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FFXIV Write - Day 9 - Fair
Early ShB spoilers
Halone's frozen tits, this is the FUCKING worst. Celeste groused to herself, massaging her feet with oils after yet another long day in the Crystarium.
None of the other Scions decided to remain here, I've become the errand girl for the Crystalline Mean, and to add insult to injury, I'm not even here because I was WANTED or NEEDED. I was just a bloody casualty in the Exarch's attempts to reach his real target, Xander. Because of course it's Xan. It's bloody well ALWAYS Xan.
She threw aside her gauntlets in disgust as she recalled the sheer reverence in the Exarch's voice as he 'apologized for the inconvenience of her summons' and told her of his intentions to bring the Warrior of Light across the Rift. Suppose I should consider myself fortunate that he even knew who I bloody well was, though hells if I know how he knew of me. But GODS, this isn't FAIR.
She flopped back on her well-appointed bed in the Pendants, staring at the ceiling. Even despite the curtains she'd drawn shut, Light leaked into the room, all but blinding to her bleary eyes. Can't even have the decency of calling me directly, and now I'm run off my feet just trying to help the city run smoothly.
[You could just say 'no'.] Fray's familiar voice rumbled from the corner. [You're under no obligation to help these people. This isn't your world, and they're not your concern. You could just while away the hours until your comrade arrives.]
Celeste sighed at her other self's words, laying her forearm over her eyes as she delivered her rebuttal. "No, I can't. My world or not, it's where I'll be living for the foreseeable future. And these people need my help. Plus, I'd be bored just waiting around for Xan to drag his arse over here. And, well... if he doesn't show up..."
While he'd been sparse on details, the Exarch told her when she arrived that her Blessing of Light would be crucial in the days to come, should his summons fail again. Which meant, more than likely, that if Xander didn't show up the next time the Exarch tried his little 'expanse contract, eon become instant' ritual, that she'd become the linchpin to his plans to save the First. If he didn't arrive, then the burden of saving this world would fall upon her.
The thought of truly carrying the world's fate across her shoulders alone sent a chill down her spine. If she wasn't up to the task, how could she ever face all the people she'd volunteered to help since her arrival here? How could she face the Scions? Herself?
...is this what it's like for Xan, I wonder? All this running about like a headless dodo and this relentless pressure to perform acts of heroism?
She shuddered.
Maybe I haven't been fair to him. All this time, I thought he just got off on the plaudits and the praise and all that rot. That he loved soaking in the attention being THE 'Warrior of Light' got him. ...but maybe, in his heart of hearts, he feels as scared and alone as I do right now...
Considering that possibility made regret squeeze around Celeste's heart like a vice. Though she'd long since forgiven him his priggish behavior before entering Ishgard, and he'd done likewise for her behavior after their arrival, she'd not really let go of her resentment that he'd stepped forward as the face of the group. A face that wouldn't have been nearly so charismatic without her help in tailoring his approach to his audience.
Him stepping into the healer's role and offering his critiques from his limited experience only solidified Celeste's anger and bitterness at being replaced within their merry group. And that wasn't fair to him either, when he'd simply wanted to expand his knowledge base and offer assistance. Then again, it hadn't been fair to her to expect her to simply accommodate him changing roles on a whim back then, either.
As her reflections on the past gamboled over one another in her head, a knock on the door startled her from her thoughts.
"M-Mistress Celeste? I was told to come and fetch you post-haste. You have a comrade waiting to see you at the markets."
The duskwight all but catapulted herself from the bed at the hailings of the elezen- elf, they were called elves here- who worked the front desk. She didn't dare to hope, to believe that it might actually be him, but she had to see.
She threw on some clothes and offered a hurried apology to the young lad as she barreled right past him and charged full-tilt for the Musica Universalis. She only stopped running when she passed the Market Board and saw a familiar head of blond hair seemingly having a little chat with Bragi, jotting notes down in that ever-present Codex of his.
