Archive of Our Own

Minfilia Warde was holding on by a thread.

She stared down at the piles and piles of paperwork on her desk, trying not to put her head in her hands and moan. The sheer amount of things to do—requests to answer, missives to send, allies to entreat—made her shift so much in her chair that, despite its size and softness, it felt as though she was sitting on a bed of thorns.

It had been the right decision to move to Mor Dhona, she kept telling herself. Out from under the piercing gaze of the Monetarists, fully divorced from any one nation. The Scions were better off. Freer. As was she.

Even if it rarely felt like it.

There was something about the hazy glow around Mor Dhona that sat ill with her. Perhaps it was all the devastation wrought by the Calamity, or perhaps the clouds of ceruleum that passed through Revenant’s Toll. Or perhaps it was the giant corpse of the great wyrm, Midgardsormr, that still cast its long shadow across the entire bay. That could very easily be the source of her strain, as it was terrifying to behold.

“I must complete at least some of this paperwork,” she said, trying to shake herself out of her fugue. “It wouldn’t do to foist even more on Tataru.” 

She wished that she could, however, even as she picked up a sheaf from the top of her pile and set it down directly in front of her. After seeing first-hand how hard the Scions worked to topple Leviathan, she wished she could be out there with them, fighting to protect the realm. Tataru was highly competent, and could very likely handle anything Minfilia chose to delegate, but that wasn’t truly the issue, was it?

She was no fighter, and her presence at critical engagements only served to distract her allies and provide a high value target to her foes. Y’shtola had said as much, after the Lord of the Whorl’s defeat. Minfilia would help them all much more by continuing to do as she’d always done: making connections and building alliances.

And wading through mountains of paperwork.

Confident that no one could hear her in the Solar, Minfilia let herself sigh. She felt the urge to let the latest rejection from Ul’dah slip from her fingers and to the floor, but she wouldn’t be able to bear it if the letter became tarnished. She gently placed it back on the pile instead. What she wouldn’t give for someone to come in and just whirl all her woes away.

As if summoned, the door to the Solar opened and M’ren Aaylis walked through.

“Ah, Miss Warde!” he said, as though surprised to see her there, despite knowing full well there was rarely a time when she was not in the Solar. He gestured to her covered desk. “You don’t appear to be busy at all. Fancy a cup of tea?”

Minfilia smiled at him. “I am very busy, as you well know.” She looked down at her desk, then up at M’ren, who watched her with a carefully schooled expression. He was very easy to smile at. “I… suppose a break would serve me well.”

M’ren’s ears twitched with delight, though he tried not to let it show on his face. “Jolly good, then.” He reached out into the hall and held up a fully loaded tea tray, looking like he was surprised to find it there. “I just so happen to have some already made. Shall we adjourn to the side table?”

Minfilia found her smile getting a little bigger. He was more than welcome to just walk over to the side table she used to entertain guests without waiting for permission, but he always did. “Set the tray down, yes. I just need a moment to settle my things.”

“Of course, of course.” M’ren walked over to her side table and set down the tea tray, not spilling a drop. He would then have been free to sit and wait for her to put her various piles in order, but M’ren Aaylis was not that kind of man. The second the tray was settled, he walked over to help her clean.

“Another big day?” he asked, holding up one of Minfilia’s many colour-coded folders and setting it exactly where she liked to keep it. He tossed a quick eye over her papers. “I see we are still on the outs with the Syndicate.”

Minfilia held in another sigh. “It is… I am now beginning to see just how much influence they held over us, while we were stationed in Vesper Bay.”

“You didn’t notice Lolorito’s giant statue? Right there in the centre of town?”

She felt her lips pursing. She’d had that same argument with each of the Scions and the various Syndicate members in turn. “I did not want us to be beholden to—”

“Minfilia, I know,” M’ren interrupted. “I was teasing you. I’m sorry.”

Something fluttered in her chest. “Oh. Yes. Of course.” She busied herself shuffling her papers, which sent one of them floating to the floor. She went to retrieve it, but M’ren made it there first. As it had slid under her desk, he got to his knees and fished it out, holding it up for her to take.

He smiled up at her, teeth a little crooked in his grinning mouth. He really was quite something to look at, wasn’t he? With his mis-matched eyes (one red, one blue) and his button nose? With the spate of freckles across his round cheekbones, and the stark red and blue Mi’qote clan markings under his eyes? With the big scar that cut a groove right over his right eye, and the smaller, cross-shaped one on his chin? Even his hair looked nice, a bright blonde that swept low over his forehead and extended up to his big, expressive ears. Ears that were beginning to twitch worriedly as he waited for Minfilia to stop staring and take the damnable paper.

She took it from him quickly and turned away, feeling her face get red. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, shuffling her papers again to help settle herself, “it has been a non-stop deluge of paperwork since our move. I find myself quite often out of sorts, despite the necessity of my focus.”

Despite bearing sole responsibility for the mortification of forgetting to clean up her mess, Minfilia noticed, when she managed to bring herself to look back up at M’ren, that he was a little pink about the face himself. “Well,” he said, not quite meeting her eye as he straightened, “it sounds to me, uh, like you need a break.”

“Very true,” she said. “Let us head over to have that tea.”

M’ren got a little pinker. “Well, um, yes, we could do that. But, uh, you know, we could also, um, go… out?”

Minfilia, bemused, considered him. “Out?”

