I.
Alphinaud was wandering through the Jeweled Crozier with Lang in tow. Normally, the marketplace was one of his favourite places in a new city, but recent events weighed on his mind too much for him to relax and take in the sights. His grimoire had been badly damaged in that harrowing trial by combat, and finding a replacement was a challenge. There were no suitable tomes in either House Fortemps or the Temple Knights’ armoury. Instead, Count Edmont generously bestowed him with a promissory note for thirty thousand gil, so he could purchase the supplies needed to craft a replacement.
He in turn handed the note off to Lang. He didn’t exactly trust himself with money at the moment.
Lang had been acting strange since the trial. Alphinaud hadn’t talked to him about what happened, because he tensed up and excused himself at any mention of the trial. He seemed to be going out of his way to avoid everyone in the Fortemps manor, often leaving the city for the entire day on some minor levequest or chore.
When Alphinaud first started working with Lang, the older Elezen had kept to himself in much the same way. He started to act differently after the utter disaster that was the Crystal Braves. More precisely, it started when Alphinaud had a sobbing breakdown on the carriage that carried them from Ul’dah to Coerthas. After that, Lang would occasionally open up about himself, or offer a bit of advice or insight. He also started saying no to Alphinaud and pushed back against him more often, in a way that oddly reminded him of his favourite professors from his days at the Studium. It made him realize how little he actually knew about the Warrior of Light as a person before.
It was concerning then, that he seemed to have went right back to acting as he did before they came to Ishgard. Alphinaud decided this had gone on long enough, and on the morning of the eighth day after the trial, he finally managed to catch Lang in the manor, and asked Lang to come with him on a trip to the Jeweled Crozier.
"Considering I have no means to defend myself currently, it would bring me peace of mind if you were to accompany me," was the excuse he came up with. Never mind that there were any number of helpful Fortemps knights who could have protected him just as well.
Lang did not look convinced, but after a moment, his expression softened just the slightest. "All right, let's go," he said.
If Alphinaud had hopes for this outing to lift both of their spirits, so far it was not meeting expectations. The occasional look of recognition from a passerby or shopkeep no longer put him immediately on edge, but it still had him feeling discomfited. Once, a group of armoured knights in the white-and-blue tabards of the Vault patrolled down the street towards them, and the sight made his pulse quicken and the hairs on his nape stand on end. Lang stopped and stood close to him, physically blocking him from their sights until they were gone.
Finding the right supplies was also proving to be frustratingly difficult. So far, they had visited three booksellers, a specialized weapons shop, and a dozen stalls with imported foreign goods to no avail. They had reached the end of another street, and Alphinaud was scanning for a place they hadn't yet checked, when he spotted a shop at the end of the street with a sign over the door, which said Ghiselle's Rare & Enchanted Sundries.
“That looks promising. Shall we go in?” Alphinaud said, pointing to the shopfront. He wasn't too optimistic, but at least it was inside a building instead of an open stall. If nothing else, they would have a brief respite from the cold.
"That's fine," said Lang.
As soon as Alphinaud stepped inside the shop, he was greeted by warmth and a wonderfully comforting aroma. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of parchment and ink, mingling with the sweetness of herbs and citrus.
The shopkeeper at the counter was an Elezen woman dressed in purple. Lang went up directly to her. "Good evening. Are you Ghiselle?" he asked.
"Madame Ghiselle, if you please." The woman looked him up and down disapprovingly, then peered over the counter at Alphinaud as well. "You must be the newest wards of House Fortemps. May I help you?"
“Do you have any arcane tomes, the kind from La Noscea?” Lang asked.
“Tomes? No, none of that kind, I’m afraid."
Alphinaud cleared his throat. “I would also be happy with aetherically conductive parchment and bindings. And would you happen to have mythrite ink, by any chance?”
Madame Ghiselle narrowed her eyes. “The only spellcasting books we carry here are holy books, certified by the Vault for such purposes," she said slowly.
Alphinaud immediately backpedaled. “Ah, that is definitely not what I intend to use them for, spellcasting purposes, I mean. They’re for research, that's all."
Lang took the promissory note from his pocket and placed it on the counter. “This is signed by Count de Fortemps. He sent us here.”
Ghiselle unfolded the note and examined it, holding it up to a lamp. Unable to find a flaw with it, she returned it to Lang. “The supplies you want are behind that shelf," she said tersely and dismissed them.
Alphinaud realized the purpose of Count Edmont giving him the note rather than a purse of gil. In case he had to buy something unusual, the seller had a physical piece of assurance that the Count himself approved of it. A clever bit of foresight. Something he should have realized earlier, really. He quickly ducked behind the row of shelves.
