I.
Alphinaud was wandering through the Jeweled Crozier with the Warrior of Light in tow. Normally, the marketplace was one of his favourite places to visit 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 surprisingly difficult. Arcanima was rarely practiced in Ishgard, and neither House Fortemps nor the Temple Knights had any suitable tomes in their well-stocked armouries.
Instead, Count Edmont had generously bestowed him with a promissory note for thirty thousand gil to purchase the supplies he needed to craft a replacement. He had in turn given the note to Lang. He didn’t exactly trust himself with money at the moment.
If Alphinaud had hopes for this outing to lift his spirits, so far it was not meeting expectations. The day was gloomy and cold, even by Ishgardian standards, and he'd been out here, with damp clothes and aching legs, for more than an hour already. He and Lang had visited three booksellers, a specialized weapons shop, and a dozen stalls with imported foreign goods, all to no avail.
Venturing out without a weapon also made him feel vulnerable, even though logically he knew he had nothing to worry about with Lang beside him. The occasional looks from a passerby or shopkeep no longer put him immediately on edge, but it still made him feel like he was a curiosity being gawked at.
They had reached the end of another street, and Alphinaud was scanning for a shop they hadn't yet visited, when he spotted a sign over a door. It 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 weather.
"That's fine," Lang answered. He had also been acting more subdued than usual since the trial. His tone certainly mirrored Alphinaud’s current lack of enthusiasm.
But as soon as Alphinaud stepped inside the shop, he was greeted by warmth and a wonderfully reinvigorating aroma. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of parchment and ink, mingling with the sweetness of spring flowers. That was popular with the indoor establishments, making the place smell like a season that wasn’t winter.
While Alphinaud basked, Lang went directly to the counter where an Elezen woman dressed in purple worked. "Good afternoon. 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. "Ah, the new wards of House Fortemps. May I help you?"
“Do you have any arcane tomes, the kind from La Noscea?” Lang asked. Rather bluntly, Alphinaud thought, but Lang knew the local customs better than he did.
“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 produced the promissory note from his pocket and placed it on the counter. “This is signed by Count de Fortemps. He sent us here.”
Madame 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 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. 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?”
“Clearly not,” 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 particularly adherent to old traditions.” He did say it with a faint smile.
“Ha, still, I would prefer to not chance such an encounter so soon,” Alphinaud said.
He turned his attention to the shelves. 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 some regret. If he had access to his usual funds, he wouldn't have needed to worry about the priceso. It wasn’t as if he wanted to spend money on needless flair, high quality materials were simply an important investment for the effectiveness of the tome. Now, he had to carefully consider the cost of each material 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 paused when he overheard Lang speaking to Madame Ghiselle, apparently unsuccessfully trying to haggle over something. He peered around the shelf. There was a very small wooden box on the counter between them.
“Five thousand per onze. No less.” Madame Ghiselle said, arms firmly crossed.
“How could it be worth that much?” Lang said, sounding frustrated.
“Authentic Coerthan tea is a scarce commodity these days.”
“I am well 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 Lowland Grey for two thousand an onze,” Lang said.
“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 and watched curiously. He knew Lang was usually exceedingly frugal. When they were back at the Rising Stones, Tataru had to cajole him into taking from the Scions’ coffers to upgrade his equipment instead of repairing them until they were threadbare.
“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 money.”
“We don’t do holds on wares, I’m afraid.”
“What if I gave you collateral?”
“If you even have anything of comparable value-” Madame Ghiselle fell silent 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, at the end of which I expect payment of fifteen thousand gil in full.”
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 it to buy the tea, and he’ll figure out something else later, but Lang was already out the door. He awkwardly stepped up to the counter.
“Your manservant was very uncivil,” Madame 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 usually not so testy.” Privately, he didn’t think Lang had said anything out of line, but he understood the value of a small white lie for diplomacy’s sake.
She looked at him 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… Count de Fortemps sure knows how to pick them,” she muttered.
Alphinaud felt rather like a deflated sail, but he made himself maintain a courteous smile. “Perhaps some of your fine selection of enchanted wares here 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.”
He 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 he had a fairly good idea what Madame Ghiselle would think about that.
He let curiosity get the better of him, and looked closer at the box of tea. The wooden case was unlacquered and roughly hand carved, but the imperfections gave it a certain character. There were little flowers etched all around the sides of the box.
"What makes this tea so expensive?" he asked, hoping Madame Ghiselle would humour him a bit 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, he didn't know enough about tea to discern anything more than that.
He examined the ring 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?”
“Not at all, I couldn’t pawn it off for five gil,” Madame Ghiselle said. 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 silvergrace, it’s a family heirloom-”
She held up her hand, stopping him from removing his earring. “Don't worry, I’m not going to take it from him. He’ll come back for it in less than 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 for him across the street. “Did you get everything you need?” he asked.
“I did," said Alphinaud.
"Sorry for leaving you to deal with..." Lang nodded towards the store.
Alphinaud laughed airily, his breath fogging up in the cold air. "It's alright, I've sat at the tables of far less agreeable negotiators." He turned over his bundle of items, examining it. "You know, I wondered 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 not Dzemael herself, but she probably has some blood relation with them, or was once a ward of theirs. Come on, let’s head back."
They began retracing their path. As usual, Lang was not going to be forthcoming without further prompting, and Alphinaud could only hold back his curiosity for so long. “So, what is so special about that tea?” he asked.
“It’s from my family’s farm," Lang said. "I grew up in a village that produced tea. Sweetwell, it was called. It’s under six fulms of ice now."
