaged stone while workers took a pick to the rubble. This was clearly the fringe of Ishgardian society.

The Brume, Emmanellain had called it.

From the way he had talked about it, the Brume was a dangerous yet exciting place for the likes of him. Yet Sicard felt, not quite at home... For even the poorest parts of La Noscea did not feel so pitiful. The beggars were lively and quick to stick a knife in you. Here there were a greater number of children. Huddled and wary of those passing. Though he caught one sizing him up, they turned away when he looked her way.

They continued around the outskirts of Ishgard and Sicard had a strange feeling when they suddenly veered further out. Walking along an edge that would have led to death, should someone lean out too far. There was no one around now and Honoroit stopped, nearly leading to Sicard tripping over him.

"Where are we? Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"Fortemps Manor is above us." Honoroit glanced up but then turned to face the former pirate. "Before we continue, you will tell me your intentions towards my lord. If I dislike your answer... Well," he glanced at the wall. "It's rather slippery here..."

Chapter Text

Day 1: Esoteric

Pairing: Sanson/Guydelot, Emmanellain & Sicard

Rating: Teen (Implications)

Camp Broken Glass had been in a state of chaos after the sudden tempering of 'liberated' Garleans. More so when it was discovered that the Warrior of Light had vanished in the thick of it. Guydelot studied the little radio which had started it all, brows furrowed in thought. His superior, finally finished assisting the newly tempered Garleans to be untempered, rested his hand on the taller man's shoulder.

"Gil for your thoughts?" Sanson's attempt to lighten the mood was hindered by his stiff delivery. Nonetheless, it brought a small smile to the bard's face.

"Music is a dangerous thing. Guydelot remarked, turning from the contraption.

"It's not always so dangerous." Sanson reached across to strum the harp worn at his bard's hip. "If not for your music, I'd have been lost to that siren or given up hope when I was held captive with Nourval."

Guydelot's expression darkened at the mention of the elezen from their Ala Mhigo excursion. "I wasn't there to play for you."

"No, but the songs you've composed for me were." He tapped at his temple. "I hummed them when I felt anxious. Annoyed my captors, but I suspect that's because I lack the talent for music."

"I rather like your voice," the bard replied softly, leaning down to whisper, "and how you sing just for me."

"Guydelot," Sanson flushed despite his scolding, "mind our locale."

However, he was less opposed to the teasing and public flirtations after what had transpired. It was a relief to feel something familiar and grounding. A distraction from the chaos and despair just outside.

"Right," he pulled back with a teasing smile, "I'll save it for tonight then?"

Sanson remained silent but gave his bard a fond look before returning to assist with cleaning up the camp.

After Jullus recovered, he was surprised to find an elezen at his bedside, harp in hand. Not that having a member of their former enemy was something to be surprised about, given all that had transpired. No, it was the familiar song played across the strings.

The very last song he had heard before it all went to hell.

The harp gave it a somewhat different sound, and there was no interference from the aether which had been used to transfer the sound. It was clearer and felt more intimate than that. Jullus watched the bard sat at the end of his bed in silence, listening.

It was an imperfect recreation and the foreigner took liberties by changing the rhythm. This rhythm felt more uplifting and cheerful than the original. Perhaps to make up for the lack of an additional instrument and vocals.

"Did you finally get someone to teach you our music?" Jullus winced at how worn his voice was from disuse.

"Ah," rather than abruptly ending the song, the bard skillfully concluded it with some flourish before rising from the bed to face the Garlean, "good evening, Jullus."

Jullus could not recall the man's name, but he had been playing various music requests from those around the campfire when the incident occurred. Music from their homelands was often requested and he played the Eorzean requests without aid. For the few requests from those far from Eorzea, there had been a brunet hyur in matching uniform there to pull sheets of music from a journal. Yet there was no such sheet of music for any of the Garleans.

There were none gifted with music among the untempered and no one would have bothered to salvage one from the wreckage.

"Yes and no," he admitted, "I was able to more or less recreate the song from memory and even caught a snippet of it whilst exploring the Regio Urbanissimo."

"Urbanissima." Jullus corrected. "What were you doing there?"

"Right, that's what Sanson called it. As for what we were doing there," he rubbed at the back of his neck, "I had hoped to find some sheet music in the ruin. But was unsuccessful."

"That desperate to take our songs for your own?" Jullus said, a bit sharper than intended.

"There is no 'taking' of songs. Songs are meant to be shared and heard by all." He denied sternly. "Regardless, all we had to show for it were bruises and aches. Emmanellain has been filling everyone's ears with his complaints."

Jullus tried to recall which of these former enemies of his had introduced themselves but his head was still muddled. He recalled being approached by a couple of people that night. The bard gave an understanding hum at the sight of his furrowed brows.

"Emmanellain's a knight of Ishgard. You may recognize him best by his love of prattle. That or from one of his spats with Sicard. Name's Guydelot, by the way. Guydelot Thildonnet of the Twin Adder's finest bard unit."

"Another elezen with... raven hair?" Jullus remembered a social young knight had approached him at the beginning of the night.

His thoughts and heart had been heavy after all that had transpired. He had been captured and was a man in the heart of the enemy camp. Yet the elezen had approached him with a smile and light hearted conversation which quickly turned to an amusing spat. The first time Jullus had laughed since Garlemald fell and he lost everything.

"That's him!" Guydelot confirmed. "He was rightly worried about you and insisted on helping us find something to help you lot feel at ease. He's no bard, but he can play from a sheet. Trouble was transcribing it." He stowed his harp when he heard people around them starting to stir. "Ah, but you've just woken up from an ordeal and I wouldn't want to tire you with such unnecessary chatter... that's more Emmanellain's department." He smiled and gave a bow. "Feel free to come to me once you've been discharged. I'll play again. As many times as you'd like."

One of the chirurgeons shooed him out as he finished speaking and began to check Jullus over. The Garlean was still muddle-headed, but the tune replayed within, keeping him grounded and his htroughts from spiraling.

"Home Beyond the Horizon."

Sanson was the first to notice the Garlean's approach, huddled by a fire with his bard and the pair that had helped them search for music scores. They all turned to Jullus as he had spoken.

"That's the name of the song." Jullus explained, feeling awkward from the attention.

"That's a fine title." Emmanellain began. "My brother's composition, New Foundations, was written for a celebration of... well, new foundations."

The red-coated hyur sitting beside him rolled his golden eyes, "What, like building a house?"

"Precisely! But also so much more. Ah, but where are our manners. Jullus, sit down and join us!" He motioned to a stool beside Sanson and waited for him to comply before continuing with a puffed chest. "You see, after the Dragonsong War, Ishgard was due for some changes. First and foremost being to rebuild. So many of her people were displaced by the war and left homeless. Wasting away in the streets and utterly exposed to Coerthas' bitter cold winds."

Jullus could relate to that and found his gaze drifting in the direction of their ruined capital.

"So Lord Francel--Stephanivien's youngest brother," he motioned to a blond elezen pouring over schematics at a nearby tent, "took charge of the Firmament project. In order to rebuild Ishgard and give the people new hope for a brighter future."

"Lord Emmanellain," Sanson could see the interest in Guydelot's eyes, "could you introduce us to your brother? When we've finished our duties here, of course."

"I will see what I can do," he had a bit less confidence, "he has been quite busy taking care of the polictics back home. It's no easy task to change a nation as old and stubborn in their ways as Ishgard."

Sanson glanced at Jullus, seeing the parallels between Ishgard and Garlean's war experiences. Even the war between Ala Mhigo and Gridania was affecting their life in the present. While the physical damage had long since faded, there were emotional and deep rooted scars left behind. Ishgard was having to restructure not just the buildings, but their entire political system. Now Garlemald was in ruins and bereft of clear leadership. They were still actively under threat as well.

"I was told Home Beyond the Horizon is an ode to reclaiming your homeland," Sanson addressed Jullus, offering him a cup of warm tea, "is that right?"

"Aye, for the brave men and women who fought to reclaim it."

"Is the fighting necessary?" Emmanellain asked aloud, earning Sicard's elbow to his ribs. "Ouch! What was that for you ruffian?"

"I think what Emmanellain means by that," Sicard ignored the noble, "is you Garleans got problems below the waterline. Rather than lookin' towards expansion, you should look to fixin' what problems led to this wreck."

Emmanellain gave him an indignant look, whispering harshly. "Must you be so crass? Fury's sake..."

"... But he is not wrong," Jullus admitted quietly, brows furrowed. "Garlemald is in ruins and we have no hope of returning to how we once were..."

"Best to look to a new future then." Guydelot strummed his harp. "Though you are filled with uncertainty, the sun shall always rise along the horizon."

Chapter Text

Day 7: Free Day - Piccadilly (ess: Collar)

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain

Rating: Teen

Sicard had never considered himself a neck man until he fell for an elezen. And not just any elezen. The heir to one of conservative Ishgard's most prominent families. As a former urchin of Limsa Lominsa, Sicard thanked Llymlaen for such a lucky catch. Not that he thought he wasn't a catch himself. It was more that Sicard was a shark while Emmanellain was the flashy angelfish you wanna keep in a pretty little tank.

But not even Naldiq & Vymelli's made tanks for people. So, Sicard had to settle for the next best thing.

His thumbs brushed over the velvet case held in his hands, waiting just down the road from the Fortemps Manor. Sicard had sent a text moments ago and was waiting for the all-clear. It was likely that Emmanellain had hurried to get himself gussied up the moment he saw the text and would likely take an hour. He checked his phone and saw it had already been 15 minutes and his message had been read.

"u aint ready yet?" He texted Emmanellain again to hurry him along. "ur balcony got the roses?"

Used to being kept waiting but still none too patient, Sicard usually ended up climbing the manor fence to fetch the dandy. But he had yet been made to climb that fancy--and thorny--trellis up to Emmanellain's personal balcony. The warning texts usually resulted in being intercepted and snuck in through the servant's entrance.

"Can't come out tonight."

Seeing the response brought a scowl to the hyur's face. Then Emmanellain sent another.

"Family dinner. Don't come."

"too late im comin in"

Sicard clicked his tongue and removed the keys from his bike. The least guarded section of Fortemps Manor was thankfully where his boyfriend's balcony faced. It also had the fewest number of security guards. Today, however, it seemed they had changed their schedule. Crouching down in the bushes, he looked up the rosey trellis and saw the maroon curtains were tightly drawn but a light was on.

A rock at his feet caught his notice and Sicard picked it up before walking around and tossing it over. Once the guard went to investigate, he snuck back over and clambored up the fence, grateful it was sturdy wrought iron rather than noisy chain-link. He darted across the perfectly manicured lawn and leaped partway up the trellis. If not for his thick biker gloves, he was sure the rose thorns would have made him curse and given his position away. Luckily the trellis was just as sturdy as the fence.

"Honoroit, how could you?" Sicard stopped at the sound of Emmanellain's pitched voice from within. 

"I'm sorry, sir," the young boy that Emmanellain tutored stuttered. "I thought they already knew."

"How could they possibly have known?" He bemoaned. "I've been so careful hiding him."

"Your brother is perceptive."

"Perceptive? Artoirel wouldn't give me the time of day if I broke my arm but now you tell me he's suddenly keeping tabs on my personal affairs?" Sicard carefully climbed over the banister and crouched down to hide from the guard as he came back around.

"With all due respect, sir," Honoroit responded haltingly, "none of your affairs are terribly private."

"... I..."

"Jannequinard has been doing you several favors, supressing thestories... but his uncle found out and told Mister Fortemps... who told your brother."

"I'm ruined." There was a thump as it looked like Emmanellain leaned heavily against the balcony door. "By the Fury, how am I going to explain this to Sicard?"

"With yer words," there was a high yelp after Sicard spoke against the door and the curtain was pulled aside. "Let me in already, it's bloody cold out here."

Emmanellain gawped at the leather-clad hyur standing on his balcony. The elezen was still wearing his dress shirt and slacks, though his tie was loosened and the top buttons undone to show off the nape of his long, pale neck. Golden eyes caught the marks he had left yesterday and his mouth watered to make more. But then he noticed a wet track and followed it up to puffy blue eyes wet with tears.

"What's happened, Emm?" He brought his gloved hands up to cup his round cheeks.

"My family's found out... about us." He hiccuped.

Sicard's jaw clenched and he glanced aside to Honoroit. The teenager averted his gaze. He had only briefly met the rest of Emmanellain's family on the cruise ship at as a simple deckhand. Meaning they likely didn't even know his name nor would they recognize his face. But he certainly took notice of them after he was nearly caught in their youngest heir's cabin bed.

Edmont de Fortemps had been an intimidating looking man and the current head of their house, Emmanellain's oldest brother Artoirel, was hardly any less so. He swallowed his own worry and focused on calming his boyfriend instead.

"Alright, so what?" He puffed cockily. "What's the worse that could happen? They tell you to stay away from me and we just keep doin' as we have been?"

"Or they accuse you of taking advantage of Mister Emmanellain's naivete." Honroit proposed. "You would not be the first."

Emmanellain flustered at the scrutinizing look Sicard sent his way.

"Honoroit worked hard to earn the right to be tutored and sleep within the manor." He explained quickly. "Banish that little green monster." Emmanellain managed to chide through his tears.

"I ain't got the foggiest what that means." He laughed lightly and wiped a fresh tear. "Now then, what's this you said about a family dinner?"

"I expect it's their intervention." He replied, leaning into Sicard's hold and closing his tired blue eyes. "Where they'll tell me what I'm meant to do, who I'm meant to be... And who I'm meant to marry. Just as they have all my life."

"Doesn't sound as much fun as goin' out to the club."

"Obviously," Emmanellain exhaled some annoyance, "you think I don't already feel miserable enough. Now you have to remind me what I'm going to be missing out on? What they'll be taking away from me? From... Us?" He wavered on the last bit, his face twisting in pain at the thought.

"So just come with me then." Sicard coaxed, "I can show you a great time."

"But Sicard, I can't."

"Why not?" He nearly growled in frustration but knew it would only upset his lover more.

"Because then I'll be sure to face punishment when I come home."

Sicard frowned at the anguish and fear on Emmanellain's pale round face. The man had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and acted every bit like one would expect him to as a result. At least, on the surface. Yet Sicard had known him long enough at this point to know it was all bravado and acting to appease his family. At least, as well as he could. The way Emmanellain explained things, nothing he ever did could make them proud of him.

Sicard's hands moved from his cheeks, down his neck, and around to the small of his back as he embraced him. He pressed his lips to that long, sensitive ear.

"... Then don't go home after." Sicard pleaded softly, holding him tighter. "Come live with me."

Silence grew along with Sicard's anxiety. He could feel that Emmanellain had stiffened at his suggestion and braced himself for the rejection. From the very first day they met, Sicard knew they weren't meant to swim the same waters. He thought he would be ready when the day came to finally release his rare catch... But his throat was tight and he felt his eyes burning.

"Could I?" The words were quieter than a whisper but spoken into his hair. "You'd have me?"

Incredulous, Sicard pulled away to study his boyfriend's face. There was still some lingering fear, but hope and excitement had replaced the pain.

"Aye," he cursed how choked the sound sounded but continued, nodding, "of course I'd have you. I climbed that bloody fence for you how many times now?" He pressed their lips together, but pulled back before Emmanellain could return the passion. "This time, I'm takin's what's mine. So get dressed. Get packed. How long we have, Honoroit?"

The teenager fretted in the corner by the door, face flushed at the display he'd witnessed. There was unease in his expression, but when Emmanellain's blue eyes met his green, pleasing, he sighed.

"I shall stall them. Just," he moved forward to quickly embrace his tutor, "promise you'll call me when you've settled?"

"Of course, old boy." Emmanellain patted his head. "You'll be of better use to my family than I ever could be." Honoroit shook his head against his chest but said nothing, afraid he too would start to cry. "I have your number memorized. I will call first thing in the morning."

Honoroit gave a weak, choked laugh. "You mean evening. Without me to wake you, I doubt you'd be up in the morning."

They shared amused and sad looks before ending the embrace. Sicard took the liberty of grabbing a bag from Emmanellain's immaculate and vast walk in closet. There was an inkling of doubt that he was doing what was best for Emmanellain. After all, he could never provide him with what he was leaving behind. The man had never had to struggle through the impoverished life Sicard had.

Yet after Honoroit had left, Emmanellain joined him in the closet and went to a chest of drawers at the back, using a key to unlock them.

"All I'll need are these."

He opened the dresser to show all the clothes he wore almost exclusively for their dates. Sleeveless shirts, low necklines, cut offs, scandalously short shorts, and even some tight jeans that Sicard had especially loved.

"And these," he grabbed a small wooden box with various accessories gifted to him over the year by Sicard and their friends. "There's enough cash in here to buy fresh toiletries and then some."

Sicard was surprised by the promptness in which he packed. It seemed Emmanellain had already anticipated leaving. He let him finish grabbing a few last minute things, accepting the bag once it had been filled and secured. Emmanellain was almost out onto the balcony when he stopped and rushed over to his desk. 

"I'll just grab my diary and pull out the letters for them." He opened a drawer and pulled up a false bottom, tossing a leather bound journal to Sicard.

He then withdrew three letters, each one addressed to a member of his family, and then a fourth. Though he looked rather sheepish as he grabbed it. Sicard understood when he saw the flourish of "Laniaitte" written on gaudy pink paper. He rolled his eyes but stashed the journal before going out onto the balcony to check on the guard situation. His back was towards them but he was studying the gate that Sicard had climbed.

"Torsefers!" A familiar voice called from the entrance to the servant's entrance. Honoroit was calling for the guard. "I just found a broken window. Come quickly please."

The guard did just that, hurrying over. "I knew I heard something earlier!"

Sicard was quite certain his stone had not broken any windows, but had no time to dwell on it. He threw the bag down as soon as the door closed behind the guard and straddled the railing to start his descent.

"I'll go down first," he gripped the railing with one hand while the other fished out an extra pair of gloves, "put these on and don't start climbin' down til I tell you to."

Emmanellain nodded, obeying without question or complaint for a change. Sicard gave him a brief kiss and a cocky grin before hurrying down the trellis. He reached the bottom in seconds and planted his feet, ready to act should Emmanellain fall. Given that he was wearing his dress shoes rather than the secure, worn-in leather boots Sicard had.

"Alright, c'mon down. I got you."

He nodded, looking determined despite his apparent apprehension and swung his long leg awkwardly over the railing. Then, he began his shaky descent. Emmanellain had almost made it to the bottom when he slipped, but Sicard caught and righted him.

"Easy, you did good. Now for the fence." He picked up the bag and hurried to his entry point.

"I think not," Emmanellain eyed the height and lack of adequate holds and shook his head. "I have a better idea."

Sicard uttered a curse under his breath as Emmanellain took off for a shed nearby. Yet he remained rooted, waiting for his return. And return he did. With a pair of bolt cutters in hand. Sicard gawked as Emmanellain nudged him aside and took them to the chain locking the side gate closed. The sound had been loud in the quiet late evening. But the chains fell away and the gate opened.

"There we are." He preened as Sicard approached. "Now, where is Lisa parked?"

"In front of Steph's place."

They hurried through the opened gate and down the road to where Sicard had left his motorcycle. Emmanellain opened the right saddlebag, tossing the helmet to Sicard before securing his own. He took his bag from Sicard and was about to shove it in the saddlebag when a red velvet box caught his eye. Though he knew they needed to hurry, he could not stifle his curiosity and presented it to the bike's owner.

"Ah, that was supposed to be for later." Sicard took the box from him and was about to pocket it. However, the reality of what they were doing and what it mean sunk in and he eyes the elezen's neck. "Actually... I think now's as good a time as any."

Puzzled, Emmanellain watched as Sicard took his helmet back off. As he began to lower himself, his blue eyes shot wide. The velvet box opened and Emmanellain felt his heart catch in his chest.

"It ain't no ring, but if you agree to be mine, I swear I'll get you one... If you'll have me."

An ornate black lace choker with the Fortemps family emblem carved from red stone was within the box. Clearly custom made for Emmanellain. Sicard had gifted him many throughout their relationship, each one more brazen and ostentatious than the last. Yet this was perhaps the most thoughtful and brazen--not to mention expensive--one so far.

His words were caught in his throat as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. Sicard held fast, his heart pounding as he waited for an answer. If only Emmanellain had not put down his visor, then he would not be so worried for the silence.

"Sicard," he heard his lover sob and worried, only for it to be unfounded, "yes. You're the only one whose ever," he hiccuped and lowered himself to Sicard's level, "ever wanted me. Even if you weren't, I... I could not see myself as cherished or happy with anyone else but you."

The small, pessimistic voice at the back of Sicard's mind wanted to refute that. The fear of his financial struggles scaring Emmanellain off were still there. Yet with the elezen embracing him, he felt nothing but relief and excitement for their new future together.

Chapter Text

Day 8: Trojan/Subterfuge

Pairing: Emmanellain/Sicard (If you squint.)

Rating: Teen

Captain's Log

A silly title for his journal, maybe. But more aptly titled than it had been when Hyllfyr bought the notebook for his schooling. Not that it had much more than little ideas and plots for when he would run his own raid. A day which was finally up and coming.

The young hyur scrolled down the news article, jotting down little snippets he thought would be helpful. There was a photo on the page of a round-faced elezen with deep blue eyes. Beside him so stood another raven haired elezen with gaunt yet objectively handsome features and a cold look to him. They wore pristine suites and stood before a building, one of those fancy ribbons. The comically large pair of scissors to cut said ribbon were in the hands of a third, dressed in as much blue as the occasion would allow.

The hyur wasn't familiar with such ceremonies, but he'd seen enough videos to know they were fancy events for influential high class sorts. Just the type of mark he was looking for. Moving to another tab on the shabby old computer's web browser, he returned to the posted job application. One benefit to being sent off to college meant he had gotten quite skilled in writing up a reputable resume. Something that would give him an edge in the market he was hoping to infiltrate.

"Aye lad," a booming voice called through the office door, "'ow long're ye goin' to be 'oled up in there for? Dinner's gettin' cold."

"Comin' captain," the hyur called back down, "just finishin' my application!"

The hyur just had to upload an identification card with a photo and he'd be done. At least, if he had any intention of using his actual identity. The photo editing was amateur but he hoped it would be enough to fool the technology-starved elezen in charge of hiring. Changing some coloring of the hair and eyes was an easy enough edit. Then there was the matter of replacing his name.

Here in Limsa Lominsa they were hardly better off with technology... Let alone having digital records for foreigners to access as they liked.

Though he still changed the numbers and name, just to be safe. The rich folk had their ways of getting what they wanted, after all. Lominsan privacy laws be damned.

"Sicard! If ye aren't down by the count o' four, I'll 'ave ye on barnacle duty for a week."

"Aye, aye! I'm comin'!" Sicard hit the button and closed his windows before scurrying down to the galley. After all, the man wasn't one for empty threats and Sicard stil had some research and planning to do throughout the week.

~

We arrived at port, freezin' our asses off and the locals look even less friendly than an Executioner on their worst day. Really threw me for a loop when I met my mark. Oozin' charm and pomp. Really stood out. 'Specially with that fancy gold watch and the matchin' jewelry. Clearly a spoiled sort just as the articles said... But friendlier than I expected. Poor daft fool.

...

This landlocked lordship actually knows his way round his ship, I'll give him that. Could have done without all the braggin' on the tour tho. He's rather full of himself, likes to talk. Never really stops. It's odd workin' for a man who won't dock pay or fire ye for a bit of sass. Even gave just as he got.

...

Bloody hell I feel sorry for this boy. Out at sea on a bloody super yacht with all the water toys you could ever want... And he's got his face in some books. At least his uncle seems to agree with me that it ain't right to waste such a nice day...

Boss invited him to go fishin'. That'll be a riot, seein' him try and teach this bookworm to fish...

...

Who'd have thought these frigid blokes could catch some fish... Only had to show the boy how to throw the net once 'fore he got the hang of it. Though it've been better if he wasn't so scrawny and small.

That redhead that likes the sound of his voice as much as the boss-man would make a good mark. Heir to a family that owns the security detail aboard. Could be risky given he also runs their nation's prime broadcasting business.

His personal attendant or bodyguard could be a problem too. I'll bet that man even follows his charge into the ensuite they share.

Good, gullible man though. Might ask the others for some ideas.

...

Fuckin hell. Not the time or place to put this. But I'm goin' right mad and gotta get it out somehow. Can't just vent it in the shared crew cabin and the cold shower didn't help. Never been manhandled like that before. The willowy bastard's got muscle under that soft skin. My back side's still smartin'. There'll be a bruise...

...

The captain and the officer on watch are too on edge. Gotta find a way to get their guard down. The Captain's a close-minded bigoted sort when it comes to outsiders... And his outsider of a watch is old crew. Best watch ourselves around that one. He knows about the Executioners... But at least they're more fixated on the Krakens. They've no clue what they're in for.

Chief engineer's got family aboard. Sister's high ranking military and definitely sleeps with a gun under the pillow. Engineer's packin' too. Don't think their brother's one for violence tho. May be good leverage. Good kid... But not as good as the boss's kid.

...

Fuck. I really hit the jackpot with this lot. Not only are they from old money with deep pockets... They're no better than the damn Ul'dahns. We'll get to send a message and get a load of gil when this job's done...

But the boss ain't the one to make an example of. His brother, on the other hand...

No, no. Too risky. Bloke's a bloody war hero, even more decorated than that redhead the boss keeps moonin' after.

...

Haven't really had time to write. Keepin' these blue bloods entertained's been taxin'. We're getting close to Bloodshore.

The boss and his kid really liked the fauna... Wish I could show 'em more. But time's runnin' out and the job comes first.

... His skin's real soft... Liked my ink too... Wasn't expectin' that.

...

The day's finally here. I gave my orders to the lads and they're due in a few hours. I'll be takin' the boss out while the crew handles the security detail. There shouldn't be any issue with the raid. No blood either which'll be a first... Assumin' it all goes to plan... It's gotta. I made the plan, after all.

But I think the boss suspects somethin'. He saw the poster. He's seen my skin... And more. He knows I'm not the man he hired...

...

...

~

Sicard held his head in his hands to keep them from shaking.

He had been a fool. Being with the Executioners as long as he has... He should have know the "Bloody" in their name was well earned. Him being in charge hadn't changed that...

He exhaled shakily and glanced back at the bound & bloodied man passed out in his bed.

For the first time in his 20-something years, his resolve to rule the seas was sailing through rough waters.

Chapter Text

Day 9: Inundate

Characters: Edmont de Fortemps, Stephanivien de Haillenarte 

Rating: General

Count Edmont watched, bewildered as one of the manor knights escorted a post-moogle through the main doors. Between them was a bag filled to the brim with letters and simple little packages. They set it down before the former count with an audible thump and took a moment to catch his breath.

"My lord," he panted," with all due respect, please..."

"Do something about your sons and their admirers, kupo!" The moogle finished for the knight, unconcerned for propriety.

"As the moogle says, Lord Edmont," Torsefers hung his head, "I struggle to sort through it all. At this rate, Count Artoirel is now getting more frivolous letters from love-struck maidens than he has missives from the parliament."

"And Emmanellain?" Edmont was not entirely surprised by the admiration for his eldest, though it had certainly grown since he was made the count of their house. Yet he found it hard to believe that Emmanellain had begun to gain so many admirers.

"Well, part of that may be some fault of mine." Torsefers admitted. "Ever since he returned from Garlemald, he's not tried to bri--er--ask me to deliver any more letters to the Lady Laniaitte of House Haillenarte. I might have shared this with a maiden that came asking after him... and it would seem the women are now emboldened by the young lord's waning interest in the lady."

"Waning interest?" Edmont's brows rose. He had no idea that Emmanellain had ceased his pursuit of the Haillenarte's rose.

"Yes, now when he travels to Cloudtop, it seems he spends more time with the Redbills than at the Rosehouse."

"What does House Haillenarte know of this?" Edmont asked.

"I-I'm not sure."

"The Count Baurendouin's lady wife has started asking after any deliveries from Lord Emmanellain, kupo." The moogle supplied helpfully.

"I see... Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I shall find a way to deal with these admirers. You may refuse the letters henceforth. Any who wish to deliver them may do so in person," Edmont declared, "during the Valentione's next debutante ball."

~~

Upon bringing the cerulean heater and radio schematics back from Garlemald, Stephanivien had scarce had time to sleep or eat, let alone leave his workshop. The orders and workload had piled up in the absence of him and his engineers. Many of whom left behind to continue aiding the Ilsabard Contingent. When Stephanivien presented his own spin on the Garlean inventions, even his prospectometer could not have prepared him for the inundated orders.

It was not until Joye burst through his private workshop's doors that the man was even seen by others.

"Ye look like shite." Rostnsthal scoffed when his boss, startled awake by their intrusion, raised his head from where it had been buried in papers. Papers which left ink staining his cheeks.

"What time is it?" He ignored the comment with a yawn.

"Me lord, do you even know what day it is?" Joye chided, stowing her gun before helping him clean up the spilled ink on his desk.

"Er," Stephanivien supplied, clumsily attempting to gather his papers, "can't say that I do. Now that you mention it."

"I doubt he's even heard about the upcoming ball." Celestaux was inspecting the damaged door. "Not that he much cared for 'em to begin with."

"Right," Stephanivien agreed, pushing up his goggles and attempting to redo his ponytail, "those stuffy dances are hardly worth my time. But I'm sure Emmanellain is thrilled for it. Especially those debutante balls." He snorted though as he recalled, "I don't think he'll be so interested in them these days though."

"Aye, it is one o' them types." Joye confirmed. "I heard that House Fortemps was the one to make the request o' House Valentione."

Stephanivien stopped trying to get his loose hairs to cooperate and looked curiously at his star machinist. Emmanellain had spoke nothing of any cousins within his house that were due to have their coming of age. Which was the usual time that one would be presented. And Emmanellain was always the one to spread the word of whose debutante premier would be up and coming. Even for ones outside his house. Though Artoirel had said the members of their house were slow to grow in number. They had but a handful of distant cousins.

"Which member do they intend to present?" He asked with some curiosity.

"Count Artoirel." Joye answered promptly.

"Bollocks." He denied, just as prompt. "Artoirel's never once attended one of those balls. Not even his own brother's or my own." There was no way he would agree to be debuted.

"Well, seems he's changed his tune." Rostnsthal snorted.

