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Chapter Text

Llymlaen

Checklist

• offering for Llymlaen

• packed emergency satchel

• rations

• clothing

• Zo

Travel log, Days since sail, 0
I'm going to regret not sleeping, but I must admit that the nerves have kept me up for longer than I'd expected. In some ways it feels like that first voyage, more years ago than I like to keep track. A new stage of life.

And it is, a life spent in tandem with my wife. A concept that the girl who set out on her first sailing trip would have scoffed at. Wouldn't have bothered to even consider. I will have to give my thanks to the moon when she rises for guiding my path to this moment. Watching Zo fuss with her own packing after our last night spent apart.

When writing these logs, my mentor told me to always record two things. The Weather and My Feelings. Today's weather is clear, a good wind will blow in with the dawn. My feelings…

A handshake with the girl in the past, I can't get the smile off my face, and I can hear the Navigator calling my name. The horizon awaits, and I can't wait to meet it.

---

Note added afterwards

Don't use champagne as an offering to Llymlaen.

Since leaving home at nineteen, Zo's spent nights in more inns than she could name. It's routine to her at this point; nothing special about waking up in an unfamiliar bed in an empty room.

This inn room, and this morning, though…she can't help the joy that bubbles through her, as if she's a champagne bottle with its cork ready to blow. The sounds and smells of Limsa drift through the windows and the wood of the doors, and Zo wastes no time in scooping what little she had unpacked the night prior back into her bags, before sending them into her armoury chest, already stowed safely on Ana's ship.

The waking might be the same as any other morning. But the morning itself isn't.

She skips down to the Drowning Wench with a smile on her face so wide it hurts. Baderon shakes his head at her as she flies past him, but he's smiling, too. He raises the empty glass he's carefully rubbing down to her, as if in toast.

"For luck on your journey, lass," he calls, and Zo can't help the laugh.

"I won't need luck," she says, and then, because it's true, even if it is unbelievably cheesy, "I'll have love."

He barks a laugh of his own, and waves her on her way.

Usually, the streets of Limsa are almost as annoying as the winding paths of the Shroud for Zo to navigate, but today nothing can bring her down. She runs so fast she's surely almost flying, feet light and barely touching the ground as she hones in on the place where Ana had told her to meet—where Ana, and their future, is waiting for her to come find them.

This early, the sky grey with dawn and the horizon edged with the gold of sunrise, the streets are less busy than they would be, but are nonetheless far from empty. Limsa is a city of the sea, of sailors, and they weigh their anchors and cast their nets earlier than Zo is like to rise on the average day. As she gets closer to her destination, her heart guiding her true, the glances those sailors shoot her become all the more knowing.

Finally. Finally, she arrives, and there she is: Ana, in all her comfort and glory, jacket wrapped tight around her to protect her from the morning's chill; lit by the light of Azeyma's own hand.

Ana's ears flick under her hat, and as she turns to face Zo—having heard her approaching footsteps, no doubt—a smile breaks through that stoic calm Limsan sailors are known for, like Menphina peeking out from behind the clouds. Her cheeks are pink from the bite of the air. Zo's cheeks are surely just as pink, from something else entirely.

"Hey, you," she says, soft and quiet—in this moment, just the two of them by an altar overlooking the sea, it feels as though it would be sacrosanct to speak louder than a whisper.

"Hey, you," Ana whispers back, and holds out her hands as Zo steps closer. "Last chance to back out, you know."

She says it with complete faith that Zo has no intention of doing so, of course. Her eyes sparkle, pale but blue as the sea, and Zo's never seen a sight more mesmerizing than Ana, in this moment.

"Sorry, love," she says, taking Ana's hands in her own, and she leans forward to bunt her nose against Ana's cheek, "but you're never getting rid of me. Alas."

Warm, strong arms wind around her and hold her close, for just a moment. "Good," Ana says, just as fierce and unyielding as her embrace, and then she steps back, and the reality—the future—they're facing steps back in.

Taking up one of Ana's hands in her own again, Zo takes in the altar to Llymlaen before them with no small amount of trepidation. She doesn't doubt the course she's chosen, of course—but fear of change, no matter how joyful, is only human.

"I'm not quite sure what we do next," she says, and Ana tugs her forward, even closer to the altar.

"We pray," she says, and while the word doesn't leave her lips, Zo can hear the 'silly' she wants to tack onto the end of her sentence.

"What for?"

"Well…anything, really," Ana says. "Traditionally, you'd pray for a safe voyage, and fair winds…I think that would apply here, too. But whatever prayer you have in your heart for Llymlaen is where it would be best to start, I think."

Silently, thinking, Zo nods. A prayer for Llymlaen? Nothing like that exists in her heart. She's not really like Ana, devout and believing. Jeb raised her to be respectful and observe her dues, but even so, she believes more firmly in the power of human determination and grit.

But she wanted this journey, this fairytale pilgrimage. And the gods are important to Ana.

And so, pray she will.

She kneels down as Ana does, fist pressed to her heart and head bowed in supplication. Her mind is empty, but she offers up prayers for what Ana had told her to—safe voyage, fair winds, and a little addition of her own: Ana's happiness.

When she opens her eyes, knees and neck aching, she blinks at the realisation that they must have been praying for longer than she'd thought. The sun had truly risen in that time of reflection, painting that altar in front of her in gold. The stone glistens with faint, pearlescent rainbows, like the shell of an oyster. Llymlaen's sigil carved into it seems almost as if it glows, for a moment.

And then Zo blinks, and the moment is gone, and the stone altar before her is just stone again.

Movement, next to her, as Ana also pushes herself to her feet, with a stretch and a yawn that belies the seriousness of the task ahead of them. It warms Zo, somewhere deep inside. Fills her with fondness and comfort as she looks upon Ana and thinks and I will spend the rest of my life with her.

Ana smirks when she catches Zo staring with a painfully fond smile on her face. "See something you like, X'zholu?"

"Always," Zo promises, taking a step back from the altar. Their task here done, she's eager to hoist sails to their next destination—but Ana's hand on her elbow stills her.

"Not yet," she says. "There's something else I have to do before we leave. It's tradition."

Zo frowns. "I thought we simply had to pray at monuments to all of the Twelve?"