“Well, yeah! How often do you actually leave this place?” M’ren waved his hands around as he explained, eyes on something beyond Minfilia’s shoulder. “You’re all cooped up in here! You should do something, you know, for fun!”

Minfilia blinked. “Fun…? I don’t think… that I am allowed to have fun.” 

She put a hand over her mouth. Had she really just said that? Certainly, she refused to prioritize her own amusement when there was so much the realm still needed, but “allowed to have fun”? Surely she was allowed to have fun, no?

M’ren frowned at her statement. “Minfilia, you can’t save Eorzea by locking yourself up and doing paperwork all day. You’ll go crazy.”

“I… Well, I don’t think—” She blinked a couple more times, head still swimming. So befuddled, she heard the words come out of her mouth: “What did you have in mind?”

M’ren beamed. “They just put the All Saints’ stuff up in New Gridania. We could go see it, right?” He seemed lighter now. “Walk through the haunted mansion, see the decorations, eat a whole lot of sweets, that kind of thing!”

She found herself refusing before he’d even finished. “The Black Shroud is so far, M’ren, and I have so many things to do—”

M’ren gave her a look. “Minfilia, I know you’ve already attuned to the aetheryte. We can just warp there.”

“But… The teleportation fees—”

“Let me cover the fees,” he insisted. “They’re not that much. We’ll go, walk around, have some snacks, and be back before the end of the day.” He took her hand and looked at her beseechingly. “Please. You need a break. And Tataru can handle your paperwork for a few hours.”

She’d known she was going to fold from the moment he’d taken her hand. It felt almost like a lifeline, tethering her to reality as she was tossed headfirst into the realization that she was going to skive off work, possibly all day long, for the first time in her life.

“That’s not… fair to Tataru,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

M’ren cocked an eyebrow, grinning again. “I can almost one hundred percent guarantee that Tataru would think this is a good idea, if we told her.”

Minfilia stared at him. “If we told her?”

His grin got big and brash, and he started to glow. His feet began to rise off the floor.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, as his hand pulled from hers. “We’re going now?! What about the tea?”

“See you in a sec!” M’ren said, winking at her before disappearing in a flash of blue light.

Minfilia stared at the spot where he’d been. The smell of aether filled the room. Several thoughts ran through her brain in quick succession: she hadn’t finished putting away her files, someone should absolutely let Tataru know where she was going, they’d left the tea untouched, why was her hand buzzing, and what about—

M’ren is waiting, she thought, and it cut through the noise. It wouldn’t do to be rude to her friend. So she reached out for the New Gridania aetheryte and let herself be pulled away.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing beside the great crystal in New Gridania, shaded by the Black Shroud’s massive trees. Standing several yalms away, M’ren could not hide the look of relief on his face as she walked over to him.

“You seem surprised,” she said, side-stepping to allow a red-haired Roegadyn woman in skintight slacks and demon wings past.

“No, not at all!” M’ren said, relief still writ plain even as he denied it.

Minfilia found herself smiling. “Did you worry I wasn’t coming?”

M’ren hemmed and hawed, being jostled aside by several Mi’qote girls in elaborate costumes. The plaza really was quite packed, wasn’t it? There were people of all shapes and sizes all dressed up in a variety of guises. In fact, Minfilia could easily espy at least four women dressed as the Elder Seedseer. Was she that popular?

“Okay, yes,” M’ren said, drawing her attention back to him. “I was a little worried someone would have walked in the door and reminded you you had, like, a meeting with the Kobold High Mistress of Machines in two minutes.”

“The kobolds are patriarchal,” she said.

M’ren laughed a little breathlessly. “Can you blame me? Do you know how hard it is to get the busiest woman in Eorzea to take a break?”

Minfilia felt her smile getting bigger. “So says the busiest man in Eorzea. How go your studies in black, red, and blue magic?”

“I can make an entire fish kebab without a grill, a skewer, or a fish.” His grin came back, sharp and stunning. “Wanna see?”

She laughed brightly. “Perhaps later. Right now, I believe you were going to show me a haunted mansion?”

M’ren’s eyes were bright. “Yes, O Antecedent. It’s over behind the amphitheatre. If you’ll follow me?”

He made to walk in that direction, but Minfilia immediately noticed a problem. Though M’ren was the type of person for whom crowds would part—always moving with noticeable purpose, despite often being dwarfed by the people around him—Minfilia was not. The same crowds of costumed revelers that moved out of his way with nary a word would congeal back into a throng of bodies and chatter the second he slipped past them. And, seeing as he was not very tall, she lost sight of him quickly.

“Well, this is frustrating,” said M’ren after the third time they’d been separated. “I don’t usually have trouble with crowds.”

“The fault is mine,” she assured him. “I do not have your presence. And these good people do seem to be having a wonderful time.”

It was true. People were chatting all over the glade, some sitting on exposed tree trunks and sharing stories, some standing in line for treats and telling each other jokes. Considering how close the realm had come to ruin, it made Minfilia’s heart almost soar with joy.

“You have presence,” M’ren protested, bow lips pursing into a cute little frown, “just not ‘shove people out of the way’ presence.”

“We will just have to stay closer together,” said Minfilia. “That way I won’t lose you to the crowd.”

He looked at her with an odd expression. Had that been an odd thing to say? “Well, I guess,” he said after a pause. “Stay close, then.”

