Chapter Text
Alphinaud Leveilleur was not in a very festive mood.
Today, he was sixteen years of age.
In a handful of weeks, he and his twin sister Alisaie would graduate from the Studium, the youngest ever to receive that honor.
They would then begin preparations for the journey they had been working towards for the last three years.
They argued for it a great deal – with their peers, with their father, and with their mother most of all. At last they had won over Lady Leveilleur; without her blessing they could not even find berths on a common vessel. A somewhat unfortunate side effect of being directly related to the most powerful shipping magnate in Sharlayan...
Well. They had prevailed. They would leave Sharlayan for battered, war torn Eorzea – just as their grandfather Louisoix had done.
But first, they had to endure these final days. Alphinaud sighed.
This day in particular was proving most trying, which was why he was tucked into a corner conveniently concealed by a large potted fig. Hiding, at his own birthday party.
He was weary of making polite, empty conversation with the guests – all of whom were very important figures in Sharlayan society, and no particular acquaintances of his, much less friends. He was tired of dodging the many young ladies who kept looking for him, with a gleam in their eyes – hunters on the scent of their prey.
From here, he could see the dance floor, and his sister in her favorite scarlet gown. He envied Alisaie just a little. She adored dancing, and she was enjoying herself greatly down there. She relinquished one partner, and did not even step off the floor before another man – or two – had bowed in request of a dance with her.
Alas. Alphinaud was competent enough at dancing, but he was obliged to be the one doing the requesting. And not one of the women here, of any age, would read such a request as anything but an expression of interest. He did not wish to give such an impression, for he was unequivocally not interested. Even the most beautiful among them had no power to make his heart flutter – not when he knew the truth behind the painted smiles.
Perhaps he might find some paragon among women on foreign shores? He shook his head. Such thoughts were foolish speculation at best. He had specific goals in going to Eorzea, and he would accomplish them before he allowed himself to be distracted.
The grand clock in the main hall chimed the hour, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. He made his way to the dance floor with alacrity, and met Alisaie at the north side of it just in time to take up two glasses of champagne and hand one to her. The dance floor emptied, and across from them stood their father.
Lord Leveilleur had aged well, so they said, and certainly his famed speaking voice had lost not one jot of its vigor. He gave his speech – one that was not identical every year, but did follow the same general theme. The crowd applauded, as always, and the three of them toasted and drank the champagne. Then, with a bow, he led his sister onto the dance floor for their single “performance” of the evening. They had done this for four years now, ever since Alisaie had won the epic battle of wills with Lady Leveilleur over what sorts of duties were expected of them at gatherings like these. The song was the same, and they both knew the steps of the dance so well they could do them blindfolded. But for all the rehearsed familiarity of it, he wasn't bored; it was pleasant. Alisaie was all smiles, and he caught some of her happiness. Soon they would be free of this place, free of obligations neither of them wished to uphold any longer.
He smiled at his sister as they finished their dance, and gratefully escaped the party to head to his own chambers.
Some hours later, there was a light tap on his door.
Alphinaud looked up from his book, blinking a little as he reoriented himself. He glanced at the water-clock and nodded to himself. Almost two in the morning. Only Alisaie would be tapping on his door at this hour.
He slipped a ribbon into his book to mark his place, and set it aside. Then, he got up from his reading chair and padded over to the door. He had long since changed from his party clothes into the comfortable old things he wore when no one was going to see him.
He opened the door, and let her in without a word.
She slipped inside, and the moment the door was shut, her arms were around his waist.
“A bad one, this time?” he whispered.
“Horrible. It was about G-Grandfather...”
He hugged her as she began to cry, and slowly got her over to the side of the bed. Even their parents would be shocked to see this side of his prickly twin. Not that he would ever breathe a word of her occasional night terrors to anyone. Long used to the rituals and habits these nights required, he helped her sit on the bed, then got her to lie down. With a mutter he summoned up Noir, his obsidian carbuncle. The creature cooed at Alisaie, immediately laying down beside her, wriggling its way into her arms as she slowly let go of Alphinaud's waist.
Her sobs were largely silent, but her entire body shook with them. He got up from the bed, and arranged the things she would need on the night-stand: a glass of water, and the little blue blown-glass phial, and a pair of peppermint pastilles. She likely would need the tincture of chamomile and valerian, but the medicine was acrid even to his own palate. The pastilles would help.
She had all these things in her own room, of course. She was perfectly capable of medicating herself and going back to bed, and had done. But they were not at the dormitories of the Studium. She'd rather be with him, for now, and he was willing to indulge her.