"It's not a marriage tradition," Ana says, summoning up a box from her armoury chest and kneeling to dig through it, before coming up with a little aha! and a full bottle of champagne in her hands. Absentmindedly, she nudges the box closed with her foot and sends it away once more. "Libation for Llymlaen, before taking to the seas," she explains, a furrow between her brows as she struggles with the cork.

"Is champagne…traditional for that?" Zo asks, eyeing how Ana shakes the bottle warily.

"Well, no," Ana admits. "Most sailors will just pour in a swig of whatever they have on hand. But since it's a special occasion, and all…" She looks up at Zo through her lashes. Zo's weak to her beautiful eyes; she bites down on the urge to complain that it looks like an expensive bottle that she would likely appreciate more than Llymlaen, if the goddess is happy to sup on whatever moonshine is tossed to her. That would probably be a little disrespectful, after all, and Ana's heart is clearly in the right place.

Then—

"Oh," Ana says, and the cork flies loose with explosive force and champagne rains down everywhere. As the cold spray hits her, Zo gasps, hands flying up to shield her face.

The stones around them glisten, as soaked as they are. Sad bubbles of champagne pop as puddles spread out. The altar they stand at, sacred ground to the goddess of the seas, smells like a brewery—like the Drowning Wench after one too many fights have broken out late in the evening; after one too many drinks have been thrown in provocation.

Zo meets Ana's eyes, and bursts out laughing. Soon the shock in Ana's face fades for amusement of her own, and then she's smirking, trying to look as if she'd planned that all along—but Zo can see how her lips twitch as she tries to fight her own fits of giggles, and she knows better. Ana didn't plan that at all.

"Well," Zo says, "we're off to an auspicious start, aren't we?"

That sets off another round of laughter. Once they've finally got themselves back together, the sun has risen even higher and the stones at their feet have dried sticky from the champagne. Hand in hand, they make their way down to the docks, where—after changing into clothes that haven't been soaked in a surprise toast to the seas—they make their way onto Ana's ship, and set sail together.

Into their future, whatever it may hold.

Nymeia

Travel log, Days since sail: 1

Nymeia is not my patron, yet I have always held for her a certain level of respect and awe. To master the heavens and the movement of fate… what could such a being need prayer for? What benedictions could she lay upon one as small as me? So I have never dared to call upon her.

Yet today I do, Zo gives me the confidence to do so. I do not like to think of her as the Warrior of Light, but there is no denying that she has clasped hands with fate.

So I pray, for Nymeia to turn away, to leave a space in her weave for us to go on this journey with no greater import to the world… and everything to us.

It's raining today, as I closed my eyes and whispered my prayer. Zo waiting by the edge of the cliff for me to finish my scribbling. I'll be leaving a note here, since with the clouds covering the sky Nymeia cannot see us, and we'll be setting sail as soon as the wind turns in our direction.

I feel calm, as I always do once a journey has begun. Our course is set, come rain and rising tide a like and all the nervous energy of yesterday has become peaceful determination. Till the sea swallows us both, together.
-
Perhaps I am still a little nervous, sitting here in the dead of night while Zo sleeps. We've caught the tide out, and are on are way up the coast. Yet I can not sleep, is it sharing this cabin with another for the first but not the last time? Is it the last remnants of the storm in the air?

Journaling is getting me nowhere. I might as well plan the route again

[Attached here is a map of Eorzea, with their intended route marked in clear Dalamud red.]

Day one of their voyage, and thus far, the waters have been calm. Zo's decided to take that as an omen of the good fortune that is sure to come their way on this journey; she refuses to entertain the concept that aught will go awry. Do you hear her, Hydaelyn? Surely, surely, you owe her this.

They don't venture too far—when she and Ana had made the decision that they wanted to wed, and Zo had stated that she wanted to do things the traditional way, with a pilgrimage across the wilds, they'd ended up spending weeks poring over maps, studying the locations of the old altars of the Twelve and planning out their route. As a sailor, Ana had wanted to start with one of her own traditions, and there were enough altars scattered about La Noscea besides Llymlaen's that Zo had no issue with using it as their launching point.

Some of their future locations are vague enough to be mildly concerning—even the altar they plan to visit after Nymeia's is only known to them as a general location they're going to have to spend some time hiking through to find it—but their next stop, their second stop, seems both as easy and fateful as Llymlaen's had been. Nymeia's altar, though not kept ensconced and well-known within a bustling city, is nonetheless well-known and well-kept, something that cannot be said for some altars on their list, as hostilities and dangers have grown and traditional marital pilgrimages have fallen out of fashion (to Zo's knowledge, these days, most people marry under the auspice of only one god—or merely play act at a pilgrimage, by making an offering to each of the Twelve over the course of twelve days. Ana had offered that to her, at first, filled with the eager joy of wanting their love to be bound eternally.

But Zo had wanted something more. She had wanted the sort of romance that was carved out of stone and something deeper; the sort of love that could stand the test of time, that would be writ into legend and never forgotten. She had wanted a story that would last.

Would this pilgrimage give her that? Hard to say. But it's time spent with Ana, regardless, so she could never consider it time wasted).

They depart Limsa in the mid-morning—they'd intended to leave with the dawn, but champagne related mishaps had waylaid them—and arrive at the Moraby Drydocks in the early evening. By the time they'd docked, had a late lunch (or an early supper, really) and made their way up to the altar of the Spinner, the sun has started to set, and rain has started to softly drizzle down; a twofold signalling of the end of their sunny, mild day. The fading sun paints the cliffs in shades of gold, until the clouds roll in fully and all is washed in a hazy coat of gray. Beneath the rainfall, the stone shines like something precious. This altar isn't kept as neatly as Llymlaen's—left to watch over the sea and facing the full brunt of the elements, it's worn and smooth with moss climbing up its sides.

Still. The area surrounding the carved sigil of the Spinner, and the sigil itself, remains untouched, as if the power of Nymeia Herself rests within those lines inlaid upon the stone, and nothing dares encroach upon it.

Wrinkling her nose as they step up to the altar, Zo doesn't really want to kneel down to pray in the mud—but then Ana tugs her down, and she has no choice but to follow.