"An' I hear your sister'll be there too." Celestaux added. "Apparently that lord Emmanellain neglected to invite her even though he'll be having another go at presenting."

"Emmanellain as well?" Stephanivien felt some pieces click into place. It seemed their father was getting tired waiting for grandchildren. "When is this ball?"

"Just a few days, me lord." Joye grinned slyly, "I take it this is one you'll be attending then?"

"Of course," Stephanivien gave her a curt smile of his own, "otherwise I'm sure those women are going to eat him alive."

Chapter Text

Day 10: Gossamer

Pairing(s): Stephanivien/Artoirel, Emmanellain/Sicard

Rating: Mature

"The airships refused to travel?" Stephanivien spoke through the linkshell he had retained from the Ilsabard Contingent to converse between his machinists and the Lominsan smiths. "But our friends saw you safely to the Observatorium in the Central Highlands? Good. Could you make it just a bit further? You can stay at the Skyfire Locks until the worst of the storm clears. Trust me to handle the preparations for tomorrow."

Once he had finished his conversation, he lowered his hand and heaved a sigh. Joye looked up from cleaning her weapon.

"Who was that, me lord?"

"A friend from Ilsabard. We were meant to get fitted for the ball today but the storm has delayed him." Stephanivien shook his head. "It will be awkward going alone."

"Why not ask one of your brothers, chief?" Celestaux proposed, tinkering with one of the cerulean heaters.

"And have Aurvael or Francel tell my father that I'm taking an interest in these courting events?" Stephanivien shuddered to think how his father--or even his mother--might push for him to be the next victim. "I'd have better luck with my sister."

"Shall I go fetch her then?" Joye offered with surprising enthusiasm. "She arrived at the manor 'fore the storm broke."

Stephanivien considered it for a moment. He knew nothing of fashion, but his sister knew even less. Usually, he would ask for aid from Emmanellain or Francel. But the former was far too much of a gossip and the latter would draw attention from their parents if not speak to them directly. That and he was shopping for two.

"Perhaps..." He grabbed Joye's hands between his own, "could you ask that pageboy of Lord Emmanellain to meet us as well? With discretion, of course. His lord must not find out."

Joye flustered at his begging and pulled back her hands. "Aye, I'll do me best."

And that she did. Stephanivien was not waiting long at the Jeweled Crozier before his sister, clad in her armor as she usually was, arrived. Just behind her, Honoroit trailed, looking quite wary.

"My lord, surely we can come to a settlement over whatever it is Lord Emmanellain has done to cross you." The manservant fretted. "I thought you were on good terms."

"Aye brother," Laniaitte frowned disapprovingly, "what's this Joye said of you asking her to deal with Lord Emmanellain. I've told you before I am more than capable of handling him myself."

"I believe there's been some misunderstanding." Stephanivien wondered just what Joye had said to the two but raised his hands to soothe their worries. "I mean Lord Emmanellain no harm and he has caused no offense." At least not since their time in Garlemald together. "I merely need your help with something of a... personal... matter."

The pair relaxed and exchanged bewildered glances before turning towards him.

"If it is personal," his sister nodded towards the boy, "why involve that rumor-mongerer's manservant?"

"Because I trust him to be more discreet than his lord... while also providing comparable counsel."

"Discreet with what?" They both asked.

"... I intend to attend the ball with someone." Laniaitte snapped to attention in shock, then cleared her throat as Stephanivien pointed out, "I heard you intend to attend as well. When we both know you like those events even less than I."

"Yes, but unlike me, you're not expected to attend them."

"Neither are you." Stephanivien pointed out. "Unless... has mother or father put you up to this?"

"Something of the sort..." Came her neutral response. "I hear Count Artoirel will be accepting courtships."

There was an uncomfortable drop in Stephanivien's stomach at Laniaitte's admission. She did not appear interested, holding her usual nonchalant expression. Still, if his sister fancied Artoirel, then he truly had no idea what he would do.

"Lord Emmanellain as well." Honoroit piped up.

"Likely some ploy concocted by his delusions to rile me into action." Laniaitte rolled her eyes.

"You know my lord rather well, Lady Laniaitte." Honoroit sighed with some exasperation. "It would be just like him to openly accept the courtship of strangers to gain the attention he desires."

Stephanivien studied Honoroit for a moment, wondering how much he knew. The boy was far more perceptive than most. Especially where his lord was concerned. Honoroit looked up at Stephanvien and then down the street to the various stalls and shops.

"If you intend for me to advise you of your wardrobe for the ball, I'm afraid I won't be as useful as my lord. But I shall do my best."

"I am even less knowledgeable." Laniaitte huffed.

"Yes, but you have still attended these events more than I." He implored. "That and I trust you to be brutally honest in your opinions."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"There is... more to my request as well, Honoroit. I believe you may be able to help me ensure I have my companion's measurements."

"Just who is this lady you plan to bring and how would he know her measurements?" Laniaitte snorted but seemed to think before correcting herself. "Ah, I forget at times that women aren't to your preference."

"They aren't?" Honoroit was apparently not so perceptive where his lord was not concerned. Or perhaps his age and inexperience rendered him ignorant to such persuasions. "Still, I do not know who you mean to bring."

"True, I suppose I shan't keep you in suspense any longer." Stephanivien stepped closer so he could speak quieter. "My companion for the ball is one who was sent to serve in Garlemald with your lord and myself. Sicard Spence."

"What?!"

Both nearly deafened him and drew considerable attention. Stephanivien shushed them both and beckoned them to a less populated section of the Jeweled Crozier.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Neither do I." Laniaitte crossed her arms and pressed her lips. "You mean to tell me the captain shares your persuasion?"

"Lord Emmanellain was right." Stephanivien just barely heard Honoroit utter in disbelief before speaking up. "Lord Emmanellain actually had an outfit prepared for Captain Sicard just after the ball was arranged."

"I suspect it was to pay him back for the outfit he 'borrowed' from the captain."

"I don't know about this borrowed outfit. But Lord Emmanellain often has outfits commissioned for their outings."

"Foppery." Laniaitte clicked her tongue. "I suspect the captain's also taken to donating them as I have."

"I don't know that, my lady." Honoroit shrugged and turned his attention to Stephanivien. "Since the captain declined my lord's invitation, the clothes are still with the tailor. My lord was quite proud of his selection."

"Excellent. Oh, but do me a favor and keep Sicard's arrival from him, hm?" Stephanivien winked.

"I understand." He nodded solemnly. "I would not want Lord Emmanellain to know his invitation was declined in favor of yours. My lord had believed himself to be the captain's closest friend."

Stephanivien... wasn't sure the boy understood at all.

~

Artoirel fought the urge to roll his eyes as yet another woman was pushed towards him by her mother or friend, face as red as the decorations. He caught his brother's eye across the room as he pointed to his charming smile. Artoirel forced one upon his own face as he addressed the woman. He did not bother to remember her name, only that she was from House Dzemael.

"I appreciate the offer, my lady," he was the perfect gentleman, "but I am not yet recovered from the last dance I had."

He could not remember that woman either. Only that she had been blonde and of a lesser house. The woman's fluster increased and he was only somewhat regretful to see her eyes water before she excused herself. Artoirel relaxed when the display served to discourage some of the would-be suitors around him.

Agreeing to this ball had been a terrible decision. His father had made it clear that Artoirel would not have to present himself, only that he should attend for the sake of his image. Emmanellain had been just as insistent that he attend, saying that staying behind his desk with paperwork would cause his physique would suffer prolonged periods of inactivity. Something Emmanellain had firsthand knowledge of.

Normally, Artoirel would not have been bothered by such a comment. After all, unlike Emmanellain, he did keep up with his training. Especially since he had nothing better to do in his spare time, since the Ilsabard Contingent had left for Garlemald. But then, Emmanellain had spoken at length about how his suitors would lose interest in him if he let himself go. Or if he remained holed up in his office for so long that he withers away.

Again, this would not normally phase Artoirel. The only suitor he cared for was not so shallow to ignore him for such surface reasons. But then, that suitor returned and never once paid him any mind. No visitation, no gift, no letter... Instead, the suitor had made themself scarce to all but their workers... and apparently his own brother.

As such, he worried and fretted over whether the suitor had lost interest. But surely that was not the case. Artoirel's suitor had been pursuing him since they were children. Just as Emmanellain had pursued Laniaitte.

But then, he heard rumors that his brother's pursuits had stalled. When he confronted his brother directly, he confirmed the rumors in a most devastating manner.

"Lady Laniaitte? Brother, a man can only wait for so long. I have done all I can to win her favor, yet she has not returned a single one. I am not so delusional that I would continue a fruitless endeavor when I've found there's an orchard out there." Emmanellain spoke words of confidence, but his mood was still mournful. "If only I could manage the courage to pluck what I want before someone else."

The revelation that even a man as dedicated as Emmanellain would give up after being denied caused Artoriel many sleepless nights. Yet he had been unable to seek an audience with his suitor. Work kept them both much too busy of late and the date of the ball was fast approaching. Artoirel decided, with his mind addled from lack of sleep, that he could goad his suitor into acting. He would offer himself up on a silver platter and see if they did not pluck him.

He shook his head, cursing Emmanellain for his silly metaphor. After all, the party had started over a bell ago and still there was no sign of his desired suitor. Only woman draped in gossamer with coquettish smiles and eyes which made him feel like meat in a butcher shop.

Artoirel looked over to see his brother faired not much better. Much to his puzzlement. After all, Emmanellain thrived at such events and had been eager for this event up until he paid a visit to Limsa Lominsa. It seemed that he had reached out to pluck his desired fruit but returned with nothing. That very night he begged their father to present him once more.

Emmanellain was getting plenty of attention from some decently pretty young ladies. But Artoirel could see his smile was strained and his dances, which usually oozed with grace and passion, were stiff and overly formal. Lady Laniaitte had kept her eye on him from another side of the ballroom, but never approached and rebuffed any suitors of her own.

The main doors to the ballroom hall opened suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. Except Emmanellain; he was rather occupied with his fifth glass of wine. Artoirel had counted.

"Lord Stephanivien de Haillenarte," Artoirel snapped his gaze from his brother so fast his head spun, "and his guest, Captain Sicard Spence."

"Sppuu-" "My lord?!"

Artoirel ignored the sound of his brother choking on his wine, taking in the rare sight of Stephanivien without a speck of grease on him. His fingers twitched as he wondered whether he could find one that had been missed. The dark green justaucorps fit the machinist better than he could have ever imagined. Though it was much tamer than the deep red worn by the hyur at his side. Sicard Spence, Emmanellain's business partner, was wearing a long red and black coat rather than the traditional mid-length coat.

"Sorry we're late," Stephanivien waved off the stares with a charming smile, "there's an awful storm out there. Please, carry on with the festivities."

Thankfully, many of the attendees did. But Artoirel saw that he was not the only one admiring the newcomers. Lord Stephanivien had only made it four steps before he was accosted by the lady from House Dzemael.

Artoirel's face was cold as stone when he took her hand and they went towards the dance floor. Then their eyes met, and the oldest son of House Haillenarte smirked before disappearing onto the dancefloor.

The man who arrived with him looked none too pleased to be abandoned, but when Emmanellain cut through the crowd to greet him, his scowl faded. Artoirel left his edge of the ballroom towards his brother, nearly bumping into Laniaitte as she did the same.

"Apologies." They spoke at the same time and Emmanellain noticed them at once.

"Oh, brother and my lady," his smile went from relaxed to strained, "allow me to properly introduce you."

"No need," Artoirel interrupted, moving between the hyur and elezen to try and catch a glimpse of his pursuit in the crowd, "you have said enough about him. Excuse me." He disappeared into the crowd, leaving the younger trio behind.

"Captain Sicard," Laniaitte extended her hand, "it's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Sicard lied through clenched teeth but shook her hand, "Emm's told me all about you."

"All good!"

Artoirel winced at the sound of his brother's forced laugh, but he finally found his man. Stephanivien was keeping a respectable distance and had an entirely different partner now. When their eyes met again, the smirk returned, softer this time, and he handed the lady off to the viscount Durendaire. Then a hand was extended towards Artoirel and the count felt his pallid cheeks warm.

"May I have your hand, count Artoirel?"

There were some stares, but the playful look on Stephanivien's face left them disinterested, convinced this was one of his jokes.

"Perhaps after you've had it cleaned." Yet Artoirel took the offered hand and stepped in. "Just what have you been working on?" He demanded as they drifted onto the dancefloor. Artoirel quickly took the lead as Stephanivien was a terrible dancer. "I tried to visit you several times after you returned."

"You did?" He seemed flattered by the admission, but was humbled by the glare he received. "I'm sorry, I've been working on something I brought back with me from Garlemald."

"So you forgot about me?" Artoirel asked, hoping his tone was neutral despite the slight ache in his chest. "Did you also find someone sweeter in Garlemald?"

Stephanivien stumbled suddenly, legs tripping up as he lost focus. "I beg your pardon?"

"Emmanellain said there was an orchard..." Artoirel was sulking, he knew. "Nevermind," he shook his head, "I'm just glad to see you haven't withered away in your workshop."

"I could say the same of you and your office." Stephanivien teased lightly, but Artoirel averted his gaze. "... I missed you, truly." He spoke softly, lessening the distance between them in the dance. "Had I known you were wanting, I'd have been there at once."

"And if I wasn't?" Artoirel dared to ask, unable to meet his gaze. "If I never do?"

"... Then I shall simply have to want for both of us." Stephanivien brought the count's hand to his lips. "Shall we quit this stuffy affair for someplace more private?"

Amused, Artoirel took his hand more firmly, and pulled him down the nearest hall without a word. Their absence was hardly noticed as the crowd had their attention on the rowdy pair at the center of the room. House Valentione had quite the lovely garden, even after the Calamity. Stephanivien had fully prepared to be pulled there, yet was startled when he found himself dragged behind the door of an empty guest room.

"Artoirel-?" Stephanivien's question was halted by the count's lips on his. He heard a lock click and practically melted into the other man's arms. When at last his mouth was free and his breath recovered, he tried again. "Whatever has gotten into you, old friend? Not that I'm complaining. Quite the opposite, actually. But I am concerned one of those desperate ladies may have dosed you with something."

"Such as?" Artoirel walked him back until he was forced to sit on the silky red bedsheets.

"Well, you know," he got distracted rather quickly as those lips returned to his neck. "Ah, that tickles. Really now, Art, calm yourself before you do something you'll regret."

"I won't." He pulled back, eyes dark. "I've had moons alone to think about this. Us..."

"But you have said time and again that you've no interest in... This." Stephanivien shrugged helplessly but his arms came to wrap around the other's waist, keeping him from stepping back.

"... I don't... Didn't..." Artoirel sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not opposed. I'm simply... Indifferent. So long as it's you. Otherwise..." He shook his head. "I can't stand the idea of letting anyone else get as close as you have. Nor can I stand the idea of losing your companionship. It's selfish, I know. So please, let me repay you."

"There's no need." Stephanivien spoke firmly. "I have no intention of abandoning you."

"Not even for a proper lover?"

"You are the most proper lover I could have." He laughed lightly and pressed his lips to the standing elezen's chin. "I don't need more than this."

There was a moment of peace as they held one another. Then Artoirel shifted, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"But I might."

Stephanivien felt the press of something stiff against his knee and felt his heart flip and fall before soaring.

"Truly?"

"Truly."

~

Edmont watched from the upper level of the ballroom as his eldest departed with the Haillenarte heir in hand. It had surprised him at first. But as he thought back to Artoirel's apparent disinterest in women, it began to make some sense. Though he never expressed any interest in men either. It seemed Lord Stephanivien was the exception. Which stood to reason. He was perhaps the most constant companion in Artoirel's life.

Once the pair had vanished, he followed the crowd's gazes to where his youngest was standing with his business partner and the woman he had been claiming to be his soulmate for nearly a decade. His grip on his cane tightened and he inhaled sharply when he saw that ruffian drag Emmanellain down.

This ball had been a rather terrible idea... But at least the post moogle and Torsefers will be happy.

Chapter Text

Day 11: Rampant

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain, Honoroit & Emmanellain (platonic)

Rating: Teen

Emmanellain paced in front of the Athenaeum Astrologicum whilst waiting for the arrival of any airship. Unless Sicard forgot his schedule, he should have arrived a bell ago. Honoroit stood by the steps, watching his lord pace, sharing his worry.

"Is there aught I can do to assist, my lord?" He offered when the pacing became too much even for him to bear.

"Hm, oh," Emmanellain worried his lip, "if you would. Honoroit, please return to Camp Dragonhead and see if Sicard has passed through."

A memory had surfaced whilst he paced. During the trip into Garlemald, he recalled how Sicard had been quiet aboard the airship. It was during the trip leaving that he managed to coax an embarrasing confession from his friendly rival. One that would make an airship ride to the city "Of the Sky, From the Sky, For the Sky" most difficult.

"Perhaps he stopped through Gridania and did not have the means to buy a second airship ticket." He lied to save Sicard some face.

"Is this Captain Sicard the type to make such decisions?" Honoroit gave a dubious look but let it go when he saw his lord's brow furrow, ready to refute it. "How will I find him? I know he is a hyur and from Limsa Lominsa." And that he had a 'roguish charm despite his aroma,' as his lord often described him.

"I suspect he still has no proper cold weather attire and should be wearing what he wore in Garlemald. The Maelstrom's uniform will stand out." Honoroit hoped Emmanellain spoke true and that there was no other visitor from the Maelstrom in Coerthas. Seeing this apprehension, Emmanellain sighed. "You'll know him when you see him. He's got sharp golden eyes, a strong chin, and a smug grin."

Honoroit rose a brow at the description but bowed obediently before returning to the aetheryte at Camp Dragonhead. Once he had disappeared, Emmanellain stopped his pacing and gazed out at the airship landing. Another had come and went and there was not a speck of the sea-green hair he was looking for. Sicard must have traveled to Ul'dah by ferry and then taken a carriage to Gridania and likely got stalled by Durendaire Knights or else his own. Or perhaps he had made it as far as the Gates, only for him to be denied without proper escorts.

He waited for just a moment longer, gaze lingering on the horizon, before deciding to make his way for the Gate of Judgement.

Despite the trip being quicker through the Brume, Emmanellain decided to travel through the Pillars. A recent altercation in the Brume between a noble and some commoners had triggered rampant hostilities. So, when he finally made it to the top of the stairs and saw Honoroit leading a familiar red-clad hyur down into the Brume, he felt the stirring of apprehension in his chest. He suspected Honoroit had not heard of the danger, or else was so accustomed to traveling through his former home. Yet the image of Honoroit laying beaten and bruised on the steps of Falcon's Nest surfaced and he steeled his resolve before following them at a cautious pace.

Emmanellain had to admit that Honoroit moved through the Brume with comfortable ease. He struggled to keep up and even lost sight of them once or twice and had to jog to see them once more. Thankfully it seemed no one in this part of the Brume was interested in the noble passing. In fact, they were moving back towards the Pillars. Though Emmanellain felt a sense of deja vu, he did not recognize it at first. There was nobody around and it clicked abruptly where Honoroit had brought them.

This was the very pathway under his own house's manor. A pathway that they advised everyone avoid for many people had suffered tragedy here after the calamity froze Ishgard. Before ice slicked the paths, there had been no need for railings to keep sober nobles from plummeting to a nasty demise. The former count had corrected this after Emmanellain nearly met this end before the calamity.

Yet after the calamity, even the railing had not prevented a mishap from a man slipping near enough and pitching over the edge. He quickened his step but stopped cold when he heard Honoroit's voice around the corner.

"... It's rather slippery here..."

Panic rose as he imagined Sicard's curiosity getting the better of him, making him wander too close. The sight of the drop would surely make him stumble and if he did so on a patch of ice...

"Well now, ain't you right ballsy." Sicard's patronizing voice soothed yet confused the noble. "Considerin' yours ain't dropped yet."

"Just answer the bloody question, you scroting cad." Emmanellain's jaw dropped and he nearly gasped his page's name in reprimand. But curiosity stayed his tongue. Just what had set the pair off so?

"You lick your lord's boots with that tongue?" Sicard spoke in an amused tone, but Honoroit did not know him like Emmanellain. No doubt the page would be offended. "Look Honoroit, I admire the spunk, but my intentions ain't none o' your business."

"They are where it concerns handling Lord Emmanellain." He shot back.

Emmanellain bit back a grown when the page's impassioned yet very much platonic declaration had the former pirate roaring with laughter.

"You laugh yet you don't deny that you're taking advantage of my lord's kind naivete?"

"Whoa there, lad," Sicard collected himself, sounded offended now. "I ain't takin' advantage of no one. Least of all a man like Emmanellain. He's the one what made the first move."

"What first move?"

"Sicard!" Emmanellain could remain silent no longer, hurrying around the corner. to keep Sicard from traumatizing his young manservant. "Honoroit! What on--put that away at once!" He squawked at the sight of the arrow drawn and aimed straight at the hyur's chest. "Sicard is very dear to me and I will not stand such rampant disrespect."

At Honoroit's startled and wounded expression, Emmanellain almost thought to take it back. But then he felt two strong arms wrap around his waist and smelled the stale rum and sweat of his pale-faced partner.

"I only meant to... I'm sorry, my lord." His bowstring went slack as he lowered the weapon along with his head. "I simply tire of all the slights against you."

"Honoroit, my boy," Emmanellain sighed and shook his head, "I care naught for what people say about me. After all, do you not also make quips at my expense?"

"That's different," Honoroit averted his gaze, chastized but stubborn, "they don't know you like I do."

"That may be true of others," Emmanellain felt awkward as the arms around him tightened, "but not Sicard."

"Aye, I'd wager you don't know your lordship like I do." Sicard managed to quip, earning a disapproving look from the elezen he clung to.

"Perhaps we shoud move to somewhere less... precarious." Emmanellain suggested.

"You ain't gotta tell me twice." Despite his enthusiasm, Sicard made no move to relase him. "... Er, you first Emm."

"Honestly," he clicked his tongue but obliged, pulling him closer to the wall and Honoroit, "how is it that you're just fine with the crow's nest and the cliffs around Vylbrand... but any other cliff or drop has you in such a state?"

"Ay, that's different. There's water 'round Vylbrand and what pirate would I be if I couldn't climb a mast."

"Wait," Honoroit studied the pirate's pale complexion despite living on the sea, "Captain Sicard... Are you afraid of heights?"

"I ain't afraid of nothin'!" He vehemently denied. Though neither elezen believe him, given how he was pressed flush to the solid wall. "That's just a right nasty fall is all. And you didn't seem like you were bluffin' neither."

"... I wouldn't have shot you." Honoroit denied after a silence. "It would have been too suspicious. First rule of the Brume is to make it look like an accident."

"My dear boy, I implore you not to make further threats towards my inamorato."

"Very well my lor--your what!?"

Chapter Text

Day 12: Zenith

Pairing: Jannequinard, Quimperan, & Leveva (platonic)

Rating: General

"Leveva Byrde," Jannequinard looked down at the girl with exasperation and disappointment, "what's this about you starting a fight? It's very unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

"Shove off, Janne." The teenager huffed and turned up her nose. "Can we leave or not?"

"This conversation is not over, my dear." Jannequinard pursed his lips but grabbed her bag from the floor. "Luckily I talked the Headmaster out of suspension."

"Suspension?" Leveva fumed but hopped out of her seat to follow him. "Those sniveling bullies started it!"

"Well, that may be, but it's not what all three of them are saying." Jannequinard sighed. "It does not help that of the four of you, you're the only one not tended to by the nurse."

"That's because I didn't want to be seen by that charlatan. I've seen the brochures." Jannequinard paused, frowning down curiously at her. "Don't give me that look. You know da--darn well which brochures I mean."

"Ah," he nodded sadly and continued to lead them out of the school, "the conversion brochures."

Silence stretched between them for the remainder of their walk to the car. Leveva's flushed face lost its sour expression when she saw their driver leave his seat. Quimperain took her bag from Jannequinard and studied her with clear concern. She almost wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she gave him a hug and opened the door to the back seat.

"Is she alright?" She heard him ask the other man.

"She'll be fine, Quimperain." Came the response before the older elezen opened the passenger door for him. "I suspect you'd be proud to see what she did to those boys."

"What boys?"

"Just the usual boys." Leveva huffed. "Bigoted, rude, and cowardly."

Quimperain looked like he wanted to ask more, but a stern look from his charge had him closing his mouth and starting the car. Classical music filled the silence, lessening some of the tension on their way back to their house in the Firmament. Although Jannequinard's family manor was closer to the school, Leveva had not been welcomed with open arms by his father. So, they had been made to find accomadations elsewhere once she arrived from Sharlayan nearly a year ago now. Thankfully they were decently sized accomodations, provided for by his uncle. The house matched the rest of the innocuous stone houses for the commoners and only had three rooms, one of which had been converted into a study. The yard was well maintained by a neighbor and the inside by Quimperain himself.

"What's for dinner, Quimperain?" Leveva asked once they pulled into the driveway, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Burgers." Leveva perked up at the answer while Jannequinard's face twitched in distate.

"They're so greasy and fattening." Jannequinard complained, entering a code into their home's security system while the other man unlocked the front door. "No visitors." Quimperain acknowledged this with a nod and held the door open.

Once the trio were inside Quimperain locked the door behind them. He loosened his tie and went straight to the kitchen to start on dinner. Jannequinard re-armed the security system and cleared his throat before Leveva had made it down the hall to her room.

"Leveva, there are some mild pain killers in my bathroom. If you have need of them. Just take one." He spoke quietly so Quimperain would not overhear. "Are you sure you do not want to go-"

"It's just some bruises, Janne." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, you know that if I go to the doctors for as much as a cold then everything we've worked for will be for naught."

Jannequinard clasped his hands at his waist, staring down and trying not to remember them colored red. Ever since Jannequinard discovered Leveva's true motive for coming to Ishgard, he had found his mind wandering back to the last night he saw her father. The guilt and pain had faded over time. He had set himself a goal to see to it that Rufin had not died in vain.

Together, they had hoped to radically change their prospective conservative countries. It was their dream to have information and knowledge pass freely between their homelands and foreign nations. The zenith of the war with Dravania had shattered their nations own bond and caused Sharlayan to withdraw from having any involvement in world politics. While Ishgard continued as it had for years, falling even further under the church's manipulative and restrictive doctrines.

It was only a few years ago that Ishgard changed drastically with the abrupt end of the war and theocracy both. Jannequinard had been gaining support within the politcal sphere, namely by using the knowledge he learned from his studies with Rufin to bring their nation up to date with the rest of the world's technical advancements. Yet he was but one man and a regretably poor student compared to his departed friend.

Thus did he implore Ishgard look to aid from Sharlayan engineers and network developers. Aymeric, the leader which replaced the archbishop as Ishgard's leader, had made a rather powerful Sharlayan ally in ending the war. Together they were able to bring Jannequinard's proposal to the Sharlayan government and, with further help from his former professor--Leveva's grandfather--a foreign exhange program had been inacted. They would send one student to Ishgard and take one from Ishgard in turn. Their reasoning had been understandable. The last Sharlayan to visit Ishgard prior to the war's end had been murdered by religious extremists. Or so they believed.

It was only when Leveva revealed she came to investigate her father's murder that they begun to uncover the truth. Rufin had been killed by fanatic followers of the church, but not on the church's order. No, the order had come from the very man tasked with Sharlayan's own information networking company. A man who was not above harming a young girl if it meant stopping Sharlayan from opening its borders.

"Hey," he was stirred from his painful reminisce by a small hand on his own, "are you alright, Janne? Should I call Quimperain?"

"No, no. I am fine." He assured her with a shake. "Just," he hesitated, unsure if this was an appropriate time to potentially open an old wound, "you're making your father above very proud, I'm sure. But he, along with Quimperain and myself, hate to see you hurting."

"... I know." She released his hand, unaccustomed to heavy discussions with her temporary guardian. Then she gave him a smug smile. "Which is precisely why I fought back!"

"... You're still grounded."

"Damnit."

Chapter Text

Day 13: Over the Moon

Pairing: Emmanellain/Sicard (implied), (secret pairing)

Rating: Teen

Edmont and Artoirel shared curious glances over the dinner table. Ever since the youngest Fortemps returned from La Noscea, mayhaps even before that, he seemed different. It went unnoticed at first. Neither man paid Emmanellain much mind before, save for when he made a ruckus or mistake they needed to clean up.

Which is precisely how they had noticed something had changed. There had been no issues with the frivolous second son in a long while. Rather, he was tending to his duties at Camp Dragonhead--or at least competently delegating them--and when not at his station, he was rarely ever in Ishgard. Other nobles were starting to notice the socialite's absence and asked after him. There were even rumors he had finally settled down.

Emmanellain knocked back the last of his wine and dabbed his mouth before setting his napkin down and excusing himself. Edmont frowned, feeling as though his youngest son had only just sat down.

"Done so soon?" He set down his own glass, "there's still dessert."

"I'm full," Emmanellain patted his belly. "Besides, I promised Honoroit I would be returning to Camp Dragonhead before sunset."

"Has something happened?" Artoirel spoke up now. "Father is right that you've only just come home. Surely your page can continue to handle your duties for another night."

Emmanellain gave them both a bewildered look. "Are there some duties you would have me do here?"

"'Duties?' Here at home? No, of course not." Artoirel denied.

"Then why have me stay?" He returned flippantly. "There's too much for me to do before I'm expected back in Limsa Lominsa."

"Expected back in... you just got back this morning." Edmont's eyes narrowed. "What further business would you have there again?"

"The personal sort, if you must know." He sounded agitated but kept a light smile. "I am still allowed to have time to myself, aren't I? Provided I keep up with my responsibilities to the family, of course."
Edmont found himself bewildered by the accusatory tone behind his youngest's words. Artoirel, as the present head of House Fortemps, was the one to address Emmanellain.

"Of course you're free to come and go as you please. I believe what father means is that we have not seen you much of late. Is it so strange that we would want you to stay longer than a meal's length?"

Emmanellain looked as though he would say something and then thought better of it. Instead he gave a shrug and shook his head. "How long would you have me stay here then? I already made plans with a comrade to meet in three days. I'd rather not cancel those plans unless it's absolutely necessary."

