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The message came as a surprise to Ya'ya. The kind that turned his stomach to a yawning pit and sent his heart into palpitations.
Meet me in the tavrn. Forgotn Nit. Dinr.
The scrawl and spelling is familiar. Ya'ra might have been handy with a spear and better still with a skinning knife, but he hadn't taken to his letters the same way Ya'ya had. He folded the scrap of paper, counted three gil out to the messenger boy who'd brought it (no sense pinching coin, the brat needed it more than he did), and muttered a quick 'thanks' before he closed the manor door.
"Is aught amiss?" Alphinaud glanced up from his thick book as Ya'ya drifted back into the room.
"Fine," Ya'ya lied, flopping into an armchair that was too plush for its own good. "Just family in town."
"Oh." The young Elezen went back to his studies for a half second before the meaning of the words hit him. "I thought your family didn't leave--"
" Apparently ," Ya'ya cut him off, "I'm an exception. S'pose I'm having dinner with 'em."
"I'm sure Lord Fortemps would be happy to host." Alphinaud's well-raised manners sprang into action. "Even with such late notice, I'm sure we can ask Cook to make adjustments, maybe fish in place of…" He trailed off under the withering stare Ya'ya shot him.
"My kin don't like Elezen anymore'n I used to," the Miqo'te informed him in his most practiced, polite tone, "and you'll just scare 'em off with fancy shit like that."
"Ah. Yes." Alphinaud looked visibly deflated, his dinner party plans dashed with the reminder.
Ya'ya draped his legs over one of the arms, ignoring how the fabric of his bolero rode up. "We're meeting in the Forgotten Knight, don't fret. Ya'ra's no diplomat, but he ain't gonna cause a scene in public." He snorted. "Can't risk hurtin' the family trade." A warm head butted against his elbow, and he reached out to pet the carbuncle out of habit. He hadn't even heard Alphinaud summon it this time, kid was getting good.
"Just promise you'll come right back afterwards," Alphinaud said simply, turning back to his book. "Whatever may come of it, you're not like to find solace in anyone there."
If Ya'ya was sensible, he would've worn something simple, nondescript. Trousers, boots, a vest, anything like what he knew his brother was likely wearing.
But Xahya'ya Delde was less sensible than he was principled , and the idea of wearing clothes that he wasn't comfortable in for a meal he wasn't comfortable attending sat wrong with him. So he shrugged on a black-and-gold bolero, tied the skirts around his waist, and pulled on a pair of boots that would at least keep his toes from freezing on the walk to the tavern. Tataru forced a thick cloak on him before he could leave the manor, which covered up the bladed discs he had attached to each hip out of habit.
"It's not…" Alphinaud chose his words with deliberate care. "It's poor manners to bring weapons to a family meal."
Ya'ya flashed him a grin despite the panic they both knew was just a hair away from showing instead. "Ain't it a shame I was raised without manners, then?" The rebuttal sent Tataru into a fit of giggles, and Alphinaud covered up his own smile with one hand so he could at least pretend to be annoyed as he gestured for Ya'ya to go. The reaction settled Ya'ya's nerves enough that his tail slowed its twitching to its normal occasional flick, and the walk to the Forgotten Knight was all the easier for it.
He threw the hood of the cloak over his head a few yalms before he entered the tavern. While it might earn him a few odd glances, he'd taken them over the risk of being spotted by his brother first. Better to hunt than be hunted , they'd both been taught as soon as they'd been old enough to toddle into the Shroud. Ya'ya simply chose to apply it to other folk instead of the yarzon and couerl his cousin had meant.
The balcony just inside the doorway of the Forgotten Knight was an excellent vantage point for people-watching. The clientele here was mostly Elezen, with a smattering of Hyur, and while the hour was early still, the floor was busy with the bustle of workers and pickpockets both seeking a hot meal and a cheap drink. It was too easy to find a pair of mottled grey-and-white furred ears in a back corner. Ya'ra looked calm, nursing a flagon of ale with the same ease as if he was back in the Black Shroud, but the stillness of his tail said otherwise.