"You're a weaver, no?" Ana asks. "So Nymeia is, technically, your patron."

"What, hoping I'll know where to start?" Zo laughs. "I dabble, but I wouldn't call myself a weaver in truth. I've woven little but monstrosities, in my time." Minfilia had been kind about it, but…

A hand around her own, squeezing tight, draws her back to the present and out of sorrowful regrets. Zo's really trying her best not to think about Minfilia. About the Warriors of Darkness. She is. This is a joyful time, and Minfilia would not want sorrow over her to have its place here.

"I have heard some of those in the Weaver's Guild talk about how they pray to Nymeia, though," she says with a smile, once she's dragged herself out of her grief. "One tradition is handfasting—it's what those who marry solely under the auspices of Nymeia do to wed." She pulls a spare hair ribbon from her armoury chest, and hands it to Ana.

"I'm guessing from the name that they literally tie themselves together, then?"

Zo waggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Exactly. Care to show me some of those legendary Limsan knots, sailor?"

Ana laughs, and it echoes free and clear across the cliffs and the waves below. Gamely, she takes up the ribbon and, one-handed—her other hand too busy clasping Zo's to help—she deftly fasten them together, their fingers intertwined.

And then, silently, they bow their heads in prayer. Zo's is simple, wordless—just an expression of love and joy and the determination to never let their eternal bond (far stronger than the ephemeral ribbon currently joining them together) unravel.

As if catching a glimpse of impossible sun through heavy clouds, the sigil winks bright and gold for just a moment.

When they eventually stand, prayers done and night setting in, they almost fall down atop one another as the mud slips beneath their feet and their hands—still tied—make it difficult to catch their balance.

Wheezing with laughter, and content to not yet rush back to the ship with the sky so dark and starless above them, they make their way to the cliffside and sit right at the edge, with no fear in their hearts at the drop that awaits below. Nymeia's altar behind them and their future ahead of them, they untangle and untie their hands, and take a moment to simply breathe together.

Oschon

A sketch of Outer La Noscea adorns the top of this page, with various X's marked across it, and a single circle.

Travel log, Days since sail: 8

No matter what Zo says, I knew where I was going. That Oschon's altar was in the opposite direction was her idea. Besides, the floating city of Nym is a sight worth seeing, and any proper adventurer would agree. In the name of love, I'll concede that there was a decent chance the altar to the Wanderer would be in the mines, far off the beaten path, there's a certain amount of logic to that.

Fighting our way out of that pile of kobolds counts as a bonding experience, right?

A pilgrimage, in times of yore, was not just about seeking the blessings of the gods. In times past, when the world was a little safer, it was also a test of a new couple's bond. Putting them through hardship and forcing them to be alone with each other and seeing if they could stand life with no one else to talk to. These days few but adventurer's walk these paths, monsters making it too dangerous to bother with something so… old fashioned, but Zo is a traditional sort, and strong enough to handle any foe.

Mother would approve, I suppose, though with the amount of time we'll spend on land it probably balances out in her mind and leaves her even keeled. As is her wont.

The weather today was as chill as La Noscea ever gets, which means that even with only one layer my coat felt like a little too much after so much stomping around. I wonder if Zo has figured that out yet? She's questioned me often how I can wear my badge of office everywhere we go, and keeps urging me to find a new outfit.

My feelings? Exhausted, but satisfied. And I know my love will say the same… once she's had a proper bath and a nap. Though we set sail again tomorrow, the rest of this trip will be taken on foot. Something I dread, though perhaps not as much as Zo.

Perhaps I will suggest finding more comfortable boots before we leave.

Whoever decided to place these altars scattered so far from one another across the continent owes Zo an apology. And maybe a hard drink or two. The weather had been fair, and their time good, but it had still been a good chunk of days at sea after departing Moraby Drydocks before they'd made landfall on Outer La Noscea. Zo loves Ana, she truly does, and her company was the shining silver lining that made those days bearable at all, but after so long on the waves, she's already inclined to be in a foul mood once she's on solid land.

Her mood is not improved by the trial they suffer through to find Oschon's altar; and trial, it is. This was no simple leg of a pilgrimage. Every muscle in every limb burns. After three days and two nights spent scouring the region—one spent camping out in the wilderness because they'd judged it too dark and too far to make the journey back to the ship—finally finding Oschon's altar is a relief that is more than relief.

Zo's not sure how Ana can be so chipper, all but bouncing as they make the journey up to the altar proper. For the days they've spent searching for it—and fighting their way through hordes of angry kobolds for no good reason, even if she's right that it would have made sense for it to be there—Zo's slowly felt worn down by what would have once excited her. The entire reason she had become an adventurer, well before Dalamud's fall, had been because she'd wanted to travel. The entire reason she'd come to Eorzea had been because she'd wanted to scour and learn from every corner of the birthplace she barely knew. The Zo of only a few years ago would have been ecstatic to spend a few days getting lost with the woman she loved. The Zo of now can only get through it because of the woman she loves.

It's a harrowing thing, to have to confront how grief—how loss after loss—has hollowed her out. Has carved down X'zholu Three Rivers into someone new entirely. Someone a bit less adventurous. Someone a lot more bitter.

Someone who, despite it all, is still her. And that 'her' still loves Ana Molkot. She always will.

And it's that love that keeps her going, that keeps her warm, even when the world around her feels cold. It's that love that inspires her to push herself to her feet after dramatically collapsing to her knees when Ana joyfully calls back to her that the altar is finally in sight. It's that love that guides her prayers, and guides her heart and arms in turn as she wraps them around Ana in a tight embrace, breathing her and the moment in as Oschon's sigil flares bright and orange above them.

It's love. It's always, always love.

The Journey So Far:

Chapter Text

Nald'thal

Days since setting sail: 16

Shipping manifest

• Assorted Ore, 7 tons (Sold)

• Cloths and fibers, 5 Crates (Sold)

• Wines, 6 5 Barrels (Sold)

• Preserved Fruits, 7 Crates (pre-sold 6, one bartered)

• Preserved Meat, 10 Crates (Pre-sold, All)

• Miscellaneous trinkets (Left to the crew's discretion)

We made good time from Costa Del Sol back to Limsa, and a short break to fill the hold and take on new crew only cost us half a day, it made me quite proud to be honest. Showing Zo the ins and outs of the work, the normal day in my life. Though my ship has less space than a proper merchantman, Maelstrom protection still fetches a fine commission, and we've had good enough profits of late to buy some of the better local goods. Things are picking up again in Eorzea, what with the Garleans on a back foot on the land.