Edmont straightened, curiosity growing at his son's uncharacteristic reluctance to share any details about his personal affairs. Emmanellain was the type to tell his affairs--real and imagined--to anyone that would listen. Yet now he was not even revealing who this comrade was or what business they had. Those rumors that he was meeting a woman may just have some merit. But then why would he keep it from them?

Of course, he soon reasoned that Emmanellain's reason for discretion may have something to do with the Lady Laniaitte. After all, for nearly a decade he had been proudly and loudly declaring they would marry and that he would accept no other. If he had indeed found another... Even Emmanellain would feel embarrassed, surely. He also had that habit of outright avoiding Edmont when he was doing something shameful. Or that Emmanellain believed Edmont would consider shameful.

Given the locale, it was likely that he was worried Edmont would not approve of him dating a pirate lass far beneath their caste. But he cared not for such things. All he wanted was for his son to be happy and healthy.

"Surely you can afford to take your meal breaks here rather than Camp Dragonhead... and attend church with us before you leave Coerthas again." Edmont proposed.

"Very well, father." Emmanellain bowed and then turned to Artoirel. "Have you any requests before I depart?"

"You should tell me about your time in Garlemald. I've heard more from Stephanivien than my own brother." Artoirel's face twitched. "I know we weren't close in the past and I had hoped we could change that. Though our duties have kept us much too busy, I would like to try."

Emmanellain stood with brows raised but nodded. "I, I think I'd rather like that."

"Good, then tea tomorrow. Camp Dragonhead will manage without you for a bell or two a day." Artoirel offered a small, smile and Emmanellain nodded before awkwardly excusing himself once more.

~

Carvallain was surprised when he heard the familiar voice of the acting captain of the Bloody Executioners from within his Seventh Sage. He pushed off his railing and approached the door but did not yet open it. Eavesdropping through the door.

"I heard you lot got a new shipment o' salves and oils."

"Aye, ye heard right. Lookin' for somethin' specific?" Z'ranmaia responded.

"Somethin' mild that ain't gonna irritate sensitive skin and bits. Even better if it's tastes like it smells. Nothin' too bitter."

There was a knowing titter from one of Carvallain's female workers which prompted him to peek out. If Sicard was bothered by the maiden's attention from his implicating words, he didn't show it. Z'ranmaia had her back to him, checking the stocks for the products she believed would fit his fancy.

"No rose neither." He added, lip curled in distaste. "Can't stand 'em."

"I recall." The herbalist's ear twitched in amusement. "How did your companion like the oil I sold ye last week?"

"I reckon they liked it." Sicard replied with a queer smile. "Though it was a bit thin for what we have in mind this go."

Carvallain sneered at  the Bloody Executioner's insinuations but could not deny that he was curious. The acting captain's preferences were hardly a secret in Limsa Lominsa. Not that it was something rare here in this town of debauchery. Which was one of the many reasons he rather liked his newfound home.

Still, despite Sicard's overt inclinations to fool around with other men, Carvallain had yet to personally discover it. And he frequented a variety of pleasure-seeking establishments with some frequency. He had even seen Rhoswen with her pants down, so to speak. But never Sicard.

The man had scarce been known prior to Hyllfyr's passing of the torch. Then, not long after gaining infamy, Sicard had been shipped off to Garlemald and even tasked with assisting the Scions to save their star. It was a lot to take in even hearing about it. So he supposed living it had been even more arduous.

Yet it had never occurred to him that a monogamous lifestyle had been what kept the ruffian from the whorehouses.

"Here's a nice ointment made o' Sagolii Sage. Sure to soften any stiffness and soothe any aches and sores." A jar was placed before the pirate, and then a variety of bottles. "These 'ere are some of me best oils. Though I reckon ye have yer ample supply o' the olive oil. These 'ave the scents and flavours ye was seekin'. I'm partial to the coconut blend. Good fer the skin and creamy."

"Perfect," Sicard snorted with a smile Carvallain didn't think a Bloody Executioner capable of, "I'll take that one and... Is that coerthan tea?" He picked up one of the larger bottles and sniffed. "Aye, it is. How much?"

"2,500 gil." Sicard gave a low whistle at her answer and shook his head.

"Too rich for my blood." He grabbed a smaller bottle. "I'll jus' take the sage ointment, the coconut, an' this apple one."

"I'd say the price ain't so bad seein' as it's an Ishgardian import." Z'ranmaia tried to sway the man.

"All the more reason not to then." Sicard dug out a strangely familiar coin purse. "I can jus' get some myself for half the price. The Krakens ain't the only ones dealin' with the high houses." Those golden eyes flashed in said pirate crew's direction with a smug look. But for once, he did not engage in further banter.

"Would ye like a box?" Z'ranmaia asked coyly.

Sicard shook his head and denied the offer, brazenly pocking the ointment and oils. He gave the herbalist a wave and shot one last sneer up at Carvallain, causing the older pirate captain to roll his eyes. Though he could swear there was a literal skip in Sicard's step as he left for the Bismark.

"He seems o'er the moon, cap'n." Z'ranmaia had the look of a gaelicat which caught the chocobo chick. "E'er since that boy got back from savin' the world, 'e's been a right regular here."

"He has?" Carvallain made his way down from his balcony to speak more directly with his worker. "For what?"

"Exotic spices an' oils, what else?" She replied with a laugh. "But more the beauty sort for a young lady rather than the kind 'e was after today. I was beginnin' to think 'e wasn't as bent as 'e claims."

Carvallain's gaze wandered to the door his rival had gone through, the curiosity begging to be sated. Just who was this companion of his? Surely not a member of Ishgard's high houses. The only noble he knew to be accompanying Sicard was the youngest Fortemps son. But from what he recalled and looked into of Emmanellain, he was explicitly into women. Particularly the only daughter of House Haillenarte.

Perhaps the Haillenarte's son had caught Sicard's eye. Carvallain had heard smiths that went to Garlemald had worked alongside Stephanivien and his machinists. The former Durendaire heir knew without a shadow of the doubt that Stephanivien's tasts mirrored Sicard's far more than his own. After all, when they were attending the academy--and Carvallain and some Dzemael boys were bullying him--he had denied any interest in the Brume-born maid that served his house. Instead, he declared he would sooner marry Tedalgrinche before he would consider marrying a woman.

Looking back on it, Carvallain recalled Stephanivien was quite close and more affectionate than proper with the Fortemps' oldest. Though that man was a wet sack of primness and propriety. The honor boy in the Scholasticate compared to the rest of the high house heirs. Perhaps the flamboyant Hailenarte had moved on from his little crush for Sicard.

Though the differences were like night and day. Artoirel was a far more handsome and sure to be a far better lover than that scourge.

"Mordyn, inform Gerald I'll be stepping out. He'll be in charge of the shop in the meanwhile. If anyone asks after me, inform them that I am taking a personal day."

"Aye aye, cap'n."

~

Rhoswen sneered at the boy standing in her tavern. It was not the first time he had been so bold, but she was tempted to make it his last. The only reason she had tolerated it was as a favor to his mum and because he had no interest in harrassing her crew. But today he had come with a request for another bleeding favor.

"I'm sorry, cap'n, I must've 'ad cotton in me ears. What was that ye asked?" Sicard looked annoyed by the question but kept a faux respectful facade.

"I was askin', captain, if you'd let me hire the services o' your best chef. Just one meal." He repeated himself through clenced teeth.

"Har har." Rhoswen cackled and slapped her knee. "Ye got the coin fer her services?"

"I might," Sicard was unfazed by the Sanguine Siren captain's reaction, "I might also have somethin' more to give."

"Aye? And what would that be, whelp?"

"... Information on Captain Carvallain." He replied cockily.

"And just what good would that be to me?" She huffed, infuriated and curious all at once.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "you tell me. I've even met our fellow captain's dear old dad. Man's old money and it's clear to see where Carvallain got his good looks."

Rhoswen's legs left the table as she shifted to face Sicard properly. "One meal?"

"Aye, Ishgardian influenced." Sicard added. "I'll even try and set up a meetin' with the man if tonight goes accordin' to plan."

"And what plan would that be?" Rhoswen may act a roughened, cruel pirate, but she was still a woman with a keen ear for romance. "Sounds to me like ye got a date, cap'n."

"I might," Sicard twitched, not expecting to have been found out, "but I ain't gonna tell you about it. We got a deal or not?"

Rhoswen wanted to know more alright, but not about this scraggly lad. "Deal."

Carvallain watched from the Aftcastle aethernet as his mark left the Missing Member with their head chef Melkoko in tow. Stumped that Sicard had walked right into the veritable Siren's den and left without a scratch, even more with one of their treasures... He nearly forgot to make himself scarce as they headed towards the Drowned Wench. They said some hushed words and then parted ways with the lalafell headed to the lower decks while Sicard entered the establishment.

Waiting for some time, Carvallain grew impatient when Sicard did not show himself again. So, he entered the Drowned Wench to order himself a drink. Only to curse and duck behind a pillar when he caught sight of four very familiar faces.

"So this is Limsa Lominsa," the raven-haired man with a cane had a voice that carried. Count--no, former Count--Edmont de Fortemps kept a respectable tone, despite his less than high brow surroundings, clearly fascinated as most first time tourists would be. "I'm astounded by your change of heart, Charlemend."

"Times change," came the voice of Carvallain's father, making the captain try and make himself one with the pillar between them. "I am surprised it took you as long as it did to ask me to bring you here. I had thought you were the one most eager to leave Ishgard's frozen city walls and see the world."

"Yes well," Edmont cleared his throat, "my book has kept me busy and I was not sure where to start. But my son has spoken great lengths of this particular settlement."

"Quite," Charlemend huffed, "I had thought Ul'dah was his domain of choice. But he's been here even more than I have. I had thought their pleasure district to be more to his tastes than the... establishments... here."

"Count Charlemend," Carvallain had not heard Artoirel since they were boys, but there was no mistaking that disapproving tone, "my brother, for all his faults, is a respectable man at heart."

"Emmanellain is all empty words when it comes to his conquests." That cheery voice was no doubt Stephanivien's.

"As you say," Charlemend hummed doubtfully, "now then. I've secured lodgings for us in the Mist. Shall we?"

"After we've found out where my son has gone." Edmont turned him down.

"I was not aware this was his destination." Charlemend was a good liar, but Carvallain was familiar enough to recognize one. "At any rate, if he is here, I'm sure he'll be with his business partner."

"No, he said his visit was for a personal matter." Artoirel sounded suspect. "Have you happened to see a woman with him on your prior encounters?"

"A woman..?" Charlemend sounded nervous and his son peered around to see the man facing his three fellow countrymen. "No, never. The women here are hardly his... well... to his tastes."

"You would claim to now his tastes?" Edmont seemed to be teasing his rival.

"Better than you, yes." He rose to the bait. "Though it astounds me how you still haven't picked up on it."

"Are you covering for Lord Emmanellain, Count Charlemend?" Stephanivien voiced in surprise.

"Cover-wha-no. Why would I...?" He heaved a heavy sigh. "It's none of my business who your wayward fop consorts with. If you're so curious, then I suggest you ask him rather than slink about like suspect personages. When you're ready to partake in this vacation you had me arrange, you may come find me at this address in the Mist."

Carvallain ducked back into hiding as his father strode off with his chin held high.

"I never thought I'd say this," Stephanivien cleared his throat, "but I think I'm with Count Charlemend on this one, dear. We're bound to run into Emmanellain eventually. When we do, we may even meet this suitor of his." Carvallain picked up on the cheek behind his polite tone. "If we were to be caught snooping and ruin his plans, then I fear he may take furhter issue with your sudden and rather suspect renewed interest in his personal life."

"Very well, I am more than capable of taking your hint, young lord." Edmont patted his older son's shoulder. "Best listen to your fiance and enjoy this vacation."

Carvallain felt his head spin as the trio went to follow his father out of the Drowning Wench. Had Ishgard truly changed so drastically in the decade or so he had been absent? To think there would come a day when an engagement between men would be so casually discussed...

Chapter Text

Day 14: Precipitate

Pairing: Emmanellain/Sicard

Rating: Explicit

⚠️Explicit Content in this Chapter; possibly some very mild form of dubious consent due to improper communication and heavy circumstances.⚠️

With the world likely to end, Sicard felt as though he had little time left. Hell, even if the world didn't end, the time he had left with the noble was uncertain. After all, they came from two entirely different worlds and, no matter the fooling around, it had only ever been that. Emmanellain valued the notion of saving himself for his future wife, after all. It stung a bit, to think of who that wife may be...

But with the bleakness of their present situation, he felt that he may as well shoot his final shot.

"I don't know about you, but I could certainly do with a strong drink or five." Emmanellain joked, nudging his companion from his thoughts.

They were sitting on the edge of the Astalicia's bowsprit, staring up at the starry night sky. Emmanellain had forgone his heavy armor in favor of a spare set of Sicard's clothes, making it less precarious for him, should he fall into the icy water below. The acting captain thought the Executioner gard rather suited him, but realized he may be a tad biased. After all, the contrasting, open shirt showed off the elezen's pale, smooth pectorals. When he was at just the right angle, he could even glimpse one of his pert rosy nipples.

"My eyes are up here, you know." Emmanellain teased, mesmerizing the pirate with a charming smile. "I seem to recall you had a bottle or two in that cabin of yours. Perhaps we could partake in privacy."

"Aye, best the crew stick to the swill below." Sicard played along.

With the experience he had aboard his ship, Sicard had no trouble hopping to his feet on the slippery, thin wood. He grounded himself and offered the noble a hand. Emmanellain took the calloused hand with his own and rose like a newborn aurochs. Sicard held him steady, moving his hands to his slim hips. Emmanellain glanced over his shoulder with a thoughtful look but then refocused on moving along the bowsprit to the deck.

They walked side by side to the captain's quarters without interruption. Most of the crew was down below in the galley or else having private moments on land. There was no one watching Sicard hold the door to his new cabin open for the lord to enter. Nor anyone to see the playful swat he delivered to the man's ass before following him in.

"Sicard!" Emmanellain gasped with mock indignance. "You dared to strike me?"

"Aye, that I did. What're you gonna do about it, your lordship?" He drawled, hands coming to rest on his own hips, challenging the elezen with a golden stare.

Emmanellain hesitated for only a moment, scanning the pirate's face for some indication that he was allowed to act. When he received a wink he grew emboldened, stepping up to the hyur to grab him by the collar. Sicard's heart pounded as he was dragged and thrown to the bed. Despite the lord's lack of stamina, he held enough strength to manage a man as lean-muscled and scrawny as Sicard.

"I'll teach you a proper lesson on manners." The bed jostled as Emmanellain joined him.

"You? Teach me? About manners?" Sicard snorted and rolled onto his back so he could sit up and jab the man's exposed chest.

Emmanellain rolled his eyes and grabbed the man's wrist before pulling him into a kiss. Sicard groaned, pleasantly surprised at how bold and assertive the virgin had become with him. As much as he loved to be in charge, Sicard appreciated the chance to take a back seat for a change.

He let the elezen deepen the kiss. With how busy they--or at least Sicard--had been rounding up the beastmen, they had not found time to ease their tensions. It made their private reunion all the more passionate.

"Mhm, Sicard." Emmanellain broke the kiss to catch his breath, holding the hyur back by the hair. "You're rather pliant tonight..."

"That a problem?" The hyur closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the grip. "Might be the last night we have. So make it count, ey?

Emmanellain faltered at the reminder, his grip loosening as his smirk turned down. Sicard cursed his tactless words and sighed in disappointment when he was released.

"Our last night..." Emmanellain leaned back against the wall. "And we're so far from home and family." The hyur didn't want to further spoil the mood by mentioning the Astalicia was his home and the crew his family. But sorrowful blue eyes met his and he scooted to press their sides together. "Looking back on how I've wasted my 26 years, if I had known my life would end so soon, I might've lived it differently."

"How so?" Sicard briefly pulled away so he could reach a bottle of rum stashed nearby. "I mean to ask, what would you have done?" He pulled the stopper with his teeth and took a swig before passing it over.

"I don't know," he accepted it numbly, "mayhaps I would have rethought my proposals."

"What proposals?" Sicard tried to keep his tone neutral, watching Emmanellain swallow down the burning liquid as though it were water.

"To Lady Laniaitte, the lady I'm destined to marry. I've proposed so many times but, I don't believe I ever put much thought or feeling into any of them. Perhaps, if I had put in effort... I wouldn't be spending my last night as a virgin."

Sicard took the bottle back when he begun to roll it between his palms. The hyur knocked it back, pretending the face he made was from the burn and not the ache in his chest.

"Of course, if tonight really is the last night for us all," Sicard froze at Emmanellain's contemplative words, "then what's the point of saving myself?"

Sicard opened his mouth, ready to offer himself at once. Then he thought better of their situation. The mood. Though he had hoped for this very moment earlier. Now that it was here, he found himself unsatisfied. Sure, there was truth behind Emmanellain's words.

If this was their last night, then what did it matter how they spent it.

But... If it wasn't?

If the Warrior of Light and the Scions actually pulled through and saved the world...

What would happen if this night became nothing more than a precipitated regret?

"Aye, well then I suppose you best hope they pull through." Sicard gave a rueful smile. "Rather than drown your sorrows with a salty dog like me, think of how you might prepose to that lady." The words left him feeling like he's ripped out his heart and threw it aside. But perhaps that was just melodramatics brought about by the crushing weight of their potential end.

"... Propose." Emmanellain corrected, grabbing the bottle.

Sicard glared, but then softened in confusion as the elezen tossed the bottle to the floor. Instead, he turned to trap Sicard between outstretched arms, blue burning into gold. A swallow sounded from the hyur as he felt his arousal return, albeit with a bit of bile as the roller coaster of tonight's emotions had roiled his stomach.

"Emm," Sicard pulled him into another kiss, screwing closed his eyes to keep them from burning.

"Sicard," Emmanellain broke the rather chaste kiss to study his face, "do you want this as much as I do?"

Sicard met his gaze, conflicted despite how the other's was steady yet pleading. "I do..."

The moment he admitted it, Emmanellain surged down to capture his lips. Sicard threw his arms around the elezen's neck and returned with equal fervor. Cold hands cupped his cheeks before sliding down his stiff neck. Fingers splayed out once they reached his collarbone, exploring the pirate's sunkissed skin.

Then they continued down to the buckle cinching his waist. Sicard really shouldn't have been so surprised at how deftly the preening dandy managed to undo it. It was not long before his shirt was being rucked up and their kiss was broken to accommodate its removal. Emmanellain's eyes raked down his chest, but Sicard felt uneasy that he couldn't tell the effect it had on him. After all, Emmanellain rarely did more during their little romps than to get his dick sucked and let the hyur finish himself off.

He insisted his interest was in women so many times...

"Ye just gonna stare?" He snapped, hoping to distract them both from what was missing.

"There's no tan lines..." Emmanellain murmured curiously, his cold hands returning to cup Sicard's chest. "Adorable." Pale thumbs pressed and teased the dark nubs. "They're getting stiffer. Have they always been like this?"

"You ain't never played with your own 'afore?" Sicard's cheeks heated under the attention.

"Why would I? There's nothing... Well, I suppose that doesn't matter. Curious." Emmanellain leaned in and tentatively licked a stiffened nipple.

Sicard shuddered, more from the situation than the actions. Though he had played with himself enough to know his sensitive bits. This was the very first time Emmanellain had paid as much attention.

"May I?"

"Whatever you like." Sicard wasn't sure what the elezen was asking for, but he did know nothing would change his answer.

Emmanellain beamed at the response and leaned back in, latching his lips around the nub. It was clear he had no experience and was just doing whatever he felt like. But Sicard had no complaints. Instead he leaned into it, bringing his hand up to rest on the back of that messy raven hair. He focused on the wet slid of his tongue alternating at random intervals with varied nips and nibbles.

Clearly the noble was enjoying himself, the hand not playing with the other nipple coming to rest between his long legs. Sicard lifted his knee, pressing the appendage between it and the clear stiffness in those far too tight pants. Sicard figured he may as well help the man out of his own pants and brought his hands down. He gasped in shock at a particularly rough bite, wondering if it was a protest.

Then Emmanellain was suckling and Sicard took that as a signal to continue. He worked on the pants fastenings next, pulling down the zipper. Next, he shimmied the pants down just enough to free the long, swollen cock from its confines. Sicard stifled his amusement at how easy it was to bring Emmanellain to his climax. Yet, if this was to be their last night, Sicard wanted to make it last.

"Oy," he jerked the elezen's length sharply, earning a bite, "knock it off already. If you finish now, I'll be left high and dry like usual."

The elezen glanced up at him and pouted, withdrawing reluctantly. "That's more like it."

"Even if I can't hold it," Emmanellain rutted against his hand, "I know you'll not need much to get it back to full mast."

"Ho, is that a challenge?"

"I'd consider it more of a suggestive invitation." He quipped, shifting to pull the pants and undergarments to his knees. "You seem to rather enjoy the taste of me."

Sicard scowled but didn't deny the claim; Emmanellain was the cleanest, sweetest man he'd ever tasted. Rather than respond with words, Sicard coaxed the noble up to lap at the moistened tip. There was a mewling moan from his action and he was filled with pride. At every subsequent whimper, gasp, or utterance, Sicard rewarded him by taking a bit more into his mouth. Not wanting to leave his hands idle, he started on the fastening of his own pants. Rough, calloused fingers of his free hand came to grip Emmanellain at the base. The man leered down at Sicard, the latter blind to it as he focused on his task with eyes closed in bliss. When the tip reached the back of his throat, a gargled moan left him.

"By the fury, I'll never know how you manage..." Emmanellain spoke in awe, brushing hair from the face pressed against his loins. "You look ravishing, my dear."

Sicard nearly choked in shock at the endearment, his eyes opening wide. "Ah, that's better. You know, I love your eyes."

Sicard swallowed around Emmanellain at the showering praise. He wasn't inexperienced by any means and men tended to utter nonsense when buried in his throat... But such words hit Sicard differently when Emmanellain spoke them.

Sicard realized shortly after leaving Garlemald that his feelings towards Emmanellain went deeper than rivalry or friendship. It had been one hell of a blow to realize it too. Seeing as he'd never felt so strongly for another before.

It was exactly this that made Emmanellain different. His way with words wasn't due to him being a silver tongued charmer. No, it was how his words, at least in moments like this, were spoken genuinely and without expectations for more.

"Oh, Sicard, that's too much." Emmanellain's face turned bright red at the sultry look he gave. "Can I..." The hand that had played with his hair clenched and Sicard shuddered with a nod, letting his jaw relax as he braced himself.

Emmanellain chewed his lip in anticipation and once more had his fingers tangling themselves at the back of his head. Sicard's heart quickened as he was pulled back. He pressed his tongue up, careful not to drag his teeth as the length slowly left his mouth. Only to feel it violate his throat with a snap of Emmanellain's hips. Sicard groaned and worked his hand behind his scrotum to massage himself.

The elezen's grip on his hair kept him from chasing the cock fucking his face. Emmanellain's hesitance and restraint had left as he pursued his own pleasure. Using Sicard as he pleased. It was such a stark contrast from their day-to-day dynamic and the pirate relished the rough treatment. He was the only one that Emmanellain would ever treat so roughly. The only one he felt free to drop the respectable pretense of a proper noble and take what he'd been denied for so long.

Sicard only just managed to work the tip of his finger into himself when he felt the familiar sensation of Emmanellain's impending release.

This was only the second time he'd been used by Emmanellain. The first time, he had been pulled off just as the release happened. Yet Emmanellain showed no sign of letting up. His legs shook as he gasped and pressed deep into Sicard's mouth, choking him as he hadn't prepared. Emmanellain uttered a curse, which incidentally went straight to Sicard's cock, and pulled him back.

Sicard coughed the release into his palm as more still came against his cheek.

"Sicard, I'm-"

"Don-" he coughed and shook his head, "I'm fine." He rasped and took a moment to catch his breath despite his assurance.

Emmanellain back down straddle the pirate. His face was equal measures worry and renewed interest. Sicard ignored the look, swallowing down some of the spend he had collected in his hand.

"Is it really that tasty?"

"... I don't suspect you'd like it, but you're welcome to try." He snorted and began to pull off his bottoms.

Now that Emmanellain had finished, he would need to take care of himself as he usually did.

"I've tried it once or twice." He admitted quietly. "I didn't care for the sweetness."

"S'not always gonna be sweet. But aye, yours is sweeter'n most."

Sicard threw his clothes down, hoping it landed away from the spilled ale. He made himself comfortable while Emmanellain watched. Yet before he got more than a stroke or two of his own aching length, he felt a soft hand on his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Finishin'?"

"But I'm not done yet."

Sicard looked down at the other's limp cock.

"Looks pretty done to me."

"Shall I prove it?" The hand not holding Sicard's wrist gripped the softened flesh, slowly working it back up. "Will you have me?"

"Have you... How?" The noble was being vague and it rankled Sicard. He felt as though he were being tested. Emmanellain wanted something, but was refusing to spell it out loud.

Rather than answer, Emmanellain moved back. Sicard nearly gripped him in a panic, thinking that he had upset his lover. But then Emmanellain was wiping his spend from his cheek and bringing it down to slick between Sicard's cheeks.

"You'll forgive me my inexperience, I hope?" The attempt to tease hid his insecurity.

"I might," Sicard jerked his chin towards the drawers, "if you use the lotion. No tellin' how much time we have."

Emmanellain seemed unhappy at the response but obeyed, withdrawing his long fingers in order to fetch the small bottle. Sicard almost felt bad, but the man had a point. Being a virgin, it was better to make sure Sicard was properly prepared to help things along. In his experience, it never felt great going in dry for either party.

It seemed Emmanellain, while inexperienced, was not ignorant. He was quick to slick himself, handing Sicard the jar to do the same. There was a bit of awkwardness as they prepared, each one trying to sneak peeks but then looking away when their eyes met. They had never gone so far before now. Once they did, there would surely be no going  back. Sicard felt the anxiety return and the fingers he had within himself stilled.

"You sure about this, mate?"

"Of course I am." Emmanellain replied incredulously. "Are you not?" When Sicard failed to answer, he stopped his ministrations. "Sicard, I need an answer. Do you want me or not?"

"O' course I do." He finally muttered. "But do you want me?"

"Of course." Emmanellain replied flippantly. "I don't intend to die a virgin."

Sicard's jaw clenched. "Right then, I suppose that tracks... But what about all that swill about savin' yer bleedin' virtue for that wife o' yers?"

"What wife? Sicard, no one would ever want to marry me. Least of all want to share a marital bed with me." For the first time since Sicard met him, Emmanellain spoke of himself with scorn.

"You don't know that..." Sicard withdrew his fingers. "There are plenty o' fish in the sea, as they say. So what if that lady Lani-whotsit doesn't want you? Her loss."

"I don't want just any fish, Sicard."

"And I ain't sayin' you settle for just any fish." Sicard grit his teeth. "Settle for me, damnit!"

"You..." Sicard didn't dare to look him in the eye, "you really think I could marry you?"

Sicard's heart dropped. Even though he expected it, the hurt was more than he could have expected. He knew he needed to laugh it off. Convince Emmanellain he hadn't been serious. Otherwise... Emmanellain may never feel comfortable around him again.

"Heh," Sicard hadn't realized the sound had come from him, or even that he had more to say, "I suppose not. That'd be a right miserable time for the both of us."

"Sicard... That's..." Emmanellain, for once, seemed to be at a loss for words. "That's true." He gave a painfully forced laugh that made Sicard flinch. "Suppose we both got a bit carried away. Too much to drink and the fate of the world and all that."

Sicard nodded numbly. "I reckon so..."

"I think I'll just finish up in the washroom."

Sicard knew it to be a lie. At least, he hoped it was. The rejection had completely ripped the wind from his sails. If Emmanellain was still good to go another round, then it would mean he truly hadn't cared...

Chapter Text

Day, 15: Petals

Pairing(s): Artoirel/Stephanivien, Edmont/Charlemend (ambiguous)

Rating: General/Teen

"This tea is quite good, Charlemend." Edmont praised the man on the lounge across from him. "You said it was a gift?"

"From my associates at the Seventh Sage." He swilled his cup, already having finished two. "I don't know how they found out about my name day." He rested his cheek on his hand, mulling it over in the comfortable silence.

"It's definitely to your tastes. Sweet and tart."

"You remember my tastes?" Charlemend exhaled in amusement.

"You were very open with them in the past."

"And you don't think my tastes have changed?" Charlemend's brows rose.

"For a time, I had. But then I remembered how adverse to change you could be." Edmont smiled into his cup. "It's refreshing to see you returning to the man I knew in our youth."

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat, "it's refreshing to see you enjoying your life for once. That wife of yours..." He trailed off at the warning look he got and abruptly changed topics. "It's been rather quiet here in Ishgard. You know Aymeric's actually declared the parliament have leave for the rest of the month?"

"Has he now?" Edmont eased back into the casual conversation. "That explains why I've been seeing my son more lately." He frowned, recalling the dinner his family had shared a few days ago. "The manor is rather large and empty these days."

"Mm, has Artoirel said anything of his living arrangements following the upcoming wedding?"

"No," he shook his head, "not yet. I haven't had the heart to ask."

"What of Emmanellain? He was practically furniture before... Well, before he assumed responsibility of Camp Dragonhead." Charlemend poured another cup of tea. "Though I have encountered him nearly every trip I've made to Vylbrand."

"You have?" Edmont straightened at this newfound revelation. "What has he been doing out there? I know he's got some business dealings for Mistress Tataru with that Sicard fellow."

"That he has." Charlemend nodded. "I confess, it surprised me when I first heard that Emmanellain had struck up a deal with the Bloody Executioners. Their reputation is even worse than the crew I conduct business with... And they're the ones that took my son from me."

"My condolences." Edmont uttered out of habit, his own heart still ached over the loss of his own. He reached over to rest his hand on the other man's knee.

"Yes, well, it's in the past." Charlemend cleared his throat, "Where was I? Right. Captain Sicard. Considering his crew's reputation, he's far more respectable that I expected. But he's certainly no high class man."

"Emmanellain has said the captain has a good head on his shoulders." The hyur had been one of his youngest's default conversation starters these days. "What's Vylbrand like?"

"Would you like to see for yourself?" Charlemend set his cup and saucer on the little table between them. "I was intending to thank the Krakens personally for their gift. You could accompany me, should you be so inclined. It will be refreshing to have company in that sorry place. Of course, I've heard good things about Eastern La Noscea, perhaps we could go there after I've met my associates."