The calm dissipated the moment Ya'ya got within two yalm of the table. "There y'are!" Ya'ra sprang up to embrace him, squeezing so hard that he felt his upper back pop. "An' here I'd thought you'd stood me up!" He pulled back, eying his stil-cloaked brother carefully. "You ain't grown a hair since you left, eh?"
Ya'ya shrugged his hands off his shoulders. "We ain't all half-giants like you," he shot back. He had a point. Ya'ya hadn't grown any taller since leaving home, but Ya'ra practically towered above him by comparison.
"Fair, fair." Ya'ra sat back down, still grinning. "I'd just thought you'd try'n'catch up a little, what with all the knife-ears 'round here." If he saw Ya'ya flinch at the casual slur, he ignored it in favour of whistling when he saw what was under his brother's cloak. "Y'make that yourself, didja?"
"With some help, yeah." Ya'ya let the cloak pool on the floor. If there were any spills there, he'd wash them out before Tataru could lecture him for it. "Been busy since I left, y'know that."
Ya'ra nodded and took a long pull from his flagon, giving Ya'ya time to ask for one of his own from a passing barmaid. "It's a sight better'n the mendin' you were managin' before, that's for sure."
The thunk of the heavy tankard of beer arriving at their table distracted Ya'ya briefly, and he drank to wet his throat before he spoke again. "How's things back home? With Nahji an' Ma an' all of 'em?"
"Ma's fine. Her an' Gran're thinkin' 'bout steppin' down, but y'know how they are." Ya'ra rolled his eyes.
"'I en't movin' from 'ere 'til one'a ya brats got a grip on how shit works 'round 'ere,'" Ya'ya echoed, the rolled r's coming back to him as easily as the gruff alto of their mother's voice. He'd always been a decent mimic of her, and Ya'ra's laughter told him he hadn't lost it.
"Just like that, aye." Ya'ra gulped down more beer. "Mejah's gone an' pissed Gran off, so now Ma's puttin' Nahj up for her spot."
That was news. Mejah was the older of their two sisters, more level-headed and studious than the restless spitfire that was Nahji, and had always been the obvious candidate for taking over for their aging Gran in leading the clan and its enterprises. "What's she gone'n'done now? Used the wrong ink?"
Ya'ra shook his head. "That'd be a sight better'n what she's done. Nah, she smacked one of 'em duskies for smilin' at 'er a mite longer'n she liked."
Ah. Mejah's one weakness had always been in reading any kindness from strangers as an unwanted flirtation, and she had a quick temper where that was concerned. "Ain't like she's never done that," Ya'ya noted, taking a swig from his tankard.
"Nah," Ya'ra agreed coolly, "but this was when they was talkin' over havin' us supply enough pelts, Uncle Cini'a was droolin'."
Ya'ya's tail bristled in shock. "The sweet fuck was she thinkin'?" He muttered, washing the words down with more beer.
"Aye, that's the same as I said," his brother agreed. "So she's stuck doin' accounts an' contract reviews, an' li'l Nahj is bein' groomed instead." There was a sort of pride in his voice at that.
Ya'ya felt none of the same pride himself. "How's she like that? Nahji ain't big on sittin' still, last I checked."
"She don't like that part, but y'know how she is." Ya'ra shrugged. "Girl'd snap every spear we've got if it got 'er any closer to takin' over from Ma. An' for her to get a shot at Gran's seat?" He let out a low whistle before taking a drink.
Course she would. Ya'ya rubbed the x-shaped scar on his cheek absently. He knew all too well the lengths Nahji would go to for what she wanted.
The silence hung uncomfortably for a moment before Ya'ra broke it by thumping his flagon back down on the tabletop.
"Ma says 's time t'come home," he said, matter-of-fact. "Says you been gone long 'nuff, an' we've got better use for ya than whatever these…" He gestured vaguely with one hand. "Whate'r they gotcha doin' out here."