Not my concern right now though, keeping the crew out of the wine before it's sold is.

-

A full hold, more or less, and though it stings me to leave the work to Bleibryda I know he'll handle it well, and Yaxin won't let the sandsiders have the goods for even a gil less than what it's worth. For those that weren't earmarked or grabbed before we saw the shore at least. Still, leaving the ship before all is said and done doesn't sit right by me, I'm the damn captain, but the mutinous rats I call a crew wouldn't hear of it.

I should be glad they've taken so well to Zo, I really should, the crew is as much family as any blood relative (doubly so in the case of the twins, who I need to shake thoroughly before I let them out of my sight) but no captain should feel right leaving the ship behind.

I'll check the - illegible scribbles and lines, as though a pencil was yanked out of the writer's hand.

-
Thrown off me own ship. Can't believe it. I should write about the weather, but the only thing to say about Vesper Bay is that it still has the scent of the sea in the air and it's hot. It's really, really hot. I had to take my jacket off just to walk around! I don't know what she sees in all this sand, but that's what this pilgrimage is about I suppose, finding the beauty we each miss.

Zo muttered something when we landed, about returning to the Waking Sands, the old Scion's headquarters if I remember correctly. She wouldn't look at it though, couldn't get the words out of her teeth when I asked. I'll get us chocobos while we're here. She's got that look on her face, the look that says she's avoiding thinking about things too complicated to be solved with her blades.

I'll tempt her into racing me to Horizon.

-

Days since setting sail: 17

Racing into Horizon turned into racing all the way to Ul'dah, which I could have seen coming but alas. Now I'm saddle sore while I'm still relearning how to walk on land, but it's worth it. Seeing Zo smile so widely and point out all her favorite stalls at the market is worth every gil and ache.

-

Nald'thal's temple doesn't allow even pilgrims to approach the statue properly, so to pay our respects we had to sit through their service invoking his benedictions. All well and good, but to charge for it seems unseemly. What else could you expect though from this city. Mustn't grumble though, they've already given us dirty looks for climbing on the plinth.

Several lines are scribbled out here, the only remaining legible phrase being 'two-faced'

My treasure, if you're going to read over my shoulder at least refrain from giggling about it.

After their misadventure in finding Oschon's altar, it's nice to be back in Limsa, if only for a while. The weather is as mild as it can be, and while the port is bustling, it still feels to Zo as though she and Ana are in their own little world. They'd taken their time heading back to Limsa, but even with their leisurely pace, the wind had been fair enough that they'd made decent time.

Their days alone before crew and wares embarked to Thanalan with them had mostly been filled with pleasure and intimacy, Zo enjoying the feeling of both the sun and her soon-to-be wife against her skin, but this new trip to new waters brings with it a little less privacy, and Ana's not really one for giving a show—not to her subordinates, especially.

That's fine. They'll have plenty of time later, after all, once they're alone and on the road once more. For now, Zo is content to laugh with Ana's crew and win them over with her charm, wheedling them into teaching her complicated sailor's knots and how to do them smoothly, so she can impress Ana with her new tricks later (and maybe put them to good use in places other than the ship?)

Still. Even with all that to keep her busy, and even with the crew in mind, sometimes Zo simply cannot help herself, and finds herself tackling Ana down to her bed in the Captain's quarters, insisting that the sound of the waves will cover any noise they make if Ana can just control her volume.

After teasing Zo that she's not the only one who likes to be noisy, Ana laughs, and calls her insatiable—but she does not deny her, so that really just feels like projection to Zo.

And then there are no more thoughts, beyond keeping the woman who will be her wife warm until morning.

-x-

As much fun as Zo is having, with Ana's ship and Ana's crew, there's no denying the relief she feels when Thanalan finally comes into view—relief that fades into something a little more queasy as that land on the horizon solidifies into the once familiar sight of Vesper Bay.

Zo hasn't been back here in a while. There's a part of her that had hoped she'd never have reason to return here again.

She must be frowning, because Ana takes up a hand in her own and squeezes tight. "You okay?"

Zo tries to summon a smile, but from how the concern in Ana's brow deepens, she's not sure it worked. Aggravating, because this is supposed to be a happy time, about her and Ana, and she's stuck thinking about that past and could-have-beens that are nothing but wishful thinking and grief, now.

"The Old Scion's headquarters were housed here," she says, brief amusement flickering to life within her at the lingering offense she can see Ana still feels at how her crew cheerfully banished her from her ship. Pray return to the Waking Sands, she thinks mournfully, and she still hears it in Minfilia's voice as her own lips shape the words. "I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic?"

It's a lie. She knows it's a lie, Ana knows it's a lie. But Ana, dear Ana, does her a kindness, and does not call her out on it. She lets the lie sit where it is and simply walks past it—both metaphorically and literally, marching on to the chocobo stables to hire them birds.

Zo feels a deep stab of longing for Ayah'two, under the careful care of the Scion's back in Mor Dhona. Maybe she'll pick him up on the way through, but she hadn't wanted to try and coax him onto the open ocean for the pilgrimage. Vesper Bay's rentals will have to do.

She looks over at where Ana is carefully counting out coins to hand to the chocobo keep, and feels her first real smile since landing break out as she realises that Ana has peeled her jacket off since the last time Zo laid eyes on her.

"Hot, are you?" she calls to Ana as she walks up beside her.

Ana does something precious and charming and lovely, something that she never would have done back when Zo had first met her and they were dancing around each other with uncertainty.

Ana rolls her eyes. "I don't know how you stand this heat," she complains, and Zo shrugs.

"I like being warm," she says, and dips her voice lower as she leans the entirety of herself up against Ana. "You weren't complaining about the heat last night, love."

Ana has a good poker face. But Zo knows how to read her, knows her tells, and that little shifting of weight she does makes it very clear that Ana is feeling very, very flustered.