Though she was able to stay within his wake, the next problem arose quite quickly: M’ren walked very fast. Used to a stately pace, Minfilia found herself being jostled all over again and, in a moment of panic, reached out and seized M’ren’s hand to keep from losing him.

He stopped short, looked down at their hands, then up at her. His face was slightly pink again. “Oh,” he said, “yes. That’s a good idea.”

Minfilia felt her own face beginning to flush. “We can’t lose each other like this.”

M’ren nodded, swallowing heavily. “Okay then, this way.”

His hand was warm in hers, firm and calloused. Despite the tumult of people and noise all around her, Minfilia did not feel the slightest bit ill-at-ease. M’ren moved with purpose, and for some reason she felt certain he would not let her go.

“Okay,” he was saying, pulling Minfilia out of the way of a passing Viera woman as he scanned the area, “so it’s this way to the amphitheatre, and then we take a riiiiiiiiight? I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Have you been many times before?” Minfilia asked, a little light-headed from how fast her heart was beating. Clearly, she was not accustomed to power walking. She let M’ren pull her even closer to him to avoid another group of revelers.

“I, um—” M’ren paused, mouth working back and forth as he tried to see over people’s heads. He looked at Minfilia, then the crowd, then their hands, then the crowd again. “Yes. I came here many times when I was little.”

“Oh!” said Minfilia, realizing she was delighted at the idea of a little M’ren. “That sounds lovely. I must confess that All Saint’s Wake was never my particular favourite, growing up. Festivals in Ul’dah were always so loud and raucous.”

M’ren gave her a dubious look, his ears flicking as the many people passed them by.

She flushed. “I… Perhaps it’s the greenery about us. It seems less overwhelming when I can still hear the rush of the creek, or the wind through the trees.”

“I do love that sound,” M’ren agreed, closing his eyes and flicking his ears up towards the canopy. “Sometimes I come here just to enjoy the quiet.” Several yalms away, a Lallafell man laughed boisterously as he flexed for a bemused Roegadyn woman over twice his height. “But not today, obviously.”

“Are you not based out of Limsa Lominsa?” Minfilia asked. “As a member of the Maelstrom, aren’t you required to be stationed there?”

M’ren shot her a conspiratorial smirk. “I get ‘special privileges’, on account of being very talented and very difficult to kill.” He began walking again, having clearly ascertained their heading. “The Admiral finds me quite hard to plan around.”

“Clearly she must value your talent?” Minfilia said, affronted. She disagreed with Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn on many things, but apparently the importance and utility of M’ren was highest on that list. The great majority of the Scions’ plans hinged quite entirely on his singular skill.

M’ren canted his head side to side, which she figured was as close to a shrug as he could manage with one arm occupied shunting people aside and the other with pulling her along. “It means I get to run my unit how I like, and she only calls me in for the big things. I don’t mind.” He paused again, brow furrowed. “This place is not that big. I swear I know where I’m going.”

“Shall we ask someone for assistance?” Minfilia offered, pointing at the range of vendors and wagons lining the side of the leafy promenade.

M’ren, to her surprise, pouted. “I don’t think we need to ask anybody…”

Minfilia laughed cheerily. “M’ren, I’m surprised! I wouldn’t have thought you one of those men that refuses to ask for directions!”

M’ren’s cheeks went red. “I don’t—,” he began. “I’m not—” He was very steadfastly not looking at her. “I don’t need help getting around Old Gridania,” he muttered. “I’m the friggin’ Warrior of Light or whatever. I know where I’m going.”

She pressed her free hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Oh yes, of course,” she laughed, failing immediately. “It is just that I find myself craving one of those sweets you mentioned. Shall we stop and peruse our options?”

M’ren’s pout got larger. It was quite charming, actually; his ears were nearly flat on his head. “You’re making fun of me!” 

“Of course not!” she said, lying. “I merely adore—” She looked at the nearest stall for inspiration. “—candied hot peppers.”

“Minfilia, you needed a gallon of milk after eating Yda’s spicy stew.”

“It was very hot,” she said, pulling him towards the stall.

“It was a spoonful,” M’ren retorted.

“Yda is a very talented chef.”

“No, she is not.” 

Minfilia hummed, like she might disagree more, using the pause to pull up to the vendor of the candied peppers. M’ren still had her hand, so he was made to join her. “Excuse me,” she said, “we are having trouble finding our way to the amphitheatre and the haunted mansion. Could you direct us?”

The vendor, a white-haired Mi’qote woman in her mid-twenties, was in the middle of dipping another slice of pepper in a boiling pot of candy glaze. “Of course,” she said, expertly twirling the stick between her fingers, “just allow me a moment to set this down.” She pulled out the pepper, now coated in a thick layer of sugary goop, and tapped the stick along the side of her pot to shake off the excess. With a flick to catch the drip, she set the entire thing down on a tray alongside the rest of her most recent batch.

“Now,” she said, looking up at Minfilia. “You were looking for the amphi…thea……tre…” She trailed off, looking at Minfilia with wide eyes. Somehow, she almost seemed familiar, despite Minfilia being quite certain she hadn’t met her before. She had clan markings on her face that also looked somewhat recognizable, but Minfilia would confess under pressure to not having memorized what clans the various markings represented. 

“M’ren?!” the woman exclaimed, which is when Minfilia realized she hadn’t been staring at her at all. “What are you doing here?”

Hidden by Minfilia’s shoulder (and perhaps his embarrassment at needing directions), M’ren hadn’t seen the vendor at first. Once he heard his name, he leaned around Minfilia and his eyebrows shot up. But then he smiled, so Minfilia allowed herself to relax.