"I think that sounds wonderful." Edmont thanked the Fury for his luck. Perhaps he could finally meet whatever woman his son had been hiding from him.

~

"You're distracted, my dear." Stephanivien spoke softly into the raven head resting under his chin. "Is it about our wedding? It's still some ways away."

"No," Artoirel shook his head and played with the blond strands that had been freed from his fiance's usual ponytail, "well, perhaps it has some influence."

The machinist waited patiently for his lover to collect his thoughts and voice them. Aymeric's respite for the House of Lords and Commons had been somewhat of an early wedding gift for the count. Since he had been working so dilligently, he had not been afforded any time to give the grand occasion any thought. That and, given how both of the couple were workaholics, they had scarce seen each other since the proposal.

"It's Emmanellain." Artoirel decided after a long, contemplative silence. "I feel like something has changed and I'm not sure why or even how. I just know it makes me uneasy." Stephanivien rubbed his pale shoulder while he pondered another long moment. "I wasn't expecting him to congratulate me, mind you. But... I was expecting... something... anything. But ever since our engagement was announced, he's been avoiding me. I practically had to order him to stay for dinner or share a cup of tea at the manor. When we finally managed to meet for tea, he only spoke about how Camp Dragonhead was faring and the business venture of his with Tataru and the pirate."

"Former pirate, technically." Stephanivien corrected lightly. "I think..."

"Well, whatever he is." Artoirel sighed and sat up to worry within his own head. "Do you think he's upset with me or..." He pressed his lips, unable to voice his fear.

"I don't see why he would be." Stephanivien soothed, reaching up to rub his thumb along his lips. "Your father wasn't upset with you... Me, on the other hand." He laughed in an attempt to cheer the other up. "I thought he would take that shield from the wall and bash me over the head when I asked for your hand." He grinned proudly when his words pulled an amused puff from the other. 

"My father is perceptive. He probably suspected my... condition for some time." Artoirel looked away, his thoughts wandering once more. "But Emmanellain... I doubt he even considered two men could... love like a man and woman. He must have been so shocked and..." He swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat. "Disgusted."

"Nonsense." Stephanivien's gaze hardened at that, his easy expression gone. "I will admit that Emmanellain may be shocked... and that he only recently learned love is broader than doctrine would have most believe... But he would never find it disgusting."

"How can you be so sure?" Artoirel hugged himself but looked hopeful for reassurance.

"Camp Broken Glass had people from all over Hydaelyn. He made fast friends with men that were open about their preferences and held no judgement for their lifestyle. Why should it be any different for you?"

"I'm his brother and the head of the family... yet I'm turning my back on my duty." Stephanivien pulled a face, a protest at the tip of his tongue. "I know that Ishgard is changing to where that's no longer integral... but it was to Emmanellain. His dream has always been to marry... a noble woman... and have children. Yet no woman has taken an interest in him as they ever did in me. To learn I would turn it down for a man must fill him with resentment."

"Artoirel," Stephanivien placed his hands on his shoulders, giving them a grounding squeeze, "I think you've spent too much time dealing with those intolerant, petty lords. Perhaps you could do with a change of scenery. A proper vacation."

"But, the Manufactory..."

"Managed just fine while I was away in Garlemald. It can manage again." He nudged. "Come now, surely there's somewhere you've been dying to visit that you haven't before."

"... You know," Artoirel blinked, "I think you're right. And I've got just the destination in mind..."

~

"Uncle!"

Charlemend, on his way from his manor to the airship landing stopped as he passed the Athenaeum Astrologicum. Jannequinard was just unlocking the doors when he spotted the count and his peculiar bundle.

"What is it, Jannequinard?" Charlemend had nothing against his wayward nephew, save that he shared Emmanellain's reputation for philandering. Not that he believed the latter had ever truly been as successful. "I have an airship to catch."

"Sorry, I just couldn't help noticing. Are those lilies?" He motioned to the meager bouquet, his expression probing. "Don't tell me you've put yourself back in the proverbial sea."

"I have no idea what you mean." He lied, well aware what his nephew was implying. "These are simply a gift for an old friend."

Jannequinard gave him a dubious look but knew better than to test his uncle's patience. 

"Would you like a reading before you go?"

"No. Good day, Jannequinard."

He turned from the Astrologian and continued his course. As he reached the airship landing, he was surprised to find his traveling companion had company. Edmont rested against a ledge, his cane across his lap as his son stood beside him. Artoirel's fiance spotted the count first and called him over.

"Count Charlemend, father here was just telling us you intend to visit Limsa Lominsa as well."

Charlemend was amused by the stern face Edmont pulled at having his future son-in-law refer to him as father. But he knew his friend had no true objections. After all, their houses were closer than any other.

"Yes, my associates at the Seventh Sage sent me some excellent tea for my name day so I've decided to thank them personally." He explained, casually hiding the simple bouquet behind his back. "Edmont expressed some interest in traveling so I invited him long. Are you two planning to celebrate your wedding before it's even begun?"

"Stephanivien thinks I need a change of scenery." Artoirel replied dryly, though everyone present could detect the fondness underneath. "I've not visited Vylbrand before and I've heard it's beautiful this time of year."

"Eastern La Noscea certainly is. Costa Del Sol is an exquisite locale to enjoy the sun and everything you'd expect of an island vacation. They've even hosted matrimony events."

"That sounds fun," Stephanivien looked slyly at his fiance, "Artoirel insists on having the ceremony here at the church. If they'll have us."

"Aymeric and I will see to it." Edmont declared.

"I shall vouch alongside your father as well, Lord Stephanivien." Charlemend gave a small bow. "Shall we depart together then?"

Together they boarded the next ship bound for Limsa Lominsa. After Stephanivien has dragged his stiff fiance to tour the ship, Charlemend finally presented Edmont with the bouquet. He has flustered in surprise at first, likely thinking he was being teased. But Edmont loved lilies and accepted them. The soft purple petals tickled his nose as he smelled them and gave thanks.

"Not at all," Charlemend replied, his demeanor indifferent. "I noticed the ones in your manor were looking rather lonely and limp."

"Leave it to you to nitpick such a thing."

Chapter Text

Day 16: Quicksand

Pairing/Characters: Emmanellain/Laniaitte (ambiguous/one sided), Chlodebaimt & Laniaitte & Emmanellain

Rating: General

⚠️Mild Homophobia/Conservatism⚠️

The ball Laniaitte had been forced to attend with Emmanellain in Ul'dah had been exhausting. Especially given the restraining and over-warm bustle she had been forced to wear in this desert city. Emmanellain had dragged her through several dances, saying it would help to show off their attire. Thankfully, as his manservant had promised, Emmanellain was a surprisingly serious and skilled dancer.

He had not been wrong about the attention it would bring either. A number of women came to ask after her seamstress. Thankfully, Emmanellain had the answer where she had none.

It had been far too long since she had spent as much time with Emmanellain. Sure, he had been aggravating at the beginning. But once Honoroit had left to secure lodgings, the lord had changed. There had been no boasting or loud declarations about his feelings for her. Instead, he had left her almost at once in favor of some wine and hors d'oeuvres.

It was jarring how quickly his act fell away when no one was around to bare witness. Laniaitte was even beginning to feel nostalgic for their youthful days together... When there was less pressure to conform to the society they had been born into. Unable to escape its deadly hold.

~

"Come now, Emmanellain, don't be shy." The countess lightly chastised the boy peering around his mother's skirts at the two redheaded children beside their own mother. "Were you not just asking the other day for a playmate?"

Emmanellain gripped the fabric of her skirt tighter, "I wanted to play with Haurch-"

"He's much too old to play games with a noble boy your age." His mother cut him off sharply, making him duck behind her again. "Chlodebaimt here will make good, proper, company."

She nudged him from his hiding place, her hands pressing into his shoulders. Taking the hint, he bowed his head.

"I'm Emmanellain," he mumbled, "Emmanellain de Fortemps."

"Chlodebaimt de Haillenarte." The larger child returned the gesture with more enthusiasm.

"Laniaitte de Haillenarte." The other did a short bow. "Did you bring your sword?"

"A sword?" Blue eyes widened in alarm. "Isn't that dangerous?" He looked over his shoulder to his mother, but she was already leaving the children with her fellow countess.

"Not a real one, you ninny." Chlodebaimt snorted. "The toy ones."

"I," he stepped back, looking after his mother, "my mother said I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed a sword?" Laniaitte frowned. "Then is she training you to use a bow or lance?"

"I wanna use a lance, just like the Azure Dragoon!" Chlodebaimt exclaimed.

"Mother said I won't need to fight. I'm going to be a member of the clergy." Emmanellain explained, feeling awkward when the siblings exhanged baffled looks.

"But you're a son of House Fortemps. I thought for sure your father would train you to be a knight."

"Mother said my brother is already willing to die Ishgard so I don't need to."

The other children frowned and Laniaitte huffed, "It would be an honor to give my life for Ishgard. You're just a coward."

"Don't be mean, Lani." Chlodebaimt nudged. "We can't all be knights. Clergymen also defend Ishgard against heresy."

"I suppose." Laniaitte huffed. "At least being a clergyman is better than being a layabout or a lady."

"What's wrong with being a lady?" Emmanellain asked, somewhat indignant. "I'll have you know my mother's a lady!"

"I never said she wasn't." Laniaitte shot back. "Being a lady is boring! You have to learn to sew stupid poofy dresses and then you're expected to wear them."

"Dresses aren't stupid." Emmanellain pouted. "They're pretty."

"Pretty uncomfortable."

"How would you know? Only girls are allowed to wear them." Emmanellain declared smugly.

"Because I am a girl, you fool." Laniaitte's scornful look turned amused at the Fortemps boy's reaction.

"A girl!?" He looked back to his mother. "Why are you dressed... so plainly?"

"It's easier to play Knights and Knaves in this." Laniaitte spoke with a roll of her eyes. "Could you imagine swinging a sword in one of those stupid things?"

"... No..." He admitted with a pout, "I guess not."

"I have a spare sword," Chlodebaimt stepped between his sister and Emmanellain, "you can have it. I'm sure your mother won't mind since we're just playing around."

"Do I have to?" Emmanellain looked dejectedly at the proferred sword.

"I'll go easy on you." Laniaitte boasted.

"Don't worry, Emmanellain," Chlodebaimt winked, "I'll protect you."

"Ha, you can try!"

With that cry, Laniaitte lunged, beginning their little game...

~~

Laniaitte watched from the window as her twin hacked away at the training dummy. The needlework in her lap lay tangled and abandoned. Her mother had ordered her to complete a rose before she would be allowed to join her brother and Emmanellain in the yard. The latter of which had been sitting on the bench behind her brother, no doubt doing Chlodebaimt's school work for him. She huffed and chanced a glance across the room to where her mother was working on her own project.

"Mother, may I please go to the yard?" She begged. "It's too stifling in here. I need air."

"Really?" The countess rose a brow, not buying her daughter's excuses for even a moment.

"I can just sit with Emmanellain and finish this while Chlodebaimt practices." She bit her lip, giving her mother round, pleading eyes. "Please mother?"

"... If you don't finish your needlework out there, I expect you to attend House Dzemael's upcoming party. In a dress of my choosing."

"Yes! Thank you!" She hopped up and started for the door, only for her mother to clear her throat.

"Aren't you forgetting something, dear?"

"... Right, of course. Sorry. Just... excited to see Emmanellain." She feigned a fluster as she returned to retrieve her canvas and needle. "Thank you again, mother."

The countess sighed in exasperation and returned to her task with a fond smile. Laniaitte nearly leapt over the low hedge to reach her brother and Emmanellain, startling the latter when she smacked into him from behind with a hug. He spluttered indignantly as ink spilled on whatever he had been working on.

"Laniaitte! Now I'll have to rewrite this." He whined and Chlodebaimt laughed, turning to them with his wooden sparring sword sticking in the ground.

"It wasn't mine, was it?"

"No, I finished yours already." Emmanellain nudged Laniaitte off. "I thought you weren't allowed to leave the manor until you finished your lesson, Laniaitte."

"Mother said I could finish it out here." She plopped down onto the bench beside him as he pulled a fresh parchment from his schoolbag. "... I was hoping you'd help me with it so we can play."

"Hah, if mother finds out you made Emmanellain do your needlework she'll be sure to ground you for a week." Chlodebaimt left his sword behind and approached the bench. "Scoot over, Emmie."

The older boy's cheeks colored at the nickname but he obliged the order, scooting until he was pressed against Laniaitte so her twin could sit on his other side.

"If you even think of saying anything, I'll tell mother you've been having him do your schoolwork for you." Laniaitte waved the needle across Emmanellain at her brother.

"Worry not, dear sister, I have no intentions to rat you out. But have you not considered she may be suspicious?"

"Of what?" She frowned, worried she had overlooked something given his confident look.

"Is... Is this meant to be a rose?" Emmanellain squinted down at the loop she had on her lap. "Ouch! Laniaitte, that hurt." He whined as she yanked his hair.

"It was meant to."

"Ha ha," Chlodebaimt laughed, shaking his head as he teased, "I thought boys were the ones that pulled the hair of girls they fancied."

"Fancied?!" Both Laniaitte and Emmanellain squawked. "Him?""Her?"

"Relax, I'm only teasing." Chlodebaimt smirked. "We both know I'm Emmanellain's favorite."

"Ha, you wish." Laniaitte shot back before turning to their harried victim. "Right Emmanellain? You like me more, don't you?"

"I..." He stuttered as both siblings loomed over him, "I-I don't dare to pick a favorite..."

"Truly?" They spoke at once.

"Truly..." Emmanellain nodded, abandoning his homework for the tangled needlework. "Now one of you must leave if I'm to finish this mess."

"I just sat down." Chlodebaimt huffed, leaning his head on Emmanellain's shoulder.

"If I get up, mother will grow suspicious." Laniaitte shoved him, not caring for how it jostled the one between them. "Go back to swinging your sword."

Chlodebaimt huffed but obliged, removing his weight from their friend and stepping back. Emmanelllain sighed gratefully and moved his elbows before beginning to untangle the threads. Laniaitte crossed her arms behind her head and leaned back to watch her brother while Emmanellain sewed her rose.

Quickly growing bored with the monotonous swings of her brother's sword, Laniaitte turned her attention back down to Emmanellain after some time had passed. She had expected him to be further along than he was, considering how deft he could be with his hands. Then she caught him gazing elsewhere. Curious, she followed his gaze to her brother and rolled her eyes. The shameless boy had taken off his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat collecting on his brow before tossing it aside.

"Show off." She heckled, bitter that she would never be allowed such impropriety.

Knowing precisely how Laniaitte felt about her inability to dress down when she trained, Chlodebaimt smirked in her direction before returning to his routine. Emmanellain laughed lightly and Laniaitte nudged him playfully.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, though the smile stayed, it seemed sad, sobering the girl up. "I just... it's nice, seeing you two so close. I wish you could have been my sister."

"Why wish for something that's already true?" She huffed haughty. "Our houses are close enough we may as well be family."

"I would like that."

~

Laniaitte lunged at the training dummy, so focused on her sword forms that she did not hear someone approaching. She took a step back once she struck, inhaling to center her self, only for her concentration to be broken by the sound of a sniffle. She whirled around to find Emmanellain sitting on the bench behind her. His bright blue eyes puffy from tears and snot dripping from his nose.

Concern and fury filled her as she approached him. He flinched when her practice sword stabbed into the ground next to him. Laniaitte pulled the handkerchief Emmanellain had shoddily embroidered for her several seasons ago and set about wiping off his face. He spluttered but accepted the treatment, a fresh wave of tears flowing. Seeing that it was a lost cause, she shoved the cloth into his hand and wrapped her arms around him, patting his head and back until he finally stopped sobbing.

"... Who do I need to hit?" Laniaitte asked, proud that it pulled a pained laugh from her friend.

"No one, please." Emmanellain shook his head. "Chlodebaimt is mad at me enough as it is."

"Chlodebaimt?" Laniaitte frowned, pulling back so she could study the older boy. "What did he do to make you cry?" She was genuinely confused. After all, these days, Emmanellain probably spent more time with her twin than she.

"I don't know." He hiccuped. "He was just walking me home from the Scholasticate when some boys saw fit to harass us."

"That's hardly your fault?" Laniaitte's confusion grew. "Did he get in trouble for putting them in their place?"

"No, no. Nothing of the sort," Emmanellain shook his head, the messy wisps tickling her chin. "They said something crass and I don't think he much cared for my response."

"Shall I speak to him about it?" Laniaitte offered, frowning when he shook his head. "What would you have me do then? I hate seeing you cry."

"I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Shush, that's not what I mean." She groaned and sat beside him.

Nothing more was spoken between the pair as Emmanellain resumed his sniffling. Laniaitte knew it was best he let it out in the privacy of her family's gardens. If his father caught him being so vulnerable, he was sure to be berated for it. On the other end, his mother would likely go on the warpath and demand Emmanellain tell her what transpired. Of course, since it involved her brother, she knew he would not want to tell her for Chlodebaimt and their family's sake.

"Laniaitte?" The voice of said boy sounded from the garden gate and she felt Emmanellain tense. "Laniaitte, have you seen--oh..."

"What did you say to Emmanellain?" Laniaitte jumped to her feet and crossed her arms as she stared her brother down.

"Wha-What did I say?" Chlodebaimt exclaimed, affronted. "I should be asking what he said!"

Laniaitte glanced over to see Emmanellain was nervously wringing her handkerchief between his hands.

"Emmanellain," her brother addressed their friend directly, "why did you go and tell them that rubbish for?" He flinched and Laniaitte stood defensively before Emmanellain.

"What rubbish?"

"I... I just told them the truth?" Emmanellain sniffled, hurt and confused by the reprimand.

Laniaitte was stunned to see disgust cross her brother's face. But before she could confront him, it was replaced with some remorse.

"Emmanellain, what you said was wrong." He spoke sternly but without anger.

"But I do like you." Emmanellain hiccuped once more.

"Yeah, I like you. But not like what they were insinuating." Chlodebaimt took a step forward and Laniaitte, seeing he intended to comfort their friend, stepped aside to allow it.

"Insinuating?" Emmanellain frowned, confused.

"You know..." Chlodebaimt shrugged awkwardly and looked to his twin. Of course, the look he received read 'this is your fault, so you fix it.' "Emmanellain, they were implying you want to like... kiss and hold hands."

"But I like to hold your hand." Emmanellain protested. "What's wrong with that?"

"We're both boys." He glanced at Laniaitte. "Sister, why don't you go get us some tea? This is a conversation for men."

"What men?" Laniaitte snorted, incredulous but picked up her sword. "You make him cry again and you'll be answering to my sword."

"I would never make Manny cry... again."

Laniaitte's eyes narrowed and she studied their friend. As ever, he was gazing at her brother, looking hopeful. It seemed that there would be no issues as Emmanellain's fear was unfounded. So, heaving a sigh, she left them to it. Of course, Chlodebaimt had not kept his promise... but Emmanellain had not been the only one made to cry...

~

"My lady," Laniaitte looked up from her meal within the Quicksand at the ingratiating tone and sighed wearily.

"What is it, Emmanellain?" She ground out, piercing her food with her fork.

"Well, it's just... You see... There's been something of a mix up..." Emmanellain fidgeted under her glower. "I'm afraid that there were not enough rooms."

Laniaitte swore under her breath, furious at herself for getting caught up in the past that she would let her guard down like this. Of course he had not given up on the delusions. Were Chlodebaimt still alive, she would have strangled him for the mess of Emmanellain he had made for her.

"The airship landing has already closed for the night, Lord Emmanellain." She reminded him tersely. "So where would you have us stay? Surely not in the same room. Even you're not so shameless." He winced at her words but her patience with him had grown shorter over the years.

"I don't know what you're implying of my character... Honoroit will be with us, of course." Emmanellain glanced to his mortified manservant. "I should have better prepared and booked the rooms in advance. But it slipped my mind."

'What bloody mind?' Laniaitte bit her lips to keep the words from escaping. "I'm sure you could find yourself other accomodations in a city such as this. I heard there's a booming pleasure district."

Emmanellain looked appalled at the suggestion until he became aware of his page watching him. "Why, my lady. I would never pay patronage to such establishments. I am a gentleman."

"Not from what I've heard." She retorted.

"Baseless rumors and accusations." Emmanellain flapped his hand. "You know me better than that."

"Do I?" Laniaitte returned with a sharp raise of her brow. "I doubt it." The stung look crossed his features again but she remained cold. "If you won't seek other accommodations then I suppose I'll just have to pay these districts a visit."

"That's highly improper for a lady of your station!"

"You sound like our mothers." Laniaitte rolled her eyes. "I'm an adult, Emmanellain and we are not in Ishgard. I would say that I trust you to be discreet. But you don't even know the meaning of the word, do you?"

"Laniaitte." The drop of her title had her attention and she glimpsed her friend for a moment. Reprimanding her for some silly rule or another as he had in the distant past. "I know you're upset but I'm just trying to help."

"... You're right. My apologies, lord Emmanellain." Laniaitte made sure to keep her walls up. In case this was just a ploy. "Pray allow me to seek my own accomodations. My honor and virtue are no responsibility of yours."

Honoroit cleared his throat. "Perhaps we could give the lady this room and see if Master Wymond has any suggestions?"

"Quite right, my boy." Emmanellain exhaled, relieved. "I can't believe I didn't think of it." He returned his attention to Laniaitte. "Please, enjoy the meal. The room has already been paid in full."

Laniaitte thanked him and waited until the doors to the Quicksand closed behind him before releasing her own exhale.

Some day, she hoped to finally be freed from Emmanellain's undue attention. Then, perhaps they could visit Chlodebaimt... together.

Chapter Text

Day 17: Starstruck

Pairing: The Usuals

Rating: General

"I can't believe you found him!" Artoirel's excitement was subdued, only obvious to the man who stood before him. "And you've arranged a meeting? How did you manage? I read he never announces his venues ahead of time."

"Well, let's just say I know a... Guy..." Stephanivien smirked at his own wit, though Artoirel was too distracted to appreciate it.

"Where will it be? What should I wear?" He began to pace, chewing his nail. "Emmanellain would likely know, of course."

The mention of his brother had been reflexive and he faltered. Stephanivien frowned as Artoirel looked to the photo on his dresser, mournful. Several months ago, his brother had run away from home. The letter he had left remained untouched. Artoirel would hear Emmanellain's reasonings in person or else not at all. Of course, that had been made nigh impossible as he seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. Not even Jannequinard or Honoroit knew where his youngest brother had gone. That or they'd been bribed.

"Still no word?" Stephanivien asked lightly.

"No," Artoirel admitted bitterly, "though someone found his watch in a pawn shop in Ul'dah."

Said watch was heavy on his own wrist and he traced the gaudy bejeweled bezel. It had been a gift from their father when Emmanellain finally brokered his first deal for their company. It had been especially commissioned to fit the fashion-minded man's tastes. The owner of the shop it was recovered from said that the man who sold it was gruff and covered with tattoos.

"Father has given up on the search."

"I'm sorry," Stephanivien stepped up to embrace his dearest friend. "I had not realized..."

"It's fine," Artoirel sighed and relished the warmth, "I did not mean to ruin the mood. You came to invite me to a performance of one of my favorite artists." He stepped back and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "What is the venue's dress code?"

~

Artoirel was... apprehensive... as Stephanivien drove them down a shoddy road. They passed a beggar on the street corner and he fought the urge to lock the windows. The venue for the performance was a ship docked in Aleport. A place that was aptly named, given the stench that greeted them upon opening their door. Artoirel's lip curled distastefully while Stephanivien inhaled deeply.

"Smell that fresh sea breeze!"

"All I smell is stale and unsettled ale." Artoirel covered his nose and mouth with the green scarf around his neck, inhaling the scent of metal and grease.

Stephanivien chuckled and threw an arm around the other man. While Artoirel settled on wearing a simple black coat over a turtleneck for the cold sea breeze, Stephanivien wore a brown leather jacket over his work uniform's undershirt. As they walked, the raven-haired elezen openly stared at the man's exposed collarbone.

"Watch your step, friend."

Artoirel flustered as he was pulled back from tripping over the pasarelle they were meant to cross. He took Stephanivien's hand and allowed himself to be escorted on board by the hand. Only once they were safely aboard did he release the hand and take in the surroundings.

The small sailing yacht was sleek and well maintained but aged. The sails had yet to be drawn, but there were men stomping around and barking orders. Artoirel gave his companion an uncertain look. This hardly seemed to be a proper venue for a musical performance. Some of the men aboard looked like they belonged in prison rather than a party boat. However Stephanivien was brimming with enough confidence to reassure him and so he followed him further aboard, looking for the stage.

"Oi, captain! Where d'ye want the ale?"

Artoirel looked behind to see a roegadyn boarding with a barrel over his shoulder. He followed his gaze to where a young hyur with sea-green hair was pulling at some ropes. There was something familiar about the man, though Artoirel could not place where he would have seen such a man before.

"Down below. Sanson'll tell you where to put it." He stepped back from securing the ropes, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow.

Artoirel stared openly at the number of tattoos covering his skin and his companion nudged him.

"That'll be the one your idol is here for." Stephanivien pointed out. "The Astalicia's captain retired recently and this event is meant to celebrate his promotion."

"He looks familiar." Artoirel frowned.

"Well, I'm not too surprised about that, seeing as he had been working that cruise ship a couple years ago. Though I doubt you gave him much thought." Stephanivien gently hooked his hand into the crook of his elbow. "I can introduce you, if you'd like."

Artoirel was about to say something, when he spotted a familiar image printed over the man's heart and felt uneasy.

"Is that my family's crest?" Unfortunately, the captain pulled his shirt back down right as Stephanivien followed his gaze. "I swear there was a red unicorn..."

"... Curious." There was something off about his friend's tone and blue eyes studied him. "At any rate, the captain looks busy so perhaps we should save the introduction for later."

The crew were pulling the pasarelle back onto the boat and a man hopped onto the boat after untying them from the docks. The sails unfurled and the captain strode over to the wheel. Artoirel allowed himself to be led towards the center of the boat where steps led below the deck. The sound of a familiar song drifting up was quick to distract him from his surroundings and perked his mood considerably.

"I like this one." he turned to Stephanivien eagerly. "It's one that was clearly inspired by Ishgardian hymnals. The church was none too fond of this rendition, but it helped draw some of the youths back into attending events. I bet it would have even brought Emmanellain to attend if it had been released before he..."

"Interesting," Stephanivien led them down the steps, relieved that his companion did not dwell on his brother, listening to the music instead of getting lost in his own head. "I didn't recognize the hymnal aspect when Guydelot first played it for us."

Artoirel stopped and looked wide-eyed at the other.

"Ah, I suppose I may as well come clean since you'll be meeting him soon." Stephanivien smiled cheekily. "I may have downplayed my familiarity with Guydelot Thildonnet a bit."

"Steph!" A brown-haired hyur greeted them from a table with refresments laid out, a clipboard in hand. "You made it just in time."

"Yes, well, the jet lag was more than I expected, Sanson." Stephanivien met the man who wore a tight, dandelion yellow shirt with one of Guydelot's many aliases printed on it. "Has the party already started?"

"No," he shook his head, ponytail swaying, "Guydelot's just practicing with Manny." Artoirel hummed, aware that there was a flute playing alongside the harp his favorite modern musician was known for. "You must be Artoirel. Stephan's not shut up about you since he found out you were a fan of my husband's music."

Artoirel was taken aback by the easy admission and glanced up at his friend whose cheeks had warmed considerably.

"Your husband?" He returned his attention to Sanson. "I don't recall reading anything about Guydelot having a steady partner."

"His music is all the public needs to know." Sanson crossed his arms. "I rather prefer a quiet life. Which is why we don't do concerts. As the CEO of Fortemps Fincancials, I would assume you understand."

"Yes, I have some idea of how the press and public opinion can be..." He admitted with a grimace. Artoirel was surprised that the man knew who he was. Though he said Stephanivien had talked about him at length. Another glance was given to his companion, but he was avoiding his gaze now. "How much has he told you?"

"Not much, other than how your smiles, while rare, are a sight worth dying for." A new, dulcet voice sounded. An elezen with teal tipped brown hair entered the small kitchenette area. He wore a playful look as he studied the other elezen in the room. Stephanivien huffed when the musician winked at him conspiratorily. "Guydelot Thildonnet." He held his hand out to Artoirel and smirked. "But you already know that."

"Artoirel de Fortemps." The businessman replied stiffly, accustomed to more formal greetings than what the elusive musician had expected. "Thank you for allowing me to attend your performance."

"Ah, you shouldn't thank me." Guydelot rested his arm around his husband's shoulders. "The captain and his husband were the ones that gave their blessing for Stephanivien here invite you aboard."

Again, the casual admittance of two men married gave him pause. He had been fighting the church over the right ever since his father retired. Ishgard really was behind compared to the rest of Eorzea. But that had not been the most curious discovery. After all, he had never really met this captain before and Artoirel doubted he knew the man's husband any better. He reasoned that they must be very good friends of Stephanivien's. Something he was glad for but not entirely surprised by.

"I'll have to thank them properly then."

"There will be time for that yet. But first, surely you're hungry after your travels. Help yourself to the food. The party is just through those doors. There's a lovely little piano too. I heard you've composed some pieces."

Again, Artoirel was flumoxed by how much his idol knew of him and he turned curiously to Stephanivien.

"Nothing too complex or as innovative as you. I merely made some pieces for the church and friends of the family."

"I heard the one you made for some charity event. It was very hopeful." Guydelot released his husband so he could pluck some food from the table. "Manny, ah, he's the captain's husband, so you know, proccured one of the church's hymn books which inspired my second album."

"Was that song you were playing just now from that particular album?" Stephanivien asked conversationally.

"It was." He grinned. "I suspect you recognized it?"

"Nope." Stephanivien admitted with a chuckle. "I've only attended church a handful of times so wouldn't recognize a hymnal if it smacked me in the face. Artoirel mentioned it on our way in here."

"The captain is married to an Ishgardian?" Artoirel felt some excitement at the news. It would certainly help his political campaign for equality if he could find more Ishgardians willing to go against the church's laws. "Do you know where he lived and how long they've been married? Since Ishgard's political restructuring there has been much strife in recognizing any same sex unions."