Smug and triumphant, Zo backs off before her poor overheated beloved has a meltdown in front of the chocobokeep looking between them with amusement. Normally Zo wouldn't tease Ana so in such a public space, but chocobokeeps are solid as iron when it comes to client confidentiality. There's not a better group of secret keepers out there—they're the whole reason that Ayah'two was eventually delivered to her in Ishgard, after she had to flee in the wake of that awful, terrible banquet.

They lead their birds out beyond the gates before mounting up, and Zo takes a moment to just tilt her head back and enjoy the vivid blue of the open sky. She breathes in deep, and feels her bones settle with the scent of the dessert.

She looks over, and sees Ana smilling at her softly, something heartbreakingly gentle in her eyes. An affection deeper than anything Zo thinks she has ever felt before—a love so overwhelming that the only recourse they'd had was to get married. Which is what they're doing now. Wow.

(It still drives her crazy, sometimes, thinking about it. At the end of this pilgrimage, X'zholu Three Rivers is going to have a wife.)

"Race you to Horizon?" Ana offers, and full of exhilaration, Zo grins back at her in answer to her challenge.

"You're on," she says, and without giving Ana a chance to say anything else, she kicks her bird into gear.

-x-

They end up racing right past Horizon, caught in the high of laughter and competition. They don't make it quite all the way to Ul'dah in one go—eventually it gets dark enough that they agree they should rest their birds and continue on in the morning—but they agree that they're currently at a draw, and the real winner will be decided tomorrow (well. They eventually agree to that. At first, Zo is very insistent that she's in the lead, but then Ana makes a remark about how she's heard deserts get cold at night and would Zo like to share a bedroll with her so they can cuddle for warmth and then being right and winning is not nearly so important as getting camp set up quickly so she can nestle into the places on Ana's body that feel like they were made to fit her perfectly).

They don't really sleep—mostly doze as they listen to the sounds of the desert pass them by—but when the sun begins to peak once more over the horizon and all is lit by the softness of predawn, Zo lets herself sink into their embrace for just a little bit longer.

"We should get up," Ana murmurs against her hair. "We've still got a ways to go before we make it to Ul'dah."

Ana knows trade and seas in a way Zo never will. But Zo knows Thanalan better than Ana does, and she knows that even if they were to lay around until the sun had fully risen, they'd still make it to the city in time for a perfectly prompt lunch at the Quicksand.

Still. Zo does want to make good time. So with a huff and a sigh, she contents herself with just a few lingering kisses before she scrambles out of their bedroll, and goes to check on the birds while Ana digs around in their packs for food to eat once they're on the road. It's just dry trail rations, but washed down with clear water it's fine enough.

For all their jokes of racing one another, it's actually a fairly leisurely ride the rest of the way to Ul'dah—until the city is visible on the horizon, its gates looming wide, and they exchange a glance without words and just know that they're on the same page. Zo leans low across her bird's neck, and uses every single trick she knows about chocobo handling to get it to go that little bit faster.

She wins, but just barely—and while she's completely happy to claim that win, she's sure that at least part of it comes from how Ana is wincing in her seat after a spending the better part of two days in the saddle. After dismounting herself and handing off the reins to the waiting chocobokeep, Zo offers a hand to Ana. "Here, let me help."

Wincing as she swings out of the saddle, Ana doesn't so much as take Zo's hand as she does stumble into her arms. Hey—Zo isn't complaining.

"This is why I prefer travelling by ship," Ana complains, and affection for her bubbles up inside Zo's ribs, escaping her as a laugh.

"You're cute," she says. "Come on, we'll go see Momodi—we'll get some food and some drinks while you try to get your land legs back."

-x-

Seeing Momodi is always nice—she's been nothing but a friend and guide to Zo since they'd first met, back before Zo was anything but an adventurer looking for her family in the wake of the Calamity. Momodi, too, is eager to finally meet Ana properly. And to gossip, of course. Zo's not really one for gossip, herself, but there's no denying how pleased she feels to gush about Ana, and to hear Momodi squeal about how cute they are together and how happy she is for their marriage. And they're getting a free meal out of it—oh, this one is on the house, just think of it as my gift for your bonding—so there's absolutely no reason to be complaining.

Nevertheless, the relief on Ana's face when they're finally sitting down is impossible to deny. "You wouldn't think that riding a mount is so tiring," she says. "But it is."

"It is!" Zo agrees. "Don't worry, nothing will pick you up quite like a Momodi Special—and I'm not exagerating there. The Quicksand's menu is built around adventurers since the Thanalan branch is housed here, and what adventurer's working in the desert need is a lot different than ones working on the coast. You'll perk up in no time."

Ana nods thoughtfully, and then Momodi is bringing out their food directly. "Stew fresh from the pot!" she says cheerfully, and Zo has an explanation ready to go if Ana wonders why they're eating such hot food on such a hot day, but Ana doesn't question it. She just digs in, with all the voracity of a sailor who hasn't had a proper meal since the last time she was at port.

Zo gets that. Outside of the privacy issues, the worst part about being at sea had been the rations. She's had worse! But she certainly prefers better.

Once they're done with their meal, and their plates are cleaned away, Ana looks at Zo with a question in her eyes. "Should we head for the temple of Nald'thal, then?"

Zo shakes her head. "It's best to invoke prayers to Nald'thal in inbetween times," she says. "Sunrise, sunset. We've got a few hours yet." The sun is high in the sky; well into the afternoon, but not quite hitting the evening just yet. "Don't worry, there's lots we can do to kill time." Zo smiles. "I'll show you around the markets!"

-x-

If Zo thought Ana looked wrung out after spending two days on chocoboback, that's nothing compared to how she looks after a mere three hours wandering the streets and stalls of Ul'dah. Zo might have gotten a bit carried away in her tour guide duties, oops.

But now, at last, it's time for them to offer their prayers to the next of the Twelve.

Zo hasn't actually stepped foot inside of the Temple of Nald'thal before—she's no thaumaturge, and she doesn't worship their god. There's been no reason for her to do so, before now.