“That was a rather odd welcome,” he whispered to Lang. “I suppose we’re not her usual clientele?”
“The Crozier traditionally served only the highborn. They've only opened their businesses to the public in the last few years,” Lang replied quietly.
“She seemed to think… that is, should I be concerned about practicing Arcanima in Ishgard?”
Lang rolled his eyes. “No, carbuncles aren't heretical. You were just unlucky to encounter someone who's particularly adherent to tradition.” He did have a faint smile as he said it.
“Ha, still, I would prefer to not chance such an encounter so soon,” Alphinaud said, grinning back.
He turned his attention to the shelf. This was the kind of upscale establishment where everything had a price label, so you knew exactly how much wealth you were flaunting with each purchase. An inkwell of shimmering dark blue liquid caught his eye, and he carefully picked it up. It was exactly what he needed, mythrite ink with excellent aetherical conducting qualities, but he nearly wept when he saw the price. Just one of these would consume nearly his entire budget.
“Take your time. If you have some gil left over, we can see about getting it nicely bound by one of those booksellers.” Lang patted him on the shoulder and strolled around the corner, out of sight.
Alphinaud put the inkwell back with a little regret. If he had access to his usual funds, he wouldn't have needed to worry about the cost. It wasn’t as if he wanted to spend money on needless decorations and flair, high quality materials were an important investment for the effectiveness of the spell. But now, he had to carefully consider the cost effectiveness of materials and the trade-off in quality.
After much deliberation, he settled on a bottle of aurum regis ink, a sheaf of decent parchment, and a plain leather cover. The quality of the ink was the most vital, so he still allotted over half the budget to it. Together, it left about a thousand gil to spare. All in all, he was feeling pretty proud of himself.
Alphinaud gathered up his chosen supplies to make his purchase, but he paused when he saw Lang talking to Madame Ghiselle at the counter. There was a small wooden box on the counter between them.
“Five thousand per onze. No less.” Madame Ghiselle said, arms firmly crossed.
“How could it possibly be that much?” Lang said, sounding frustrated.
“Authentic Coerthan tea is a scarce commodity these days.”
“I am aware of that. But you're telling me the price tripled in the last two years alone.”
“It’s a simple matter of supply and demand. People continue to drink tea, but no more is being produced. For the discerning drinker, leaves imported from Gridania or cultivated in hothouses simply do not suffice.” Her tone of voice implied she did not think Lang was someone with a discerning palate.
“I was just in a shop selling for two thousand an onze.”
“Trends dictate the relative popularity of cultivars," Madame Ghiselle said impatiently. “Please, do you think I’m trying to gouge you? I have no such intentions, but if you continue to insinuate that I engage in such lowly practices, I will be calling for Temple knights to escort you out.”
Alphinaud hung back between the shelves, watching curiously. He knew Lang was ordinarily exceedingly frugal. When they were back at the Rising Stones, Tataru even had to cajole him into taking from the Scions’ coffers to upgrade his battle-worn equipment. There had to be something unusual about that box of tea.
“Fine, I’ll buy it," Lang said after a moment. "I can't pay for it right now, but if you can put it aside for two weeks, I’ll come back with the gil.”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve had one too many customers promising to return with funds they don’t have.”
“What if I gave you collateral?”
“If you even have anything of comparable value-” Ghiselle silenced when Lang stripped off his glove, took a ring off his finger and nearly slammed it on the counter.
“…Very well, that will do.” She pushed the ring and the box to the side. “I will reserve this item for you for ten days, no more.”
Lang exhaled and nodded. He looked surprised to see Alphinaud when he turned around, like he’d forgotten he was there. He handed Alphinaud the promissory note. “Here, pay for your things and let’s be off.”
Alphinaud had half a mind to tell him to just use the money to buy the tea, and he’ll figure out something later. But Lang had already stormed out of the shop. Alphinaud awkwardly stepped up to the counter.
“Your manservant was very uncivil,” Ghiselle said.
“My what- oh, no, he is my colleague,” Alphinaud had to make an effort to keep a straight face. “But I do apologize on his behalf, he’s not usually so testy.” Privately, he didn’t think Lang said anything out of line, but he understood the value of a little white lie for diplomacy’s sake.
She looked at him a little doubtfully. “Your colleague? You're but a child.”
“I am sixteen.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“...Which is the age that grants one status of adulthood in Sharlayan.”
