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The first time he meets them he doesn’t think much of it. Al’nebar he’s vaguely familiar with, but the second miqo’te and the auri are new. They’re being led around by a man he recognises as serving House Fortemps, and the two newcomers seem absolutely overwhelmed.
Outsiders are a fascination that he would sorely love to engage with, but he’s had word that an infinitely more fascinating outsider will soon be entering the city and he hasn’t had a mind for aught else since the news. Cid nan Garlond will be in Ishgard. A master of magitek and all things mechanical will be practically on his doorstep .
Getting his queries in order for the master engineer is of the utmost importance. All others can wait.
--
The second time he meets them it’s Francel and Haurchefant who bring them into the Manufactory. It’s only then that he puts the pieces together.
These three are the Warriors of Light, wards of House Fortemps, slayers of primals and saviours of his dear little brother. He shakes each of their hands with enthusiasm and promises that they will always be welcome in the Manufactory, especially if they wish to learn the ways of the machinist. It’s the best way he can think to repay them for their heroism.
Francel seems to find his gratitude embarrassing. He can’t imagine why.
--
He becomes more familiar with Lorven, who spends a few afternoons learning to shoot. She has a talent for it, but her duties keep her too busy to truly master the flintlock. It’s a pity. A Warrior of Light for their poster girl would surely bring many an aspiring machinist to the Manufactory’s doors.
Occasionally he spies Sakuya reading in the rafters. She never bothers anyone and isn’t in any way impacting their work, but it is strange to see an auri girl perched up in the ceiling, her head stuck in a book.
He asks her why when he chances to come across her at the Crozier one afternoon.
“Oh! I- Uhm that is to say I- I’m terribly sorry for trespassing.” Her face goes a bright shade of pink. Had she really thought no one would notice her?
“It is no bother, truly, you are welcome to come and go as you wish,” he says. “I’m simply curious as to why you seem so fond of using the ceiling as a reading nook.”
She grimaces and looks down at her feet. “It’s silly, but the smell of gunpowder reminds me of home.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Ah- I mean- That must sound bizarre without context,” she flusters. “I grew up in Limsa Lominsa. Firearms are not uncommon in La Noscea, and when the Maelstrom is undertaking any sort of training involving cannons you can smell the gunpowder from almost anywhere in the city.” She shrugs. “Besides, it’s quite warm up in the Manufactory rafters, and it’s a little less stuffy than the manor.”
This was not the answer he had expected, but it was quite welcome. He’d read extensively about Lominsan arms but he’d never actually met someone who had seen them used by trained fighters. He’d seen his own machinists in the field, of course, but Lominsans were, in his mind, a class of their own.
In the end he’s too wrapped up in his own musings to offering engaging conversation, and so he leaves her with the reassurance that she is indeed welcome to visit whensoever she chooses. Even if it is just to sit in the rafters.
--
He starts paying more attention when Francel speaks of his friends. He’d always listened, of course, but it seemed more imperative to understand him now that he had faces to put to the names.
Al’nebar he knew already, and S’ylver he’d spoken with most of the three thanks to her fascination with firearms. It’s Sakuya he learns the most about from his brother’s idle chatter.
He learns that she and Haurchefant are an item, though that much he’d already assumed. Francel seems convinced that they will marry ere long. This he had expected far less, though he knew Haurchefant well enough to know that if the man decided something then he would move all seven hells to make it happen.
He also learns that Francel has been slacking in his history studies, because he mispronounces Nym several times. Apparently Sakuya is a practitioner of lost Nymian artes, and his brother is absolutely enchanted by her familiar. He had though the light he sometimes saw flitting around her in the rafters simply some form of conjury that she used to light her reading. Apparently it is a sentient being in its own right - a faerie.
His brother stumbles over his explanations of the magic itself and how she came by it, so he makes a note to ask the woman herself at the next opportunity. Nymian scholars were formidable tacticians in ages long lost, and she might be able to offer ideas to improve the machinists’ formations in the field.
--
So much happens in the next month that he barely has time to breathe. Haurchefant dies. The war ends. A large portion of the history Ishgard was built on had been shattered, revealed as naught more than the continued deception of the Church. The Azure Dragoon is missing in action.
The Warriors themselves stop coming by, but he’s so concerned with consoling Francel that he fails to notice. It’s many months until he remembers to ask after Sakuya - the poor girl must surely be grieving every bit as much as his brother, and she was always so cordial on the few occasions they spoke, he’s been terribly rude not to show concern for her wellbeing.
“Nobody’s seen her since Ser Aymeric proclaimed the end of the war. She left a note but… nothing more,” Francel says. He picks at his fingernails. “Not even Lahen and Lorven know.”
--
Francel is ecstatic in the wake of the battle against Nidhogg, but not for the reasons most others are. He gushes about the three Warriors defeating the great wyrm, yes, but he seems mostly relieved that his auri friend has returned. According to Francel, the girl had needed time to herself after all that had happened, so she set off for home.
The discussion quickly devolved into speculation about the climate of remote La Noscean islands, old tales of Titan and Leviathan, and the differences between Lominsan, Ishgardian and Garlean firearms.
--
He doesn’t think of Sakuya again until he spies her up in the rafters. She seems to have books spread over several beams while she scribbles on a large piece of parchment in front of her. The faerie darts back and forth, bringing books to her when she asks and taking them back when she’s done.
She’s so focused on whatever she’s doing that she doesn’t notice his ascent to the upper level until he calls out to her.
“Miss Sakuya, are you quite all right over there?”