“Y’mhitra! I should ask you the same question!” He took a step towards her stall and peered down at her candied wares. “I wasn’t aware that arcanists require a proficiency in confectionery. And hot peppers too, quite a choice.”

The woman, Y’mhitra (who really did look quite familiar for some reason), put her hands on her hips and laughed. “I am neither an arcanist nor a confectioner, as you well know. This is merely a hobby in between research projects.”

“A lucrative one?” M’ren asked, hovering a finger over a couple of peppers coated in a red glaze. He eyed the jar of gil awaiting tips by her left hand.

Y’mhitra pursed her lips. “A hobby can be multiple things,” she replied. “You are hardly one to talk.”

“I say a lot of things,” he quipped, shooting her that smirk of his. Minfilia felt a little frown pull at her lips. Where was it she knew this woman from? “Have you been earning your keep?”

“You don’t seem to be complaining about my work.” She waved a hand over her assorted sweets—peppers of all shapes and sizes carefully glazed in a variety of colourful coatings. “Would you like to—that will be six gil, M’ren, whenever you’re ready.”

“Ooh,” he exclaimed, loudly crunching on the yellow confection he’d snatched up from one of Y’mhitra’s many trays, “banana.” He crunched it a couple more times, the stick dangling from his mouth as he surveyed the others. “Very interesting flavour. Sweet with heat. I like it!” 

He made to take a second one, but Y’mhitra rapped his hand with her spoon. “Six gil,” she repeated, holding her spoon up portentously. M’ren smiled at her again, mouth sticky with yellow glaze, and pulled out twelve gil. 

“My thanks to you,” Y’mhitra said, placing the coins in her jar. “May I suggest the dragon pepper?” She pointed to a tray of pepper slices covered in blue glaze.

“Are they spicy?”

“Only a touch,” she said, smiling imperturbably.

“Excellent!” M’ren said, snatching one up. With a flourish that was perhaps a bit too embellished, considering the subject matter, he held it up to Minfilia. “Care to share?”

Minfilia felt her face getting hot again. Share? A two-bite sweet? With M’ren? In front of everyone? The very idea! But then she looked at him, realized he was waiting for her to take the pepper, and felt quite the fool. Obviously he meant sharing as in he had purchased it for her. She took the candy and tried not to stare at the ground.

Mulishly, Minfilia raised the candy to her mouth. As she did, M’ren reached out and snagged it back from her. “Minfilia, don’t actually—dragon peppers are notoriously hot. You’ll be bedridden for days.”

“I can tolerate spice.”

“No, you cannot.” He pulled out another six gil and held them out to Y’mhitra. “What’ve you got that’s barely spicy at all?”

But Y’mhitra did not take his money. She was staring again, although this time she was, in fact, staring at Minfilia. “You’re Minfilia Warde,” she said, in an inscrutable voice. “The Antecedent of the Scions.”

Oh dear. “Yes,” Minfilia said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Y’mhitra smiled. “You are quite a bit taller than I was led to believe.” Minfilia looked at M’ren, who shrugged in confusion. “No, it’s not his fault,” she went on. “My sister has tried to claim Urianger isn’t head and shoulders taller than her, despite the obvious fact that he is Elezen and she is not.”

Oh dear. Minfilia finally remembered where she recognized those clan markings from. Where she recognized this woman from.

“M’ren and the Antecedent,” Y’mhitra mused, looking down at their hands, which had been clasped until only a few moments ago. “And you’re here together.”

Oh dear. It was very clear now, as it should have been from the moment she’d seen her, that Y’mhitra was Y’shtola’s little sister. And unlike the panoply of half-sisters every Mi’qote possessed, Minfila knew that Y’mhitra and Y’shtola were close. That they would talk.

“We are, in fact, both standing in front of you,” M’ren said, having clearly not noticed the danger they were in; Y’shtola was a legendary gossip. “Do you have anything that’s normal levels of heat or are all these meant to keep people from visiting you a second time?”

Y’mhitra’s eyes took a long second to flick back to M’ren, seemingly glued to Minfilia’s face. “They are all rather spicy, yes. If you have some fruit, though, I can glaze it for you.”

“Well, lucky for us all, I do have some fruit.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out an orange, holding it out to Y’mhitra.

“Oh, my favourite!” Minfilia exclaimed. She then blushed as Y’mhitra gave her a searching look, pulling out a knife and slicing the orange into segments.

“I know,” said M’ren, who seemed to be well at ease being dangerously indelicate, “that’s why I brought it.”

“Interesting,” said Y’mhitra, sticking one of the segments and then dipping it into her pot of bubbling green goop.

“Not particularly,” said M’ren. “Is that apple flavoured or will this be tasty?”

“It is sugar I have tinted.” She tapped the shiny slice of orange on the rim of her pot, and held it up to Minfilia. “It will be delicious.”

“Oh, I—hmm, thank you,” Minfilia said, taking the stick between her fingers. There was still a hint of steam rising from the candy-coated orange, so she waited for it to cool.

“Six more gil for the orange slice?” M’ren asked.

Y’mhitra shook her head. “If you let me keep the orange, you may have that treat for free. Consider it a gift.”

M’ren grinned sardonically at her. “One more slice, and we’ll call it even.”

“The value of my labour—” Y’mhitra began, but M’ren cut her off.