“Is that so? Well, here in Ishgard, you don't become a man until you can strap a sword to your hip without it dragging on the ground.” She began wrapping the items in waxed paper. “Hmph, Sharlayan… House Fortemps sure knows how to pick them,” she muttered.
Alphinaud felt like a deflated sail, but he made himself maintain a courteous smile. “Perhaps some of your fine selection of enchanted wares came from the Sharlayan colony? Surely those goods will only continue to appreciate in value as well.”
That at least earned him a small chuckle. “Very well, I accept your apology on your colleague’s behalf. Here.”
Alphinaud accepted his items, wrapped and tied with a ribbon, along with a handful of change. Nine hundred and eighty three gil, down to the last coin. Oh well, he had hoped he could use his skills in negotiation to get a slight discount, but Ghiselle did not seem like the type to barter. He let curiosity get the better of him, and looked closer at the box of tea. The wooden case was unlaquered and roughly hand-carved, but the imperfections gave it a certain character. There was a little picture of a blue flower painted on the lid.
"What makes this tea so expensive?" he asked, hoping Madame Ghiselle would humour him a little longer.
"It came from the Eastern Lowlands of Coerthas. The tea valleys were famous for their unique cultivars, before the cold took its toll, that is." She opened the box for a second, just enough for him to get a sniff. It had a nice earthy and floral aroma, but admittedly, Alphinaud didn't know enough about tea appreciation to discern anything more than that.
He examined the ring on the counter too. It was a simple iron band without any engravings or decorative stones. Plus, it was rather worn and scratched. “And… is this ring really of equal worth to that?”
“Not at all, I couldn’t sell it for five gil.” said Madame Ghiselle. She answered the question in his puzzled expression with a sigh. “It’s his wedding ring.”
“Pardon, his what- Ohh.” Alphinaud's eyes widened. He had a lot of questions all of a sudden, none of which were appropriate to pester a shopkeeper with. He floundered a little. “Perhaps I could offer something else as collateral? I’m sure I have something more valuable. My earring is pure silver, it’s a family heirloom-”
Ghiselle shook her head. “Don't worry, it'll be safe here. He’ll come back for it in a week. You can pick it up for him if he doesn't.”
“I... will be sure to remind him. It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Madame Ghiselle.” Alphinaud would have swept a bow, except he would have fallen off the step stool he was using to see over the counter, so he just half bowed and made his exit as hastily as he could without seeming impolite.
Lang was waiting outside across the street. He looked up when Alphinaud waved at him. “Did you get everything you need?” he asked.
“I did," said Alphinaud.
"Sorry about..." Lang nodded at the store.
"Sorry about..." Lang nodded towards the store.
Alphinaud laughed airily. "It's alright, I've sat at the tables of far less agreeable negotiators." He turned over his bundle of items, examining it. "I wonder if she is of House Dzemael, judging by some of her remarks and the colour of her dress. But surely she wouldn’t be tending to a shop if she were nobility, no matter how upscale the establishment.”
“Good observation,” said Lang. Alphinaud tried to not too visibly puff up at the compliment. “She’s likely not Dzemael herself, but she could have some blood relation, or was once a ward of their house."
"You would think that being unwelcoming to potential clientele, simply because they're allied with your enemies, would hurt her business."
"In most cities, yes. But in Ishgard it's more important prioritize loyalty over short-term profits. Come, let's go back to the manor."
They began retracing their steps back up the winding street. Alphinaud could only hold in his burning curiosity for so long, before he started trying to figure out how to best phrase his questions so that Lang wouldn't immediately clam up again.
“So, what’s so special about that tea?” he asked as casually as he could. He was half expecting to be ignored, but Lang stopped and looked back at him.
“It’s from my family’s farm," he answered. "I grew up in a village that produced tea. Sweetwell, it was called. It’s under six fulms of ice now."
“I see,” said Alphinaud. He could somewhat empathize, as his own birthplace also lay abandoned, though he had been too young to remember the exodus. “But... Madame Ghiselle isn't the only purveyor of rare teas here. Could one of these other shops not carry it at a less steep price?”
Lang shook his head. “You'll not find it, I thought there was none left at all on the markets. My brother had to sell what stock he had left, he’d have a heart attack if he saw how much it’s being resold for.”
“Perhaps if you explained your circumstances to Madame Ghiselle, she would be willing to give you a discount? Actually, I might have more success speaking to her…”
“Don’t bother. You saw how she barely tolerated doing business with us. I left when I did, before she had opportunity to change her mind.”