"Yeah, he said as much." Artoirel was surprised by the guarded tone his idol took. "You don't seem to share the conservative concensus though."

"While I lean more conservatively than Stephanivien, I am not so conservative to deny a couple their happiness based on their gender." Artoirel explained. "Among the foremost families in Ishgard, there is much pressure to marry for the sake of continuing the bloodline. But since the reformation, the CEO of Durendaire who lost his son has taken one of his nephews under his wing, my bastard brother is nigh equal to me in our family company, and even Stephanivien's father has publicly declared his support for his orientation. Ishgard is changing and I will see to it that the change is for the betterment of everyone. Not just those at the top."

"How right noble of you." A scornful snort sounded behind them as the hyur captain made his way down. "Where was all this bloody support a year ago?"

"I... I beg your pardon?" Artoirel was taken aback by the stranger's hostility at first. Of course, given that he had married an Ishgardian that likely fled the conservative nation just so they could be together. "I was not in a political position to affect Ishgard's laws until my father's retirement."

"Aye, Stephanivien and Emm said as much." The captain snorted but seemed to ease up, holding out his hand. "Name's Sicard. Sicard Spence."

"Sicard..?" Artoirel's brows furrowed. He had heard that name before...

"Now if you don't mind, we're meant to be partyin'. Not jus' standin' around gabbin'." He shoved past Artoirel and elbowed Guydelot. "I know we ain't payin' you, but shouldn't you be playin' for Hyllfyr?"

"Manny said I could take a break."

"Right, course he did." He eyed the carefree musician. "Where is he anyhow?"

"With Hyllfyr," Guydelot smirked, "discussing something about adoption papers?"

Sicard scoffed to hide his embarrassment. "Course he'd go to Hyllfyr about that. I told him we couldn't afford it. That kid of his is better off with his family."

"Your husband has a child?" Artoirel could not help himself from intruding on the discussion.

"No." He pulled a face. "Least, if he did it wasn't through conventional means." He studied the man. "You got a problem with two men raisin' a kid?"

"No, quite the contrary. There are far too many orphans in Ishgard that need loving homes. Having two fathers or two mothers is better than having no one."

"Huh," Sicard looked thoughtfully at the man, "Stephanivien was right about you after all." Artoirel chanced a look over his shoulder again. Stephanivien still couldn't meet his gaze. "Right then, you passed my test."

"Test?"

"Oy, Emm!" He disappeared into the other room and the musician and his husband followed.

"Stephanivien, why do I get the feeling... that you've been hiding something from me?" Artoirel turned to his friend, not with accusation despite his tone, but genuine curiosity.

"I'm sorry, Artoirel... I only found out a week ago myself..."

"Found out what?"

"Well, well. If it isn't president Artoirel de Fortemps. Come all the way from Ishgard to meet with a bunch of heretics." Artoirel felt his throat sieze at the familiar voice. "... IS THAT MY WATCH?!"

Emmanellain rushed over to clasp his brother's hand, studying the expensive piece. Artoirel could hardly believe his eyes. His younger brother was alive and clearly well, eyes brighter than he had seen him before he ran away from home. His hair was pulled into a bun, his neck bared save for a collar studded with spikes. His shirt was black and sleeveless, complimenting the shirt worn by the captain, though it hardly looked as though he were wearing naught else under it.

"Emmanellain?" Was all he could manage to say, gazing in shock. "You're still alive?"

"Why wouldn't I be!?" The young broker looked offended. "What would make you think I was dead?"

Artoirel did not answer, knowing his brother would likely not take kindly to any one he could have given. Though he did pull his hand back from Emmanellain, covering the watch with his other hand.

"Your watch... the shop owner said a large tattooed man sold it to him."

"Which shop owner?" Emmanellain demaned.

"I... don't recall? A lalafell."

"I told Tymbfalk to take it to Wymond to sell." The young man huffed and shot an aggrieved look to the captain standing with an amused expression behind him. "Never trust a ruddy pirate."

"Retired pirate, thank you very much." Sicard corrected with a drawl.

"Pirate? Emmanellain... what are you doing cavorting with..." He stopped himself, remembering his present company included his idol and Stephanivien. "This man?"

Guydelot stifled a laugh, earning an elbow from Sanson.

"What business is it of yours why I cavort with my husband?"

"Your... your hus--I... I need to sit down."

"I'll just go back to playing. It was nice to meet you at last, Artoirel. Manny and Stephanivien didn't exaggerate their praises." Guydelot tipped an imaginary hat and sashayed back to his stage.

Chapter Text

Day 18: Under the Boughs

Pairing: Guydelot/Sanson

Rating: Teen (implications at the end)

As ever, Sanson was sat behind his desk, his quill scratching on parchment. He had nearly caught up with the end-of-quarter report for his unit, but there was still more for him to do. With Bards gaining popularity following the war against Garlemald, requests were coming in for a demonstration of their skill.

Though first he had to sort them from the far too many letters from Guydelot's admirers. As their popularity grew, so too did his ego. Just when Sanson thought it couldn't possibly get any bigger.

He exhaled a groan and closed his weary eyes to give them some reprieve. Sanson really should have opened the curtain to let in more light while the sun was still up. Working in the dim lantern light had only made his eyes strain. The stuffy air of his office also served to make his head ache. But if he had opened that window, he would not have been able to get any work done.

Guydelot would find out about it being open and find his way to distract his commander. Though as the door slammed open, Sanson recalled that, should his bard desire it, he would find a way to disrupt him at any moment he pleased.

"You're still working!?" Guydelot huffed as he slammed the door behind him, making Sanson flinch. The loud noises were making the pain worse. "Ugh, it feels awful in here."

Sanson rubbed at the bridge of his nose and eyes as the elezen took it upon himself to throw open the window. He let out an appreciative sound as the fresh air flowed through. Then he felt hands pulling at his hair to let it loose. The ache ebbed as long fingers rubbed at his scalp.

"Chief," Guydelot began after Sanson had practically sunk into his chair, "I've been thinking..."

"How dangerous." Came the lazy quip, a soft smile on the hyur's face.

"I've been thinking," he stressed, giving a light tug on the man's hair, "that the recruits are lacking of late."

Sanson frowned and looked up at Guydelot. "Lacking how?"

"Their music," he withdrew his hands, "it's lacking. It's stiff. Like you."

"I thought that concert with your fellow bard was meant to fix that." Sanson buried his face in his hands.

"... It did at first." He gave him a patronizing pat. "But since then, we've been kept cooped up in the nest and you haven't allowed us to spread our wings."

"We were just out in the field yesterday."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it, Sanson." Guydelot chided, crossing his arms. "I want us to embark on a pilgrimage."

"A pilgrimage?" Sanson echoed.

"Yes." Guydelot sat himself on the edge of the desk, ignorant of the papers he sent to the floor. "Through Coerthas, the Dravanian Forelands, and then the Churning Mists." He looked smugly down at the other as though waiting to be praised.

"You... mean to have them make the same journey we did?" Sanson finally looked the carefree bard in the face.

"Precisely. It certainly inspired me, and I should think it had quite the influence on you as well, chief."

"I can't deny that." Sanson admitted. "I will see what I can do to arrange leave. I'm sure I can get Commander Vorsaile to approve it as training." He began to mutter under his breath while his bard looked on, bemused. Until Sanson muttered, "I should be able to finish the reports and arrange our schedule with you out of my hair too."

"Not happening." Guydelot grabbed the shorter man by the chin, making him meet his eyes. "The pilgrimage will be meaningless without our leader."

"I'm sure you'll manage." Sanson felt more than his eyes burning now. "You're just as capable of leading them as I am."

"That's not my point." Guydelot's thumb rubbed at his bottom lip. "We're not the only ones feeling caged."

"... But the reports..."

"Our dear friend already offered to take over those in our absence." Guydelot was pleased at how his ministrations made Sanson practically melt.

"But surely they're too busy saving the world or something of the sort..." Sanson pulled free from the other's hold, avoiding the flirtatious bard's pleased expression.

"They insisted and Vorie already agreed to it. After all, our friend ranks higher than you now."

Sanson gave a bitter look at the reminder. Though he was happy for the Warrior of Light's growth, it did sting how quickly and easily he rose through the ranks. Meanwhile, he had needed to work himself to exhaustion nearly every night just to gain a brief audience with his superiors--with the exception of Vorsaile, of course.

"Now, let's get you to bed. You look like utter shite."

Sanson punched the bard's arm and flustered when that infuriating, melodious laughter filled his office.

~

Upon arriving in Coerthas, the recruits watched incredulously as their captain greeted a woman who had taken some interest in their senior. So many times had they seen Sanson intervene or seethe, but never had he known them.

"Abby, it's good to see you again." Sanson studied her a moment, but Guydelot was quicker.

"Is the little one at home with Alamenain?"

"Yes," the woman tittered behind her hand, "I have found my legs restless. When we heard you two had returned to Coerthas, I volunteered to go and fetch you in his stead."

"Aye, I'm personally surprised the chief here even remembers how to walk for all the time he's spent behind his desk." Guydelot teased.

"Unlike you, I have a training regimen that I adhere to religiously." Sanson uttered drily. "You should try it," he elbowed his side lightly, "you're starting to get a bit flabby."

"You'd know," he quipped and the recruits bit back a groan.

They had long since picked up that there was something queer between their captain and lieutenant. Though they did not know the specifics nor whether it was mutual or else entirely Guydelot's. But they knew better than to broach the subject with either of them. Sanson would surely have them run laps while Guydelot was likely to run his mouth and speak inappropriate details concerning their relationship--real or fabricated.

"I see you've brought company." Abby looked to the trio behind them. "We'll save the proper introductions once we've joined my husband." Turning back to Guydelot, she smiled. "We insist you join us for dinner before you leave Coerthas."

"We'd be happy to." Guydelot spoke over Sanson. "We've a long travel from Falcon's Nest to Tailfeather ahead of us."

"That is quite the journey. Especially on foot. We have two spare rooms you're welcome to rest in."

"That won't be necessary, Abby." Sanson smiled politely. "We have our lodgings here secured already. But thank you for the generous offer."

"Just as well," she smiled, "seeing as there's a high chance our Ceaulie will keep you up with her crying."

The recruits had been introduced properly by Sanson once they arrived at the couple's house and met Alamenain. While Abby set about cooking their meal, the knight introduced their daughter to the bards and lancers.

"Look Ceaulie, meet your uncles." Alamenain held her out towards Sanson and Guydelot.

While Guydelot smiled and admired the child from afar, Sanson startled him and their recruits by holding his arms out. The baby was transferred to his arms which pulled her to his chest. Their newest lancer felt his heart ache for how sweet and soft his role model's face became.

"Hello, Ceaulie," he spoke gently, "nice to finally meet you."

"Would that I had taken up the brush rather than the harp..." Guydelot uttered, wonderstruck by the sight.

"She likes you. You must be familiar with kids."

"I frequent the Acorn Orchard in my free time." Seeing the confusion on the Ishgardian's face, he sheepishly explained. "It's a playground of sorts, behind Gridania's renowned Oak Atrium. I spent a lot of my childhood there."

Guydelot frowned at the implication and saw the same conclusion had been drawn by his fellow bards. Though Sanson's lancer protegee seemed unmoved. Sanson never discussed his personal life with Guydelot. Their interactions outside of work usually resulted in Guydelot talking for hours about his own life or else was filled with Sanson nagging him to be more productive. The remainder of their time spent together had their mouths much too busy for conversing.

"You'd make a great father then," Alamenain smiled as his daughter was returned to him.

"I haven't the time for a child." Sanson cleared his throat and felt his unit's eyes boring into him. "Nor for women."

"That's a shame," Abby arrived, drying her hands on her apron, "I don't doubt theres a string of women interested."

"Hardly," Guydelot snorted, feeling agitated by where this conversation was headed, "he's much too stiff and obtuse in matters of romance."

Sanson rolled his eyes but did not bother to dispute the claim. Instead he offered to help Abby serve dinner.

~

By the time they reached Tailfeather, the two bard recruits were utterly spent, similarly to how Guydelot had been when he first made the journey. Now he had a bit more stamina than before, thanks to Sanson and his special training regime. Their friends from their first trip were unfortunately not present. Nor did Tailfeather have much for lodgings. Though Guydelot was fine with this. After all, his motivation for this journey had been to get Sanson out of his stuffy office to appreciate the beauty offered under the boughs.

"Marcechamp says we can use one of his camp's that's been abandoned... provided we clear out the bandersnatches that chased his hunters off." Sanson said once he returned to where his unit was sprawled out to recover from all their walking. "He also offered us some meat and onions."

"I thought this was meant to be a pilgrimmage." One of the bards whined.

"It is. But that doesn't mean there won't be opportunities to practice our combat maneuvers." Sanson pointed out with little mercy. "So up you get. We should clear the camp before nightfall."

After the bandersnatches had been dealt with--mainly thanks to Sanson, Guydelot, and the lancer, much to the lieutenant's annoyance--Sanson assigned duties and sleeping arrangements. This would be their first time camping out with just their unit. Guydelot, while the recruits went about fetching firewood and setting up the campfire, was already feeling inspired by their surroundings. He sat on a stump, strumming his harp and humming a tune when he thought to change the song's composition.

Sanson cleaned up the tent they would be sharing and set up the meat and onions to be roasted over the fire. When the bard assigned to fetch water was gone for longer than Sanson felt was needed, he ordered his lancer lackey and the remaining bard to go and retrieve him. They were somewhat reluctant as the sun was going down, but under Sanson's stern look they relented and trudged off towards the river. The moment they were gone, the music stopped.

"How's your head been feeling, chief?" Guydelot rose from his stump and stretched.

"I haven't had an issue since we set out." Sanson replied, beginning to dress down for the night. Even if the recruits encountered trouble, he trusted them to handle it so long as they were together. "You could tell?"

"Of course," Guydelot snorted and ducked into their tent, "even if it wasn't expected working the amount you do, your face and mood is bloody awful when you've got a headache and haven't been getting enought sleep. Speaking of which, I think you should retire early."

"And have the recruits think me a hypocrite? No, I shall assist with settling our camp before getting any rest."

"You'll be needing it." Guydelot stepped Sanson's space, wrapping his arms around his neck. "I've been rather pent up since you've been been working yourself to death every night."

Sanson flushed bright red, opening and closing his mouth several times before settling on a reprimand. "You're incorrigible. Our recruits are with us."

"Then I guess we'll just have to be quiet." He pressed their foreheads together and gave him a sultry, pleading look.

"Why did you not simply see to your needs before we left?" Sanson swallowed under the heavy gaze. "Surely one of your admirer's would have been more than happy to assist."

"Aye, that they are. But I don't want them, Sanson." Guydelot's hands drifted from his shoulders down to his hips. Ever since we returned from the Churning Mists, you're the only constant in my fantasies." He gave a cocky grin. "Having read that diary of yours, I know I've been in yours since Coerthas."

"Nonsense." Sanson lied but closed his eyes, leaning up to press their lips together. When he pulled back to admire Guydelot's pleased expression, he sighed and shook his head. "Things have certainly changed since the last time we were here."

"I'll say," Guydelot smirked and leaned down, only for Sanson to press his face away.

"They're coming back." Sanson warned and the bard groaned but released him with great reluctance. Though the quick peck to his cheek had him cheering up as Sanson whispered, "I'll make sure we have an adequate gag for that big mouth of yours."

Chapter Text

Day 19: Keystone

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain

Rating: Mature (mainly for the dialogue at the end)

With the banning of piracy, great change had been forced upon the pirates of Limsa Lominsa. The very nation which had been built on the practice, a keystone of its laws and culture. Without it, Sicard struggled to see what the future of his crew would entail.

Even after getting a figurative keelhauling from his captain and the admiral.

After all, piracy really was all he felt he knew. Without it, he was just some urchin from some unknown port. Sicard had struggled to make an honest living from the age he could pick his first pocket. With time he got wise. Found ways to toe the ever shifting line in the sand made by the laws. That way he could avoid too much trouble for the man that took him in and gave him a home and family both.

Captain Hyllfyr trusted him to pave the path for the Bloody Executioner's new future... But Sicard scarce had time to really consider it before he found himself on an airship to Ala Mhigo.

Upon arriving, Sicard hid his insecurity, being so far from the sea, under a cocky mask. The smiths were placed under his charge along with various members of the Maelstrom and Marauder's guild. Made to be the spokesperson of Limsa Lominsa, given he was the acting caption of one of her most powerful crew. Needless to say, leading pirates was something he could do.

They were tough enough that he neednt't worry about hurting their sensibilities if they needed telling off. An Executioner had easy enough motivation. Money, status, power, freedom. All these things were motivations Sicard could understand and even shared, to a degree. Money especially.

Though he had no gift for math or business, he could count coins. Knew when he needed more and what the worth of any services may be. He could talk circles around the muscle headed roegadyns and drunken miquo'te under his command.

But ever since Sicard met that man, things had changed. It was so gradual he hadn't even noticed until recently. Upon reflecting, it had to have been the way he introduced himself before the allied nations of Eorzea that piqued Sicard's interest. What man would humiliate himself so thoroughly and for what purpose?

When an opportunity presented itself to find out, he took it. The answer had surprised him.

"Humility? I know not the meaning of the word. Or so I've been told."

It had taken him aback to hear the pompous fool boast in such a way. He had laughed and, upon seeing how the man reacted to being laughed at, doubled down with a howl. Sicard had clearly offended the man but he was too proud to say as much. Instead he flung an insult and left.

Only to return to Sicard's side during the trek through ice and snow. He learned a lot about the man during their time in Garlemald. That he was a fool, but not stupid. For all his gregarious posturing, his heart was soft and kind. Far too easy to break.

The first time Sicard made the man cry, he felt awkward. Unsure what he'd said to illicit such a reaction. So he had thought to leave him to it and revisit him once he'd finished. Only for the man to avoid him.

Sicard had never been bothered by others giving him a wide berth. He had a reputation to uphold as the (acting) leader of the Bloody Executioners. But this man's avoidance was a different matter. The nights were cold and lonely in Camp Broken Glass. There was no one else to warm his bed was his initial excuse for why he sought to make amends.

Wary of making him cry, Sicard spent time thinking what he could say. Telling him to suck it up, as he usually did when his crew whinged, would only make things worse. Sicard had to be tactful and talk to the man in a way he would understand. He had listened to the way the man spoke to others and incorporated some of it in his... Apology.

By some miracle, it worked. Though it was likely due to how forgiving the man could be. Sicard doubted him capable of holding a grudge and found he rather liked that about him.

The more time they spent together, the more Sicard began to read the cues. To know when his words would take things too far.

Having to leave Sharlayan had been a struggle as, for the first time, Sicard craved companionship with someone outside his crew. The man said he had a military fort to run and turned down the invitation to sail home with him rather than that bloody sky pirate.

Sicard doubted anyone else was aware of the man's ambitions. Or at least acknowledged he had any. Too quick to dismiss him due to his foolhardy declarations.

When they chanced upon each other at the Moraby Drydocks and were whisked away to an island paradise, they finally, truly connected. Though the man blamed the alcohol, Sicard knew him better by this point. His lifestyle had no room for a pirate--reformed or not. He was to marry a proper lady and carry on his family line. The man's future had been decided for him...

But that night he spoke to Sicard about he meant to take back the reins and make his own future.

That Sicard could be part of it...

Sicard leaned over the man snoring in his bed, long gangly limbs hanging over his bare lap and off the edge for how it wasn't meant to fit an elezen man. Leaning over without much thought, he placed his lips to the man's cheek. He snorted softly when the noble whined and those arms wrapped tightly around his middle. The long nose burying itself in his hip. Once the man settled, he bit the tip of his ear, earning himself an elbow and a shove.

"Rise 'n shine, your lordship." Sicard ruffled the hair which was far more messy than usual after their romp. "I seem to recall someone offerin' to join hands, help me reform piracy, and revolutionize commerce." The noble turned his head to peek one narrowed eye up at him. Color was beginning to paint his skin as the hyur continued. "Can't well do all that with your mouth on me cock, but I ain't none too opposed to continue."

"You're absolutely, incorrigibly vulgar."

"Aye, but that's what you love about me, innit?"

He laughed when the other groaned and rolled himself out of the bed to gather his clothes. But the muttered, "Something like that." Did not escape the Captain's sharp ears.

Sicard felt confident, with this man at his side, the Bloody Executioner's future would be richer (and more pleasurable) than it without Emmanellain de Fortemps.

Chapter Text

Day 20: Effervesce

Pairing(s): Stephanivien/Artoirel, Edmont/Charlemend (past implied), Sicard/Emmanellain

Rating: Teen

Upon stepping off the lift to the Drowning Wench, Edmont was taking in the new sights and smells with mixed feelings. It was exciting, to be sure, but also very different from what he was used to. Cleaner than the Brume or Forgotten Knight in many ways, yet the smell of stale ale and fish was strong. Still, he took it in stride.

"So this is Limsa Lominsa..."

Edmont was amused to find that, despite Charlemend claiming he was going to Mist without them, the man was standing by the entrance waiting for him. The man had always been surprisingly easy to rile up but never rebuked Edmont for it. Quite the contrary, Charlemend seemed to enjoy their banter as much as he did. Though there had been something off about his old friend since Emmanellain had been brought up. Edmont was sure Charlemend knew precisely what woman his son was seeing. He had practically admitted it. That he knew of Emmanellain's tastes better than he, indeed.

Behind them, Artoirel had been coaxed into taking Stephanivien's arm. The latter was practically glowing with pride. After all, ever one for decorum, Artoirel rarely displayed such affection back home. Here, however, no one knew of him or cared enough to scrutinize his every action.

"I shall accompany you to where we'll be staying in the Mist. Afterwards, I have some business with my associates to attend to before we make for Costa Del Sol."

Charlemend led them through the confusing city with confidence. Edmont had no idea how he managed to remember which path wound up where. There were two levels, similar to Ishgard, but unlike Ishgard, many branching paths were dead ends and led up and down between the two main levels. As they walked, Stephanivien paused and then pointed to a building to their left.

"That's Naldiq & Vymelli's. My machinists and I worked closely with their smiths in Camp Broken Glass. I wonder if they would remember me." He mused aloud.

"You're not one so easily forgotten," Artoirel assured him with a reserved, fond smile.

"My dear," Stephanivien cooed, "would that I had thought to bring you out of Ishgard sooner so I could hear more of your honeyed words."

"... Mayhap you two would like to return to the Drowning Wench rather than start your honeymoon here in the streets." Charlemend quipped drily, earning scandalized looks from both Fortemps.

"Green hardly suits you, Count Charlemend." Stephanivien returned with a laugh, patting his fiance's hand to soothe him. "We're going down to the ferry down by the Fisherman's Guild, correct?"

Charlemend cleared his throat and nodded curtly. He resumed leading the way across to the stairs, which would lead them to the Lower Decks. Edmont grew weary halfway down, unused to walking so far and in such muggy heat. He drifted towards the wall and leaned on his cane. Charlemend gave him a moment to rest before bringing him to where some barrels and crates on which he could rest.

"Did ye hear the news?" A man coming down from the upper decks had a voice that carried down the stairs. "The Bloody Executioners are havin' a celebration tonight. 'pparently their cap'n is gettin' a mate."

"Yer shittin' me." Another voice replied. "That ol' dog Grymuwil?"

"Nah, one o' the younger ones." The roegadyn that the voice belonged to stepped out onto the docks. "I reckon he's one o' captain Hyllfyr's favorites. Seein' as he ordered these for the ceremony." He shifted the crate he was carrying. "Crate o' Aleport's finest."

Charlemend hummed and Edmont's attention shifted curiously. The roegadyn and his lalafell companion continued without paying the Ishgardians any mind. Once they were well out of earshot, Edmont rose from the crate he had been resting on and asked their guide.

"Do you know this captain Hyllfyr? The name is familiar to me, but I cannot place it."

"He's the captain of the entire fleet of Bloody Executioners that your house deals in trade with." Charlemend answered, though he seemed distracted by some thought. "I take it you are ready to continue? There will be time to rest once we've boarded the ferry."

"I suppose," Edmont grunted, "Artoirel, Stephanivien?"

The younger men turned from their view of the galleon in the distance and nodded. Charlemend led them to the aethernet in front of Wawalago's Pullers. They continued down the dock to a ferryman. Charlemend spoke briefly and then stepped onto the ship. He offered his hand to Edmont once the former count reached the edge of the dock. After some hesitation, he took it to help steady his boarding. Charlemend smirked and only released the hand once Edmont had sat down. Stephanivien stepped on with less grace and turned to encourage the remaining Fortemps.

He appeared to give a silent prayer before cautiously stepping onto the ferry. There was a look of panic when it swayed underfoot and he quickly gripped his fiance for support. Charlemend said nothing, which Edmont was grateful for. After all, their sons may have taken their swimming lessons together before the Calamity froze Coerthes' waters, but Artoirel had never taken to joining him on the fishing vessels.

A melancholy feeling overcame Edmont as he recalled the last time he had been on a boat himself. While Artoirel was stationed at Camp Dragonhead, Edmont had decided to take his remaining sons out fishing in the Western Highlands. Haurchefant had only just become a man while Emmanenallain was still yet to hit his growth spurt. While Artoirel and Haurchefant both had taken to hunting, his youngest had always preferred fishing.

With his wife's passing, it had been the first time Edmont and Emmanellain had been free to interact with Haurchefant without fearing reprimand from her. Though Emmanellain had done most of the talking, boasting about his skill with his rod and taking it upon himself to show Haurchefant just how it was done.

A puff of amusement left him, clearing a portion of the melancholy. Though Haurchefant was gone, Edmont still had his memories and Emmanellain. No matter how estranged they may be in the moment.

"What is it?" Charlemend uttered quietly. He had been watching Edmont in his reminisce.

"Just recalling the last time I was in the boat we shared before the calamity." He answered. "I had forgotten how Emmanellain enjoyed our fishing trips. Though he could be adverse to handling the bait and fish, he enjoyed the sport."

"Mm, Carvallain hated fishing." Charlemend chuckled and shook his head. "But he loved to sail. Loved the freedom."

It had been years since Edmont had heard Charlemend call his son by name. Sighing, he shifted to sit closer to his old friend and leaned back, watching the horizon. Artoirel and Stephanivien were similarly in their own comfortable world. Though Stephanivien was not one for staying silent for long when he was without work.

"This place is beautiful." Artoirel kept his gaze skyward, rather than on the waves as his fiance spoke. "It almost makes me wonder if we might just skip the stuffy church affairs and hold a ceremony here instead."

"And risk the ire of the church and House of Lords?" Artoirel huffed. "No, we'll have a proper Ishgardian wedding before Halone or else there will be none at all. Lest you forget, that was one of your mother's conditions as well as my own."

"Of course," Stephanivien did not take offense to the response, smiling. "It was simply a thought. Perhaps for the honeymoon then?"

"If this vacation fares well, a return trip may be in order."

~

Charlemend stepped off the ferry in front of the Fisherman's Guild and strode not right to the path which would take him to the Upper Decks and Seventh Sage... but left. He followed the docks until he arrived outside the Astalicia. The crew was bustling with activity, orders were barked loud enough for Charlemend to have heard from the aethernet shard. They had even foregone stringing any poor soul up to punish or otherwise degrade.

A member of the crew spotted the count and eyed him for just a moment before stepping aside to let him into the ship. Once there, Charlemend climbed the steps above deck and searched the faces for one that was familiar. When he saw none, he frowned and approached the man standing beside one ordering the crew to hang this or that.

"Excuse me, ser." Charlemend tapped the old roegadyn's shoulder. "Might I speak with your captain?"

"Aye, that'd be me." The man replied gruffly. "You mus' be the count. Manny's ol' man."

"Er," it took Charlemend a moment to realize who he meant and in what capacity, "I am an... old man, here for Emmanellain, yes. But I am not his father. Clearly." He motioned to himself.

"Aye, ye do look more like the cap'n of the Kraken's Arms than our Manny."

"Yes, well, that's the way of it. I'm not his father but I am here to represent him for the ceremony." Charlemend looked around once more. "Where might I find him?"

"Down below," he answered, then began to cough. Charlemend itched to help, conditioned by his volunteer work within the Firmament. Yet the man shoved off any help and cleared his throat. "The lads'll be up soon 'nough. Why not 'elp set up while ye wait? The bubbly wine needs sortin'. Ye noble folk know yer vintage, I trust? Pick the best for me lad and yers."

Charlemend looked like he meant to protest, but thought better of it. Besides, he still needed to find the words he wished to deliver. Ever since the end of the Dragonsong War, Charlemend has had to think over his words and actions far more than he would like. While Edmont joked that Charlemend was stubborn against change, it had been somewhat true that he had changed. After Edmont married, Charlemend felt he would rather be someone else. So, he did his best to pretend. To play his part in society... Only for that persona to become him.

The loss of his son had only made it worse. Charlemend was not a man who liked to lose. Especially those he loved. Yet he had been too blind to see the loss was his own fault. For Edmont, he had taken what they had for granted and not done what needed to be done. With Carvallain, Charlemend had been much too strict and tried to raise him so he would not suffer as his father had. To be a proper knight who attended church and fancied the fairer sex. Alas, it seemed it was the very thing that pushed his son to leave home for the last time...

"Count Charlemend."

A light tap on his shoulder made him jump, nearly dropping the bottle of effervescent wine he had been holding. Before him stood the Admiral of Limsa Lominsa. He uttered an apology for his distracted state and greeted her with a bow.

"Good evening, Admiral. Is there aught I can help you with?"

"I've brought the papers to sign, if you would care to review them before the ceremony."

"Er, of course." Charlemend answered wearily as he had never found women, especially like the admiral, easy to talk to. "I admit I did my best to research the ceremony beforehand, but found nothing."

"This ceremony is one rather unique to pirates, so that's to be expected." Merlwyb replied in good spirits. "Your young lord has already filled out most of the papers. As a witness to the matelotage, your signature will be needed."

She gave him a moment to look over the papers handed to him. As a member of the House of Lords and count of his house, he was no stranger to paperwork. As far as it went, this was perhaps the simplest sort of contract he had ever seen. Hardly anything official about the document, save for the flourishing handwriting he recognized as Emmanellain's. Spelling out the promise he would make to the acting captain of the largest pirate crew in Limsa Lominsa's fleet. Below the promise was left blank and Charlemend looked for ink and a quill to complete it.