She starts, nearly dropping her quill. “Ye-yes! I think! Probably! I’m sorry if my work is distracting you, it was just so quiet in the manor that I couldn’t focus and it’s too windy outside so I-”
“I have not changed my mind since your last visit. You are still most welcome to our facilities, he says. “Which includes our worktables, in case you were uncertain.”
It’s hard to tell whether it’s the light or if her face does really go as red as a rolanberry. She doesn’t say anything, but she starts scooping up her various belongings. Once she’s safely back on proper flooring she follows him down the stairs until she reaches the aforementioned worktables.
“Are you sure I won’t be a bother?” she asks, not looking up from her books.
“Quite sure.”
The next thing she says is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it over the noises of the workshop.
“Thank you.”
--
Sakuya comes most days after that. Though she insists on being called by her first name, she soon relents when he refuses to change his manner of address. It would be rude to refer to a lady so casually. Eventually they come to a compromise - he’ll drop the “Miss” if she’ll agree to be addressed by her surname.
Due to the proximity, they end up talking more than before. Whenever she’s not reading and he’s not overly busy they chat over their work. He finds that she is much as Francel had described - somewhat scatterbrained, though incredibly intelligent, and a generally thoughtful person.
In fact, there was no better example of her kindness than when she walked in one day with a parcel almost as tall as she was.
“Are you quite alright with that package?” he asks. Though he knows better than to think her frail, it surely couldn’t be comfortable to carrying something around when it was almost the same size as oneself.
“Yes thank you.” She sets it down on the table in front of him then takes a moment to stretch her arms.
“Where are you taking that? I’d be more than happy to carry it for you.” Looking closer he still can’t tell what was inside. There are no markings other than a small note scrawled on the side: To Nemi, from Momo .
She shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. It’s already reached its final destination.”
“Something for the Manufactory?”
“In a way.” She pushes the package towards him. “I think it would be more accurate to call it an expression of gratitude. My gratitude. For your generosity. It’s for you.”
He looks down at the package and then back to her. “I’m not sure I understand what I’ve done to earn a gift of this size.”
She laughs. “Nonsense. You let me come and go as I please, and you’ve kept me company while I work.”
He’s not the best at reading between the lines of social interactions though, if he stretched, he guessed part of her gratitude was that he had never pried into her absence. Francel had told him enough that he could put the pieces together, and he hadn’t thought them close enough to ask after something so private.
Perhaps others had not been so kind.
Regardless, the best course of action seemed to be to confront the parcel itself, and so he set about tearing through the packaging. Removing the postal paper reveals a box, and opening that brings him face to face with an intricate rifle.
It’s of Lominsan make and, upon close inspection, proved to be a model he’d been talking about a few weeks before while they were working. He hadn’t thought she’d been paying attention to his ramblings - most no one other than the Manufactory staff did - but here was proof she had, in fact, been listening.
“This is marvelous, Sakuya. Thank you.”
She bows her head a little so that she wasn’t looking directly at him anymore. “I do hope it’s the correct model.”
“It is, but I do believe it can be difficult to come by. Might I ask how you procured such a specimen?”
She grimaces. “Well, you see, my sister is a trader and I knew she’d be able to find it if I asked - I can pass along any requests if you want, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra business - and after she yelled at me a little for trying to get her to ship a weapon straight into the city I convinced her to have it couriered to Mor Dhona and-” she pauses. “I’m sorry, that explanation got away from me a little.”
“No matter,” he smiles. “I think I have the gist of it. I was not aware, however, that you had a sister.”
“It’s… a long story.” she shrugs. “The short of it is that we’re not related by blood.”
“This sister is not auri then?”
“Lalafellan, actually.”
“A long story indeed, then.”
“Yeah.”
He pauses. Would this not usually be the beginning of a conversation? She had given him a token of gratitude and friendship, and he would do well to reciprocate. She looks about ready to wander off before he opens his mouth again.
“I would like to hear the story, if you don’t mind.”
She blinks. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting that. “It is quite a long story, and I would not like to disturb your work.”
“You would be doing nothing of the sort. In fact, before you came in, I was about to take a stroll to the Crozier to stretch my legs, and I would very much enjoy if you would accompany me.”
It’s not completely the truth but he does enjoy her company, and he genuinely wants to hear more about her family. And, though she seems a little flustered by the invitation, she does trail after him when he walks out the door.
--
He does end up asking her about tactics, and they spend an afternoon pouring over a map of the city, squabbling about the best placement for cannons in various scenarios.
--
He’s late, having had to run an errand for his father, and when he walks into the Manufactory Sakuya is there, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth between a book in her hand and a blueprint on the table.
She scribbles notes in the margins of her book, then slams it shut. When she looks up, she smiles at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Stephanivien.”
“And a good morning to you, Sakuya. What has captured your attention so early in the day?”
She points at the blueprint. “You know, for all the time I’ve spent here, I never actually looked at how the aetherotransformers work.”
He can’t help but be amused by the excitement on her face. “And what have you learnt now that you have?”
“Well,” she opens her book and shows him her notes. “It’s actually quite similar to how magic users cast a spell, except that the aetherotransformer takes care of the finer details like amount of aether drawn and how to aspect it.”
“I have heard it described that way before, yes. Though I have also heard it called ‘box thingy’ and ‘cursed lightning chamber’. I’m not sure which I prefer.”
