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Ardbert is rather fond of fishing.
It’s news to her, dutifully filed away in the corner of her mind where a filing cabinet labeled with his name would sit. In her defense, there was little time to discuss things like hobbies and favorite tackles as the Light seeped through every crack of her room in the Pendants, the thought of sitting on a tiny fishing boat the furthest from Aria’s mind as two worlds hung in the balance, never mind their reflected oceans.
Yet now, with a record-breaking zero worlds on the verge of collapse, Aria is free to watch her eyes stare back at her in the ocean’s reflection. She’s free to stare into the water and see how the fish swim by their hooks with little effort to even tease the bait pierced on their hooks. She’s free to watch Ardbert’s reflection as he laughs and makes a joke about how pesky the fish are today, the ripples making his image waver— and forcing her to look back up at him.
Ardbert had bought them matching hats. Blue in their hue, their specific shade is the median between his eyes and the color of her hair— like the bridge between the two of them, Ardbert had said when he proudly presented it as his miraculous find in the Lominsan markets. Though they were two, they always seemed to act as one besides, the very reminder being what leads Aria down to the docks with him and a duo of fishing rods in tow.
“Hah! Another one!” Ardbert crosses the smallest gap between them in their little fishing boat, meant for one but used by two, and gently nudges her shoulder with his. He shows his prize— a Lominsan Anchovy— still writhing on his hook. “Pity you’ve fallen behind, Aria. I was looking forward to paying for drinks tonight.”
There were no strict rules to their game, of course. Their goal for the morning was a blue octopus: the central ingredient to a dish tied to the idyllic days on the First, a meal that would have his friends hovering over his shoulder as he cooked and fanned the flames in excitement and impatience. Any other fish were caught for the fun of it and to sell later in the markets, as a means of passing the time beyond looking into the water’s reflection. But when Ardbert had started to fill up the bucket sitting between them, he can’t help but point it out to watch the way Aria reacts; her eyebrows furrowing at the thought of competition, the minute changes in her expression only he cares to look for and loves to notice.
In response to his taunt, Aria sighs. Fine, then. If Ardbert is confident enough to tease, she’ll lean forward in her seat, the boat rocking gently along the waves as she shifts. “A bit bold of you to talk that way— like you’ve won,” she shakes her head. “A blue octopus, was that what you needed?”
———
“Not there,” the market nearly drowns out her words, and Ardbert follows when Aria tilts her head ever so slightly in the opposite direction. “The man who runs that stall loathes bartering.”
Gone are the years, the decades when he would walk throughout Norvrandt on his own, invisible to the naked eye— now he struggles his way through the crowded markets, his shoulders bumping against every person he sees, as well as every person he does not. He’d say it’s twice as busy as the Crystarium was even on its more restless days, remembering how he’d take the opportunity to watch each adventurer as they came and went along as Aria browsed the stalls; now Limsa is filled with fishers selling their hauls and aspiring adventurers preparing for their next quest, the shining white bricks overtaken by a slew of colors.
Ardbert holds the bucket full of fish ready to be sold in one hand– the blue octopus Aria expertly caught within moments now sits at home, waiting for their return– and holds nothing in the other. In the slivers of a clear path through the sea of weapons latched to backs and fishing poles blocking his view, Ardbert reaches for her hand as she weaves a path forward.
There’s no hesitation when his hand slips into Aria’s grip. Only a light squeeze around his fingers as she guides him through the market, finally coming to a halt at a stall with an amenable merchant.
“—Freshly caught, you know. And we’re asking for much lower than most would,” Aria tells the man, before tilting her head forward and bringing her hand to rest under her chin, “ Hartwyrn happened to offer more, actually, but I thought to bring it to you first.” She nods towards Ardbert, reaching across him to help the bucket rise in front of the merchant, her hand overlapping his as it wraps around the handle. “I do know how much you love your fish.”
Ardbert gives the merchant— he never caught his name, but he knows Aria will fill in the gaps after the sale he’s sure she’ll make— a smile, as do the fish sitting within the bucket with their wide eyes. Once the man relents and he has the opportunity to watch her as she goes back and forth on the subject of prices, even the hustle and bustle of the markets means nothing to him; he’s still as stone, a wall as he stands before the stall as he watches her, the one part of everything he could call home as he readjusts to his new one. The smile she gives him is ever familiar as she turns on her heel and replaces where the bucket once was with a bag of gil in his palm.
Ardbert weighs the bag in his hand— the coins clink against each other like a symphony. “This is a hefty bag, Aria,” he notes.
“Good,” she says with a wry smile, “Then you have a suitable fund for the rest of tonight. You were looking forward to paying for drinks, weren’t you?”
— — —
Ardbert isn’t much of a drinker.
He had hoped that something about his new circumstances could have changed that fact; something about his aether after being split from Aria’s soul, something about how maybe the Source and the First brewed their alcohols differently, anything. He remembers when Lamitt could drink him under the table, when Branden would have to carry him in his arms after the tavern’s doors closed, mumbling into his armor about how he’ll never drink as much again until the next time Cylva hinted at a bit of competition.
Now on the Source, he watches Aria as she swirls the wine glass in her palm. It’s for her and her fondness for wine that he decides it’s time to try his hand once again, as he tries to mirror the motion— the liquid swirls, and a floral scent rises from within before Ardbert tips both it and his head back to sip it. Through the rounded glass, Aria takes a slow, calculated sample from her own drink before finishing it by the time half of his glass is gone, and Ardbert puts his glass back down onto the counter with a gentle clink.
“At your pace, you might drink enough for the both of us,” he says as he nods to the bag of gil between them, “Or all of the allowance you were kind enough to give me. Whatever comes first.”
Aria scoffs. She rolls the glass in a circle as its rim glides along the tip of her finger, “If that’s what you’re concerned about, then I would recommend finishing your glass first,” she teases, “Along with all the others you’ll order after if you value your coin.”
It’s enough for him to chug down the rest of his wine glass, all his losses in previous competitions— yes, competitions, he knows a challenge when he sees one, especially with the glint in Aria’s eyes— be damned. It’s enough for him to chug down each of the others afterward, watching Aria as she carefully and slowly continues to swirl each new glass that comes her way, feeling the wine with each of her senses and savoring every sip until the swirls start to remind himself of the room. He leans against her shoulder as she finishes her final glass, content in the way she continues like normal with him on her arm after a few moments of stillness, and the last glass finds a home alongside the others when she places it on the counter.
“Let’s stop there,” she says as she counts the glasses on both sides of their little corner in the tavern, “That’s four for me, and… three for you. A shame, really. I really was rooting for you.”
Ardbert laughs. It’s full and it echoes through his chest as Aria feels the amusement in it on her shoulders as she helps him up, sliding the gil across the counter moments before tucking her arm under him to help guide his way out the tavern and into the night air. “ Rooting for me , says the same woman who defeated me. You should’ve wagered on it. What would I have gotten if you lost?”
“Nothing,” Aria answers, but he could swear that he had won something from their little competition— her arms around his waist as she guides his way, the sight of her under the night sky, and each day before and after ready to be spent with her.