Chapter Text
Fourchenault had not been to Gridania since the days of his youth when his father had taken him to see the vast and varied lands of Eorzea. After that, his father’s choices had soured the place in Fourchenault’s mind to such an extent that he had not had the slightest inclination to visit even if his many responsibilities had allowed him the time to do so. Gridania did not seem much altered; ‘twas still green and full of smiling, careless people who appeared unfettered by the weight of obligations. The streets were bustling with those who fancied being called adventurers and made certain to never be seen without their fashionably bloody weapons. Fourchenault suppressed the urge to sneer at them for the warmongering and noxious ideals they had planted into the heads and hearts of his impressionable children. He could only hope that Alphinaud and Alisaie would be capable of seeing reason when push came to shove.
Upon entering the Lotus Stand, Fourchenault could not help but admire the picturesque plaza awaiting at the end of the path. Round stones of varying sizes were resting upon the surface of a small pond in a way that brought to mind water lilies and their leaves. The fact that the Elder Seedseer awaited in the middle of the arrangement suggested that she was the flower to which the leaf-like stones led. Mayhap that was why she was dressed like one, in her white, flowing dress with her flower-motif staff in hand.
But this was not the time to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the place he was visiting, so Fourchenault retained his serious expression as he joined the small gathering. Besides Kan-E-Senna and her guards, his children and a couple of their friends were present, one of whom seemed to be an Archon – a ginger male Miqo’te with unusually red eyes. Since the other incongruous presence was a female Viera, ‘twas more than likely that she was the troublesome Warrior of Light with whom both Alphinaud and Alisaie were so obviously smitten. ‘Twas no wonder that she should be there, for she appeared to surface wherever there was trouble. Had Fourchenault not been on his best behavior, he would have scoffed at the sight of her.
“Elder Seedseer, I thank you for granting me this audience,” he said. “I am Fourchenault Leveilleur, here in my capacity as representative of the Forum.”
The Padjal offered her pleasantries in return, as the protocol demanded, and her attendants nodded politely in rhythm with their mistress.
“It has been too long, Father. You look well,” Alphinaud addressed Fourchenault and the sage turned to smile at his children. They seemed properly dressed and in good health and their eyes were shining with joy upon seeing him. Pride swelled in his chest to see them there, offering counsel to leaders.
“As do you both,” he replied. In his eye, they did not appear altered but from the letters they had sent to Ameliance, he knew that they had experienced much and more. “Ameliance will be glad to hear that you are taking care of yourselves.” He was also happy to see them thriving despite the challenges they had faced. He hoped that they had learned from their long journeys enough to justify the worry they had given their parents because of their long absence.
“How is Mother?” Alisaie inquired.
Fourchenault sighed inwardly. Even though it had been years since the divorce, their daughter still wished for her parents to get back together. Mayhap ‘twas natural for her to desire such a thing but Fourchenault did not share her wish. Ameliance was much more content with her polyamory than she would have been with only him and he himself was rather alone than in a relationship of that sort.
“The last I heard, she missed you terribly, of course, but was otherwise a picture of health,” he replied before turning back to the Elder Seedseer to thank her for looking after his children and his father.
He did a relatively good job of keeping his tone civil until Kan-E-Senna began gushing about his late father. At that point, Fourchenault had to set her straight about his views concerning his father’s misguided actions. When he took in the fallen faces around him, he announced, “But I came here not to deliver a lecture, but the Forum’s answer to your request.” He stood up straighter and met the Elder Seedseer’s green eyes. “Sharlayan will under no circumstances intervene in the conflict between Eorzea and the Garlean Empire.”
Most of his audience appeared shocked and appalled by his news, although curiously not the Viera. Her posture and expression remained unchanged from the relaxed stance and polite smile which she had kept since his arrival. Her lack of reaction made her stand out amidst the outraged company and invited him to examine her more thoroughly. She was dressed for travel, not for meeting a foreign dignitary. Her boots were comfortable, her tight trousers hugged the shape of her long legs flatteringly, her jacket was worn but clean and – he had to admit – favorable to her flawless form. Her long, raven hair was down and framed her oval face in a way that he found pleasing. She had the largest, darkest eyes he had ever seen, and they were firmly fixed on him. Their gaze spoke of the kind of intelligence and wisdom he would not have expected from someone whose business was murder and mayhem. The slight curve of her lips which revealed a dimple in her cheek suggested that she was somehow amused by him. Her intense study of him gave him a sudden urge to loosen his collar to cool himself off and make breathing easier as heat rose towards his cheeks.