“There are ten slices in that orange, Rhul. You’re getting the better end of the deal.”

Y’mhitra glowered at him, but then a genuine smile came across her face. “You drive a hard bargain, M’ren Aaylis. I suppose I’ll let myself be persuaded.” She dipped another orange slice and held it out to him. Once he’d taken it, Y’mhitra’s smile got a little saucy. “You two have fun on your date.”

M’ren went pink. “Date?!” His eyes darted around Y’mhitra’s stall, though they seemed to find their way to Minfilia’s face more often than not. “It’s not a—I don’t know what you’re—I’m just, I’m just, uh…”

It fell to Minfilia to save them. “Thank you very much,” she said to Y’mhitra. “You were telling us how to find the amphitheatre?”

Y’mhitra smiled knowingly at her, which Minfilia did not particularly care for and would readily admit. “If you follow this path and turn left at those lanterns—” She pointed above the heads of the many revelers at two pumpkin lanterns hanging from a large tree’s lowest branches. “—the amphitheatre is down that path on the left. The mansion and the garden are just behind it.”

“Thank you,” Minfilia said again, and she took M’ren’s hand and marched them off without another word.

She found it much easier to push people out of her path when she was fleeing total social embarrassment, not letting up until they had reached the lantern-bearing tree that Y’mhitra had pointed out. Only then did she release M’ren’s hand and try to centre herself.

M’ren was babbling. “I’m sorry, Minfilia, I, uh, I didn’t think—I wasn’t trying to say that this is, uh, well, I didn’t want to assume anything, and, uh, you know… So I’m, uh, I’m sorry that—well, unless—but then no, that’s not, uh, you know, well…”

While his babbling was darling, Minfilia was still on a mission. If they were to avoid any further scrutiny from a public who could reasonably be expected to work out who they were, they would need a way to conceal their identities. They would need disguises.

(Minfilia also had the thought, as she walked over to the closest stand selling costumes, that they could just leave, but she did not want to leave for reasons she felt comfortable refusing to further examine.)

“Here we are,” she said, placing a wide-brimmed mage’s hat on top of M’ren’s sandy hair. It flattened his ears and made him look quite put-out. She then fetched up a spotted coeurl kitten mask and placed it over her face. “And now we are duly anonymous.” She paid the bemused vendor and turned back to M’ren. “No more questions from prying family members. Shall we continue?”

M’ren looked down at her hand, which she was holding out for him to take again. “You aren’t—” he began, having to tilt the brim of his hat up to meet Minfilia’s eyes. “You want to keep going?”

Minfilia found herself smiling with some small incredulity. Was he worried he’d offended her? It had been Y’mhitra who had lanced the word “date” into the air, not him. He had nothing to worry about.

“I believe I was promised a haunted mansion,” she said, putting her arm through his. “As I have not seen hide nor hair of a haunted mansion, I believe we are compelled to keep going.”

M’ren brightened so quick and fervently that his ears nearly bounced the hat off his head. “In that case, right this way!”

After being shown through a shaded pergola by a man with a pumpkin for a head, they came across the vaunted haunted mansion. Tall, imposing, draped in shadows and cobwebs and a great many other things that could not have possibly been set there without ample use of magic. An immense stained glass window was set in between two spindly turrets that, again, couldn’t possibly be sustained without some kind of aetheric finagling. Against a backdrop of a host of Gridania’s massive trees, the totality of it was as imposing as advertised.

“Oh, very frightening,” she said, letting their steps towards the big spooky doors carry her a little closer to M’ren. It was scary, after all.

“You’re scared already?” M’ren asked, acknowledging with his free hand another pumpkin-headed attendant moving to open the doors for them. “We aren’t even inside… yet…”

They stopped just inside the doors. There was a great staircase that dominated the large foyer, and the light coming through the stained glass window cast a large shadow across the steps. Floating candles and chandeliers, hanging from the high ceiling, doused the room in an eerie glow. There were, of course, pumpkins and bats and spiders and the sound of a woman wailing to really set the mood. It wasn’t particularly scary, but Minfilia was willing to play along.

“I wonder if we’ll be visited by shades,” she joked, moving towards the grand staircase.

M’ren did not move. In fact, he seemed to be frozen in the doorway. When she looked at him, he’d gone noticeably paler. 

“M’ren?” she said. “Is everything alright?”

“This is Haukke Manor,” he breathed.

“Beg your pardon?”

“This place is built like Haukke Manor.” His eyes were distant, focused on something Minfilia couldn’t see. “I never noticed before. This is just like Haukke Manor, right down to the paintings of Amandine.”

Minfilia looked around them, noticing a series of oppressively large paintings of the same Elezen woman that were interspersed across the walls of the manor. She seemed unpleasant, to say the least, with a curl to her lips that made her appear very unapproachable.

“What is Haukke Manor?” Minfilia asked, pulling M’ren gently to the side to let other guests in. “Who is Amandine?”

“An Elezen woman,” M’ren said. “A noble, I guess. There’s this old mansion out in the woods that she bought. She, uh, was apparently so obsessed with staying young that she made a pact with a voidsent.”

“Apparently?”

“Well, I didn’t ask her for details, I just made sure to kill her before she killed me.”

Minfilia stared at him. As he was not looking at her, it took some time before he realized.