Months ago, Ya'ya would've jumped at the chance to go home, to bury himself in the simple complexities of drawing up contracts and balancing accounts instead of slaying primals and ending centuries-long wars. No one expected a bookkeeper to be the saviour of nations, just the saviour of stray gil.
Bookkeepers didn't watch sultanas be assassinated, or wrathful wyrms possess their friends.
But that had been months ago, and so, so much had changed since then. He'd changed so much. He'd made friends, people who genuinely wanted him around. There were no sisters marking him as their property here, or reminders that he was worth less than the food he ate. He couldn't go back to that. He wouldn't.
"I can't," he said simply. "I-I can't go, I'm sorry."
Ya'ra's ears flattened against his mud-brown hair. "I ain't askin' you to come home," he growled, a warning.
Ya'ya's heart was racing, a worn-in reflex to danger. He shoved it down. "An' I ain't goin'," he shot back, his own snow-white ears pinned back against his skull, invisible against his hair. "I got more important shit goin' on, Ya'ra."
"Like what?" Ya'ra shot back. Both their tails were lashing back and forth now, and the nearby patrons suddenly gave their table a wide berth. "You think yer better 'n us, huh?" His r's, always rolled in the way that reminded Ya'ya of home, were a rumbling sound now.
"I got folk I owe out here," Ya'ya snapped.
"Oh, I bet," Ya'ra sneered. "Them knife-ears must pay better when y'sound just like 'em--"
Ya'ya launched himself at his brother with a snarl, knocking their tankards and the table to the ground with a crash. They tumbled and thrashed around the corner of the tavern for what felt like an age, slamming each other against the walls and sticky floorboards. Distantly, as he swung his elbow up to block his nose from a punch, Ya'ya remembered that Ya'ra had always been the better fighter of them. He was taller, lean muscle and scars from hunting and fighting back home. Ya'ya, meanwhile, could count the number of fistfights he'd been in on one hand.
It wasn't a fair fight.
Ya'ra grabbed his wrist, nails digging into the skin, and muscle memory from hours of training replaced instinct. Ya'ya lashed out with his leg, sweeping the feet out from under his brother and twisted his arm out of his grasp in the same smooth motion. He twirled on the balls of his feet, using the momentum to kick out again, this time at Ya'ra's unprotected stomach, slid to one side to dodge a flailing attempt to grab his beer-soaked skirts. Ya'ra fell to the floor, and it took half a second for Ya'ya to unhook the weapons at his hip and set the bladed edge of one against his brother's throat.
It wasn't a fair fight.
Both were breathing heavily, the tavern's din quieted in the wake of the sudden brawl. Ya'ya tasted blood in his mouth, and there was a red thread where his chakram rested against Ya'ra's skin.
"I ain't goin' home, Ya'ra," he said with cold finality, letting his r's roll. He was too hot, too riled up to police how backwoods he sounded in this moment. "Tell Ma'n'Nahj, they can send you an' the rest of 'em a thous'nd malms, I ain't never comin' back." He spit the blood out of his mouth, narrowly missing his brother's cheek. Shame . He got to his feet, taking the blade from his brother's throat to let him up. He kept them in hand, though. Just in case.
The stunned look on Ya'ra's face twisted, and he scrambled up off the floor with the grace of someone who was entirely unused to losing a fight. "Aye, y'ain't comin' back," he agreed, his voice dripping with all the rage that Ya'ya had forced out of his. "You went'n'found yer callin' as a cumslut for these fine'n'fancy folk, eh?" He spat at Ya'ya's feet. "Must love warmin' them beds in that fancy manor they put you in."
The words burned into Ya'ya's skin. "Get out," he hissed, eyes narrowing to slits.