She laughs, and then starts speaking so fast that he can’t actually understand anything she’s saying, but he does catch a few words. ‘Aetherflow’, ‘lifestream’, and ‘efficiency of transfer’. When she does slow down she’s still talking about high aetheric theory and, while he has a basic understanding, this is far beyond his level.
“Anyway,” she says, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, may I borrow an aetherotransformer? Preferably one you won’t miss if I mess up.”
That he can help with. It takes him a few moments and three different cupboards to find one suitable for whatever she has in mind, and when he hands it over her eyes light up.
“I can really have this?”
“Of course,” he smiles. Really, he’s just happy that she’s taking an interest in the Manufactory beyond that it reminds her of home.
She clutches the device close to her chest. “Excellent! Thank you!” She starts scuttling for the door.
“Just one moment, Sakuya.”
She stops and turns to face him. “Hm?”
“If you suddenly find the equipment interesting, would you care to learn to use the full set of arms?”
She hops from foot to foot. “Not right- I mean yes I want to but-” she stops moving and takes a deep breath. “What I mean to say is that I would be quite interested in that, and I am sorry to duck out so quickly, but I really just wanted to grab an aetherotransformer to study while we’re outside the city.”
“You’re leaving?” It’s hardly the first time she’s gone beyond the walls since they started spending time together, but for some reason his stomach drops. Perhaps because he had so looked forward to his new friend showing an interest in his life’s work, and now that the day had arrived they could not begin immediately.
She nods, looking down at the device in her arms. “We’re needed in Ul’dah.”
“Well then, your lessons will simply have to wait until you return.”
She beams at him. “I’ll look forward to it.” And then she’s off, out the door like a chocobo on the scent of some greens.
He spends the rest of the day looking over the existing training plans for new machinists, revising them to account for her existing battle experience and unique tactical perspective. Will she be able to aim properly with only one functioning eye? Of course she will; many a Lominsan pirate has wielded a firearm while wearing an eyepatch. And for someone who has lived her whole life with only one eye’s worth of site, she surely has ways of compensating.
Why is he suddenly so fascinated by her eyes anyway? They are rather nice looking though. And have they always been so shiny?
--
A few days later, Francel stops in on his way back from the central highlands and drags him away from his worktable.
“You can’t spend your whole life tinkering away, you know,” the younger man says. “Have you been working all night again? You’re not looking your best.”
He sighs. “And why do you assume that I spend all my time working, and that I haven’t been out with the other young lords, pursuing the many pleasures of the Forgotten Knight?”
Francel snorts. “Yes, and I’ve taken up the lance.”
“Laniaitte will be ecstatic to have you at Camp Cloudtop.”
“I’ll be sure to send you a gaelicat to remember me by.”
Eventually they find their way back to Haillenarte manor and Francel sends the servants for tea.
Stephanivien casts a suspicious eye at the door. “Father’s not in, is he?”
“No, he’s off doing something or other at the Congregation.”
“Just as well. I can’t imagine he’d be pleased to find us loitering around.”
France gives him a look, the one that means ‘don’t start’.
“Fine, fine. How have you been, dear little brother?”
“Quite well until you called me dear.”
“Can I not express affection for my dear brother?”
“I’ve changed my mind, I’m telling the servants to take your tea back to the kitchen and you can return to your gadgets.”
He laughs. “Full glad am I to see you as full of life as ever.”
Francel sighs. “Really though, you look like you haven’t slept properly in days. Is aught amiss?”
He can’t say for sure what’s been bothering him. But there’s a nagging worry at the back of his mind, and it’s been keeping him restless.
He shrugs. “Nothing comes to mind.”
The servants return with their tea and, upon confirming that all is to their liking, the young lords are left alone once more.
Francel seems very invested in something at the bottom of his teacup. “What do you think of Nemi?”
“Hm? Sakuya?” He takes a long sip of his tea. “She’s quite a pleasant companion. Why do you ask?”
Francel doesn’t look up from his tea. “You two spend a lot of time together.”
“I suppose we do. She’s quite fond of the Manufactory, you know.”
“You’re being deliberately dense.”
“I am offended that you would accuse me of such a thing.”
He shakes his head. “She’s been happier since she started spending time with you, you know.”
“Oh?” He can’t speak for her mood when he’s not present, but he’d assumed her growing cheerfulness was the natural lessening of grief.
“Don’t take it like that.” Francel shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not sure how you should take it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Stephanivien snorts. “Surely you know your own friend better than I do, dear brother.”
“I can see now that I’m wasting my time and that you’re about as observant as ever.”
“Now you’re just insulting me.”
“So glad you’ve finally noticed.”
He drains the rest of his tea and sets the empty cup on a nearby table. “I very much doubt there is romance blooming within the walls of Skysteel, if that’s what concerns you so.”
Francel picks at his fingernails. “It’s not that I wouldn’t approve it’s just… You know father would never… And she’s already lost so much.”
He pats his brother’s shoulder and flashes him a smile. “While I appreciate your concern for your friend, I assure you your worries are quite unfounded.”
“I’m glad. I always thought the two of you would make good friends.”
--
He spends another night staring at the ceiling. The anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind still hasn’t dissipated, and now it’s accompanied by a heavy feeling in his chest.
Is he coming down with something? Perhaps he should consult the chirurgeons.
--
“Nemi, what in the seven hells are you doing with that thing?” Lahen crinkles his nose at the aetherotransformer on the table. “If you get us blown up I’m going to kick your scaley ass.”
She picks up the closest book and hurls it at him. “If you don’t shut it I might blow us all up just to spite you.”