“Girls were going missing. You remember, right? You sent me looking for Lahabrea in the Shroud, and then it turned out these girls had been vanishing for weeks. It wasn’t a primal, but it was bad. Those girls, they’d reappear and their faces—” His mouth twisted. “I did put this in my report, you know. Just before I had to fight Titan?”

Minfilia felt heat blooming in her face. “I—I do read many such reports, M’ren.”

M’ren didn’t smile. “Well, it’s fine. I also had to go back and clear out the host of voidsent she’d left there once they started attacking random people. There wasn’t a report for that one, that one happened because a Wood Wailer flagged me down while I was visiting my fa—my friends.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Like, two weeks? Maybe three?”

Minfilia looked around the haunted mansion, suddenly finding herself much less interested in a grand tour. “And they made it into a holiday attraction for children?”

M’ren shrugged halfheartedly. “Spooky mansion, creepy vibe, easy to see why they’d be inspired by it. Most people don’t know about the truth of it, by my guess. And besides, they’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well,” Minfilia said, patting his arm, “shall we go find someplace less upsetting to gad about?”

M’ren looked over at her. “Minfilia, I promised you a haunted mansion. I still want you to get to experience the fun. It’s just, you know, bad luck that it looks like this. I’ll manage.”

At the disconsolate look on his face that he was not quite managing to hide, Minfilia felt a sudden sharp boldness. “What is fun is being here with you,” she insisted. “I will enjoy myself regardless.”

“Oh!” M’ren said, pinking. “Well, um, they’ve got lots of stuff set up in the bower behind the mansion. You know, lights and cauldrons and food and things.”

“I do enjoy ‘things’,” Minfilia joked, delighting in how M’ren got even pinker. She led him back towards the manor doors, unconcerned with the way her hip pressed up against his own as they walked. He was clearly having a turn. She needed to be close to make sure he didn’t faint away.

Once they were outside, M’ren’s demeanour lightened considerably. His spine straightened and he stood taller, even though it was only with the hat that he exceeded Minfilia’s height. As she’d anticipated, the fresh air was good for him.

“I will confess,” she said, as they furthered themselves from the offending manor, “to having never celebrated All Saint’s Wake in Gridania. Is there something particular we should be sure to see?”

“Well—”

“Barring the manor, of course. Something in the bower, perhaps? A particular attraction that, um, attracted you?” She bit her lip.

“An attractive attraction?” M’ren teased.

She jostled him with her hip. “A, well, an engaging attraction? Perhaps an amusing attraction?”

“An engaging engagement, you say? An amusing amusement, perchance?”

Minfilia jostled him with her hip a second time, nearly knocking him askew. He had to cling quite close to her to keep from falling, which was a feeling both thrilling and terrifying. “I do see there are many places to sit and rest,” she said, gesturing with her unoccupied arm. “Shall we sit and rest?”

“I think we should at least attempt to walk around a bit before we sit down,” M’ren opined. “Or are you really so eager to try those candied orange slices I conned out of Y’mhitra?” He pulled the three sticks out from somewhere, one blue and two green, and waggled them around.

She had, honestly, quite forgotten about them in all the hubbub. “You paid for those, as I recall.”

M’ren shrugged, stowing the sticks again. “I expect to hear about my wily connivances from Y’shtola the next time I see her. She does not like how close I am to her sister.”

Minfilia saw a way to have several questions answered without raising much suspicion. It was firmly not her business, but she was a weak woman and simply had to know. “How close are you, then?”

“Oh, I met Y’mhitra through the Arcanist’s Guild,” he replied, leaning over to look at a group of tall, drooping orange flowers that had been liberally adorned with cobwebs. “She’s a little bit my mentor, and I’m a little bit hers. We’ve been researching Allagan summoning together.”

Minfilia recalled vividly the sight of M’ren summoning aspects of the same primals he’d valiantly destroyed to assail Leviathan and tried not to shudder. “Is Y’mhitra also capable of—?”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t have the aether reserves, I think. Or she doesn’t trust herself with it.”

“Do you trust her?”

M’ren let go of Minfilia’s arm to kneel down and poke at some pumpkins someone had set floating down a placid little creek. “Oh yeah,” he said unconcernedly. “Y’mhitra’s saved my skin a bunch of times. She’s like if Y’shtola was less full of herself. Less, uh, catty.” He straightened. “Pun intended, I guess.” He looked down at her arm, which she proffered without thinking, and took it with a smile.

“I thought you liked Y’shtola,” Minfilia said, deciding to follow the winding creek a little longer.

“I love Y’shtola.” Minfilia’s heart stuttered. “I would also love the opportunity to throw her headfirst into the ocean and see if she floats.”

Despite herself, Minfilia laughed. Through giggles, she tried to admonish him. “That is not a kind thing to say!”

“Y’shtola told me two weeks ago that the reason I never wear hats is because my head is too swollen for them to fit. And then when I pointed out I was wearing a hat, she took it off my head, inspected the lining, and declared to the entirety of the Rising Stones that I had had it custom-made for ‘reasons of overpowering genetic idiocy’.”

“I do not remember that.”

“You were reading your papers.” He winked and her heart stuttered again. “And besides, I responded that Y’shtola would know all about ‘overpowering genetic idiocy’ because she had a childhood tendency of walking facefirst into doors.”

“She didn’t!”

“She did. Nose stuck too deep in books, according to Y’mhitra.” He reached over and plucked up a lily, which appeared to be real and not decoration, and handed it to her. “And that is why Y’shtola does not like my being around her sister.”