“May I ask for what reason the Forum has come to this decision?” Kan-E-Senna queried after getting her bearings and forced Fourchenault to focus on the Padjal anew. “The Final Days spell the end not only for Eorzea, but the entire world.”
He sneered and explained the Forum’s views further, making it explicit that Sharlayan had no intention of getting involved.
“Father, you must ask the Forum to reconsider,” Alphinaud spoke up to Fourchenault’s displeasure, though not to his surprise. Both the twins argued passionately for the war, just as he had feared they would. Before arriving, he had planned what he would say and gone even so far as to practice it to be able to keep a neutral expression. He knew how much his words would hurt them – and him – but they needed to be said. All this, all his years in the Forum, his single-minded dedication to his duty, was to keep his children safe, even from themselves. He wished that, in time, they would understand.
He sighed and began the speech which would sever his children from him, perhaps forever. He clamped down on his emotions, he forced the tears burning in his eyes to remain there, he willed his voice not to show an onze of hesitation. In his mind, he blamed his father for this. Had Louisoix not grown so damned fond of this collection of combative, illogical, self-serving city states, Fourchenault’s children would not have felt the need to come here and involve themselves in foreign matters. They would have remained in Sharlayan under the watchful but loving gaze of their adoring father and been safe.
After his monologue was finished, Fourchenault took a deep breath and turned to leave.
The Elder Seedseer called after him in an attempt to persuade him to stay and chitchat about futile dreams, but he was not in the mood for frivolities of that kind.
Without turning back, Fourchenault stated, “I have said what I came here to say. Any further discussion would be meaningless.”
He heard Alisaie’s voice calling to him, but Alphinaud stopped her from following their father, for the boy knew it to be useless. Fourchenault advanced slowly along the path to give himself more time to settle the storm raging within. He was surprised to hear the sound of quick, light footsteps gaining on him.
“Master Leveilleur,” a velvety female voice said from behind his back.
He stopped to face the Warrior of Light. When she arrived at his side, he could not help but notice that her dark eyes were even more impressive up close.
“I hope you do not harbor any illusions about being able to threaten me into changing the Forum’s decision,” he said.
She tilted her head, and that same expression of slight amusement she had worn in the meeting revisited her visage. “Now, why would you assume that to be my method?”
He crossed his arms unto his chest and looked down on her disapprovingly. “You are the Warrior of Light, are you not? Many a report has come across my desk about your barbaric methods.”
“Poor man, those must have been a boring read,” she replied, not the least bit bothered by his cold tone or his obvious disapprobation of her. “I didn’t follow you to try and change your mind – I know better than that. After all, I’m familiar with your kids and their apparently inherited stubbornness.”
Fourchenault glared at her in a way which would have made his colleagues in the Forum flinch and step back. He did not appreciate her hinting that he was as stubborn as his foolhardy progeny. “If you came to insult me, I will take my leave. I have better things with which to occupy my time.”
She nodded. “There are undoubtedly many more reports about my barbarity on your desk, just crying to be read by you. That’s only to be expected since I was doing barbarity all over the place all day long while you traveled here,” she mused and met his eyes. She must have seen his next protest in his gaze because she said, “No, Master Fourchenault, neither did I follow you to make fun of you – that just sort of happened. My intention was to appeal to your reason and goodwill.”
“Your means of making yourself heard do not serve to recommend you, I am afraid. Besides, there is naught reasonable about waging war,” he replied with his eyes narrowed.
“I doubt you’ll believe me, but the truth of the matter is that I have the utmost respect for Sharlayan’s pacifistic ideals,” she said.
The Warrior of Light, the most famous adventurer in Hydaelyn – a pacifist? Not likely. “You are correct. I do not believe you.”