"As the second born, Lord Emmanellain does not stand to inherit or even own much compared to that of his father or brother. But I did the calculations and have a rough estimation. This document can be amended should things change?" He inquired.

"Aye, that it can." Merlwyb confirmed as he wrote the information Emmanellain entrusted to him. "Take the papers to captain Sicard. Hyllfyr and I have some of our own to fill."

Charlemend thanked her and then went back below deck. He had only been aboard the Astalicia twice before, but he remembered which door to go to. It helped that there was a sign reading not to disturb. Charlemend acknowledged the sign by turning it around and knocking at once.

There was a muffled bang and curse from within. While he waited, he could only imagine what he had just interrupted. When the door opened, he was relieved to see it was his countryman who opened. it. Emmanellain's blue eyes widened and he stepped back to allow the count entry.

"Count Charlemend, you made it here early." He shot a nervous glance to the bed where his partner sat with his shirt still on the floor. A smirk crossed the pirates's face as he caught Charlemend admiring the scars and ink on his skin.

"Good," Charlemend turned away from the shameless pirate and addressed Emmanellain, "because before I hand these papers over to you, I would have us talk about your family."

~

Edmont had been disappointed to see Charlemend depart so soon after showing them to the highland-built house. However, the count assured him that he would be back before too long, as he merely meant to give his thanks for the tea and maybe discuss some business affairs. Stephanivien had been the first to open the door, holding it open as though he were a servant for the Fortemps Manor.

While the outside had been humble with hardly more than a training dummy and a sleeping black chocobo, the inside was a mess of astrology charts and instruments. Artwork of krakens from various cultures and artisans decorated the home. A large axe rested against the wall by the door alongside a shield of House Durendaire. Edmont hummed and went to inspect the shield, not expecting Charlemend to have brought it with him for mere business meetings, seeing as he was retired. He picked the shield up, feeling nostalgic as he searched for familiar knicks and dents... Only to frown as he found none. It seemed that Charlemend had not brought his own shield from when he was still an active knight.

"Father, Count Charlemend didn't happen to say anything about our rooms before he left, did he?" Artoirel had opened the door leading deeper into the house. "Because I'd rather not intrude on any pirates."

"The pirates shouldn't have a home here, given that they're native. Only adventurers can live in the Mists." Stephanivien pointed out. "I suspect the house belongs to an honorary member or else belonged to them before they settled down here in Limsa Lominsa formally." He noticed Edmont examining the shield and went to join him. "I guess Count Charlemend must have been feeling homesick whilst staying here and brought something from..." He went quiet as he noticed an etching near the shield's straps. "May I see that, my lord?"

Artoirel stopped exploring when he heard how his fiance's tone had changed. He watched his father do as asked, equally curious as he turned the shield around and wiped at an area of the shield.

"... I thought as much." Stephanivien sighed and set the shield back down. "This was Carvallain's old shield." He saw the curious looks and scratched at his cheek. "I may have defaced his shield as payback when we were younger and let's leave it at that."

"I would have thought the shield was lost with him." Edmont murmured, placing a hand on his chin. "Charlemend never mentioned it was left behind or that he had found it."

"Not surprising," Artoirel spoke up as he removed his coat, "if I were to leave my shield behind before leaving for an adventure, what would you have thought?"

Edmont considered it. He could only think of why he would neglect to bring his own shield with him. Then he suddenly recalled a painful memory from his youth. When he had left home without his shield.

"... That you had no intention of returning."

"To save some face for his son and himself both, Count Charlemend might have simply kept the shield hidden." Stephanivien sat down on the nearby couch. "He had been talking about running away for some time. But I didn't think he actually would... It's still a shame what happened to him in the end."

Edmont closed his eyes, feeling a new wave of pity for his old friend. Not only had he lost his son, but he no doubt felt responsible for it all.

"I can't believe them!" The trio's somber pondering was abruptly interrupted as the front door slammed open. "All of bloody Limsa Lominsa's known for days." An elezen sharing much of Charlemend's appearance stepped in. "For a man synonymous with gossip and rumormongering, he's managed to keep quite the secret!" Having been preoccupied with removing his boots, he had not even noticed that he was not alone in the house.

"Carvallain!?" Stephanivien's exclamation sent said man falling back on his rear in surprise.

"What the--What are you doing in--oh. Right." He glared up at the blond before pulling himself up, his face going from pallid shock to indifference. "Apologies for my outburst. You must be acquaintances of Count Charlemend de Durendaire. I had heard he had arrived but was under the impression he was still aboard the Astalicia. I am Captain of the Kraken's Arms, Carvallain de Gorgagne. I am not surprised you've heard of me, given my reputation."

"... I wasn't aware Ser Gorgagne had adopted you, lord Durendaire." Artoirel drawled, watching with some satisfaction as his childhood playmate grit his teeth.

"You're alive," Edmont gaped at the leader of the Kraken's Arms, "and your father knows?"

"Fury sake, I should hope not. I have done all that I can to ensure he never so much as looks my way." Carvallain scowled and reached for the ace by the door. "And I don't intend for him to find out either."

"Something tells me he already has." Artoirel felt an urge to draw his shield, but it was stowed in his luggage.

"Aye, he's not an idiot. Your alias is terrible for concealing your identity." Stephanivien pointed out before adding. "Though I guess you never really had much creativity..."

"Why don't you come a bit closer and say that again?" Carvallain tightened the grip on his axe, only to huff and replace it by the door, shaking his head. "I suppose I've been found out yet again." He spoke tersely and crossed his arms, blocking the front door. "First Tataru, then Emmanellain... no doubt that devil woman put him on my trail... They make quite the formidable pair..."

"Emmanellain?" Edmont's brows rose. "How long has Emmanellain known about you hiding out here in Limsa Lominsa?"

"Ever since the first Moonfire Faire we both attended." He answered and seemed to relax a fraction. "Glad to see he can keep more than just his own secrets..."

"Secrets?" Edmont exchanged a look with Artoirel. "This secret of his wouldn't happen to involve a woman, by any chance?"

"A woman?" He scoffed and Stephanivien pinched the bridge of his nose as Carvallain continued. "Of course not!" A thoughtful look crossed his face as he took in the two Fortemps men. "Wait... Hold on. You didn't know either, did you?"

"Know what?" Artoirel's expression hardened.

"About the ceremony!" Carvallain noticed too late the signals Stephanivien had been trying to send as the machinist buried his face in his palms. "... How's about a deal? I tell you Emmanellain's secret inamorata, and you don't breathe a word of my whereabouts to my father."

"No-"

"Deal." Artoirel interrupted his father.

"Better yet, why don't I take you to her personally?" Carvallain offered, then shot the machinist a sly look. "Unless you want to do the honors, Stephanivien."

Chapter Text

Day 21: Free/Truncates

Pairing: Sicard/Emmanellain, Leofard & Emmanellain (platonic)

Rating: Mature

On the walk back to his lodgings in Sharlayan, a cold sea breeze made Emmanellain shudder and pull the front of his borrowed shirt closed. What had started as a highly anticipated romp to distract them from the world's possible end had exploded--and not in the way either had hoped.

Emmanellain had fully intended to take Sicard this night, but the man had to ruin it by doubting his interest and throwing his own words back in his face. Emmanellain, for all his reputation as a philanderer back home, had never crossed the line. His mother had always stressed the sanctity of marriage. Insisting that Emmanellain should devote himself to his future wife so as not to make his father's mistakes.

Of course, as his father was never a devoted husband, Emmanellain had no role model to defer to. Except perhaps Count Baurendouin. But seeing as he was Laniaitte's father, it never seemed appropriate to emulate him when courting her. Instead he studied the romance novels popular among the noblewomen. The problem was that there were so many kinds of men portrayed that he truly couldn't decide on which ones were the correct role models.

The tamer stories with a clearly devoted man had hardly interested Emmanellain. He rather preferred the more salacious and scandalous ones. It was only after he met Sicard that Emmanellain realized how he resonated with the protagonist's perspective rather than her love interest. After all, his all time favorite series had been about a women who fell for a member of the Redbills...

"Ain't you freezin', lord dandy?" Speaking of the devil, Leofard was leaning over a rail on a path above. "Who'd be so bold to rob a man of his clothes when the world's about to end?" Emmanellain flustered and crossed his arms tightly to cover his chest. "That's those sea pirates' uniform, ain't it?"

"Shouldn't you be drinking with your crew, Captain Leofard?" Emmanellain called up to him rather than acknowledge his question.

"Ay, I was. But then the lightweights all passed out on me." He considered the lord for a moment before smirking. "But you're welcome to help me finish what they couldn't."

Emmanellain hesitated, gazing up at the sky and then the galleon docked in the distance. He had only taken a few sips of Sicard's rum before... His face burned in arousal and shame in equal measure.

"Course, you're welcome to invite that sea dog along." Leofard had followed his gaze. "Unless you two had your fill of rum for the night?"

"No," Emmanellain shook his head and walked up the path towards the Redbill, "you should know full well how much drink I can handle."

"Not much," Leofard snorted, "but I love seein' how you pretend you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Emmanellain huffed, aggrieved.

"It means you make for entertainin' company when you're into your cups. Our lodgings aren't far. How's about we take my drinks to yours? That way we won't rouse the crew."

Emmanellain sighed but nodded, agreeing to the terms. The older man grinned and slapped him on the back before hurrying off to fetch the drinks. Emmanellain continued at a leisurely pace, trying to look forward to his present company than dwell on the prior.

"Right, got the goods." Leofard returned with a basket of bottles, entering through the door Emmanellain held open. "These quarters ain't too shabby. Though I reckon by your standards they're not much to brag about."

"I haven't really spent much time here to think about it." Emmanellain lit a fire and settled into a chair, finally unfolding his arms. "But they it's not the worst place I've had to sleep in recent months."

Leofard hummed, grabbing the first bottle and popping the cork. He handed it off to Emmanellain and then grabbed one for himself. They saw little need for glasses on a night like tonight.

"How was Garlemald?" Leofard leaned back in his own chair, resting his legs up on the table. He ignored the disapproving look from his drinking companion and knocked back his bottle.

"Cold." He answered with a huff before doing the same.

"Colder than Camp Dragonhead?"

"Incredibly so. Camp Dragonhead at least has plenty of fireplaces and warm bedding."

"And bedwarmers?" He waggled his brow and Emmanellain nearly choked on his drink as he laughed, shaking his head.

"Fury forfend! Maybe when my brother ran the place. No, I had no one to warm my bed in Coerthas." He admitted freely. "Father would have tanned my hide if I pulled such antics and sullied Haurchefant's legacy with such scandal. Nevermind the amount of rumors I heard of him upon taking over."

"I hear you spend a lot of time with ladies on your trips abroad." Leofard remarked.

"Well, yes." He averted his gaze and pulled his legs into his chair. "But hardly for what's been implied. I just find women better company than men."

"Even me?" Leofard feigned hurt.

"Especially you," he teased but then shook his head. "No, rather I find you to be a rare exception."

"'s that so?" The Redbill leaned across the table to study the noble's face. "What's it that makes me so special?" Emmanellain flustered when their eyes met and he quickly chugged from his bottle to break the man's gaze. "Ah, I see you too can appreciate a pretty face, even on a man."

"Pretty fa-?!" Emmanellain coughed and scowled. "Don't flatter yourself. You may have fine features, but you're not my type."

"Whoa there," Leofard soothed, "I ain't implyin' nothin' of the sort. You made your tastes quite clear when first we met."

"It was rather brave of you to preposition a noble such as myself. But foolish." Emmanellain shifted in his chair, relaxing under the hyur's assurance. "What on Eorzea had you been thinking?"

Leofard shrugged and took in the lord's indecent dress. "I was thinkin' you could use a companion for the night. Dandies like you usually only come to that particular alehouse when they're lookin' for a night of debauchery."

"Had I known that..." Emmanellain grumbled.

"You knew it." Leordard insisted with a smirk. "A gossip hungry man such as yourself? You know all the secrets of Ishgardian society. Even the less savory ones."

"... Even so," Emmanellain cleared his throat, "I am a Fortemps. I would never consort with a pirate such as yourself."

"... But that lad with the golden eyes is just fine?" He rose a brow as the noble tensed. "Aye, don't think I didn't notice the way he looks at you... Or the state he leaves you in."

"I don't know what you mean." Emmanellain swallowed as the raven haired hyur set his bottle on the table.

"I mean he's been fuckin' you with his eyes, you daft dandy." Leofard snorted. "Though given the swell of your lips, I reckon it was more than just his eyes." Emmanellain's pallid complexion turned red at the vulgarity. "Am I wrong? I could see the pair of you head below deck and figured it's what you two meant to do."

"What we meant to do is hardly any business of yours." He slammed his own bottle on the table.

"Fair enough," he backed off, "I ain't your lover, after all. Just the man you come to when you wanna whinge about your sorry lack of any love life. But hey, 'scuse me for thinkin' to congratulate you on finally puttin' out."

Emmanellain seethed until his eyes watered. As they did, he recalled the look Sicard had given him before he left. The damn broke and he curled in on himself. Leofard startled and left his seat.

"What the hell are you cryin' for? Don't tell me..." He paled as the unthinkable occurred. His hand went to his hip as his desire to see justice served flared. "That bastard still on his dingy little boat?"

"What?!" Emmanellain's head shot up as he heard the door open and he flew from his seat to intercept the Redbill. "Wait, hold on old boy, I think you've come to some misunderstanding!" He clung to the hyur's waist until Leofard clicked his tongue and shut the door. "If anything, it was the other way around." Looking up at Leofard, Emmanellain sank to his knees. "I... I won't deny we've done a bit of fooling around. But never anything more than that. Sicard respects my wishes even better than my own family."

Leofard stared down at the elezen, curious and concerned all at once. Though they walked different paths in life, their crossing had been a good one. Emmanellain was unlike any noble Leofard met and reminded him a bit of his self. Not that he'd ever admit as much to anyone. He was pompous yet held a kind, judgement free heart which was rare among his kind.

"Then why's he got you on your knees with that look on your face?" He leaned down to pull the man up and coaxed him to sit back on his chair. "What happened?"

Emmanellain fidgeted, unsure whether he should say anything and if he did, just how much he should divulge. It felt... Wrong to disclose the intimacy he shared with Sicard to anyone. Especially a man so similar. There was a sense that he was betraying his friend.

"I... Fear I may have messed up rather badly." He began haltingly. "I... May have asked too much of him... And then turned down his proposal." Leofard's brows shot up in surprise.

"He proposed? Like marriage proposal or..." He trailed off, gobsmacked as Emmanellain nodded. "Bloody hell. I thought he was just after your body."

"As did I!" Emmanellain squawked. "Had I known..."

He stopped himself, unsure what he had been about to say. What would he have done, if he had realized Sicard's feelings sooner? They had only began fooling around in Garlemald as a way to keep warm and distract themselves from their stressful duties.

Emmanellain had been the one to finally initiate anything. Bringing the pirate's hand to his loins while they had been huddled together for warmth one night. Hearing how their Gridanian friends spent their nights in camp had lit a spark of curiosity and desire in him. Sicard had been loud and proud about his conquests, giving Emmanellain the courage to give him a try. The first time he came undone under Sicard's ministrations, he realized he needed more. Every time, Emmanellain grew bolder.

After all, he was so far from home and men were known to be doing the same all around them. Surely he could enjoy himself just as well. All the better as Sicard was a man and therefore unattached. Though he still struggled to overcome the chastity his mother had drilled into him. After all, what if Laniaitte discovered he really had taken pleasure from another? She would never marry him then. He couldn't have that. If he didn't marry Laniaitte, what had he been wasting all his time and effort on for all these years.

For it truly had been taxing on Emmanellain. Having to force himself to feel anything more than respect for his childhood friend. To get her to see how desperately he needed her to say yes so he would not be forced to marry some women he didn't know as his father had before him.

Emmanellain had thought Sicard was humoring him. Using him for his own gratification. Yet tonight... Something had changed. Sicard had been far too thoughtful and considerate. It had frustrated Emmanellain as the last thing he wanted tonight was to think. If he had, he would have returned to die in Ishgard while his family kept to themselves for their final hours.

When the pirate reminded him that this night could be their last, his heart had seized with cold dread. Naturally, Emmanellain had thought of his family. For as much as they felt estranged at times, they hadn't disowned him and surely that meant they still cared. It was such a revelation that made him realize they were not his mother. They did not care who Emmanellain fancied.

He truly had wasted far too much time throwing empty proposal after empty proposal at Laniaitte. It was no wonder she grew to hate him. He couldn't blame her for it either. Emmanellain had been the one to turn a blind eye to who he really was while she knew all along. He cared nothing for marrying Laniaitte... Or any woman, for that matter.

He much preferred the roguish sort of man like in those novels. A man like Sicard... And even Leofard until he learned the man was far too noble for his liking. Much more like his brother, Haurchefant, than a man that would take what he wanted just because he could.

If he had realized this earlier... When he arrived in Garlemald and met Sicard... They would have fucked nearly every night for how Emmanellain desired him. Rather than hesitating for fear he'd ruin the plans his mother had set for him. That he would be cast out of Ishgard for future adultery. For Emmanellain knew, if he were to cross that line he set, marrying Laniaitte would not keep him from crossing it again and again. Just like his father before him.

But with the possible end of the world, he hoped to coax Sicard into crossing the line first. Only for the man to throw that line Emmanellain drew right in his face. For all that he loved that man, his penchant to argue and rile Emmanellain up could be inconveniently timed.

Yet when Sicard screamed that Emmanellain should settle for him... He had been struck utterly speechless and his heart pounded. The possibility of Sicard desiring him beyond carnal pleasure had never occurred to Emmanellain. So he had asked, in a rather terribly worded manner, he must admit, if Sicard really thought they could marry one another. That Sicard would want to.

But then... Sicard had laughed and Emmanellain's heart ached at the words which had followed. Truth be told, he could scarce remember what they had been.

All Emmanellain knew was that he had messed up and Sicard regretted inviting him into his cabin on their last night together...

"What does it matter... With the end of the world looming, there's no time for amends."

"Not with that shite attitude there's not!" Leofard smacked the back of his head. "End of the world or not, if you don't get back aboard that boat and tell him how you feel, you'll be a virgin till you die. Regardless of whether this star's destruction truncates it or not."

~

Sicard stood by his cabin's porthole, nursing the half bottle of rum Emmanellain had discarded. After the elezen had vanished into the washroom, he hadn't returned and Sicard knew he never would. Emmanellain had drawn that line from the beginning and Sicard still dared to try and cross it, using the end of the world as an excuse.

He tipped back the bottle, washing down the bittersweet remnants of Emmanellain until his throat burned and Sicard was forced to cough it back up. He was glad he hadn't bothered to dress. Though the cold was unpleasant, he didn't much care to allow himself any comfort.

So lost in his self loathing, Sicard didn't even hear the soft knocking at his door. Nor the sound of it unlatching.

"Sicard," his body tensed as though struck by lightning at the sound of Emmanellain's voice behind him, "can we talk?"

"... I reckon there's nothing we have to say." He scowled, glaring out the window.

"I reckon there is." Emmanellain denounced firmly before he sighed and returned to a softer tone. "Sicard, please."

Reluctantly, yet driven by the urge to see the man one more time, Sicard turned to face him.

"Oh Sicard," said man clicked his tongue at the pity in the noble's voice.

"I ain't been cryin', if that's what ye think." He lied tersely. "Just went for a dip in the sea."

"Right," Emmanellain huffed, seeming amused by his awfully unbelievable excuse, "that's good then. Seeing as you have nothing to cry about."

"Oh? That so? Says who?" Perhaps drinking the discarded bottle after finishing the rest of his stash of rum, after Emmanellain left him high and dry, had been a mistake. "Bah, just piss off and leave me be. I'm tryin' to enjoy my last night alive."

"As was I, but I can see you've seen fit to deny me that." Emmanellain rolled his eyes and took the bottle from the captain. "At least come sit with me so we can talk... As well as you can in this sorry state."

Sicard held his ground but the spoiled noble rarely let such things stop him before. He clicked his tongue and dragged the man over to his bed.

"Sit." He ordered and looked surprised when the pirate captain obliged. "That's a good man."

"I'm not..." Sicard mumbled. "I ain't good. I'm a ruddy pirate."

"Even better then." Emmanellain used the hem of the shirt he borrowed from Sicard to wipe the rum from his mouth. "I much prefer a ruddy pirate to a nobleman." The other twitched. "Or noblewoman, for that matter."

"Bullshit."

"It is not." Emmanellain sank to his knees and looked up at the brooding hyur. "Shall I prove it?"

"Tch, and just how d'ye plan to--ngh." He was interrupted as the noble nuzzled his groin with his face.

"Sicard, I'm not too keen on taking advantage of a drunkard, but I don't think it was fair of me to leave without fulfilling my promise to see to it you got your release."

Sicard tensed up again and shoved Emmanellain back. The elezen allowed it, looking hurt but understanding.

"... I apologize, Sicard." He sat back on his knees. "For everything." The man's lip quivered and Emmanellain frowned. "Sicard, after the Warrior of Light and Scions save this world... I fully intend to make you mine. If you'll still have me."

Sicard met the other's eyes and swallowed thickly. "And if I don't?"

"Then I fear my world is the one that will be ending." Emmanellain took Sicard's hands between his own. "Can I sleep with you tonight? No fooling around." He pleaded lightly. "I just... Want to be with you as long as I can."

Sicard closed his eyes and nodded. At once his hands were released and he found himself being pushed to lie down. His eyes shot open and he glared at Emmanellain as he stripped off his shirt and pants. Given his inebriated state, he was unable to appreciate the display. Emmanellain nudged him over to make room for himself and then lay beside him.

"We'll talk in the morning." He promised, throwing his arm over Sicard's naked torso. "Now get some rest."

Sicard stared the other down until blue eyes closed and a soft snore left his swollen lips. He felt confused by the sudden return of his lover, but appreciative despite his apprehension. After all, they were going to be together until the end... Just as he had wanted.

Chapter Text

Day 22: Intergalactic

Pairing: Sicard & Emmanellain (pre-relationship)

Rating: Teen

Sicard had been raiding ships for a decade and a half, but this was the first time he had encountered a stranded ship with a deceased crew member so young in appearance. He had already gone through most of the ship before he found his way into the room where its intended inhabitants were. A single cryogenic tube had been installed in the vessel despite there apparently being two members of the crew. Not that Sicard ever saw more than the single bed and cabin.

His mind was quick to jump to conclusions, wondering if this ship had belonged to some form of trafficker. Just the thought made his blood boil and he scowled at the frosted cryopod. He gently picked the boy up from the floor, momentarily surprised at how much heavier he felt than he looked, and moved him to lean against the nearby wall. Once out of the way, Sicard examined the pod's controls. Without power, it was unlikely that he could start the thawing process. Or that the one within would survive it. But it wasn't a zero chance so he pulled out his crowbar and began to pry it open.

After much straining, there was a hiss and whoosh as the door released. Sicard stepped back and glowered at the frozen man within. Sure, the man had the finest features Sicard had seen in some time, but that didn't make him any less suspect. After all, he had left a boy to die and tried to save his own pale, soft skin. Sicard clicked his tongue and removed his glove, stretching out the webbing between his fingers before he pressed the back of his hand to the frozen cheek. It was stiff and for a moment, Sicard wondered if perhaps he hadn't survived after all. Then the long lashes fluttered and eyelids parted.

Acting fast, Sicard withdrew his hand to press his emergency mask over the man's face. Though most humanoid races had long since evolved past their heavy reliance on oxygen, it was still unwise to go without. After the mask was secured, he began to squeeze and rub at the man's arms and legs to see if he could be removed without incident. The man flinched away from his touch and Sicard yanked him out, making him stumble. He was tall and rather lanky, but far more humanoid in appearance than the Lominsan.

"Oy, nod if you can hear me." Sicard put his face in the other's and continued after a nod. "Do you understand me?" There was a hesitance, but then a nod. "Good, then you'll be comin' with me."

Sicard glanced down at the boy once more, but decided to return for him once he had this man settled within his own ship. He took the man by the wrist and dragged him through to the loading dock, past his crate of pilfered goods. The man behind stumbled along clumsily, likely still frozen in the legs or feet. Still, Sicard was impressed by his resilience. Cryopods could be finicky and usually were a last resort for many of the galaxy's space travelers.

"Sit here and don't touch nothin' lest you want me to shoot you." He brought the man into his cramped scouting ship, setting him on one of his crates. The tall man had to lean down some so as not to hit his head on the low ceiling. "I'm going back to fetch some things. When I get back, you best be ready to answer my questions."

"Mn..." Came the despondent reply.

Sicard clicked his tongue and went back to the man's ship. He finished raiding whatever he considered to be of value, including a physical journal from the sole cabin. Though the real value was in the ship's memory hard drive which he pocketed before moving the crate of goods back to his own ship. The man had not moved an inch and Sicard returned to retrieve the boy. After all, it didn't seem right to just leave him on this drifting planetoid.

"Alright, ready to talk?" He asked once he had laid the boy's body on his cot.

"Who are you?" His voice was raspy from the cryo.

"You first." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall across from the man.

"I..." The man seemed confused and Sicard cursed as he admitted, "I don't know."

"Let hope it's just a temporary state from the cryo." He sighed and went to look for the emergency med scanner. "Your head feel sore or foggy?"

"A bit." He replied, "... Is he alright?" Sicard followed his gaze to the body on the bed and frowned.

"I didn't feel a pulse." Though the scanner could certainly confirm the boy's state.

"Did you check his systems?" He asked, making Sicard pause.

"His systems?"

"I... I don't know what prompted me to ask... But..."

The man's brow furrowed and Sicard brought the scanner over to his bed. It was an old bit of technology, but meant for a layman's use. He booted it up and ran the wand over the boy.

"He's a cyborg?" Sicard's brows rose in interest. "Don't see many that look so pretty." The cyborg was unlike any Sicard had encountered before. Usually, cyborgs had an appearance more machine than biological. Yet this boy had quality, unmarred skin and soft features. But as he studied him closer now, he noticed there was an odd scarring on his forehead, showing a metallic skull beneath.

"Where are you from?" He asked the man.

"I... Don't remember. I'm sorry." He apologized. "But perhaps he might know?"

"Aye, he might. But I ain't qualified to go pokin' about in his circuitry."

It seemed Sicard would need to bring the pair to a specialist. Though he debated on whether it was worth the trouble as he settled into his cockpit. After all, a mechanically minded sort for the fancy cyborg he found wouldn't be cheap.

"... If I agree to help, you gotta give me somethin' in return." He called back as he sent off a signal to the Astalicia.

"Yes, yes of course." He responded quickly. "I am sure I could find some way to repay this generosity, old boy."

Sicard pulled a face and glared at the man. "I'm only 26."

"Oh, you as well?" Sicard stared incredulously at the man as his eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! It seems I've remembered something after all."

"... Good. The sooner you remember, the sooner I could be rid of you." He grumbled and started their ascent, charting course for the Astalicia.

~

Upon returning to the Astalicia, Sicard had the crew chart a course back to their home port. Not wanting the crew to think him soft, he claimed the man and boy as his property to keep anyone from suggesting they scrap the cyborg or sell the man to labor or worse. While Sicard was damn proud to be a Bloody Executioner, he was none too fond of many of the old crew's seedier practices.

Their Captain Hyllfyr was close to retiring now and had confided he felt much the same. Despite being a contributor to that reputation, he recently came to realize it wasn't the best way to go about life. He trusted Sicard to bring about change. Though he had only just been given charge of the Astalicia and knew he had few supporters.

"Right then, I'll have you start with my cabin." Sicard addressed the man within said cabin, after he'd given his orders and set the Astalicia's charter.

"Start what?" He asked.

"Cleanin'. You said you'd repay me, didn'cha?" Sicard rose a brow.

"Well yes but... I don't know how." He huffed, making the other brow raise.

"Don't know how to clean? Seriously, mate?" Sicard rolled his eyes. "Then how else you intend to repay me, hm?"

"... Financially?"

"What finances." He scoffed. "You remember your intergalactic bank account but not your name or where you're from?"

"Well, no but... I'm sure I have some finances somewhere." He sank onto Sicard's bed. "Besides, Honoroit is the servant, not me." The man covered his mouth in surprise at what he said.

"You got a funny bout of amnesia. Startin' to wonder if you've been lyin' to me." Sicard rested his hand on the hip which had his gun holstered. "That ain't the case, right?"

"N-No! Of course not!" He waved off and swallowed nervously. "I think the fog is just beginning to clear a bit is all. If I recall anything else, I'll inform you, honest."

"Right... Is that Honoroit?" He jerked his thumb at the side of the room where the cyborg was lain out on his lounge chair.

"I believe so, yes."

"And you still don't know your name?" Sicard frowned.

"I... Think it's Emmanellain?" He said after a moment of pondering.

"Right then, Emmanellain. Welcome aboard the Astalicia. Regardless of whether you've regained your memories, you'll be mine until I determine your debt's been paid." Sicard smirked at the betrayed look on his pretty face. "So best not to rack it up faster'n you can pay it."

"Surely there should be some form of contract..?" Emmanellain fussed.

"Pirates ain't ones for contracts usually. Our captain's word's the law." He jabbed his thumb at his chest. "And while you're aboard the Astalicia, I'd be your captain."

"This seems highly unfair!" He pouted.

"Whinge all you want. I ain't gotta bring you back to port. I could just put you back down on that sorry rock and take the cyborg for myself."

"Take the..." Emmanellain suddenly looked furious. "You've no right to take Honoroit anywhere. He's not an object. He's a boy."

Sicard was surprised by the defense and looked over at the motionless cyborg.

"Right, apologies for the offense." He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his head. Every world treated their cyborgs and artificial life forms differently. On Limsa Lominsa, they were more machine than sentient being. Made to serve and perform menial labors.

A sudden grumble startled both men as Emmanellain blushed and held his hand over his abdomen.

"... Suppose it's been a while since you ate." Sicard himself felt a bit peckish so it was no surprise Emmanellain was starving. "Don't suppose you remember if he needs anything..?"

"I... Don't recall how he's run or maintained." He looked quite upset by this admission.