When at last he finished taking his notes and took his leave of Bragi, Xander paused in the busy marketplace, staring right at Celeste as if in disbelief.
She didn't know who started running for the other first. All Celeste knew was that she had her arms wrapped tight around her friend while he practically sobbed into the bodice of her dress.
"...sorry- all my fault- here because of me and it's not fair-!"
As Celeste ran her fingers through his carefully styled hair to comfort him, the thought she'd tried to keep buried for nearly six moons came rushing forward to stab at her heart. If we don't succeed here, then he's going to die.
As unfair as her circumstances were, as much as she bitched and moaned about being dragged into this entire affair, Celeste knew one thing for sure: Abandoning her friend to die in whatever future Urianger glimpsed from the Rift would be the most unfair act of all.
And she would never allow it to happen.
FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #1: Steer
Spoilers for Dawntrail MSQ up to level 92 and all the story that comes before it lie beneath the cut! You have been warned.
Xander couldn’t help but chuckle as he settled into his cabin for the evening. How do I always manage to get myself entangled in politics? I keep swearing that this time, this time I’ll do the wise thing and act as an observer as I travel, and yet…
He’d had his misgivings about going to Tural for the sake of aiding the nation’s princess in her bid for the throne from the very beginning. While his time spent in other lands often ended up entwining him inexorably with their political goings-on, this would be one of the first times he was going to a location for explicitly political purposes. Well, aside from his aid in Doma and Ala Mhigo in their liberation from the Empire, but that felt different, and he wasn’t as directly involved in the discussions when the time came to determine what shape the nations would take in the wake of their newfound freedom. There, he was one soldier in a crack squad amongst many revolutionaries.
But this time- this time he’d be traveling to Tural strictly to aid someone in a political maneuver, throwing the weight of his not-inconsiderable strength as combatant and advisor behind whichever person received his backing. And yet, while having met Zoraal Ja himself, he was inclined to agree with Wuk Lamat’s assessment of his character, Xander couldn’t shake a feeling, especially during these early legs of his journey, that he’d been talked into backing the wrong horse.
Wuk Lamat was not ready to lead these people. He’d said as much directly to her father’s face, which was perhaps a lapse in etiquette and diplomacy, but he’d been asked for his honest opinion. She had a good heart, she clearly loved her nation, but she lacked the forbearance, maturity, and, more importantly in his book, the support of her people necessary to give her victory in the Rite of Succession any meaning.
As things currently stood, if she succeeded in the Rite where all others failed, Xander had little doubt that her success would be attributed not to her, but to her cadre of foreign allies, and especially to him, about whom some few rumors from overseas had already begun to circulate. (Though none properly grasped the depth of his deeds, and understandably so, they beggared belief when he considered them from an outsider’s perspective.)
He knew all too well what he looked like, his introversion mistaken for pride and smug superiority, his strategies and candid words to a nation’s leaders taken as strings pulled in a coup d'état at least once. An outsider, the wicked vizier to the throne who held the true political power. (An accusation that, at least for Ishgard, he would be hard-pressed to deny- he’d really charged in like an aurochs in a china shop and destroyed their thousand-year foundational beliefs without a second thought to the repercussions for the people living there, back then. It was little wonder people looked at him either awestruck or askance after he’d nigh-singlehandedly ended the Dragonsong War. The tales always conveniently forgot his comrades and companions in their efforts to tell stories of Great Men, it seemed.)
And who was he to come to Tural to steer the course of its future? Should that not be left to the people who lived there, with his influence far, far away from it?
He remembered asking that question once of his latest lover, a man only all-too-familiar with the concept of barging into another nation and imposing the will of another over it, ere he set out.