Oh he really was too much, wasn’t he? A flower, and she was mooning. A flower. 

How many flowers had Minfilia Warde been handed in her short life? Hundreds. She was a woman of no small influence and she knew people found her beautiful, so she was often awash in gifts of opulent flower arrangements from various people and factions who sought to curry her favour. Just the past week she’d been delivered some ostentatious thing from some mid-level functionary working for Godbert Manderville, and she hadn’t felt her heart beat out of her chest (Tataru had summarily donated the thing to the reconstruction efforts). But M’ren, who wasn’t even looking at her, could hand her a flimsy little bloom and she was delirious.

M’ren, who paused their progress every couple of steps to poke at another decoration. Who kept running his fingers over leaves and bark as they passed. Who produced a bag of sweets from somewhere for a pair of Roegadyn boys who nearly ran into him. As they ran off, he caught sight of a floating spiral of flowers, seeming to cascade infinitely downward, and stopped to inspect it.

“Do you think it’s wind magic?” he asked, stepping away from her to circle the display, forgetting that Minfilia knew next to nothing about the intricacies of magic. The flower chandelier, for that is what it looked like, was about half as tall again as M’ren, and he wiggled his fingers at it before shoving them into a gap between the blooms. The flowers slid around his wrist like waves over a stone and he laughed. “Fascinating.”

“Is that the customary way to test a thing’s magical makeup?”

M’ren laughed. “No, and I wouldn’t suggest it, but I figure a floating ring of flowers is probably not going to bite my arm off.” He swished his arm around, chuckling as the flowers parted for him. “I’m sure it’s not magitek, but the level of fine control required…” and then he was muttering to himself, poking and prodding at the display, heedless of any observers.

Minfilia found herself holding back laughter as she watched him, that big silly mage’s hat bouncing on his head as he moved. At one point, he pulled it off to scratch behind one of his ears, and she moved to take it from him, but then he donned it again and went back to investigating. He kept fiddling, his yellow tail swishing back and forth in unmitigated delight.

He was so bright, and she found it marvellous to watch him. When he showed her new spells he’d learned, or when he talked to her about the political quagmires they found themselves in. He was always willing to talk to her on an equal level, and he really seemed to value her opinion, even if she often felt it lacking in comparison. He was also kind and friendly, like with the boys from before, or speaking to Y’mhitra, or even when he’d pulled her out of her doldrums and brought her here. He was always thinking about others, and that was why she liked him so much.

Then M’ren did a full body stretch, pulling his tunic up over the flat planes of his abdomen, and she was forced to admit that it wasn’t the only reason she liked him so much.

Slim and pretty, well-muscled from all his adventuring, bright-eyed and crooked-smiled; she was far from the only woman whose breath he took away. She was, however, the only one who might reasonably be called his supervisor. She could not, would not fraternize with someone ostensibly under her leadership. It did not matter that he was as much a leader of the Scions as she—she would not broach that professional distance.

But she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to. When he pushed aside the collar of his tunic to scratch at his chest and she caught sight of his sharp collarbone, she wanted to. When he waggled his fingers around and attempted to call up a miniature version of the floral whirlwind, she wanted to. When it fizzled in his face, making him laugh and return to Minfilia’s side and take up her arm once again, she wanted to.

But she wouldn’t. It might kill her to want and want and say nothing, but she had the strength of will to resist.

“Now I could sit,” M’ren said, scanning the wide glade with a hand shading his eyes. “I’d like to see if I can suss out what other magics they’re using here.” He began leading them up a small hill towards an unoccupied blanket laid out under a tree. “Also, and please don’t get mad, I haven’t eaten anything today, so I’m starving.”

“M’ren!” she admonished, immediately getting mad. “Why haven’t you eaten?! There is plenty of food at Seventh Heaven. It’s been paid for in advance!”

He shrugged, infuriatingly. “Was busy.”

“Sit down.” Minfilia pointed imperiously at the blanket. “I am going to find you something to eat.” When he began to protest, she fixed him with her fiercest look. “I had a full breakfast, as is right and proper, so I will fetch you something filling.”

He did not look particularly intimidated, if the big grin was anything to go by, but he sat down and did not follow her as she proceeded back down the hill to find something nutritious for him.

When she returned several minutes later with a satchel full of bread and cheese, it was to M’ren asleep on the blanket. He’d doffed the hat, setting it aside, and had bunched up the part of the blanket near his head to serve as a makeshift pillow. He also, she noticed, had proven incapable of waiting for a healthy snack, as there were flecks of green candy around his lips and a stick, picked clean, lying on the grass next to him. He had conscientiously set Minfilia’s own candy aside on a clean handkerchief, though the spicy blue one had also clearly been devoured.

She sat down next to him on the blanket, setting the satchel aside for the moment. She could wake him, yes, but he was always so busy that she wasn’t sure he ever actually slept. The dark circles under his eyes were somewhat fetching, to be sure, but that didn’t mean they didn’t make her worry.

She felt something graze her ankle. Looking down, she noticed that the very tip of M’ren’s tail had found its way over to and around her ankle. He would, naturally, be mortified when he woke, which simply made her more sure of her decision to let him rest. Asleep, she could finally stare as much as she wanted. Alone, she could drag her eyes across his body without worrying that anyone could see. Anonymous, she could stare down at his pink lips as he breathed and think of kissing him without anyone ever being the wiser.