"Right then, I'll get us some grub. Don't leave this cabin and don't open the door for no one." He warned, waiting for some acknowledgement before leaving.

After he left, Emmanellain groaned and flung himself back across the bed. It was terribly uncomfortable, compared to the soft mattresses he was used to. This apparent space pirate was an interesting fellow but gullible enough. Not that Emmanellain had been entirely deceptive, only selectively so. He did have some gaps in his memory, particularly specifics of where he came from. But he knew he had been living a luxurious lifestyle. Especially compared to the captain.

He was uncertain how he came to be stranded on that planetoid. Nor exactly why he had left his homeworld--wherever it was--in the first place. Honoroit, should his memory units be intact, would surely remember. After all, Emmanellain had invested a lot to have the boy upgraded from the state he initially founded him in. As a result, he knew he lacked the means to restore him. At least for now. It would certainly be expensive and it seemed this captain fellow--he never did introduce himself--was well aware of that fact.

Emmanellain rolled further onto the bed, frowning at the state of his clothes. He sat up and pulled off the filthy shirt, throwing it to what was either a hamper or a trash can. The captain had not said how long he would be gone, but Emmanellain really didn't care for his present lack of hygiene. Besides, the captain likely wouldn't appreciate if he soiled the bed. So he got back up and began to search for some washing area within the cabin. There was an inconspicuous door that he tried first.

Inside was precisely what he had been looking for. Though it was unlike any bathroom he had seen, it was clearly just that. There was a toilet and a shower. But what really drew Emmanellain's eye was the tub. Or perhaps it was an aquarium for how there was a sandy bottom with colorful plants dancing in the water. The only reason he doubted its function was that it appeared capable of being filled and drained without issue and had steps leading up to and within it. A man could practically swim in it for how big it was.

Unfortunately, as he was pressed for time, he decided he best wash under the shower head rather than fill the strange tub. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and stepped under the faucet.

Sicard had managed to scrounge up enough food to feed five men, expecting Emmanellain to be hungry. He entered his cabin, scowling when he failed to see anyone but Honoroit. Though he noticed his bathroom door was open and cursed, setting the tray down and barging inside. There was a scream from the corner and Sicard lunged, covering Emmanellain's mouth.

"What're you doin' in here?" He demanded crossly.

The shower was off yet the man stood naked beneath it, his cheeks burning. While one hand covered his loins, the other pried Sicard's hand from his mouth so he could answer.

"Sh-showering. I was absolutely filthy." He uttered, aggrieved by the hostile treatment.

Sicard glanced over at the aquarium before returning his attention to his temporary cabinmate. It seemed he hadn't approached it, but it was still suspicious that Emmanellain's hair was dry. His golden eyes drifted down to check his skin, only to notice what he was trying to hide.

"It's rude to stare!" Emmanellain chided as he shifted his legs, self conscious.

"Guess you were more than just hungry, ey?" Sicard smirked, pleased at how the color deepened. "I could help with that, if you'd like."

"I'm more than capable of dealing with it myself." He blustered, though Sicard could see how Emmanellain's eyes traveled over him as though considering.

"Suit yourself. But I wouldn't be opposed to having you pay off that debt of yours with your body, if you're so inclined to that over chores and labor."

Emmanellain swallowed and his eyes looked him over once more before closing. He shook his head. "I cannot. It would be blasphemy." Sicard blinked, unfamiliar with the term. Emmanellain seemed to pick up on it and explained. "If we... fooled around... I would not be able to take a mate for fear of being afflicted with Thordan's wrath."

"This one of those religion things?" He recalled hearing something similar from a fellow pirate captain in Limsa Lominsa. One that was not native to their world of La Noscea.

"In a manner of speaking." Emmanellain looked around for something to cover himself and Sicard stepped back to put him at ease.

"You're Ishgardian." He recalled the race that alien captain claimed to be. "Not that I know what that all entails. There's one of you back in my home port."

Captain Carvallain of the Kraken's Arms pirate crew had been a strange man. Not just due to being alien among Lominsans like Sicard and Rhoswen. After all, there were a variety of humanoids from all over the galaxy that passed through and even settled in La Noscea. But because he was vehemently against any sort of mating or fooling around. When Rhoswen had confronted him--publicly--about his refusal to fertilize her eggs, Carvallain had said something similar to Emmanellain about some Thordan fellow.

Yet when Sicard asked after it during one of their nights out on land, where Rhoswen rarely went, Carvallain said Ishgardians adhered to strict religious teachings for their own health. Though he gave no more details that Sicard had been sober enough to retain.

"There is?" Emmanellain seemed shocked and forgot his earlier embarrassment. He grabbed the Lominsan by the shoulders. "What made him leave? Or perhaps he left before the restrictions were tightened..."

"Hold on," Sicard drawled, "what restrictions? You remember somethin' new?"

Emmanellain looked sheepish and recalled his state of undress. "I'll tell you what I can recall after you've procured something for me to wear..."

After Emmanellain was dressed in some of Sicard's looser clothes, they sat at the small table to eat and talk.

"I couldn't remember where I came from nor do I know how to return, but when you said it, I remembered at once. Though I still couldn't tell you where I am, let alone how to find my home planet. I do know that we closed ourselves off some time ago due to a conflict with our neighboring planet."

"How'd you get so far from home then?" Sicard asked mid chew. Emmanellain pulled a face and finished his own bite before answering.

"I do not know. It could be that I was sent on some mission... Or perhaps I was cast out."

"Cast out for what?" Sicard tried to think of anything that would get someone cast out from La Noscea, but if there was any wrongdoings on their planet they tended to handle things locally rather than deportation. Except for those that were on the run from their own planet's law enforcers, of course.

"How should I know!? I attended mostly every gathering and I don't feel like I've broken any rules."

"What do you mean, 'feel like'?"

"Well, it's said that, and there are many who can attest to this truth, when you break a rule put in place by the church, you undergo a change. The type of change isn't specified, of course as it varies based on what rule you break... But there is consensus that you will know it when you feel it."

"Right... And what if that amnesia o' yours is affectin' all that?"

"... I hadn't thought of that." Sicard almost felt guilty at the fearful realization which crossed Emmanellain's face. "The sooner we get Honoroit functioning, the better."

"There's some good smithies and scientists at my home port. They can take a look at him... Unless you remember how to get him up and running?"

"I only know that he'll need a boost and possibly some maintenance so there aren't issues down the line for his biological parts being nonfunctional for so long."

"Sounds like I'll need to pick up the Astalicia's speed then." Sicard finished what was on his plate while Emmanellain was still halfway through his second. "It'll still be a day before we're there and I'm sure you're just as tired as I am."

"Where... Where shall I sleep?" Emmanellain looked to the Captain's bed and then to where Honoroit had occupied the only other space to rest besides the floor.

"You can have my bed." Upon receiving a dubious look, the Lominsan rolled his eyes. "I can sleep in my tank. Just make sure you take a piss before then though cause I'll be lockin' you out."

"Your tank? You mean to sleep in that aquarium tub?!" Emmanellain exclaimed. "That seems incredibly uncomfortable..." He worried his plump lip between his teeth as he looked at the bed. "I'm sure we could share... Just... Keep your distance."

"I ain't gonna be told how to sleep in my own bed. I'd rather just sleep in the water." Sicard gathered the two empty plates.

"But what if you drown?!"

"Mate, I'm a Lominsan." At Emmanellain's puzzled expression, he explained. "I was born underwater. You weren't kidding about your planet being closed off..."

"Born under... But wouldn't you need... Gills and fins and a tail or..." Sicard was exasperated and amused at the same time.

"I do when I'm in the water." He left it at that, seeing no reason to explain the specifics. "I'm going to update the crew on increasin' our speed. When you're done eatin', wash your plate off and leave it by the door for one o' the crew to pick up."

"Ah, wait, you will be coming back, right captain...?" Emmanellain still had not been told his savior's name.

"Sicard Spence."

Chapter Text

Day 23: Expansion

Pairing: All of 'em. (Just about.)

Rating: Teen

Charlemend stood at the mast, watching the couple with a grimace. His talk with Emmanellain had certainly not gone as he hoped...

"Good," Charlemend turned away from the shameless pirate and addressed Emmanellain, "because before I hand these papers over to you, I would have us talk about your family."

"What's there to talk about?" The young elezen replied warily.

"I think you should tell them." He insisted. "Your father or brother should be the ones to oversee your affairs. Not I." Though he still approached the hyur getting up from the bed, offering him the papers. "If not for our deal and my concern for your father, I wouldn't have agreed to do as much as I have."

He was, of course, referring to the exchange he had made when he first stumbled across the pair's public indecency. In exchange for Charlemend's silence, they would keep him apprised of his son's whereabouts and activities. Seeing as Carvallain was going well out of his way to avoid meeting him, Charlemend saw it as his only option.

What he would not admit, of course, was how fond he had grown towards the two clandestine lovers. In many ways, their affair reminded him of his own distant past. So, when he first discovered they intended to proceed with this pirate's unification, Charlemend offered to assist. It had filled him with a sense of gratification, to see Edmont's youngest son eloping with a male lover.

That Emmanellain had his father's smile held little weight on his decision...

"All we asked you to do was help sort out Emm's affairs." Sicard reminded the man as he took the papers and looked them over. "You're the one what volunteered to oversee it so that the Holy See might recognize it some day. Not that I give a rat's ass about those fogey ol' gits."

"Yes, well, Emmanellain does." Charlemend motioned to the one who had been looking at the papers over his partner's shoulder.

"I... wouldn't say that." Emmanellain replied nervously when Sicard looked up at him. "I don't need some fancy, rigid ceremony to show my darling debonair off to all those antiquated celibates... I much prefer the comfort of the Executioners."

Both Sicard and Charlemend exchanged a look, neither one hearing "comfort" and "Executioners" in a sentence before. Still, Sicard apparently knew Emmanellain well enough to hear the falter in his boast.

"... One wedding at a time, ey?" He gripped the man's chin to pull him into a kiss. "After Ishgard's joined the rest o' the world, we'll show em a gay ol' time."

He snickered at his own joke and Charlemend rolled his eyes while Emmanellain shook his head fondly. The couple was far more shameless than the one Charlemend had brought along from Ishgard. He pointedly turned away when Emmanellain stooped down for another, far less chaste kiss. The sound of a groan had him clearing his throat.

"I am still present, you know." He heard the pirate chuckle before brushing past the count on his way to his desk. "Emmanellain, I understand your apprehensions about telling all of Ishgard. But your family is a different matter." Charlemend pulled a stool over so he could sit across from where the young lord sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'll say they are." Emmanellain crossed his ankles. "I should think I would rather all of Ishgard find out I intend to marry a man like Sicard before they do. After all, their opinion of me is what determines my quality of life. Or at least it was. After tonight, I shan't have to bend to their rules just to be assured a warm bed and allowance."

"While I admire your desire for independence, I don't think you are being fair to them." Charlemend scolded lightly. "They've been worried about you."

"More like they've been worried how my reputation reflects on them. But that's precisely why I mean to estrange myself." Emmanellain explained. "The church can't judge them for my perceived heresy if they never knew. Besides, I have imagined many times how my father and brother may react, should they learn of my... Choice in partner..." Charlemend's jaw tightened, but Emmanellain was soon talking once more. "My father would forbid it, of course. Likely have me married off to the first woman who would have me to save face and serve my duty of continuing the family line... While Artoirel... Well, he hardly cared for my rumored affairs with women or courtship of Lady Laniaitte." From the desk, Sicard clicked his tongue but Emmanellain ignored him. "Were he to discover my salacious affair with Sicard, he'd never speak to me again. Not that we speak much to begin with, of course. He'd find me revolting and likely have me stay at Camp Dragonhead indefinitely rather than return home for the occasional meal. A meal, I might add, in which he's attempting to sniff out any potential mistakes I may be making."

Charlemend would like to say he was surprised by Emmanellain's worries. But being a queer man growing up in a far more conservative Ishgard, he could understand it. Edmont had caved to societal pressure before their children had been born and allowed his parents to pick a spouse for him. One who had no real fondness for him beyond the status he provided her. Meanwhile, Charlemend had turned to his closest friend for comfort and wound up marrying her after discovering the incident blessed them with a child.

Yet Ishgard had changed and the Fortemps were one of the leaders of its reformation efforts. After all, Artoirel was set to be the first man to marry another before Halone and all of Ishgard. Charlemend knew how Artoirel hated to be the center of attention, but he insisted on inviting as many as the church could hold. To set an example and pave the path for all who would desire to follow it.

As for Edmont... The man had come to accept his son and future son-in-law even quicker than the Haillenartes had been to accept his son. For all he lacked as a partner, he more than made up for as a father. At least, he tried to.

There was one point that confused Charlemend, however...

"Emmanellain," the young noble, who had been ogling his partner, hummed and reluctantly faced his senior, "are you not aware of the upcoming wedding in Ishgard?"

"Were I not so busy trying to finish my duties in Camp Dragonhead in preparation for my future, I suppose I might have heard more than speculations whispered by the knights under my command. Why?"

"Your... They didn't tell you?" Charlemend was baffled that not even Honoroit or Stephanivien himself had informed the young lord. He could understand Artoirel's hesitance, knowing he was a private person even around his father. Yet Stephanivien had a period where he would stop and brag to anyone who would stand to listen.

"Who? Tell me what?" Emmanellain crossed his arms then gasped, "Wait. Don't tell me... Did Countess Haillenarte actually find a man that Lady Laniaitte approvedls of?"

"Lady... Not that I'm aware of. It is not my place to inform you if they did not see fit to do so... Just as it is not my place to tell your family if you are still so opposed."

"I am." Emmanellain set his jaw and Charlemend knew his tone had been ill received...

~

"Better yet, why don't I take you to her personally?" Carvallain offered, then shot the machinist a sly look. "Unless you want to do the honors, Stephanivien."

"Stephanivien," Artoirel's tone was stern but his eyes expressed betrayal which left the machinist feeling gutted, "you knew the one Emmanellain's been courting?"

"I," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, glaring at the smug man which had thrown him overboard, "if the captain is implying who I think he is... It is possible I'm acquainted. But by the Fury, I had no idea they were actually courting. I merely thought it was a... More casual... Affair."

"I admit, the ceremony they intend to undergo is far more casual than a traditional union. Significantly more than an Ishgardian one." Carvallain crossed his arms. "A matelotage is a contract among pirates here in Limsa Lominsa. To unite their assets, finances, and for all intent and purposes, lives. All before Lymlaen and their crew so that none may doubt who's owed what."

Edmont felt as though the rug had been pulled from under him at this revelation. Artoirel hardly seemed to fare much better. Despite the tone he'd taken with his fiance, his hand reached for him when he felt unsteady.

"Emmanellain... Means to marry before the patron deity of Limsa Lominsa rather than Halone?"

Stephanivien and Carvallain exchanged a look. Of course that would be what hit a devout man like Artoirel the hardest.

"I doubt the Holy See would recognize their union even if the Fury herself were to appear and oversee the affair." Carvallain scoffed but was then reminded by the conversation he had overheard in the Drowning Wench. "Or so I had thought until I heard you two were engaged. Congratulations, by the way. Artoirel makes for a far better wife than Tedalgrinche."

Artoirel nearly did go to his luggage and draw his sword. Yet his desire to see Emmanellain was far greater than his aggravation towards his fiance's childhood tormentor--who had been thought deceased until today--and his goading. His father was of similar mind as the grip on his cane tightened and he made for the door, shoving the captain aside.

"You said you would take us to my son?" He glared the man down.

"Aye," he seemed to think better of asking for something in return, "they'll be aboard the Astalicia. Though as much as I would like to stir up trouble for a rival captain, Hyllfyr is another matter entirely. The Admiral is also to be overseeing the ceremony."

"Emmanellain means to marry a captain of the Bloody Executioners?" Edmont recalled the conversation they overheard at the docks. "I thought only the Sanguine Sirens had female captains."

"By the Fury, you really don't know." Carvallain caught Stephanivien's gaze once more and then addressed Artoirel. "Surely you've figured it out? You're a smart man and aware of the man you entered a trade agreement with."

"You mean to say... My brother intends to marry his business partner?" Artoirel's fingers dug rather painfully into his fiance's arm. "Stephanivien, you really didn't know?"

"I didn't, my dear. Honest to Halone." Artoirel huffed, knowing his fiance's disregard for the deity but loosened his grip. "I only knew they had been fooling around in Garlemald. But plenty of men were--except for myself! No, I was much too busy working on the heaters and missing you terribly!"

Carvallain held the door open as the family filed out of his house. Edmont had a thoughtful yet grim look upon his face. While Artoirel and Stephanivien took the lead back to the ferry, Carvallain lingered at the former count's pace.

"You said your father was aboard the Astalicia." He commented in a measured tone. "Yet he told me his business was with the Kraken's Arms."

"... I do business with my father, tis true. But I heard no mention of his visit. Which, I assure you, I would know had he intended to visit." After all, he had eyes and ears in Ishgard.

Edmont recalled his old friend's words and behavior since they arrived. He had gotten the sense he had been hiding something. Yet it seemed Stephanivien had been rather right on the mark when he teased the count about covering for Emmanellain. Edmont simply didn't understand why or in what capacity.

Had Charlemend's generosity of late been due to some grand scheme rather than any desire to rekindle their own companionship? Edmont had enjoyed their afternoons together since the Firmament project's near completion. It had been a good distraction from the loss of his sons, both real and imagined. The idea that Charlemend was aiding Emmanellain in avoiding him caused him some unpleasant feelings. If the man was truly aboard this Astalicia, fully aware of all that was transpiring aboard it, Edmont would have him answer for his motives.

~

"Honoroit, my dear boy! You made it!" Emmanellain hurried over to embrace his page, unconcerned with propriety in present company, much to Honoroit's discomfort. Though he patted at his lord's back, sniffing to see if perhaps he had already started getting into his cups.

"Oy, no hug for us?" Guydelot teased as Emmanellain stepped back. "We're the ones that saw him safely here." Sanson rolled his eyes.

"Were I to embrace you, I fear you'd repeat what happened last time." Emmanellain scolded with a mischievous spark.

"It was just a wee peck." Guydelot shared the mischievous tone. "Though I'd not be afraid to take it further the next time we should be caught under a sprig of mistletoe."

"Mistletoe my arse." Sicard approached the group with two glasses in hand. "Lay those lips o' yours on my man again and you're liable to kiss my fist."

"As well as my boot." Sanson added, accepting the glass offered. "The vows were quite interesting."

"Thanks, we wrote them ourselves." Emmanellain boasted.

"Aye, we could tell." Guydelot snickered as a glass was shoved under his nose. He took it and flourished a toast to the captain. "Felt a bit rushed. But I'm sure that's just because you wish to start on what comes after."

"Guydelot," Sanson groaned, "there is a child present."

"Wot'd I say?"

"I assure you, Master Sanson, that I have heard far worse since being assigned to assist my lord at Camp Dragonhead." Honoroit spoke up. "And I'm nearly an adult now."

"Nearly ain't now." Sicard ruffled the boy's hair, much to his chagrin. "Help yourselves to the refreshments. We got rounds to make yet." He rolled his eyes, clearly not enthused by the prospect.

Emmanellain hooked their elbows with a giddy smile, however, and soon whisked them off to the next guests which had attended the ceremony.

Charlemend watched from afar, standing near the steps. He had thought to return to Mist following the ceremony's closing. Yet the atmosphere had somewhat of a melancholy effect on him. His own wedding had been similarly rushed in feeling. Yet far less relaxed or merry as this. Sadness filled him to think how his friend was not in attendance.

"Hold on there, cap'n." The voice of Hasthwab drifted from below and Charlemend peered around the corner, curious. "The Astalicia's open to invited guests only today."

"Of course," Charlemend's eyes widened as he heard the familiar, nasally voice of his son. "I merely wished to offer my congratulations to your newest crew member and introduce his family here to their new son."

Charlemend cursed and made his way down the steps, only to pause before he rounded the corner and revealed himself. It seemed as though his son had meddled where he had no business meddling. Which was rather like he remembered him... Though had not seen since discovering his new life.

"I'll be sure to pass it along. As for this so called family-"

"Hasthwab," he cleared his throat and stepped out, "pardon my interruption. But I shall deal with my son and his guests from here. Why not go up for some refreshments?"

"... S'pose I could use a drink. Just mind he don't start a riot." He nodded and then lumbered up the stairs.

He had avoided looking at the veritable wedding crashers. But now that Hasthwab had agreed to leave he was meant to parlay. Carvallain looked even more rugged and mature up close. Though he wore a rather amusing look of shock and panic upon his face. Charlemend kept his expression stern, but knew it was softer than he meant it.

"Charlemend." Artoirel's lack of etiquette eluded to his mood and Charlemend grimaced before facing the trio he had brought along, feigning indifference. "What are you doing here?"

"Attending a civil union among pirates." He answered, sparing a glance in Edmont's direction. Charlemend could seem pain and accusation both behind his own stern mask. "I only meant to stay a short while, but the captain insisted I stay." He lied smoothly, but Edmont knew him well.

"Charlemend, bring my son to me." He spoke firmly. "I shall save my words for you later."

The treatment sting, but had been expected. He dipped his head respectfully and retreated back to the party above. Hasthwab acknowledged him before returning to his post and he set about scanning the crowd of rowdy, and some rather indecent, pirates. As the ceremony doubled as a union and Emmanellain's initiation both, the young couple blended with their crew. Thankfully, the two were presently speaking with a Garleans who stood out alongside the two women from the Steppe.

"Emmanellain," he tapped the young lord's shoulder, "I'm afraid my son has gone and taken it upon himself to see to it your family was informed. They're waiting for you below."

Charlemend felt some pity for the fear on his face. Though he was hopeful for them as his partner--husband?--wrapped a strong arm around his waist. They bid their guests enjoy themselves and followed Charlemend back to where their family was waiting. They had moved some distance from the stairs, likely to be out of the way of invited guests. Yet he suspected Hasthwab also intended to provide them some privacy.

Emmanellain was hesitant when he saw his father and squeezed at the hand resting on his hip before descending the steps.

"Father, brother! What brings you so far from home?" He asked, voice strained under the stress. Sicard stood only a step behind him, his quiet strength supporting his partner.

"You," Artoirel replied, glaring askance at Sicard, "and apparently my new brother-in-law."

Emmanellain tensed and stepped back to hold his partner. "Only in Limsa Lominsa. From today onwards, I will be a burden on House Fortemps no longer."

"A burden?" Edmont echoed, looking alarmed. "Who proclaimed you a burden? Charlemend?" He glared at the man who had kept himself distracted by studying the changes to his son's face.

"Hm? I said no such thing. In fact, I go on record now that I implored Emmanellain tell you. But he refused. It's not my place to out him to his parents as you did me to mine." Perhaps he had been nursing some small grudge over that. But nonetheless, he feels he still wound up relatively unscathed.

"What?" Carvallain gawked at his father. "Are you implying that you..."

"I never did care much for women. Much too troublesome. Your mother was the only one I found tolerable." Charlemend confessed freely. After all, what good would he be to helping reform Ishgard's views if he was not open about his own interests in the matter.

"Ha, knew it." Sicard muttered, earning an elbow to the ribs. "What? You did too."

"Be that as it may, father. It's as Charlemend says. I ordered him not to tell anyone from Ishgard. Yourself included." Emmanellain faced the man. "I knew you would never approve of Sicard. So I asked Charlemend to help me determine what I owned back in Ishgard. So Sicard and I won't touch a gil from the family's assets. Only my own due share."

"Emmanellain," Artoirel's voice strained, "you mean to forsake your inheritance and family?"

"I've already started the process." Emmanellain admitted, making Charlemend shift uncomfortably. "Though Count Charlemend said Lord Aymeric has been too busy with work to review the papers."

"Busy? The House of Lords has been on a break since I proposed to Artoirel and will remain on break until our wedding." Stephanivien was startled when Emmanellain looked at him in utter shock.

"I beg your pardon? I... I'm not sure I heard that right. Did you just say you proposed? To my brother? Of all people?"

"That makes all those stories you shared drinkin' 'round the fire in Ilsabard a tad awkward. Don't it?" Sicard remarked, amused.

"Sicard! Why would you remind me of that and... By the Fury... I thought you had been talking about Tedalgrinche or even Jannequinard. But my own..." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Unless-"

"Why is everyone bringing Ted into this?" Stephanivien groaned. "It was one time, we were drunk, and he didn't even do anything."

"That's far more information than I ever needed." Artoirel grimaced while Edmont and Charlemend seemed to share the sentiment. However he recovered his composed façade and addressed his younger brother. "... So you did not know?"

"You never told me!" Emmanellain squawked.

"I didn't think I had to, seeing as all of Ishgard knew." Artoirel's cheeks colored with some shame. "You're usually the first to know about such things."

"When I've not been freezing my arse off at Camp Dragonhead, I've been out of Ishgard to assist Tataru and Sicard!" He threw up his hands, Sicard expertly shifting to avoid being struck as a casualty of his mood. "So forgive me for not idling away listening for something I should have been told directly."

"Just as you told us directly?" Artoirel bit back. It was rare for Emmanellain to be the one to reprimand him. It was far more familiar and comfortable than being accused... To which he realized some of his folly with Emmanellain. He had only ever really reprimanded his brother. His face fell and he stepped back from Emmanellain, his thumbs rubbing at his forefingers. "... Emmanellain, I apologize for not... Being a brother you can confide such things in. As the elder... I should have been more receptive to your needs."

Emmanellain blinked, baffled by the sudden turn and pressed against Sicard. The man nudged him but his arm returned to wrap around his waist. Edmont watched the exchange and closed his eyes. It would seem a simple family dinner would not be enough. Especially as the family was expanding...

"This is not the time or place for such discussions." He addressed his sons together and then his youngest. "It had not been our intention to ruin your celebrations. As such, we will excuse ourselves for today. We shall be staying in Costa Del Sol for a few days, should you want to visit." He glanced at Charlemend and knew the man was aware he was not yet off the hook. "Charlemend here promised us a vacation and I mean to enjoy it." Edmont held his hand out to Sicard, surprised at the strength of his grip. Feeling emboldened, he added. "Welcome to our family."

Chapter Text

Day 24: Happenstance

Pairing: Emmanellain/Sicard

Rating: ⚠️ Explicit ⚠️ Sexual Content

Emmanellain lay back on his lounge chair, enjoying the fresh sea breeze and warm sun rays. At least, he had been enjoying them until an unexpected shadow fell across his legs. He frowned and pushed up his shades, glaring at the uniformed man blocking his tanning attempt.

"Could you move?" He asked of the hyur who was gathering some towels discarded by the guests that had left the tanning deck for some event or another. "You're ruining my tan."

The hyur stood and dropped the towels back on the empty chair before turning to the guest. The smile upon his face was sharp and forced. Until Emmanellain met his gaze evenly.

"Tan?" His golden eyes traveled from Emmanellain's face down to his toes, making the elezen feel start to feel self conscious. The weight of that stare set Emmanellain's skin ablaze. "Mate, you're turnin' pink." There was a smirk as he leaned over Emmanellain further. "Oh, and now you're red as a lobster. This your first time?"

"First time?" He echoed, ever quick to catch onto innuendo.

"Tannin'. You were pale as snow when you boarded."

"I was not." Emmanellain huffed, sitting up. "I made sure to get a light tan before the cruise."

"I don't see it." He goaded, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"Prove it how?" Emmanellain scoffed.

"You could show me your tanline." The hyur teased.

"Ha, aren't you a bold one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The hyur frowned and drew back, looking offended. Emmanellain had heard stories about cruises and the types one could find there. It was a large part of why he had begged his father and brother to embark on one. Cruises were meant to be romantic and busy with those desperate for the rousing touch of another. At least, so he had heard.

Initially, Emmanellain only intended to pursue the woman his mother had intended for him since childhood. But they've been aboard for two days now and she has been vehemently avoiding him. Rather, she remained close to her family or else spent her time swimming laps or participating in the sports Emmanellain had no interest in.

As a result, he had been given time to rethink his strategy... which then led to rethinking his interest. After all, his mother had died some years ago. His father could care less who he married. So long as he stayed out of the headlines, Emmanellain's family didn't care what he did in his free time. Though few outside of Ishgard would recognize him and so, this vacation on the sea was the prime time for living up to his unfounded reputation as a philanderer back home.

If they were to believe him a womanizer, then he may as well experience a woman's touch. Unfortunately, he had been unsuccessful in finding an interested lady that appealed to him. After all, Laniaitte was quite unlike any other and the one he would ever compare them to.

Yet there was some other interest he had taken since he stepped foot on the ship. One he thought he had left behind in his youth.

"You're propositioning me, aren't you?" Emmanellain asked the cruise ship employee. The man cross his toned arms and considered the one before him. Emmanellain began to wonder if he had misread the signs. He found his confidence flagging and laughed as he leaned back into his chair. "I jest, old boy. After all, I wouldn't have you risk your job."

"Aye," the man replied with a curious look, "I suppose you aren't worth all that."

"I never said that." Emmanellain looked offended and the man laughed, slapping his thigh.

"You're far too easy. Funny too. The name's Sicard. What's yours, strumpet?"

Emmanellain hesitated, the little nickname stirring something deep within him. "... Emman... Emm." If he gave his full name, it would not be hard to figure out exactly who he was.

"Emmanemm?" Sicard's smirk was breathtaking.

"Just Emm." He insisted firmly. "Don't you have work to be doing?"

"Right," he shrugged and picked the towels back up, "but you still ain't proved you've tanned, Snow White."

"... Very well." Emboldened by the lack of people around, he shifted the band of his shorts down to reveal the faintest of tanlines at his waist. "Satisfied?"

"Not yet, but I gotta get these towels to the wash. Maybe next time." Sicard winked and then sauntered off.

~

"Fancy meetin' you here, fancy pants." A familiar voice startled Emmanellain from where he had been staring out at the sea.

Sicard sidled up beside him, resting his forearms on the railing and rested his cheek on a fist. Emmanellain ignored him at first, aside from how he had tensed. Curiousity made the hyur lean over to study his face. Only for his lazy grin to fade at the red rimming his eyes.

"What happened to that pretty face o' yours?"

"Please," Emmanellain huffed, though it was shaky, "spare me your sarcasm."

