Work Text:
“Where are you going, Uncle Em? Today’s the Festival!”
Emmanellain looked down at his youngest nephew. “I have to go visit someone,” he said softly. “I’ll be back in time for midday table.”
“Can’t you visit whoever it is tomorrow? The festival starts in a bell, and you’ll miss all the morning!” The eight year old’s eyes narrowed in a way that reminded Emmanellain irrestibly of Artoirel. “You missed last summer’s festival start too! I remember.”
“Yes, I did,” Emmanellain answered. “Walk with me to the door, and I’ll try to explain.” Armantel fell into step beside him. “You already know how as you grow older, you have responsibilities. You’ve started arms training, for example.”
“Yesss.” Armantel agreed cautiously.
“And Vallerain has more responsibilities because he is three years older than you.”
“And Elvide has more than me but less than Val because she’s in the middle,” Armantel said. “So?”
“So this is a responsibility that I have, to make this visit on this day every year.”
“Can I come with you then?”
Emmanellain hmm’d in thought. “We’d have to ask your father.”
“When you are ten, then you may,” Artoirel said, having caught the last part of the conversation between his third child and his brother. He shoo’d the boy away gently. “Go dress, Armantel. We’ll walk down to the Festival soon and you’re not ready.” Once his son was out of earshot, he looked back at his brother. “I’d like him to be a child for a little longer.”
“I understand. He’s growing up in peace and that’s a precious thing. I will join the family after midday.” Emmanellain saluted his brother and left the manor. It was a very short walk to the aetheryte and then a matter of moments before he emerged at Camp Dragonhead. From there, he borrowed a chocobo and flew off northward, his now silvered hair flying loose behind him.
The ogres were still around, though they were staying well clear of the roads. Emmanellain had waged a harsh war on them while he’d commanded the city, and the brutes had not forgotten. He entered Providence Point, the ruins of Steel Vigil looming ahead of him in the distance and turned northwest, landing just past the standing stones. The snow here was unmarred by footprints.
Emmanellain picked his way a little further to where the blanketed headstone rose. He saw the shield had fallen over and righted it. Then he brushed the snow from the stone and tidied the gravesite as best he could.
“It’s the first day of the Festival of Freedom,” he said finally. “When the Warrior of Light triumphed over the evil that had taken over our land. Everyone will be celebrating for the next three days. And no one remembers who paid for that triumph.”