“Why do you even care about that thing anyway?”
“It uses a manner of aetherotransferrance that I hadn’t considered before. I wanted to know if I could influence the process, or even improve it.”
“You’re trying to do the what now?”
“I want to make it work better.”
“Ah, okay, gotcha.” He shrugs. “Still not sure why you care about that though.”
“Curiosity.”
“And?”
“Stephanivien might find it helpful.”
He rolls his eyes so hard he falls to the floor. “Oh Fury please, I’m not doing this again.”
She peers over the table at him. “What in Twelve’s name are you talking about?”
“You. Him.” He claps his hands together. “This whole godsforsaken dance.”
She throws another book at him, hitting him square in the face. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I have no such intentions.”
He sits up, letting the book slide down to his lap. “You say that, but I don’t even see you two together that often and even a brick like me can see it.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not-”
“Really though. You look happy. Much more so than you’ve been for a while.”
She isn’t really sure how to respond to that.
--
She cries that night. It’s the first time in a few months, and her tears fall like they’ve been building up that whole time. The ruby ring she wears around her neck is clutched between her fingers.
The more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that Lahen might have the right of it. Her heart is half light with anticipation and half frozen in her chest.
How could she consider even loving another? How could she continue to live while he’s dead and buried? She would always love him, that had never been in doubt, but the thought of pursuing romance again felt like complete and utter betrayal.
And besides, Haurchefant would have faced enough ire with her by his side. Stephanivien is an heir. Even if he were interested, there would be absolutely no chance for them to be together. His father struggled enough with his eldest’s passion for machinery, how would he react to an auri lover?
She pulled the blankets over her head and tried to push the thoughts from her mind.
--
Joye lets a stack of papers fall on his desk with an unholy crash. The sound startles him awake, and he looks around for the disturbance.
“Asleep at the wheel, milord?” she asks.
He rubs at his eyes. “I simply can’t seem to sleep lately. The chirurgeons say there’s naught wrong with me, though I can’t find it in me to agree.”
She crosses her arms. “Looks to me like you’re moping.”
“Perish the thought.”
“Now, now,” she clicks her tongue at him, “you’ve been in a mood since Miss Nemi left for Thanalan. And there’s no moping quite like the kind where you miss a pretty girl.”
“Speaking from experience, are we?” he scoffs.
She shrugs. “Deflect if you must, but if you think about it you’ll see you stopped sleeping the night she left.”
He shakes his head, then stops and counts the days. Sure enough, he’s been suffering the affliction since just after she came for the aetherotransformer.
Joye watches him, a wry smile plastered across her face. “Aye, there’s the realisation.”
He waves her away. “There’s nothing to realise, Joye.”
She sighs. “And here I was thinking your lord brother might be able to talk some sense into you.”
He rounds on her with a look of abject horror. “So it was you who put Francel up to it.”
“Might’ve been.” She flashes her best grin. “But I suppose what they say is true: if you want a job done right, you need t’do it yourself.”
He’s not sure what he did to deserve this, but it doesn’t seem Joye will be letting him go anytime soon.
--
When she meets them in the morning with puffy eyes, the two miqo’te say nothing. They each take one of her hands and lead her to where they must go.
--
A few days pass, and then one morning Joye bounces into the manufactory with all the energy of a paissa. She places a parcel in front of him then steps back, her eyes aglow with something sure to frighten him.
Not that the sight of her isn’t enough to frighten him these days. Though he eventually concluded that he would perhaps consider what she was saying, he sincerely disagreed with her methods in obtaining his agreement.
“Well go on, open it.” She pokes the parcel a bit closer to him.
He half expects it to be a bomb, but when he cautiously examines the tag he finds that it is indeed addressed to him. What’s more, the neat curls of the handwriting look oddly familiar.
That’s Sakuya’s writing.
He looks back up at his machinist. “If that’s all then, Joye.”
“Oh no, I’m not going anywhere until I see what’s in it.”
He sighs and sets to unwrapping. Inside is the aetherotransformer and a stack of papers bound together with twine. If the page on top is any indication, they’re all covered with the same handwriting.
Joye seems less than amused. “Well that’s boring, innit?”
He ignores her. The first of the stack of papers is written on different parchment. In fact, it appears to be a letter.
Dear Stephanivien,
I hope this letter finds you well. I haven’t had as much time to study the device as I’d like, though I think I’ve been able to gather a basic understanding of its functioning. I had intended to return the device personally so that I could give a more thorough explanation of the changes I’ve made, but developments here mean that I can no longer carry around something not immediately necessary for our mission.
The other writings enclosed consist my research paper on the enhancements I made to the aetheric tuning, and others which are examined in detail in the papers. Next time I attempt such modifications I would very much appreciate your input - though I understand the theory well enough, I am not exactly an experienced engineer. I have only a rudimentary understanding of machines, and I fear this has hampered my research.
Nevertheless, I hope you find this useful.
Kindest regards,
Nemi Sakuya
The letter looks as though it was written in a rush, and the mention of a mission does make him more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit (and, to be fair, the last time the Warriors of Light had a ‘mission’ it ended with them fighting Nidhogg himself), but the research paper makes his knees weak. There’s at least one hundred pages of detailed findings and instructions.
She did this for him . She threw that wonderful mind of hers at his technology and now there’s a huge stack of paper in front of him. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but the thought of her putting this much effort into something he loves makes his dizzy.
Joye’s watching him with the biggest smirk he’s ever seen but right now he doesn’t care - he has a research paper to read, and for the first time he doesn’t even attempt to fight the suggestion that he might have feelings for the auri girl.