"Ain't sarcasm." He insisted with a nudge. "Here I thought you were the boastful sort. Given how you are 'round the rest of the passengers."

"Have you been spying on me?" His thick brows rose.

"Don't need to. You stand out." Sicard snorted. "It's entertainin'."

"Glad I could amuse you." He rolled his eyes but gradually relaxed. "Why are you out here?"

"Just passin' through when I saw your shapely figur' bent over the railin'." Sicard teased shamelessly, tickled pink himself at the way the man flustered.

" Oh really?" He cleared his throat and glanced around before leaning down to whisper, conspiratorily, "I should think you'd look far better bent over this railing than I." Sicard stared in surprise before letting out another laugh.

"You're a riot, you are." He shook his head. "A right tease too."

"Apologies," he said, none too apologetic, "I appreciate your good, filthy humor. It's refreshing and a comfort." Sicard shifted his weight to give the man his full attention. "Back home, such jokes would brand you a deviant."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a bit deviant, seein' how fun it can be."

"Is it really?" Emmanellain asked, genuinely curious.

"I could show you." He offered, reaching up to fix the collar of the man's polo. "If you're interested, o' course."

"I might be," he swallowed nervously, "a bit..."

"We could take it slow," Sicard stepped back but tugged at his collar, "won't take it further than you want."

Emmanellain nodded and followed his coaxing into a more secluded area. Seeing as most passengers were still eating dinner with a show, there was hardly anyone on the lower deck. Being a member of the crew, Emmanellain trusted the hyur to know which areas had less surveillance as well.

"This should be private enough." Sicard smirked, pushing the taller man against a wall.

"You're sure?" Emmanellain asked nervous, but excited.

"Mostly," he shrugged and then leaned up to press his lips to the underside of his jaw. This close, he could feel how the elezen's breath caught in his throat and he smirked before he nibbled at the soft, pale skin. "Still not seein' much of a tan."

"Ha," he gasped and squirmed from the unfamiliar, intimate sensations, "I... I'm sure that will change by the end of--ah, the cruise."

Sicard's hands pulled Emmanellain's shirt up, and pressed burning hands to cold sides. Gasping, the taller man lifted his hands, unsure where to put them. Sicard's hands roamed higher under the shirt, thumbs rubbing just under his soft pecs. The heart under his palm was pounding. It intrigued Sicard how sensitive the man was acting and he studied his face once more.

"You a virgin?" A shy nod and Sicard hummed. "You sure I'm the one you wanna fool around with?"

"Have you someone else in mind?" Emmanellain managed to quip. "I know what I'm getting into." He lied with confidence that the other man believed.

He returned to his ministrations, golden eyes carefully gauging Emmanellain's face to determine what affected him the most. At the moment, he seemed to enjoy every touch, though perhaps he was merely overwhelmed. It would not take much to make him finish. Which would be for the best, seeing as there was a nonzero chance of someone discovering them.

So, his hands began to drift back down, the polo falling back down with them. Emmanellain fumbled and pulled it back up, watching the man work with a look of allure. Sicard winked at him, his rough fingers working under the waistband of his board shorts. Inch by inch, he revealed the tanline which had become clearer in since he last got a peek. There was a surprising lack of any hair below. What little raven strands were there were soft.

"You're pretty clean down here." He smirked, seeing how his commentary further aroused the virgin. Sicard's hand slid under the crimson shorts, making Emmanellain gasp and the groan as he began to feel him out. "Big too."

"W-Will that be a problem?" Emmanellain had heard women speak of size being an issue before.

"Not yet." He replied, leaning back up to kiss and nibble along his jawline.

Meanwhile, his hand continued to stroke and squeeze the sizable length beneath the board shorts. Emmanellain's eyelids fluttered closed as he relished in the attention. It was the first time another person had ever put a hand on him. Something he had only ever imagined before today. It was far better than expected. Especially give the contrast of rough, calloused skin stroking his own primly maintained. The grip held far more strength than Emmanellain ever had and he found the sudden, rough tugs to his shaft particularly enjoyable. It brought him close to climax far quicker than he wished.

With a groan, he grabbed at the Sicard's wrist, attempting to slow him. When the hand began to retreat altogether, he whimpered and held it in place.

"Use your words," Sicard nipped the tip of his ear, making him yelp and a fresh bead of precum to leave his tip.

"I, I'm close." Emmanellain admitted shamefully. "Go slower?"

"If you're already fit to bust, ain't much sense in slowing down."

He grinned and repositioned his hand along the length tenting the board shorts. Sicard's own unattended arousal ached, but he doubted Emmanellain would be interested in returning the favor. Sicard's free hand slid beneath his own shorts, stroking in time with his other.

"W-Wait, what of the mess?" Emmanellain whimpered.

"I'll clean it up," Sicard brought his mouth to suckle at his collar bone while his hands worked faster, his own legs beginning to ache while Emmanellain's quivered.

Crying out with a pitched gasp, Emmanellain was the first to come undone. Sicard panted as he dropped his head to rest against his chest, stroking himself with more fervor. The hand around Emmanellain's slowly milked him dry just as the hyur shuddered with his own release. A grunt and low moan left him but he soon but his lips to stifle the sounds.

They remained unmoving as they caught their breaths and slowly, Sicard's hand retreated from his own shorts.

"My shorts are filthy." Emmanellain groaned in dismay."

"Just give em to me."

"What? Now?! I can't go back without any shorts. Are you mad?"

Sicard roller his eyes, "I'll follow you to your room to get changed. Just hand em to me through the door and I'll wash your laundry myself."

"... You will return them after?"

"Don't be daft." He responded in lieu of answering.

~

"You done with that plate, sir?"

Emmanellain stared perplexed at the sight before him. Sicard was dressed at one of the waiters, gathering the plates of his family and friends as though it were his job. Emmanellain quickly looked away when he saw the deckhand look his way.

"Good to see you again, sir." Sicard grinned at Emmanellain, drawing curious looks from the men and woman at the table. "Didn't think I'd see you here in the VIP dinin' room."

"Do you know this waiter, Emmanellain?" Stephanivien eyed Sicard curiously.

"No, but I'm sure he's seen me around." Emmanellain glared at the cheeky hyur as he leaned over him to take his empty glass, his strong chest pressing so close to his shoulder. "I'm sorry mister..."

"Sicard." He replied. "You might not remember me, but you had me help with your laundry yesterday. But when I came to your room to return it, you weren't there."

Emmanellain squirmed uncomfortably under everyone's eyes on him.

"Oh. Oh! Quite right. I do apologize, old boy." His laugh was strained with embarrassment. "You can just bring it by again after dinner."

"Right then." He smirked where only Emmanellain could see and then finished gathering the rest of the dishes before leaving.

"I wonder if the staff work a rotation." Artoirel remarked curiously. "I don't recall seeing him serve us before..."

"Mm," Stephanivien hummed, looking thoughtful. "They may also be short and having other crew members fill in." Emmanellain's hands clenched in his lap. "I could have sworn Sicard was a deckhand."

"That would explain his poor service." Charlemend's lip curled but he said no more after a reprimanding look from his fellow, yet more charitable, CEOs at the table.

"I suppose I should go see to it I get my laundry back from him. If you'll excuse me."

Emmanellain excused himself the moment his father gave permission. Laniaitte glanced at him when he passed, but he didn't even spare her a glance in his rush back to his room. Swiping his key card, he slipped inside at once and began to loosen his restrictive tie. His Oxford shoes were hastily discarded by the door. As he hurried to strip from his business suit, he entirely missed the man watching from his bed until he was down to his briefs.

"Sicard?! How did you-?"

"Pilfered the key from the stewards. How else?" He drawled as he stretched. "Nice cabin you got here, Emmanellain de Fortemps."

"W-What do you want from me?" He asked warily.

Sicard halted his stretch and gave him a puzzled look. One which soon turned to the familiar suppressed anger of a man offended.

"What d'you think I'd want from you?" He returned tersely.

"... I... I can't say." Emmanellain uttered abashedly.

"Guess then." He ordered haughtily. "What would a lowly deckhand like me want with a fancy bloke like you?"

"... How much?" Emmanellain asked miserably.

"All of it." He drawled and then clicked his tongue as the man hung his head and went to his closet. "Nah, not over there."

Emmanellain blinked, looking at Sicard once more. He was still on the bed, but he had moved to the side, crooking his finger for Emmanellain to approach.

"C'mere." He obeyed Sicard, curiosity at what he would want overcoming the earlier sense of dread and disappointment. "That's it, there's a good boy." Emmanellain colored brightly at the degrading praise. "When I said I want it all, I was meanin' your cock."

Relief filled Emmanellain as fast as his arousal and he was quick to push the hyur down on his bed.

"That's more like it!" Sicard pinched Emmanellain's cheek and pulled. "What the hell do you take me for? A robber? Really?"

"How was I to know?! Do you have any idea how many people have..." He trailed off, suddenly aware he should perhaps not divulge just how gullible he could be. "Now then, where were we?"

"You were givin' me quite the show. Why not finish it?" Sicard's bare foot nudged at the elezen's prominent bulge. "Take em off."

Emmanellain obeyed, far too eager, and tossed them to the floor, now fully exposed. If not for the clear desire in those golden eyes, the Ishgardian might have felt uncomfortable to bare himself like this.

"I see you covered the marks I made." Sicard frowned and Emmanellain swallowed, feeling guilty. "Ah well, guess I'll just have to make em darker."

Emmanellain had not expected the possessive remark. Even less, he certainly didn't anticipate how it excited him. He boldly reached for the hem of Sicard's shirt and pulled it over his head. It was precisely what the hyur wanted and Emmanellain proceeded to divest him of the rest of his clothes.

"There's so many." Emmanellain remarked as the man's tattoos were revealed. He zeroed in on something glinting at the base of his shaft. "Is that a piercing?"

Sicard snorted then goaded, "See for yourself."

Emmanellain did, after he shimmied the last scrap of clothes down his legs. His cock bow freed, it was already half erect. Sicard lay back on the pillows, hands behind his head, and let the sheltered man explore his body. Emmanellain started with his calves, rather than the chest as Sicard had started with him. Large, cold hands gripped his ankle, feeling the hair under his palm as it worked its way higher. There were a few small tattoos here as well.

As his hands continued to roam lean muscle, Sicard flexed his legs, drawing attention to his rousing cock. Emmanellain felt his mouth water at the sight. He wasted no time taking the thick shaft in hand, much to Sicard's surprise. He was hardly as shy as he was yesterday and the hyur had to wonder whether he'd been deceived. Especially when the second hand came to cup his balls.

"Emm," Sicard spread his thighs to expose more of himself to the man, "you sure you've never done this before?"

"I just figure," Emmanellain began sheepishly, "as a man, pleasuring another man... It shouldn't be too different from pleasuring myself."

Sicard smirked. "I trust you're an expert in self pleasure then, virgin?"

Emmanellain gave him an unamused look and then move his hand from his scrotum to yank at the piercing above his shaft. Sicard hissed and threw his head back. Surprised at the reaction, he repeated the action.

"Ngh, fuck, easy there. You're gonna have me pop off 'fore you get us anywhere."

"Are you one of those types that enjoys pain?" Emmanellain released the piercing and pressed his thumb against the seam of his sack.

"Maybe," Sicard answered through gritted teeth. "Ain't really had anyone dared to try me."

"Hm," Emmanellain hummed and shifted to straddle him. "Is this fine?" He pressed their cocks together.

"You need to ask? Aye, do as you'd like. I said we'd take this at your pace. I'll take as much as you're willing to give." Sicard ground his hips up against him.

Emmanellain moaned and bent over the one on his back. He took a moment to shift their position so that Sicard's thighs rested upon his own. Then, with his forearms on either side of Sicard's head, he began to thrust their hips together. He started out slow and only a bit clumsy. Emmanellain had to pause several times to get in just the right position to grind down comfortably on the other. Once he finally had, Sicard threw his arms around his neck and dragged his face closer so that he could carry out his promise to darken the elezen's pale neck.

Much like yesterday, the new sensations began to overwhelm Emmanellain and he struggled to keep the momentum as his balls tightened and legs strained under the effort of supporting Sicard's.

"Roll over," the shorter man demanded, lightly smacking the pale shoulder, "let me finish this."

Emmanellain gratefully obliged, rolling over onto his back beside the other. He wasn't sure what Sicard intended to do. But he was eager for it all the same.

Sicard sat between his long, smooth legs, cock in hand. Emmanellain rather liked the haziness of the man's eyes in this moment. Not as much, of course, as he liked the feeling of both their cocks being gripped together in a rough, warm hand. He moaned in appreciation at their shafts being stroked together. As Sicard's powerful arm moved, he leaned down and lightly brushed his lips inches from Emmanellain's own, only to drift to the long ear. He grunted, biting down just as Emmanellain released with a painted cry from the bite. Though it soon turned pleasured as his euphoria settled his racing mind.

"Would that we had met more often..." He panted once they both had returned to themselves. They now lay side by side. Emmanellain's neck was absolutely ruined with bruising. Just as Sicard promised, they would be difficult to cover up. Not that Emmanellain particularly minded as his fingers absently traced the marks.

"Are you still meaning to stalk me?" He asked casually.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sicard replied stubbornly.

"... You mean to tell me our every meeting has been happenstance?" Emmanellain sat up so he could look down at Sicard. "I would have believed you before you pulled that little stunt at dinner today."

"... Pure coincidence. Like I said, didn't expect to see you." Sicard said evenly.

"You said my entire legal name. Stephanivien only called me Emmanellain..."

"... You're a lot more perceptive than people give you credit for, strumpet." His praise made Emmanellain's heart leap. "... Aye, I knew exactly who you were."

"I see." Before he had much time to mope, Sicard leaned up to kiss him properly.

"I meant to rob you," he confessed, "but it seems you're the better thief."

"And what, pray tell, is it that I've stolen?"

"Ain't it obvious now?" He laughed and the sound delighted Emmanellain... Almost as much as the answer.

"That's is incredibly corny." He laughed while Sicard shrugged. "We only just met. Yet you'd claim I've stolen your heart? Really now? How easy could you be?"

"Like I said, I knew exactly who you were." Sicard repeated himself to a baffled Emmanellain.

Before he could ask after more, the sound of a card being swiped sent Sicard crashing to the floor when Emmanellain panicked.

"Brother, I'm coming in."

"Er, yes brother! Just a minute! I'm indecent."

Sicard never did forgive Artoirel for forcing him to sit in that closet for a nearly three hour long discussion about his lover's former betrothed...

Chapter Text

Day 25: Bubble

Pairing: Emmanellain & Sicard (pre relationship)

Rating: Teen

A low groan was released into the scratchy pillow Emmanellain had his face buried in. He had been woken by cold water dripping on him. It was a tactic Haurchefant had often annoyed him with. As more water dripped over his back, he growled and reached back to swat at his offender.

"Knock it off, Haurche..." Emmanellain's hand brushed something rougher than skin. He shot up in bed to find himself in an unfamiliar room. "Where..."

"Took you long 'nough." Sicard withdrew his webbed hand and crossed his arms. "You damn near slept through the whole trip."

"Oh... you are a fishman. Ow!" He winced when the man smacked the back of his head.

"Word o' advise 'fore we arrive," Emmanellain rubbed his head, distracted by the sight of the Lominsan's newly bared arms, "oy, lookit me when I'm talkin' to you."

"Are those scales?" There were patches of iridescence leading from the back of his hand up the outer part of his arms, disappearing under the tight bodysuit he was wearing. "They look different from Dravanian scales. Softer and prettier too."

"Aye, they are." Sicard gave the Ishgardian a funny look and reached over to throw on his jacket. "I'm only gonna say this once, but you can't go 'round like a tourist. Especially down in Limsa Lominsa."

"That's your home, right? You mentioned you're a Lominsan..." Emmanellain got up from the bed and stretched his long limbs, the ill-fitting shirt lifting to reveal his pale skin.

"Aye." Sicard nodded and started to fasten his jacket. "We're not fish... and Rhoswen is like to take that rod o' yers and feed it to her spawn if you take her for a man."

"Noted." Emmanellain pulled his borrowed shirt down. "Will you be introducing me to this Lady Rhoswen?"

"Let's hope not." He replied with a grimace. "She's got a thing for alien men... eats 'em alive." Emmanellain rose a brow, curious. "Not in a fun way, mind. Tosses her leftovers to her crew." Sicard was satisfied to see the other aghast. "Now then, let's get you some proper fittin' clothes. We'll be stopping by the station 'fore we enter La Noscea's atmosphere."

~

Emmanellain's jaw dropped as they entered the space station. It was a busy environment with aliens from all over. None of which he recognized, seeing as he had never even left his world before... whatever it was that led to his being found by the Lominsan captain. Said man was walking alongside him, occasionally having to pull the taller man back to his side whenever he started to drift towards something that caught his interest.

"There's the clothing section we're lookin' for." He pointed to a group of racks with various bodysuits, jackets, and pants meant for space travel. "We'll also need to get you a breather."

"A breather? But I feel quite fine. Are you feeling fatigued? Is it because you need to be in water?" Emmanellain gave him a baffled look.

Sicard groaned and rubbed his face in exasperation. "I don't... ugh, forget it. You can just drown." Yet he still went to a shelf displaying the little masks. "La Noscea is over 80% water. Limsa Lominsa's got some docks and such for ships and visitors, but her land is only accessible by goin' under."

Emmanellain's brow furrowed as he tried to picture such a place. As he pondered, Sicard rolled his eyes and started to grab clothes for the Ishgardian to try on.

"These are dreadful." Emmanellain commented as the pile was shoved at him. "Surely there's something more fashionable?"

"You're welcome to look. But these'll fare better down in Limsa Lominsa. And they're within my budget." He jabbed his gloved finger at the man's chest. "Unless you've remembered that bank account o' yours?"

The Ishgardian huffed at the jab and waved him off before sorting through the clothes. Once he had an acceptable outfit selected, he looked around.

"Where's the tailor?"

"Tailor? You think this place could afford that kinda service?" Sicard rolled his eyes and nudged him over to a fitting room. "Just try 'em on."

"... They look... complicated."

Emmanellain studied the small bodysuit, doubtful that it could possibly fit. Honoroit was the one to assist him when he was to wear anything more than a simple shirt and pants. He peaked at Sicard, considering him. After their interaction in the captain's bathroom, Emmanellain's thoughts had been rather chaotic. Whilst he slept, his dreams had featured the man in arousing situations. With his memory still addled, Sicard's suggestion that he could have broken the laws of the church had begun to feel more likely. After all, Ishgardians were not meant to be so... promiscuous.

Yet here he was, having inappropriate thoughts and dreams about someone he had only just met. A man, at that. It was not proper nor to doctrine. If it was true that he had already been afflicted with Thordan's Wrath, then perhaps he needn't be so guarded with the man. Though at the same time, a deep feeling of dread kept him from acting upon these thoughts. Still, he could trust Sicard enough to help him dress without anything more.

"Could you assist, captain?"

Sicard rose a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching into his usual smirk for only a moment. But, recognizing his apprehension, he sighed and opened one of the changing rooms, motioning for Emmanellain to enter first. Once he was in, Sicard stepped in and locked the door behind them. It seemed the privacy was adequate enough for the Ishgardian to remove the clothes loaned to him. Siacard leaned against the wall, waiting to be called to assist.

"Say Sicard," Emmanellain talked to fill the silence, "what were you doing out where you found me?"

"Scavenging." He replied. "Don't suppose you've had any recollections after your little beauty sleep."

"Beauty?" The compliment brought color to his pale cheeks.

"I never said it worked." The man smirked and Emmanellain huffed and pointedly returned to removing his clothes.

"I haven't. But I don't even know if I want to any more." He picked up the body suit, examining it to find its fastenings. "... How..?"

"There's a zipper at the back."

Upon finding it, Emmanellain gave an appreciative hum and pulled it down. As he tried to pull it on, he drew a snicker from his audience as he nearly fell over in his effort. Sicard shook his head and approached.

"Here, sit down on that bench there." He manhandled the Ishgardian to sit. "You'll wanna put em on like a pair o' stockings. You're familiar with those, I trust? I saw a couple in your ship's closet."

"I usually have Honoroit to help me into them." He confessed, missing the way Sicard's brows rose in surprise. "This is tedious." Emmanellain frowned as he slipped his foot into one of the holes."

"Mate, that's the wrong one." Sicard smacked his hands lightly and peeled the bodysuit off. "You're absolutely hopeless... I'll be chargin' extra for this. I ain't your cyborg."

"Of course not," Emmanellain smirked lightly as he quipped, "Honoroit smells far less fish-ah! Don't pinch me, you brute."

"Then quit sassin' me." He pinched the man's inner thigh again and returned to rolling the skintight bodysuit up. "Your legs are smooth, so you won't have to worry about it rubbin' your scales the wrong way."

"Is there a right way to rub your scales?" Emmanellain's tone was curious, but then he remembered his dream and flustered. "Er, nevermind. Forget I asked."

"I'd rather not forget." Sicard snorted and rolled his eyes. "One amnesiac's enough I think." He smirked when Emmanellain laughed. "Whenever you decide you wanna rub my scales, I'd be happy to teach you how to do it right."

~

Emmanellain found that the skintight suit was uncomfortable, but certainly complimented his figure. He had been allowed to wear it out of the store once Sicard paid for it. Something both men were thankful of for different reasons. In the end, the bodysuit was all they purchased. Once they were back on the Astalicia, Sicard dragged him to the crew's laundromat to snag a Bloody Executioner's jacket and pants that fit.

It had drawn attention from some members, making Emmanellain nervous. Half the crew was an alien race he was unfamiliar with. Their blue-gray skin looked smooth enough, but when one bumped into him, the skin had felt like sandpaper against his own. Emmanellain had been surprised when Sicard scolded his man for not looking where he was going on his behalf.

"I'd say they don't bite, but that'd be a lie." Sicard muttered and then added. "Hurts like a bitch too. Trust me."

Emmanellain paled and he chuckled before leading him to the bridge to watch the Astalicia breach La Noscea's atmosphere. The planet looked to be covered with nothing but water, as Sicard had claimed. There was a massive tower with a beam at the top which seemed to be their destination. As they approached, Emmanellain saw it was similar to the space station. Several ships were docked, people of all shapes and sizes coming and going.

"We'll be landing on the lowest part, seein' as the Astalicia's aquatic." Sicard motioned to the crew to start their descent. "I'll have to go and fetch someone to come aboard to look at Honoroit. I don't know how waterproof he is and carryin' him around the docks'll draw some undesirable attention."

"In his present state... I'm not sure either." Emmanellain sighed. "Will we be going underwater to fetch this specialist?"

"I hope not," Sicard grumbled, surprising the Ishgardian. "With any luck, they'll be in their shop up here rather than their factory below."

"A factory... below?"

After securing his cabin and ensuring his crew was doing their tasks, Sicard led Emmanellain through the busy docks towards this shop. Unfortunately, a sign was on the door, stating they were closed for the day. Sicard cursed and faced Emmanellain.

"I'll have to go below. You can go back to my cabin. The code's-"

"Wait, you mean I'm not coming with you?" Emmanellain frowned. "Is that not why you had me bring this?"

"Can you even swim?" He inquired with a dubious look.

"I can," he nodded then looked rather sheepish, "or at least I think I can."

Sicard rose a brow and was about to insist he return the ship again until he spotted something in the water behind Emmanellain.

"'Lo there, cap'n." A female voice called out and the Ishgardian whirled around to seek her out. "This man yours?"

The woman was attractive, if you were to overlook her piscine features. She had short hair and, beneath her jaw, appeared to be frilly gills. Her eyes were wide and face rather flat with hardly any nose. As Emmanellain took in her appearance, he realized she was practically naked below the water's surface. He breasts, while small, were fully bared and, as she caught him staring, pressed above the water's surface with a giggle.

"Likin' the view?" She cooed. "Yer welcome to take a closer look."

"Piss off, Siren." Sicard snarled. "This one's mine."

"Boo," she stuck her tongue out at him and swam up to pull her torso onto the deck near Emmanellain. The Ishgardian was mesmerized by the shameless sight. "Heh, your lad here seems to be more interested in a swim with me."

"Wha--I... well..." Emmanellain flustered and looked over his shoulder to see the murderous look on the captain's face. He swallowed and shook his head. "I... I think I'd rather not, actually."

"Well, if you change your mind," she winked up at him, "just pay the Missing Member a visit, hm?" She dove back down, a slap of her tail spraying Emmanellain with salty sea water.

"What... was that?"

"One of Rhoswen's crew. A Sanguine Siren." He replied tersely. "If you're so interested, maybe you should have taken her up on that offer."

"As... Enticing... As that idea may look, I fear that she might drown me." Emmanellain wiped water from his face. "What manner of creature was she?"

"A Lominsan." Sicard stated, patronizing.

"Your females look so different... " Emmanellain wondered how their courtship might go, until he recalled what Sicard had said last night. About having gills, fins, and a tail whilst in the water. "When you're in the water, do you also have frilly gills or..?" He trailed off at Sicard's unamused expression.

"Just go back to the ship. If the Siren's are swimmin' about, you're like to get dragged away the moment we hit the water." He pulled the Ishgardian from the edge of the dock.

"You don't think they would actually..."

"You'd wish they had." Sicard snorted and started to shove him back towards the Astalicia. "Now keep goin' up that way. I'll be back in about an hour."

"Very well," he answered reluctantly, "I shall return to your cabin."

Sicard nodded and gave him one last push before heading back down to where they met the sirens. If not for the clear dislike on Sicard's face from encountering the female Lominsan, Emmanellain might have wondered if he simply wanted to get rid of him to try her out for himself. This imagined scenario left him feeling unsettled. He enjoyed having the man's attention, even if he wasn't able to reciprocate.

"For the last time, woman, I am not fertilizin' your bloody eggs!" Emmanellain startled when the door in front of him slammed open suddenly. "Go back to your waters and quit seducing my crew into letting you in."

A blond man was thrown out, his cushioned rear hardly covered by more than a strip of cloth. His legs were covered in silvery scales. This was a Lominsan, just like Sicard. He shuffled back to try a discreet retreat, but did not realize there was a bucked behind him. The clatter startled the man and the one who had thrown him out stepped out of his establishment to find the source of the racket.

"What're ye lookin' at, ye bastard?" The blond struggled to his feet, looking unsteady while the tall, tanned skin man with familiar features stared at him with wide pale eyes.

"Fortemps?!"

"Durendaire?!"

Emmanellain scarce had time to process the rush of memory before things went dark.

When the light returned, it was strangely fluid, dancing along the sandy floor he was laid back on. As his blurry vision cleared, he felt his heart stop at the breathtaking sight above him. Schools of colorful fish swam among towering kelp. Emmanellain was underwater. Though he did not know how he arrived here. Then he recalled the scene he had stumbled upon. The sharp pain at the back of his head, which was still stinging, before everything went dark. Right after he discovered someone he thought he knew.

"Good morning, handsome." A familiar voice cooed and he turned to see the Lominsan female from the docks swimming around the little bubble he was trapped in.

"Where have you brought me?!" He demanded, jumping up, only to duck back down as his head nearly popped the bubble. "Are you mad?!"

"No. A bit hurt. But not mad." She giggled and swam around, displaying her shimmering silver and orange tail and shirt fins.

"You struck me!" Emmanellain accused.

"She did no such thing!"

The imprisoned man spun to see a blond Lominsan female wearing a familiar red shirt swim towards him. Her large storm-colored eyes, despite the lack of eyelids, seemed to narrow at him. Silver scales glinted in the sun and Emmanellain averted his gaze as even with the shirt on, the woman lacked any shame as her chest was exposed by the pull of the water.

"Ye tripped o'er a bucket an' hit yer head." She scowled. "Least, that's what captain Carvallain told me to tell ye." He sharp finned tail lashed as she too circled his bubble.

"Captain Carvallain?" Emmanellain echoed, trying to recall why the name was familiar. Then he recalled the other Ishgardian he saw which bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Ishgard's key politicians... "Where is he? What am I doing here?"

"On land." The blond stopped swimming, floating in front of him while the other Lominsan settled herself in the sand nearby. "As for why yer here... Well, ye offended one o' me girls and Carvallain promised ta pay me for gettin' rid o' ye."

"Get rid of... But why?!"

Emmanellain felt a bit panicked as he realized his situation. He was stranded miles under water, who even knows how far from shore... And Sicard wouldn't even notice his absence for an hour. The leery looks from that first Lominsan made him fear for his chastity as well.

"I've done nothing to offend him... Probably." It was, after all, possible he had done something in the past which his amnesia had yet to clear. "And I did not mean any offense my lady, I assure you. I will be happy to make it up to you, of course.”

“My lady?” The women laughed at the title.

“Captain Sicard found ‘imself quite the catch.” The coquettish woman teased.

“Captain Sicard?” The other stared the Ishgardian down. “You belong to the Bloody Executioners?”

“Belong to..? I belong to no one! As for these Bloody Executioners… I've never even heard of them.”

“Yet yer wearin’ their garb.” The Siren scowled. “Ye think I'm daft, boy?”

“N-No! Of course not. I genuinely don't know what you're talking about, what's going on, or where I am!”

“But ye know Captain Sicard.”

“Yes?”

“Acting Captain of the whole Bloody Executioners. The most ruthless pirate crew in La Noscea and most of the galaxy.”

“Sicard? Pirate?” Emmanellain’s blue eyes were wide at these revelations. “Surely you jest? I mean, sure, Sicard is a bit rough at times. But he saved me.”

The woman rose a brow. “Aye, I'll bet he's savin’ ye. Likely til he finds someone willin’ to buy ye.”

“Buy… I am a man, not an object!”

“Ye think the Bloody Executioners care about that?”

Emmanellain swallowed, recalling all the looks he received aboard the Astalicia. Several had certainly been rather hostile. Yet in spite of that, Sicard had brought him to his cabin and offered to help restore Honoroit. Surely there was some kind of misunderstanding…

“What do you intend to do with me?” Emmanellain asked warily.

“Same thing we do with any man what finds their way to us.” the Sanguine Siren captain revealed her row of sharp teeth and Emmanellain stepped as far back as the bubble containing him would allow.

“I promise I have no interest in–”

“To hell with your interests. You men’re all alike. You may protest at first, but after that? You'll be beggin’ for more. Fetch the crew! We've got us a new fertilizer.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n!"