Entering the building, she almost immediately wants to exit it. It has the oppressive silence of a holy place built into its bones and soaked into its stones. Still covered in the sweat and dust of their journey here—they'd made the decision not to retire to an inn room to clean up until after they were done here, lest they accidentally fall asleep and have to linger in the city for even longer—Zo feels very self conscious as all eyes flick to them.

Still, no one actually speaks to them until they try to approach the altar, where they are then waylaid by one of Nald'thal's worshippers.

"Are you here for the evening service?" The worshipper asks, and Zo smiles winningly at them.

"We're on a bonding pilgrimage," she says. "We've come to pay our respects to the Traders."

"Ah, pilgrims! We don't get many of those, these days. You've brought your offering, then?"

Ana tilts her head questioningly, but Zo just sighs. Of course. It's the way of things in Ul'dah for a reason, after all. She fishes the appropriate amount of gil out of her pockets, and hands it over with what she has decided is a very restrained sigh.

"You may proceed," the worshipper says, "but do not touch the altar."

They sit in silence through the service, and then—in respect to the traditions of those seeking to be eternally bonded—the room…doesn't quite clear out, but the area around the altar and the two of them is suddenly empty of anything but the two of them.

"They said not to touch the altar," Zo whispers to Ana, "but we are allowed to get closer, right?"

Ana shrugs but looks game, mischief lighting up her eyes as she looks at Zo. Carefully, together, they approach the plinth the stone sits upon, but just as Zo leans against it, the sound of a throat being cleared fills the room. Sheepishly, Zo raises a hand in apology and takes a step back, saying to Ana, "guess we can't get any closer, after all."

"And after we paid and all, too," Ana sighs. They stand for a moment in silence, and then—

Zo cracks first, doubling over in laughter. She tries to be quiet, but everytime she looks up at Ana struggling to keep her face straight, she loses the fight for composure all over again.

Finally, she pulls herself together—sort of—and stands next to Ana, pressing a mouth to her hand like that's going to help keep the giggles in. Ana, for her part, is smug and smirking, and if it wasn't for the fact that they'd already made well and truly enough of a scene, Zo would be doing her level best to kiss that smirk off of her pretty face.

"Okay, okay," she says, and while she might have gotten a hold on her laughter she can't help how it injects itself into her words, "let's get this over with."

It's the hardest prayer Zo's done so far, simply because it's hard to keep her thoughts straight when they're so full of mirth. She eventually does manage to pull herself together enough that she's coherent, though.

Please, she prays, as the sigil above them seems to shine like a ruby for just a moment, let us keep this equilibrium with us, always.

Rhalgr

Days since setting sail: 18

The Immortal Flames have a cry, I've heard it the few times I've been swept up in the Grand Companies various sparring skirmishes. "For Coin and Country," they say. Yet it seems to be that there's far too much coin and far too little country to be found here. There's more stalls and markets here than I've ever seen, and no one seems to know anyone else. Finding the same face twice in a row is almost impossible.

And so is, apparently, a decent bedroll and tent that'll survive the desert.

Will try again tomorrow, but I'm half tempted to ask Zo if she can get one from the Flames, even if it's unpatriotic of me.

-

Days since setting sail: 20

Little Ala Mhigo makes me sad.

There is little else to say, but sitting here under the stars, with the desert looming before me, it's the only feeling I have to name. These proud folk, in their hollowed out mountain, far from home. And still, they keep a shrine. Perhaps the only shrine to the Destroyer here in Eorzea.

It saddens me. Their plight, the Garlean conquest, it is too big for me to grasp, to effect. I am no Scion, no leader, at the moment I am not even a captain. Just a pilgrim.

What is there for me to do, but pay my respects at the shrine and feel?

-

Attached here is a hunt bill, offering a reward for the defeat of sandworms. It is marked complete.

-

In the name of the Destroyer, I offer my blade to the faithful. A more fitting prayer than solemn words and sadness.

-

Days since setting sail: 21

North from Little Ala Mhigo, and our first night under the stars, and despite the chill in the air I can't help but feel warm. Having Zo sprawled across my lap certainly helps, but there's a little more to it. I must admit, when I heard adventurer's talk about the thrill of exploration, I tended to scoff. A poor purpose to risk life and limb for. Yet…

Well I can admit that I was wrong.

I'll still never go to a desert again if I can help it. Never.

The night they spend in Ul'dah before heading for Little Ala Mhigo is much needed, Zo thinks. It's good for them to sleep in a bed that fits them both easily, not limited by the space of a ship's cabin. It's good for them to sink into a bath hot enough to wash away not just the grime on their skin but the aches in their muscles. It's good for them to have a private space where they can curl up together and laugh. And it's good to hear Ana vent about having to pay to get into a church—"It's more common than you'd think, and not just for Nald'thal," Zo had said, telling her of how some churches charge exorbitantly for healing, and that had just set her off on another rant.

It's good, to hear Ana be so passionate and caring about something. To find a safe and comfortable harbour in such righteous anger.

And it's good, once Ana has calmed down, and their candles have burned low and dim, to take the woman she loves in her arms and show her just how that passion makes her feel.

-x-

In the morning, once they've woken and broken their fasts, they split off to attend to their own tasks before meeting up once more. Ana has missives to send, to keep her crew informed of their safe arrival and intention to make for their next destination, and Zo has letters of her own to send, to the Scions. Momodi will make sure they travel swiftly and safely to their recipients.

By the time Ana returns, Zo has restocked and repacked their bags, making sure they have plenty of water. Food they can gather or hunt for along the way, if needed; but depending on the season, water can be scarce. Momodi says they've had decent rainfall for the past few moons, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Ugh," Ana says, in a tone that says her complaints are real but not dire, "is there not a single good bedroll for sale around here?"

"Hmm?" Zo squints at her. "We have a perfectly good bedroll, love."

Almost shy, Ana ducks her head. "You were right, okay? The desert gets cold at night. And the bedding from my ship is made for milder weather. Even cuddling up to you wasn't enough to keep me from shivering."