--
He tests each modification methodically, following her explanations and making adjustments where necessary to compensate for her lack of mechanical knowledge. The major difference seems to be that the transfer of aether from wielder to device is more efficient. The greater efficiency opens up a world of new modifications, and his mind spins at the possibilities.
Fury, she’s brilliant.
And then his momentum disappears, because the second he considers repaying her with a gift, he realises he has absolutely no clue as to what she would like.
--
He doesn’t want a lecture from Francel on how he just said this wasn’t a thing, so he ends up paying Laniaitte a visit at Cloudtop.
“A gift for a woman,” she says it like he’s playing a joke on her, “that you have a romantic interest in?”
No matter how many times he says it, she keeps looking at him like he’s sprouted a second head.
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, Lani, I’m sure.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just having a little trouble wrapping my head around the idea that you might have looked up from your workdesk for more than a minute.”
“Sister, please.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. I’m sure you know the lady in question better than I do.”
He groans. “Well you’re no help at all.”
“Fine. What does she like?”
He thinks for a moment. “Books.”
“Books?” she raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s it?”
“The ocean?”
“Somehow I think you’d struggle to find a way to give that to someone.”
“Then what do people usually get for someone they fancy?”
She shrugs. “Baubles, or jewellery. Flowers too I suppose. The problem with those is you actually need to have somewhere to put them.” She stared at him. “And I doubt anyone who has caught your attention is one for idle leisure.”
“Perhaps a book would be the way to go then.”
“That seems awfully droll to me, but if she truly enjoys reading then I’m sure she’d be happy to receive such a gift. What does she like to read?”
He makes a vague gesture. “Everything.”
“Oh, that’s very helpful.”
“Yes, it’s about as helpful as you are.”
“Why am I even bothering to help you again?”
--
He settles on an encyclopedia of Othard’s plants. She’d mentioned she enjoyed flowers in passing, and the illustrations seemed better in his mind than something that would only wither and die.
--
Nobody was in a mood for speaking by the time they returned to the Rising Stones. After absences were explained and tears shed she attempted to sneak away to her quarters, only to be ambushed by Tataru and a parcel thrust into her hands.
She nods her thanks before moving on. It’s selfish, but she really does not have the energy to console even one more person.
She’s not as careful as she should be in removing the packaging, and she nearly tears the letter inside. The handwriting is practiced, but smudged, and she recognises it instantly.
Dear Sakuya,
Full glad was I to hear from you, and more delighted still to read of your research. The modifications made to the aetherotransformer work just as intended, and with a few further tweaks I have been able to increase the transferral efficiency to even greater heights. The improvements have opened up a new world of possibilities for development, and so I must extend my most sincere gratitude.
Please find enclosed a token of my thanks. I look forward to your eventual return to Ishgard, that I might teach you to use the technology you helped to improve.
Kindest wishes for your continued good health,
Stephanivien de Haillenarte
She reads the letter several times over before she even looks at the item in the parcel.
A book.
It’s not immediately obvious what the subject of the book is, but when she opens the cover she’s met with intricate script and vibrant drawings of flowers.
She stays up far later than intended that night, running her fingers gently over the petals of each flower. The brushwork is astounding, and the plants all seem so lifelike that it’s calming just to look at them.
When she wakes in the morning, the book is still clutched against her chest.
--
It’s two days later when she arrives back in Ishgard. She’s exhausted and, after a few excited hellos and a brief summary of events, she promptly falls asleep in the corner of the Manufactory.
His first thought it to move her to somewhere less noisy and certainly more comfortable, but then he ends up arguing in circles with himself on whether or not it’s appropriate to touch a lady while she’s sleeping. In the end he fetches an old jacket from storage and drapes it over her. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
--
The next day she follows him out to the western highlands. There’s a target range a little ways outside Falcon’s Nest that the trainees use for practice. Most people don’t find the walk overly difficult, but most Ishgardians aren’t as diminutive as Sakuya. He can’t help but laugh when the snow reaches her knees and she has to lift her legs comically high with each step.
She pouts. “If you’re going to make fun of me then I’m going back.”
“I’m sorry, but you would laugh too if you could see yourself.”
When they finally arrive he sets about showing her how to hold the firearm and explaining about recoil.
She waves him off. “I’ve seen them in use before, I know what to expect.”
“Are you quite sure?” He raises an eyebrow. “The kickback is a lot harder than you might think.”
She furrows her brow, points the weapon at a target and pulls the trigger. The gun promptly kicks out of her grip and knocks her to the ground.
It is so very difficult not to laugh at her as she jumps back to her feet and dusts herself off.
“I just- I just need to try again.”
“Line up the shot, then let me have a look at your stance.”
She hefts the firearm back up against her shoulder. “Okay.”
He doesn’t even think about reaching out to correct her. He’s done it a million times before with the trainees when Joye is otherwise indisposed, but they usually don’t jump at his touch.
“Ah, forgive me, I should have asked before attempting to make adjustments.”
She shakes her head, face red from the cold. “N-No, it’s okay- sorry- it’s fine- I mean- I was just surprised.”
“I will refrain if that is your wish.”
“Ah no, it’s fine, please.”
She resets her stance and faces her target. Her positioning is atrocious . To be fair she has said she has zero experience with firearms, though he had thought she might be a little better than this since she did mention being passable with a bow.
