Chapter Text
"How come I don't got scales?" The little lady, Miss Arianne, demands with none-too-concealed indignance, her cheeks puffed and tinged pink. "Why does he get scales and I don't?!" Her voice rises into near shrieking volume and dread trickles down your spine at the thought of another potential outburst by the young elezen. The furniture had, quite frankly, suffered enough about as is.
Mistress Ejinn simply reaches out with her free hand, the other cradling her newborn to her breast, and teasingly pinches her daughter's pointed ear in between her thumb and fore finger. The girl squeaks in protest and makes a valiant attempt to bat her mother's hand away.
"Because then, love, you would not have ears! And surely you wouldn't be able to don those clasps your mother buys you at the market without ears, correct?" The au ra woman smiles at her eldest, whose face soon morphs to shock. Arianne slaps her small hands over her ears as though the appendages would soon fly off.
Crisis averted, you release a shaky exhale and pretend to continue your work on the Mistress' finances rather than eavesdropping upon her young family.
"I want my ears!" The girl exclaims in alarm, covering them still. "I need them!"
"Just as your brother needs his scales," Mistress replies gently, "as they'll protect him from harm, just as surely you'll protect him from any threats."
Puffing out her chest in pride, the little lady moves her hands to sit firmly at her sides. The telltale glint of steely determination in her gaze causes you to smile. Arianne was truly the defender of the household, however young she may still be.
"I'll protect him and mama! I can hear real good! Nothing can get past me!"
Mistress Ejinn laughs warmly instead of giving a true response, placing her free hand on her daughter's head, and ruffling the elezen's silver hair a little. The girl positively beams.
Yukio is everything is sister is not, and the two are so complete opposite of one another that often times you find yourself mind-boggled at their relation. The au ri boy shares his mother's scales and dark hair, and his father's clear, blue eyes. His elder sister's eyes are bright and fuchsia like their mother's, and her silver hair leaves no question to her parentage, otherwise.
Arianne is a firecracker of a girl, leading her brother by the hand everywhere they go, the younger taking to her shadow as if it were a second home. Yukio is subdued and passive in temperament, shying away from conflict, people, animals, some frightening plants, and most everything else. Ever the brave protector of the little people she is, the young lady steps up to her role as eldest with ease and does not make light of slights against her family.
Yukio's appearance and gentleness make him an easy target for particularly cruel jests by other children, as does his preference to withdraw into himself at any sign of danger. However, not even the wrath of a primal can compare to thus: the boiling desire for vengeance of a girl naught ten summers old.
Mistress Ejinn ends up using more healing magic than ever before, though cautiously within her limits, once her two children are old enough to wander Gridania in relative safely. At worst, the lad comes home teary-eyed but none worse for wear, his sister instead sporting various scrapes and bruises and sometimes a split lip.
Arianne takes to the art of war as though it were breathing, and enrolls as a lancer the moment she is grown enough to wield the weapon proper. The teasing against her little brother ceases near instantly after she begins to carry with her a training lance wherever she goes, though she knows to not brandish it outside of necessity and takes her teachings with utmost seriousness.
Yukio doesn't enjoy the thrill of a fight as his sister does, instead opting to read over his mother's books from her early conjurer days, though still far too young to cast magic safely. He is excited by the idea of following in the Warrior of Light's footsteps, and finds his own footing not long after Arianne begins to put her training into practice on the field. Though ever protective of her younger sibling, who is quickly matching her in physical height, she is endlessly proud and takes to flaunting about her brother's scholarly wits at every opportunity.
Having more time to herself and her tasks away from her children does Mistress Ejinn well, and you're more than happy to relay to Lord Haurchefant updates of her squadron and improving mood. On top of all of the letters and gifts you were also sent to deliver, which you do so with great enthusiasm.
You don't find anything about Ishgard you enjoy enough to stay more than is necessary, but you also take the time to meander around Camp Dragonhead and pester the Lord's staff for any gossip. He knows what you're up to, and you know he knows, but you shan't be denied the simpler pleasures of silly interpersonal drama where you can find it. The work of a retainer can be dull at times, and while you do love your charges and the Mistress and even the Lord, intensely so, you do have your own life to live.
You also met your other half during a scheduled visit to the frozen nation, as it so happens. A scruffy adventurer taking advantage of the birthing peace a thousand years in the making, and you, a simple miqo'te, out to find the strongest spirits you can as an impromptu gift to the Silver Fuller. But that's a story for another time.
You enjoy Lord Haurchefant's company, and you also enjoy taking the time to assure him that you're looking out for him too, regardless of his say in the matter. You know far more keenly than most others, those in question not withstanding, about how the Lord carries the burden of guilt from the events leading to the Warrior of Light's perpetual retirement. He needs not say it, as his actions and expressions speak volumes and you have always been a sharp listener. It is not your place to soothe him, and you do not interfere with his matters, but nevertheless you check on him as often as you can while in the area.
Mistress Ejinn thanks you once in the midst of tears, her shoulders trembling and face buried in her hands. You decide to toss decorum out the window and hold her, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she weeps. She blames herself for not being strong enough for her love, for his people. For being reckless and not nearly cautious enough and allowing him to come to harm.
The Lord blames himself for the demise of the Warrior of Light.
Their children know naught better and are protected from their parents' grief, showered in warmth and love so genuine it causes your heart to ache.
You are merely a retainer, a manservant, a friend. You cannot solve the problems these heroes bear so far out of your scope, but nevertheless you will endeavor to be a rock in their lives. A solid presence and anchor, doing what you can, and reaching out to both when they do not have the strength to do so themselves.
Tis the least you can do, for this family you love so dearly.