She was only the most important person in his entire life, after all.
He put out the lights around the room and climbed into bed, his legs under the comforter and pillows tucked behind his back. Alisaie turned over, and lay her head on his lap. Noir made a soft cheep of complaint as it stamped about the blankets. The carbuncle was his latest attempt in developing new and better variations on the basic construct; it was still small and not at all suited to combat. But for now, the cat-sized creature was invaluable, reassuring Alisaie as it did.
Once Alisaie had settled again, Noir insinuated itself back into her arms, trilling as she stroked its ears. “Good boy,” she whispered to it, sniffling, before succumbing to another round of those silent, racking sobs. Alphinaud combed his fingers through her hair, soothing, patiently waiting out the storm of tears.
This was hardly new. She had suffered from nightmares, like any child, but when their grandfather Louisoix had departed for Eorzea, simple bad dreams turned into something much worse. They had still shared a suite then, a single door separating them – a door that stayed open most of the time. He still remembered, sharply, the first time he had woken to hear her screaming.
He hoped he never had to see her like that again, eyes wide open and yet not seeing, body paralyzed by terror. He had no magic then, no carbuncle, no medicine. Only himself and his arms, and he had held her and begged her to wake up and wept from his fear for her.
He pushed the memory back. All in all, a most unpleasant night for both of them. And he had worked on solutions from then on.
Always, the worst terrors seemed built around their grandfather. At first, it had been a natural enough anxiety. After all, she had been the one to cling and cry when Louisoix left. But after his death – anxiety became something else altogether, a clutching panic at any prospect of being alone.
Perhaps it was those fears, those dreams, that had helped fuel her intense focus on physical training. Not that she was any slouch in the sorts of learning he had focused on: she could weave a spell as well as he could. But where he was wont to spend entire nights reading – aetheric theory usually, but also the occasional play or book of poetry – Alisaie was studying battle magics, tactics, and training her body into a slim weapon all its own.
She was at the top of her classes in fencing, swimming, really any athletic pursuit she turned her mind to mastering. Before they had begun at the Studium, she had studied ballet, and excelled there as well. She played harp, piano, and lute with great skill – at the insistence of their mother.
He half smiled as he looked down at her, at how her long fingers buried themselves in Noir's fur. Lady Leveilleur would never be satisfied with her daughter, he feared. Nor with himself.
The thought still carried a sting for him, though he had long since given up on meeting his mother's impossible standards. Alisaie – she had been the one to stand up for him, and herself, in that so-memorable shouting match. A Starlight Festival to remember, that had been. He hadn't known until then just what sort of language Alisaie had picked up from her warrior friends.
She had calmed again, and shifted her head in his lap a little. “And what,” she asked, her voice raspy, “are you smirking about?”
“Remembering,” he answered easily. “Do you feel ready for a bit of medicine, dear sister?”
She grunted a little. “Remembering what, pray tell?”
“Your last Festival performance,” he chuckled, and was relieved to see her shoulders shake in a brief, quiet laugh as well. It was never a sure thing that he could talk her out of the coils of nightmare. Sometimes trying made it all worse.
“He was on fire,” she murmured.
Alphinaud's hand on her hair stilled. She hadn't tried to tell him the contents of her dreams for three years.
“There was blue fire everywhere,” she continued. “And shapes – dragons, I think. There were so many. And his eyes were red and he was burning. He was in the fire – no, he was the fire. I don't understand why I keep seeing that. He's dead, Alphinaud. Why do I still dream of him so?”
“I do not know the answer to that,” he sighed. “All I know is that you suffer, and all I can do is help you, as best I am able. I am no diviner of dreams, no reader of souls, Alisaie.”
“As if I would listen to any of those quacks calling themselves such,” she snorted.
“Just so. Come,” he patted her shoulder, “sit up, drink some water at least. You know you need to.”
She grunted again, a most un-lady-like curse slipping from her lips, but she obeyed him, sitting up just enough to take a sip of the water. She set the glass down, and then lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Noir cheeped again, and she absently stroked its ears.
“I'm too old for this nonsense. Little children have nightmares and need soothing.”
“You know better.” He leaned his shoulder against hers, and she turned her head to rest her forehead against his. “One day, I am certain, your nightmares will be only things of the past.”
She sighed, and leaned on him for a moment more, her eyes closed. Alphinaud's eyes shut as well, knowing that she would not lean on his strength like this for much longer. She was too stubborn to let herself rely on anyone for very long.
Today, they were sixteen.
Just for tonight, they were children.
Tomorrow, they would be adults.
And perhaps...heroes.