It takes longer than it should for him to guide her into the right stance. His mind keeps going blank, or skipping three steps ahead, and gods she’s stunning when she’s holding a rifle, and when he’s fixing her shoulders he’s so close he can see the faint freckles on her cheeks that he didn’t even know she had and-
He takes a step back and clears his throat. It’s not perfect, but he’s already dizzy and spending any longer poking at her elbows isn’t going to help. “Try taking the shot now.”
She squeezes the trigger. The recoil doesn’t knock her over this time, but she still misses her mark by a wide berth.
He can’t help but smile. She’s terrible at this, and as much as he would have loved to see her hit a bullseye from 20 yalms, it’s… endearing to know what even a Warrior of Light can’t do everything.
She frowns and hands the weapon to him. “I think it’s broken.”
He makes a show of examining it before testing it. It's not a perfect shot but he does manage to hit the target, and he turns back to her with a grin. “I doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Let me try again.” She snatches the firearm back, and takes aim. After a moment of deliberation she fires; the bullet grazes the side of the target and ricochets off into the distance. A second later there’s some sort of bestial cry, so she moves to peer around the sparse greenery and boulders.
“I may have made an error,” she says, dropping the firearm and snatching her tome from her satchel.
Confused, he follows her gaze to find a rapidly approaching and visibly livid steinbock.
Within seconds it’s right in front of them, and he only has time to push her out of the way before earning a hoof to the chest for his troubles. That knocks the wind out of him, and the headbutt that follows sends him to the ground.
She’s yelling something, but there’s a little too much snow in his ears to make out what. By the time he summons the presence of mind to roll onto his back the beast is yelping and galloping away, fur visibly scorched.
Everything feels a bit fuzzy and when he tries to sit up a sharp pain shoots through his chest. Well, that sure does feel like a cracked rib.
Suddenly Sakuya’s next to him, her eyes wide and her face pale. She’s babbling something that doesn’t sound much like actual words, and the faerie hovering over her shoulder seems to be more concerned with her than his injuries.
She grabs hold of his shirt. Warmth glows in her hands, and the pain fades. It’s still a little painful, but this time he manages to sit up.
She’s sobbing so hard that she’s shaking, and the faerie flits around her head, patting her in what seems to be a futile effort to calm her down.
“Sakuya? Are you unharmed?”
She doesn’t respond when he grips her shoulder. Her eyes are unfocused, and her tiny fists are clutching his shirt so hard that her knuckles have gone white.
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and she’s still crying and he’s never been good with crying in the first place but seeing her like this breaks his heart.
It’s instinct when he reaches out to try to wipe the tears away, and the touch seems to shock her enough to bring her back from whatever’s happening in her head.
“Nemi?”
She falls forward against his chest and her sobs rise to a wail. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds her and pats her hair and waits, because that’s what he used to do for his siblings when they were upset and it’s all he can think to do.
Eventually she calms herself enough to pull away and wipe at her face with her sleeves. When she finally speaks, it’s so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear.
“I’m sorry.”
He takes her hand to make her look up at him. “Whatever are you sorry for?”
She shakes her head. “You protected me.”
“Why are you sorry for that?” He doesn’t really understand, but he wants to. Usually brief scuffles with the local wildlife isn’t enough to reduce someone to tears so there’s clearly something larger at play.
“You got hurt because of me.”
“‘Tis naught but a bruise now, I’m quite alright.”
She shakes her head again. “That’s not the point. What if it was worse? What if-” The words stick in her throat, but the meaning is clear enough.
What if you’d died?
He squeezes her hand. “Hypotheticals are just that: hypothetical. I am alive and well, and I do very much intend to continue on in that fashion.”
It seems to take her a moment to process his words. Eventually she utters a single phrase: “Thank you.”
He wobbles to his feet, helping her up on the way. “Come then, we’ve had quite enough excitement for one day and I for one am beginning to miss the indoors.”
She nods but she still doesn’t seem entirely present, so he takes her hand and leads her back through Falcon’s Nest and onto the city proper.
Even when she’s calm enough to function again she doesn’t let go.
--
She tells him about it later, after everyone else has long since left the Manufactory. The blood, the despair, the feeling of utter failure and, most of all, the guilt. It’s been nearly two years now and the wounds have mostly healed, but some things tear them open anew.
It’s selfish, but he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat when she says the words: I was afraid that I’d lost you too .
--
Things return to relative normalcy after their misadventure. There’s always something new to make, something that needs repairs, and new machinists to assure that Joye isn’t half as scary as she seems. Perhaps a little too much of the last one. He might need to talk to her about that.
But he’s also busy talking over further improvements to the aetherial aspects of machinery with Nemi, so everything else is on hold or passed off to someone else.
They bicker over the specifics of adjustments, and levels of transference, and all the minutiae from knut and bolt placement to the influences of different kinds of metal. She’s stubborn, she fixates on certain ideas and by now they’ve been up for at least 23 hours straight and she’s starting to fall asleep on her notes. She still prefers copper to steel no matter how many times he disagrees. Her face and hands are covered in ink.
She’s the most beautiful person in the world and this is the most fun he’s had in years.
--
When they inevitably hit a wall with development, they both agree that it’s probably time to get some sleep.
He still manages to be at the Manufactory bright and early the following morning, and he pokes at some busywork until she wanders in a few hours later.
He’d been expecting an academic with a skip in her step, ready to throw herself back into the copper versus steel argument, but instead she’s despondent.
“Is aught amiss, Sakuya?”