Ya'ra grinned, lopsided. "Y'know Ma got you on some duskie she fucked, don'tcha? No wonder you been shovin' every treefuckin' spear-eared idjit you met up your arse since you were a te--"
The chakram blade clipped his ear, cutting a notch into it as it passed. A warning. "Get. Out ."
Whether Ya'ra took the threat, Ya'ya wouldn't know. A massive Roegadyn grabbed Ya'ra by the arm, wrenching him away to pull him towards the lower stairwell and out into the Brume, bellowing a lewd sea shanty so loud that it drowned out anything else his brother had to say.
Ya'ya was suddenly aware of how silent the room had gotten, and how loud his pulse was in his ears. He felt a girl pull him towards the bar, and took a seat gratefully. Gibrillont pressed a mug of mulled wine into his hands, and he gulped down the drink gratefully as the tavern slowly hummed back to its usual cacophony.
"I c'n pay for the table," Ya'ya said after he drained a second mug of the warming drink. "Didn't mean t'make a ruckus."
Gibrillont shrugged. "It isn't broken, lad. I've seen worse from sellswords spending their coin too fast on harder things." He poured a third mug of wine. "You just sit yourself there a spell, I won't have you leaving here when you're punchdrunk and alone."
Alphinaud arrived not long after that, looking like he'd run the whole way from the Fortemps Manor. Ya'ya let him fuss over him, healing the cuts and bruises like an overprotective chirugeon.
"I cannot believe you would start a fight , of all things," he chided. "You're supposed to be the Warrior of Light, not some dockside roustabout."
"Think I'm still allowed to defend my honour," Ya'ya argued. When Alphinaud raised an eyebrow, he added, "I ain't got much, so that means it's worth more ."
That earned him a smack on the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt. "All the same," Alphinaud continued, "do you really think what you did was justified? That it was fair?"
The mulled wine was settling into Ya'ya's bones, warm and heavy. "He was going to bring me home, whether I wanted or not," he said with a slight slur. The last words slammed into his mind now, and he was glad for the numbing properties of warm wine. "'Parently, my da's a du-- Elezen, did you know?" He barely caught himself. He'd worked hard to clean up how he talked about Elezen for Alphinaud, and while he was sure he had an excuse this time, Ya'ya didn't want to find out that 'duskie' was yet another unacceptable slur.
Alphinaud hid any shock he might have felt with practiced ease. "I thought that your folk didn't pay much attention to fathers." He grabbed Ya'ya's forgotten cloak off the floor and draped it over his friend's shoulders.
"We don't." Ya'ya fumbled with the neck clasp for a moment before giving up to let Alphinaud take over. He was tired, and despite his efforts, he ached all over. "He thought it worth tellin' me, though."
"Mm." Alphinaud helped him stand, and the two made their (slow, stumbling in Ya'ya's case) way up the stairs and into the darkening city outside the tavern. They walked in silence for a bit before either of them spoke again.
"I suppose this means that you have no home to return to now. What with the war over, and our names cleared," Alphinaud added quickly. "I am sure that we are quite welcome to stay here as long as we would like but--"
"But it's not home," Ya'ya agreed. He tilted his head back, drifting snowflakes settling on his face like new freckles. "S'pose I don't got one to go back to now." Saying it out loud didn't hurt the way he'd expected it to, which was a relief. "S'pose here's much home to me as you, seein' as I'm half a knife-ear myself." The wine and realization made his tongue careless, but Alphinaud looked less scandalized by his language than he usually was.
A warm glove patted against the cold skin of his arm. "Indeed it is," he agreed quietly, "and full glad am I to have you to share a home with, friend." There was a pause, and Ya'ya grinned and opened his mouth with a sudden thought, only to be cut off before he could speak.
"So help me, should you hold that manner of 'housewarming' gathering, I will personally ensure that Y'shtola and Urianger are notified of your need for an education in …" Alphinaud gulped, unable to say the words. "In safety," he finished, all threat gone.
Ya'ya laughed and ruffled the Elezen's hair. This, this felt like home.
This was home.