“The seeds of Empire are sewn upon two primary concepts: One, that your homeland’s culture is the best of all possible cultures. Two, that all other cultures must, by nature, be primitive, the result of ignorance, or dangerous, and a threat that must be eliminated. You have far more self-awareness than I did at your age, and have ever been to new locations as a learner and observer. You needn’t paralyze yourself from your nature of helping others, so long as you keep an open mind and listen.”
Gaius was right, Xander had to admit. And there was most certainly a difference between imposing one’s will and being invited to play a role.
A role that he was only now coming to understand, in full.
“Guide Lamaty’i in the way that you think best. Walk at her side and, when needed, push her to walk forward.”
He was not here to gain Wuk Lamat glory, but to nurture her. To ensure that she grew into someone truly worthy of the title of Dawnservant. He had been invited to aid her because learning of other people’s perspectives might force her to reconsider her own limited knowledge, and thence grow.
I’m hardly a stranger to mentoring others, be it in the art of combat or simply the life of an adventurer. Xander mused, fiddling with a crown-and-sword-shaped pin he kept fixed to his lapel. This is- while admittedly a much larger task- an evolution of that same mentality. So. Best not to think of this as a means to steer the course of a nation, but rather, a way to steer Wuk Lamat along the paths that will help her grow and aid her people the most. If in so doing, she manages to succeed in the Rite where others fail, then so be it. But even if not… He smiled to himself. It will be worth it to watch another sprout blossom.
FFXIV Writes 2024 - Prompt #2: Horizon
Spoilers for the end of base-game Endwalker lie below the cut. You have been warned.
As a new dawn broke across the horizon at the edge of creation, Xander found himself face to face with one singular noisome loose end. A man who’d followed him across the depths of space at incomprehensible speeds to come to his aid in the final battle against the Endsinger, all to ensure that naught remained to forestall his precious rematch.
Zenos stood before him, hand extended to offer challenge and ‘singular bliss’. And as much as Xander wished to his very soul that he could take the bastard up on his offer to just leave him behind without fighting him at all, he knew that he couldn’t risk what Zenos might do if denied once more.
He nearly burned the world to cinders just to force me to fight him last time. I shudder to think what he will destroy to earn my ire if I don’t stop him here and now.
Xander closed his eyes, clenching his fist at his side as Zenos’ taunting goad of “Is that not so, adventurer?” echoed in his mind. Even now, even after everything, Zenos insisted that they were one and the same. Two souls driven by the thrill of combat, the mortal peril of dancing on the edge of life and death.
And maybe he was. Once upon a time. He’d willingly gone to the Bloodsands for a reason. Maybe that was still in him.
But Zenos didn’t need to hear that. Never. Not from him.
Part of Xander burned with the desire to wreak bloody vengeance upon this foul demon that had haunted his thoughts for far too long now. To make him pay for the utter violation, the humiliation of stealing the body he’d just made comfortable for himself for his own. To rend him limb from limb for all the harm he’d done to Etheirys.
But even his hatred would bring Zenos joy. And frankly, Xander didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He couldn’t leave. He had no choice but to indulge him in his little fantasy now. But he could make damned sure he derived not one bloody onze of the satisfaction he so desired.
He opened his eyes to behold his opponent in this strange dawn at the terminus of all, and, with his face set in a mask of determination, firmly replied, “Think what you will. But I’m not letting you leave this place.”
Zenos’ eyes slipped closed. Xander felt a momentary sting of petty delight at the silent sigh of disappointment writ large on his face.
And then, he had to open his godsdamned mouth.
“So, you would still play the hero.” Zenos opened his eyes, his grim expression shifting for a manic smile as he continued, “No matter. In acceptance, you reveal your deception. You know full well what we are. What we seek. To shine incandescent in death’s shadow!”
Xander’s eyes narrowed as he pulled out his codex, readying himself for another battle to the death against this one stubborn cockroach that refused to stay where the hells he belonged- in his memories. Shine incandescent in death’s shadow, he would indeed. And Zenos’ candle of life would be extinguished for good and all, even if it took his own life to do it.