She sighs, flicking through her notes. “Not particularly. Sort of. The short of it is that Lyse is finalising plans with her contacts. We’ll be leaving for Gyr Abania in a week.”
This is hardly shocking news. He’s across the vague details of the Scions’ next movements thanks to her explanations, but he hadn’t considered that things would progress so quickly. Politicians rarely move with haste, but the events in the Shroud had forced their hand.
It was hard to comprehend that she’d soon be marching off to war. There was no doubting her prowess in battle, but it was still difficult to believe that she and her fellow Warriors were the veritable aces up the Alliance’s sleeve. She’d slain primals - at least a dozen of them - but she was also a girl who chewed on the end of her fountain pen when she was thinking, a girl who got so involved in reading that she lost sight of the world around her, and a girl with such gentle eyes that he could barely fathom that she would soon be mowing down imperial soldiers by the hundreds.
Of course the worst part of this was that wars, as any Ishgardian could tell you, can wage for years without end. How long would she be in enemy territory; a few months? A year? Four years? Longer?
And how can he possibly let her go without even attempting to broach the subject of romantic intentions?
“Stephanivien?” She’s looking at him with furrowed brows. “Did you actually manage some sleep or did you just keep working while I wasn’t here.”
He feigns shock. “I cannot believe you would accuse me of such underhandedness.”
They return to work, but his mind is elsewhere.
--
When Laniaitte walks into her room at the manor that night she isn’t expecting to find her eldest brother sprawled on the floor in a pile of old romance novels.
“Go home for a few days, Laniaitte, they said. You deserve some rest, they said. If I’d known this is what I’d come home to I would have told them where to stick their rest.” She crosses her arms. “What in Fury’s name are you doing?”
He looks up at her. “Ah, Lani, just the person I wanted to see.”
“That’s rather inconvenient because I suddenly don’t feel like seeing you.”
“I would not be here if it were not of the utmost importance.”
She frowns. “And what, pray tell, do those books have to do with anything that even vaguely approaches importance?”
“Did I not already ask your advice on this matter once before?” he sighs.
She thinks for a moment before her expression contorts into one of abject horror. “Gods, I thought that was a dream.”
He scowls at her. “Well it most definitely wasn’t, so would you please either help me or kindly leave because I am working to something of a deadline.”
“Fine, fine,” she says, coming to sit on the floor next to him. She picks up a book and flicks through a few pages before making a face. “These are terrible.”
“Why do you have so many then?”
“We all have phases, brother.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yours never ended.” She puts on her most angelic smile and looks down at him. “Now, what exactly did you need my help with this time?”
“Declarations of love.”
“I don’t think I will ever adjust to those words coming out of your mouth.”
He kicks at the books closest to his feet, ignoring her. “These are useless. The confession scene is always so dramatic. I am not a dramatic person, Lani.”
She raises an eyebrow, but holds her tongue. “Who is this mystery woman anyway? I might know her, and I’m sure I’ll be of more help if I can offer advice on how to approach her. Different women have vastly different tastes, you know.”
“It’s Nemi Sakuya.”
She’s surprised that he doesn’t even hesitate to tell her, and more surprised still at the name. “As in the Warrior of Light?”
“Is there another I should be aware of?”
“Does Father know about this?”
“Why should he?”
“Because if anyone’s going to fight you on this, it’ll be him,” she sighs. “You know how traditional he is. I doubt he’ll be at all pleased to have you courting an outsider, and an auri at that.”
“I didn’t ask you what Father would think.” He sits up so he can level her with a glare. “Frankly, I care for his opinion on this matter even less than his opinion on my presence at the Manufactory.”
She waves him off. “I know, I know, but I have to say it all the same. You know he only wants what’s best for all of us, even if we disagree on what exactly that means.”
“Father’s idea for what’s best for me involves me being miserable for the rest of my life,” he sniffs. “Besides, one could certainly do worse than a living legend.”
She laughs. “True enough.”
“Now, back to the matter at hand, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Is there any reason that you can’t just, you know, tell her?” she asks.
He pauses for a moment, then frowns. “I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
She shakes her head. “You are a worry.”
--
It’s a relatively sunny day, so he feigns an inability to concentrate and asks her if she’ll join him for some fresh air in the Haillenarte Manor garden. Well, he doesn’t have to pretend he can’t concentrate. He’s been rehearsing what he wants to say in his head, which leads to all manner of dropped objects and misspellt terms on his fabrication notes.
She scrambles to sit up on the stone fence, swinging her legs. “Are you sure you’ve been getting enough sleep? You seem distracted lately.”
“I’m quite alright,” he says, but he’s not convinced and, by the look on her face, neither is she.
“Okay then.” She changes the subject and starts talking about something - he’s not sure what; he’s pacing and his legs feel like gelatin.
Laniaitte raised a good point, there’s absolutely no reason that he can’t just state a fact. Except that it’s horribly stressful. Gods, what if she rejects him? What if she doesn’t? Both options sound equally frightening.
“Stephanivien?”
Oh gods he’s missed everything she said. And she’s looking at him. With her eyes. Her exquisite, beautiful eyes.
She sighs. “I know you said you’re okay, but you’re acting rather strange. Are you even listening to me?”
He grabs her hand and tries very, very hard not to crush it. “Nemi Sakuya, I do believe that I have fallen very much in love with you, and I could not possible let you go off to war for gods know how long without having told you.”
She stares at him for a moment, eyes the widest he’s ever seen. She’s beet red, and every second that passes feels like an agonising eternity.
“I love you, Stephanivien.”