"Damn." Alphinaud frowned. "I admit, I've had some difficulties navigating interactions with this city's upper echelon. I thought more of them would be like Lord Haurchefant or Count Edmont, but they appear to be the exceptions rather than the rule.” He huffed a laugh, his breath fogging up in the cold air.
Lang shrugged. "We Ishgardians are generally a standoffish folk. You didn't say anything wrong."
"Still, I doubt she would have threatened to evict you from the premises if either of us were a highborn noble."
"That's not about to change anytime soon,” Lang said wryly.
They continued walking, and after a few moments of silence, Alphinaud decided to ask: "How do you plan on making fifteen thousand gil, anyways?"
"Leves, hunt bills, see if anyone has a yarzon infestation they need dealt with. Adventurer things."
"Will that be enough?" Alphinaud asked doubtfully. "I have nearly a thousand in change, it's yours if you want it." He reached into his pockets.
“No.”
“I’m serious-”
"I'm not taking your money, Alph. That was for you so you're not defenseless the next time someone tries to kill you."
"I have everything I need," Alphinaud protested. "I know how to bind a book myself, I don’t actually need to pay to have it done.”
"Then spend that coin on some potions and ethers," Lang said. "I'll be fine. I've kept myself fed on the road for the last two years, haven't I? You'll have to excuse my absence to the Count for the next few days though. And speaking of whom, don't tell him about this business."
"Why not? He would give you the gil if you asked, I'm certain."
"He would, but I don't want him to."
Alphinaud stopped in front of Lang, blocking his way. "Is this a matter of pride? How many times have I told you to accept aid from others?"
"This isn’t comparable. It’s just some tea leaves, at the end of the day."
"It clearly means a lot to you. That makes it more than just tea," Alphinaud said, impassioned.
"Just drop it, Alphinaud." Lang looked a little uncomfortable. He shifted his feet, clearly looking for a way to get past him. "Promise me, not a word of this to the Count."
Alphinaud stood his ground, even if Lang could probably pick him up and set him aside with one hand. "You’ll have my promise, but only if you tell me why. You've clearly been avoiding him."
Lang sighed heavily. "How do I put this... you know how it feels when you owe someone a debt of gratitude so deep, you don't know how to properly repay them?"
Alphinaud nodded.
"It's good to repay the kindness of others when you can, but sometimes people... get trapped in it. They don't feel like they can stop, even after they've paid back their dues ten times over. Does that make sense?"
"Yes."
"Well, that’s how the Count and I feel about each other."
"Really? What for?"
“It’s complicated. You’ll understand someday.” While Alphinaud was deep in puzzled thought, Lang slipped past him, ruffling his hair as he passed by.
"Hey!" Alphinaud yelped indignantly. Gods, it was annoying when Lang would turn a random topic into some kind of life lesson. It didn't even make sense. Edmont had repeatedly made it clear that the Scions didn't owe him anything, and what kind of debt could Lang even hold over someone as powerful as the Count of House Fortemps? He hurriedly caught up. "You know, you sound like Grandfather sometimes."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Lang.
"He never used that ‘you’re too young’ excuse on me or Alisaie, though.”
"Hm, not all of us can be as great as him."
Later that evening, Alphinaud sat at Count Edmont's enormous dining table, diligently copying arcanima arrays from his grimoire onto fresh parchment one by one.
Halfway through, he took a break and rubbed his eyes. He stared at the grimoire's broken spine morosely. Gods, Alisaie would be furious with him if she knew he damaged his half of Adelphoi, but there was nothing to do about it except wait for it to recharge with aetheric potential. Magical items were a lot like living beings in that way. They could heal from many kinds of injury, but there was simply no substitute for time.
When he finished and the ink was thoroughly dry, he bound the pages in the leather cover with needle and thread. Feeling inspired, he got a brush and some gold paint from the chamberlain, and calligraphed his initials on the cover, under which he carefully copied the Ishgardian coat of arms from a tapestry hanging on the wall, complete with the city's motto in tiny letters. It didn't look half bad.
He tested the new tome by channeling aether into the arrays. The standard gem carbuncles seemed fine, but his moonstone carbuncle was a little dimmer than usual. When he ordered it to sit, it just looked at him sullenly.
Alphinaud reached out and scratched it behind its ears. "Sorry, we'll both have to learn to make do for a while."
The moonstone carbuncle sniffed his hand, and slowly sat down after a moment of what looked like deliberate thought, or as much of it as a carbuncle was capable of. Alphinaud released the creature back to the aetherial sea with a flick of his hand.
That night, he fell asleep clutching his new book, and for the first time in days he didn’t have a nightmare of being trapped in the pit of the trialing arena.