That is how it would have to be: asleep, alone and anonymous. There was no world where the Warrior of Light and the Antecedent of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn could be… anything. She had neither the time nor the wherewithal for any such nonsense. And the way people would talk! Y’mhitra had been just a taste. Minfilia had no desire to be the object of anyone’s scorn or rumours ever again. She would also never wish to impose that on a friend, particularly one as dear to her as M’ren.

He laughed then, breathy and quiet, and rolled over onto his back. A sunbeam cut through the leaves above them and illuminated his face, casting his skin in gold.

He was perfect. He was perfect, and he was there, and he was kind and sweet and beautiful and in a perfect world, she could reach over and press her lips to his and it wouldn’t ruin anything. It would be perfect. It would be beautiful. It would be—it would be…

She sighed. No, it wouldn’t be. She couldn’t, and besides, she had no idea if M’ren would ever reciprocate. The only thing to do would be to pine in silence and wait until, like every other infatuation she’d ever had, it passed.

But they were alone. He was asleep, and she was anonymous. 

She could get away with just one. Just one kiss, a whisper of a thing, that she would hold close to her heart and never speak of to anyone. When would she ever get the opportunity again? When would a day and a place and a man so perfect ever lay themselves out in front of her like this one had? 

She had to do it.

Taking care to be quieter than she’d ever been in her life, Minfilia Warde lifted her mask, leaned over the sleeping form of M’ren Aaylis, and pressed, ever so gently, a hint of a kiss to his lips.

Oh, she had never felt so alive! She leaned back, fairly fanning herself, heart pounding so loud in her chest she was sure people might hear it. What an electric feeling! Just the tiniest brush of lips against lips and she was giddier than a child during the Starlight Celebration. She laughed—giggled, really—taking care to keep it silent. Yes, she had made the right choice. That would be enough to keep her going through the harshest of circumstances. She had kissed a wonderful man and it had meant nothing, and now she had a shiny, perfect little secret all to herself, to take out and gaze lovingly at when she was all alone.

So caught up was she in her ponderances that she failed to notice that M’ren was awake.

She gasped when she saw him staring at her, bringing her hand to her mouth before she remembered what she’d done and quickly stowed it away. He was wide-eyed, barely blinking as he stared up at her face like he’d never seen her before.

“Oh, M’ren,” she exclaimed, hating herself and hating what she’d done and prepared to prostrate herself before him until he forgave her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“You kissed me,” he said, and it was like a knife to her heart.

She sighed, defeated, and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorr—”

“Do it again.”

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

His stare was unwavering, mismatched eyes wide and mouth a flat, determined line. “You kissed me,” he repeated, and Minfilia’s heart clattered its way down her chest and into one of her legs. “Kiss me again.”

She wondered if this was how it felt for the Garleans M’ren had cut down as he’d assailed their keep to rescue her and the other Scions. He was intense, he was ferocious, and she was more than a little terrified of the look on his face. Still, he had asked…

She leant over and pressed their lips together another time. She let it linger then, just a smidge longer, because now he was awake and he’d asked her to and maybe, just maybe, he would ask her again.

When she pulled back the second time, the ferocity had vanished from M’ren’s face. In its place, a brightness so exuberant Minfilia felt she might be knocked to the ground. Then, to her surprise, he rolled over onto his side, scrunched himself into a ball and squealed with delight.

He was at her side an instant later. “You kissed me!” he said a third time, but there was no warning in it, no confusion. There was only joy.

“I… did!” she whispered, not quite sure what was happening.

“You kissed me twice!” he continued, looking up into her eyes like she was the only woman in the world. “You like me! You! Like me!”

Giggles began to escape Minfilia’s lips. “I… I do!” she said, almost as surprised at herself for saying the words as she was at him for wanting to hear them.

M’ren curled into himself and squealed again. Beside her again instantaneously, his hand hovered near where she’d lain hers on her knee. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, the plea fervent in his voice even before he’d said the words aloud. “Please? I’ve thought about this for so long.”

Now she was staring at him. “You thought about this? About ki—” She couldn’t finish the word. “Me?!”

“Ever since they took you away,” he said, and her heart soared. That was the moment she had first realized her feelings for M’ren were more than just friendly. “I have thought about nothing else.”

“Oh!” said Minfilia, flattered and flustered and quite possibly the happiest she had ever been in her life. She reached over and took M’ren’s hand in hers. “I think I would very much like you to kiss me,” she said, and he beamed.

“I may squeal again,” he said, leaning his face up towards hers.

“It’s adorable,” she said, trying to calm her overpowering smile.

“I like when you call me adorable,” he said, breath warm on her face.

“I like you,” she said, trying to think of something of import to say, but then their lips were together and she found she couldn’t think of much at all.

They sat there for longer than either of them realized, finally free to act on how they felt, and it was perfect and it was beautiful and nothing was ruined, not for Minfilia and M’ren. Not for them, for they were happy.

***

M’ren opened his eyes and leaned back in the chair, as alone in the abandoned solar as he’d been every time he’d visited since she’d left. No one felt right using the space, now that she was gone, so he was able to slip in unseen and unnoticed when he felt the urge.

The vision didn’t come every time he visited, didn’t bubble up from his memory every time he sat in her chair, but it came enough. Enough that it was like a cold gasp of water in his parched throat, like a sharp jab of ice through his burning heart. He would keep coming, then, keep sitting in her vacant chair, and remember the last time they were happy.

What else did he have?