She strokes his face with her free hand, and she’s smiling, and when she kisses him her lips are so soft on his that they feel like they’re barely there. Or maybe that’s just because his head is so fuzzy.
She pulls away just enough to press their foreheads together. “So that’s why you’ve been a complete basketcase today,” she giggles.
He pouts. “To be completely fair, you are quite intimidating.”
“I’m only a little more than half your height.”
“That just makes it even more impressive that you manage to be frightening.”
She pulls just far enough back to headbutt him, then kisses him again. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”
“My dear, I am always nice.”
“Lies.”
--
When Count Edmont hears a knock at the door in the evening, she’s the last person he expects to walk into his study.
“Ah, Nemi, what brings you to see me? Not that I’m not pleased, but I was under the impression you were quite busy these days.”
When she holds out her hand there’s a familiar ring nestled in her palm.
“I can’t keep this anymore,” she says.
He looks at her, then at the ring, then at her again. “As I told you last time we had this conversation, it’s yours to keep.”
She doesn’t look at him. “I can’t very well keep it. Not when I love another.”
She waits, expecting him to take the ring from her, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes her hand and curls her fingers back around it. When she does finally look up, he’s smiling.
“Why?” she asks.
“You will ever be my daughter, child. It matters not whose house you go to; that ring is a symbol that you will always have a home here.”
She tries not to let the tears show when they spring to her eyes, but there’s not hiding anything from him. He simply rounds the desk to hold her while she cries.
--
They return to their research, though now their bickering is interspersed with kisses and lingering touches. Joye threatens them with a bucket of icy water at least once an hour, but despite their distraction they do actually manage to get some work done.
By the time she’s ready to leave there’s a suite of new gadgets ready for the assembly line.
--
She comes to see him in the morning before she leaves. Her companions will be meeting her in the Shroud, so she only has a few moments to spare before she has to go.
He takes the opportunity to hold her close. “I’ll write everyday.”
She laughs against his chest. “Please don’t, I don’t know how often I’ll be able to get letters.”
“Every other day.”
“Stephanivien, please .”
“You must indulge me, I’ll miss you terribly while you’re gone.”
“And I you, but if you’re writing so often you’ll only worry when I can’t reply.”
“I’m going to worry anyway.”
“I know. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
--
The first few days are hard and, though it gets easier, he doesn’t worry any less. He holds out three days before writing his first letter, then five, then two. He doesn’t receive a reply until a few days after the last one, and when he does it’s as long as all of his letters combined.
She writes about the situation in Ala Mhigo, and how she’s currently in Limsa Lominsa awaiting a ship bound for Kugane, spread out between her apologies and expressions of affection. The letter is accompanied by a small box of magitek pieces, which conveys the sentiment better than any of her words ever could.
Joye raises an eyebrow at the box. “What have you done? She must be awfully angry with you if she’s sending you garbage in the post.”
He snatches the box away and glares at her.
--
“Nemi, why in gods name are you scavenging scrap metal from Garleans?” Lahen asks.
She throws a chunk of iron at him. “Mind your own business, that’s why.”
--
The letters get more sporadic once she moves into Othard, but the boxes of magitek turn into crates.
He’s never had so much material to work with, and the only thing that could make this better is if she were actually here instead of halfway across the world.
--
When a letter bearing news of Doman liberation arrives some months later, he takes the Manufactory staff out for celebratory drinks. Joye gets in a fistfight with a very unfortunate man. Most of the trainees end up drinking each other under the table.
He learns that he misses her even more when he wakes up with a headache.
--
It’s another month or so later when Aymeric walks into the Manufactory. It’s not often the leader of Ishgard pays him a visit, so he actually takes a break from his work to hear what the man has to say.
He learns the Alliance army is rallying for the final push. The frontlines shall be the legendary lochs of Ala Mhigo, and the foe they face is none other than the imperial prince.
He also learns that the Alliance is in need of engineers, particularly ones familiar with magitek. Cid nan Garlond is apparently still busy with whatever wild goose chase he’s been on since the fall of Baelsar’s Wall, so they’re requesting his aid.
He agrees without a second thought.
--
His father praises his decision to aid the Alliance’s war effort. Baurendouin’s tune changes as soon as he mentions he’s only doing it so he can see Nemi.
--
It’s surreal to finally be standing on Ala Mhigan soil. There are whispers of the Warriors’ movements, but as far as he can see they haven’t arrived in the Lochs proper yet.
There’s plenty to do to pass the time until then, though. Weaponry needs to be constructed, troops need to be armed and Garleans need to be scouted. He’s called upon several times to make an educated guess on the capabilities of distant Garlean contraptions, and at least a dozen times to piece broken magitek back together into something halfway useable.
He’s trying to advise on the position of ballistae when he finally hears that familiar voice.
“Stephanivien!”
A second later she jumps from the ledge above and tackles him into a hug. He laughs as she peppers him with kisses, and it’s a few moments before he can pull back far enough to actually look at her.
Her hair’s grown out a little and her clothes are muddied and torn, but her eyes are as bright as ever. She’s alive, and safe, and beautiful, and here .
He kisses her so hard that he nearly knocks her over, and he only stops because something bounces against the back of his head.
He looks up to find Lahen glaring down at them.
“Get a room, assholes.”
--
The night before she marches on the city proper they wander a little ways out of camp. The Lochs are beautiful with the stars reflected off their surface, but she’s more beautiful still.
She starts to cry when he goes down on one knee, and he panics until she explains that, no, she is actually just that happy.