A mirthless smile played on her lips. “Yet, it’s true. I respect life and only kill that which must be killed. Therefore, I posit that Sharlayan should reconsider her position. This war will come regardless of politics, ideals, and stated neutralities. Fandaniel – that’s the nutso Ascian orchestrating this crap fest – doesn’t give a fuck about your politics. Should Sharlayan stand behind her decision to merely chart the course of history, said history and her charters will surely perish ere long, along with all life on this star.” Her expression was surprisingly neutral and the tone of her voice matter-of-fact. He saw that she was stating facts, not prophesying doom and gloom because she enjoyed the sound of her own voice. She continued, “Since you do consider Eorzeans barbarians, should not the learned scholars and historians be involved in planning the future of the star, if only to make sure that there will be one? Aren’t you afraid that the others will just fuck everything up without the collective wisdom of Sharlayan behind the decisions?”
That was exactly why they had their own plan which they were following meticulously, he thought, but he was not about to tell her that. “It befits Eorzea to have chosen such a foul-mouthed champion,” he jeered.
She chuckled. “Oh, come now, Master Fourchenault, there’s no need to be so prim and proper. I’ve spent years in the company of the living proof that you’ve gotten laid at least once.”
Despite his best efforts to resist it, he felt the blush rising to his cheeks. “You would do well to mind your tongue! Your vulgarity might be acceptable in the forest, but should you ever use such words in civilized society, you would be shunned.”
“Damn, it must hurt to have a stick that far up your arse,” she replied and shook her head with a grin on her lips. “Besides, you know that’s not true. It’s common knowledge that the first thing you learn when studying a new language are the dirty words and hence the city of scholars is ripe with inventive cussing in every living and dead language under the sun.”
As someone who had studied more than his fair share of languages, Fourchenault would grudgingly have to admit that to be true, but she need not know that. “Students are known to have high spirits. True scholars mature with age.”
“Do they now? I haven’t noticed,” she answered in a light tone.
He glared at her. “Most likely you have not spent much time around any.”
She laughed out loud, making him wonder what was so funny about his statement. The sound of her genuine laughter was pleasing and infectious in his ears, and he had to work to keep the edges of his mouth from rising up in response.
“To think that you brag about all the reports you’ve read about me…” she chuckled and dried her eyes. “By the Twelve, man… get some better spies.”
“Unlike Eorzean leaders, the Forum does not employ spies.”
“You clearly should.”
He huffed. “What is it that our sources have missed then?”
She met his gaze and tilted her head. “You expect me to simply tell you after you refused to help us save the world? I think not, sir scholar.”
“I have a name,” he protested. He would have her use it, if only to hear the familiar syllables flow from her tongue in the nigh caressing way in which she had pronounced them before. Her slight accent made them sound better than he could have imagined.
“So do I. One you seem not to know.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Tch, tch.”
“Alphinaud and Alisaie call you Eir,” he said. After her name had begun appearing in every letter the twins had sent their mother, Fourchenault had done what any academic worth their salt would do upon hearing of a new influence on their children and perused the library for anything written by her. He had come up with naught, hence he was confident that she was not a scholar of any merit.
Her eyes were twinkling like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense. He found himself wishing to know what it was and to hear her laugh anew.
“Indeed, they do,” she agreed.
“Is that not your name?”
“It’s my nickname,” she replied with a smirk. “When I discovered that Eorzeans found my full name too difficult to pronounce – which is, in my opinion, kind of ridiculous, given that everyone knows how to say ‘Louisoix Leveilleur’ – I began going by the shortened version of my name. It saves me the trouble of having a series of awkward conversations with everyone I meet.”
“I see. What is your name then?” he inquired. He could not deny his mounting curiosity concerning her – this woman who was not what he had expected.
“I wouldn’t wish to bore you with such insignificant details about a barbarian, not when you have, according to your own words, so much business to deal with,” she said teasingly. “If you have a hankering to find out, go ask Montichaigne if he’s still hot for Hulder.” She swirled her hand in the air and did an over-dramatic bow. “Safe travels, Papa Leveilleur. It has been a blast.”
With that, she departed, and he was left wondering what in the Scholar’s name had just happened to him.