Zo hadn't really felt that, but—in the same way humidity doesn't seem to hit Ana like it does her, maybe temperature changes do. She frowns, thoughtfully. "With all the refugees, there might be a shortage," she says. Especially in light of the Eorzean Alliance finally starting to make moves against the Garlean incursion; those bedrolls are probably going to soldiers. She almost offers to see if she can requisition some from the Flames, before thinking that Ana's pride probably would make that an immediate no-go. It's not that big of a deal; Ana's love for her country is one of the reasons Zo loves her so much. She's no patriot by any means, but she knows the value of loyalty. "It's okay," she says instead, "I'll just have to work even harder to keep you warm," with an exaggerated wink.

Ana sighs at her antics. But she's smiling, so Zo counts it as a win.

Even though Zo's packed their bags to Ana's exacting standards, the Captain in Ana still wants her to check that they've gotten everything, so while Ana does that—and thus dobs herself in for being the one to lug their bags out from the inn—Zo takes it upon herself to go get them some birds. By the time the payment has been sorted out and the birds have been saddled up, Ana's arrived and is tying their bags to their saddles.

"We head out through the Gate of Thal," Zo says. "From there, it's a straight shot south-east to the Sagolii Desert." She grins. "It's even hotter there during the day than it is here, and—"

"—even colder at night, I presume?" Ana's tone is dry enough to spark kindling, and Zo laughs.

"Barring some sort of sandstorm, the trip shouldn't be too bad. It's closer to Little Ala Mhigo from Ul'dah than the trip from Vesper Bay to here was." Of course, the Sagolii is more difficult terrain to traverse, but Zo knows it well. She's confident that they'll make it to Little Ala Mhigo before nightfall. "You won't have to spend a night out in the true wilderness, freezing your poor little tail off, don't worry."

"I'm marrying a cruel woman," Ana snarks, rolling her eyes.

-x-

The trip doesn't take more than a few hours, just like Zo had expected. Well, it takes pretty much the whole day—the sun is already setting by the time they ride up to the caves the settlement resides in—but "a whole day" probably falls somewhere within the realm of "a few hours." Probably.

Clearly having seen them approach, but just as clearly having recognised Zo, the guards on shift greet them with friendly smiles and wave them on through.

"There's even a chocobokeep here?" Ana asks, and Zo says, completely without irony:

"I wouldn't be surprised to find out there are chocobokeeps even in Garlemald."

"Or even on the moon," Ana murmurs, and Zo laughs.

"They'd be the best information network on the continent," she says, "you know, if they happened to be in the business of selling secrets."

Once they've had a little laugh to themselves at the idea of a network of chocobo-mask wearing spies, and handed their birds off, Zo takes one of Ana's hands in her own and starts leading her through the winding cave system. This place is confusing in broad daylight, and the sun has all but set.

When they finally make their way into the main encampment, Gundobald greets Zo with a cheerful call of her name and a backbreaking slap to the shoulders. "This is Ana," Zo introduces, and Ana dutifully gives off a parade perfect salute. "We're here to pray to Rhalgr."

Something in Gundobald's expression goes soft—mournful and wistful both, at the same time. "Ahh," he says. "Of course, of course—you are always welcome, Zo." He shakes his head. "It's not often you see people going on a bonding pilgrimage these days, with how often churches have altars to each of the Twelve set up on their grounds for couples to pray to."

"Well, never let it be said that I went into this marriage half-assing it," Zo jokes, and Gundobald roars with laughter of his own, before giving them directions as to where they can find Rhalgr's altar within the cavern.

When they find it, they stand in silence for a long moment.

It's not as austere as some of the altars they've prayed at, nor is it as old—the history of this altar is fresh and wounded and bloody, the sigil upon the rock's face carved purely by human hands seeking desperately for a connection to a homeland and a faith torn from them. Not too long ago, all things considered, and a bonding pilgrimage would have taken the prospective couple all the way to Rhalgr's Reach. Now, it's too dangerous to do so. Even for the Warrior of Light.

Zo glances over at Ana, who stands with a complex emotion upon her face. She wonders if Ana is thinking what she is—that somehow this place feels more sacrosanct to people like them than the Temple of Nald'thal ever could.

And then, the question:

When praying to the Destroyer, what aspect can one call on to bless a marriage?

Zo doesn't know. But nevertheless, she closes her eyes, presses her hand to her heart, and lets the words flow from there.

Grant us the strength to break free of that which holds us down, to march forth to a new day. Let us destroy the chains that would tie us down.

Like a flicker of a storm on the cave wall, the sigil seems to burn, for just a moment, with the glow of lightning.

Zo breathes, and shifts so she's standing closer to Ana. Leans in, to rest her head on her shoulder. "We should stay here, at least for another day," she says quietly. "Clear out some the more difficult hunts around here for them."

Silently, Ana nods, before turning her head to lay a kiss upon Zo's brow.

-x-

Their departure from Little Ala Mhigo the following afternoon is as quiet as their arrival was; Gundobald thanks them profusely for their help in taking down some troublesome beasts and wishes them well on the rest of their pilgrimage. They take back the same birds they'd rented from Ul'dah—the chocobos kept here are desert raised and far more precious to the refugees living here than a couple of city birds bred for speed are.

A few hours north from Little Ala Mhigo, and they set up their first proper camp in Thanalan thus far; their brief stopover between Horizon and Ul'dah did not count. That had been a bird break; this is for them.

Ana lays out the bedroll that she'd traded for in Little Ala Mhigo with care while Zo ensures their birds are set up for the night, before building up a fire for them to cook on.

"I thought we'd run into more wildlife," Ana says thoughtfully, watching the pot bubble—just a simple broth of herbs that Zo has mixed some desert-dry smoked fish into.

Zo shakes her head. "Most beasts around here have learnt to avoid chocobos. It's why it's so heavily advised that adventurers get a chocobo of their own. And we're too far north right now to be worried about running into any hostile Amalj'aa camps." She thinks, at least. It's been a while since she's had reason to stop by Southern Thanalan…she should check in on Loonh Gah and her mother soon, maybe.

Her slapdash soup is probably as good and done as it's going to get. They packed light, so they don't have seperate bowls—instead, they remove the pot from the fire and carefully wrap it in an old rag, and eat directly out of it; they did, of course, pack a spoon each, at least.

Once they've finished their meal and wiped the pot clean, they settle in for the night. Ana pulls out her journal and Zo, ever benevolent, kindly offers herself up as an armrest by flopping across Ana's lap.

Lulled by the comfort of Ana's scent and the scratch of her pen across paper, Zo finds herself dozing off as their fire burns down to embers.

(It might just be that they're close to a more temperate part of Thanalan, but not a single part of Zo feels cold that night.)

Azeyma

Days since setting sail: 22

Heavy rain today in Camp Drybone.
-

Days since setting sail: 23

The eastern stretch of Thanalan is pleasant enough terrain to trek through, compared to the southern stretches. Green grass underfoot, well marked trails, and the danger minimal thanks to Zo's 'understanding' with the Amalj'aa, something I've accepted I will never quite get used to. It wasn't all that long ago that the primals rampaged across the land and forced her into danger. Yet if she does not hold a grudge, I will not nurse mine.

Still, no reason not to keep a watchful eye out. She deserves to be protected for once, and for the rest of her life it is my privilege and duty to do so.

-
Twelve I love this woman, I really do. But to hear her simply shrug and continue to chew on her apple when I asked what she knew of Azeyma's prayers was enough to make me feel a little crazy. It was only a momentary doubt though, before long we were laughing together and it reminded me of all that drew me to her in the first place.

For any who read this, after my time, know that there is no sight or sound more precious than the laughter of the woman you love, and who loves you in return. I pray you understand, or that one day you will.

The Burning Wall under the sun at Her apex are a sight worth immortalizing, another blessing our trip has given us. With our prayers offered at high noon, we retreated back to Camp Drybone as quick as we could and didn't leave our lodgings until dusk fell. A pleasure for me to be up this late, and one Zo seems to be enjoying as well as she guides our Chocobo north towards the Shroud. If we're lucky we'll make it there before Azemya rises to greet us again. If we're not, I won't complain about another night spent in a tent with X'zholu Three Rivers.

Eastern Thanalan is one of the greener areas of the nation—probably because it gets so much rain, Zo thinks. Far more rain than it should, given that one of the largest hubs of civilization in the region is called Drybone.

They technically did not need to travel the long way, up through Drybone and then even further east, to Highbridge—but Zo does not mind the longer travel time, and doing it this way gives them a chance to trade their poor tired birds for fresh ones at Camp Drybone.

Of course, shortly before their arrival, the skies open, and torrential rainfall makes the last steps of this leg of their journey wet and miserable.

Handing in their chocobos to the chocobokeep at the porter's station and quickly running to shelter to wait out the rain, Zo can't help but laugh at how disgruntled Ana looks.

"Classic Wetbone," Zo says, without irony, reaching up to shove some of Ana's sodden hair out of her face. "It'll be over before you know it. Like I told you on the way here, it rains here a lot. I'm pretty sure the only reason the amount of rain Drybone gets doesn't cause flash floods is because it rains so much. The ground doesn't have enough time to dry out."

"Why in the name of the Twelve do they call it Drybone, then?"

Zo shouldn't laugh, she really shouldn't, but Ana's so cute when she's disgruntled. "Maybe it used to rain less!"

Ana rolls her eyes at Zo, but she's smiling when she goes up to the bar to order them food—and to ask if maybe the barkeep could spare a towel or two (lucky for them, Zo happens to know that the businesses about Drybone keep towels on hand for exactly this situation—travelers caught unawares in Drybone's sporadic weather).

Even though Zo says the weather should pass quickly (in her experience, it usually does) they end up having to stay the night in Drybone. It's not so bad; it's always nice to sleep in a proper bed, and leaving in the morning rather than mid afternoon means they should make it to the Burning Wall before the day is out, and from there it's not a far trek to the Final Prayer.

Thinking on it, they really have chosen a roundabout, inconvenient route to the Mark of the Warden. But, well…

When she thinks of rain, and laughter, and Ana's cute pouting face, Zo's sure she wouldn't want it any other way.

-x-

"It's strange to think about how hard it was raining yesterday," Ana says, squinting up at the bright afternoon sky, not a cloud in sight.

"That's just what it's like, in this corner of the world," Zo says. "Probably the Burning Wall has something to do with it, if you ask me. It's got to be fucking with the local aether levels."

A considering hum from Ana, but not much else, which is fair. Ana's even less of an expert in aetherical studies than Zo is, and she's not an expert at all. She's just friends with Urianger and that means she's picked up a thing or two; eventually, if you spend enough time around him, you will glean knowledge from his nonsense.

"We're close," Zo says, a little further down the road, and they agree to dismount and walk the rest of the way to the altar on foot. Their rental birds are trained well enough that with a simple command of stay, they make no move to leave.

Ana takes the lead, staring up thoughtfully at the altar of the goddess who is, nominally, Zo's patron. She's definitely the goddess Zo has directed most of her fleeting prayers to over the years, if that means anything. It's not exactly like she'd been raised within Seeker culture. It's not like that even really means anything to her at all.

(Okay, maybe it's a little like that.)

"Do you know how best to make an offering to Azeyma?" Ana asks, and the honest answer is no, I don't.

So that's exactly what Zo tells her. "No, I don't. I have been putting some thought into it, though."

And then she pulls an apple from her pocket. It had been the trick of a lifetime, to keep Ana from seeing her stowing it away when they dismounted. Worth it, to see how gobsmacked Ana looks right now.

Worth it, to see that confusion tick over into a baffled sort of outrage as Zo bites into the apple. Loudly.

"What are you doing," Ana hisses, and Zo winks at her. Swallows down the apple in her mouth before speaking.

"So I've been thinking about Azeyma, and all She stands for. Like She's not just the goddess of the sun, She's the goddess of inquiry!"

"What does that have to do with apples, Zo?"

"Azeyma strikes me as a vivacious goddess," Zo says plainly. "That's the vibe I'm getting. She's got a zest for life, and I'm honouring that by living in the moment." She lifts up her half eaten apple to the altar, as if it was a glass and she was raising it for a toast.

Ana buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake with what could be tears, but is hopefully just laughter. "I can't believe I'm marrying you," she says, and though her voice is muffled, she sounds fond.

"Oh, please. You love me," Zo says.

And high above them, for just a moment, the noon sun burnishes the sigil on the altar a shade of fiery gold.