“I'm... sorry to hear that,” said Alphinaud. He could somewhat empathize, as his own birthplace also lay abandoned, though he had been too young to remember the exodus. He looked around. “Madame Ghiselle isn't the only purveyor of rare teas here. Maybe one of these other shops carry it at a less steep price?”
Lang shook his head. “You'll not find it, I thought there was none left on the markets. My brother had to sell what stock he had left years ago. He’d have a heart attack if he saw how much it’s being resold for.”
“When I spoke to her, she really wasn’t as cold as she first seemed. Perhaps if you explained your circumstances, she’d be willing to give you a discount, or at least more time. Actually, it might be better if I do it-”
“Don’t bother. She’s not going to budge for a sad story, the woman has a business to run. I left when I did before she had the opportunity to change her mind.”
Alphinaud frowned. "I admit, I've had some difficulties navigating interactions with this city’s inhabitants. I thought more of them would be like Lord Haurchefant or Count Edmont, but they appear to be the exceptions rather than the rule.”
Lang shrugged. "We Ishgardians are generally a standoffish folk. You didn't say anything wrong."
"I doubt she would have threatened to evict you from the premises if either of us were a noble, though."
"That's not about to change anytime soon,” Lang said wryly.
Another few blocks down, Alphinaud asked: "How do you plan on getting fifteen thousand gil, anyways?"
Lang touched the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Leves, hunt bills, see if anyone has a yarzon infestation they need dealt with. Adventurer things."
"Will that be enough?" Alphinaud said doubtfully. "I have nearly a thousand in change, it's yours if you want it." He started reaching 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 you're in danger."
"I have everything I need," Alphinaud protested. "I know how to bind a book myself, you know. I don’t actually need to pay to have it done.”
"Then spend that coin on some potions and ethers," Lang said sternly. Then his expression softened a little. "I'll be fine. I’ve kept myself fed with a sword for thirty 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."
"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 uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet, looking for a way around. "Promise me, not a word of this to the Count."
Alphinaud stood his ground. Lang could probably pick him up and set him aside with one hand, but he knew Lang wouldn’t want to make a fuss out in public. "Only if you tell me why."
Lang sighed heavily. "How do I put this... imagine how it would feel if you owed someone a debt of gratitude so deep, you don't know how to properly repay them."
Alphinaud nodded. "Go on."
"It's good to repay the kindness of others when you can, but some 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?"
“I think so, 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 cryptic lesson. It didn't even make sense. Count Edmont had repeatedly made it clear that the Scions didn't owe him anything, and what kind of debt could Lang 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 to understand’ 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 morosely at the grimoire's broken spine. 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 it he carefully copied the Ishgardian coat of arms from a tapestry 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 each array. 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 down 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. For the first time in days, he didn’t dream of being trapped in the pit of the trialing arena.
II.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows in earnest when Alphinaud woke up. He sprung out of bed, but upon realizing he didn't actually have a morning class he was late for, he sank back onto the bed with a blissful sigh. He took his time to wash and get dressed, snapping his new tome onto his belt holster.
A serving cart with a tray of breakfast had been left outside his door. A couple of pastries with a ramekin of butter, a boiled egg, and a cup of now-cold herbal tea.
“Gods, I must have slept like the dead,” he muttered to himself.
After he ate, he made his way downstairs. The manor was already mostly emptied of its inhabitants for the morning, although the chamberlain informed him that Lord Haurchefant was visiting. Alphinaud found him in the stables, brush in hand, tending to a chocobo with glossy black feathers.
“Alphinaud! Good morning, my friend,” he said cheerfully. “Are you well recovered?”
“Very much so, thank you,” Alphinaud said. “What brings you into the city today, Lord Haurchefant?”
“Things at Camp Dragonhead are finally well at hand, so I thought I would pay the Scions a visit, see how you all are faring. But it seems I arrived right after Ser Lang departed, what unfortuitous timing.”
"He's out doing 'adventurer things', as he puts it,” Alphinaud said.
Haurchefant sighed. "Which would be an ideal occasion for him to ride this chocobo! But he has obviously not taken her out even once."
So this was the chocobo that Haurchefant had gifted to Lang after the trial. Alphinaud did wonder why Haurchefant was spending his free day in the stables of all places. He looked up at the black-feathered bird. It seemed a little restless, chirping and nipping at Haurchefant’s ear in protest of the brief lapse in attention.
“I’m sure he appreciates the kind intentions of your gift,” Alphinaud said.
“Nay, ‘twas my mistake to offer it. In the moment I was too swept up by my excitement, and too late did I realize how deeply he must already feel indebted to us, to throw himself back into the arena for the sake of preserving House Fortemps' honour.” Haurchefant shook his head. “And I am truly sorry we put you through that dreadful ordeal.”
“All is well, Lord Haurchefant. I never felt my life was in danger for a moment, with Lang fighting by my side," said Alphinaud. It was true, he trusted Lang with his life, but… there was one moment during the trial, when Lang had asked him to lend him some aether. As soon as Alphinaud had initiated the channeling, it was as if an icy hand had reached into his body and torn out a great handful of aether from the very core of his being. It only lasted a brief moment, and he suffered no harm from it, but the memory of it made him shiver a little.
He found himself recounting this to Haurchefant without quite meaning to. “If anything, it was the ferocity with which he fought that momentarily frightened me,” he confessed afterwards.
“Aye, the knights who are slowest to anger are always the most dangerous. Even I was taken aback when the judge ordered him to restrain himself on threat of forfeiting the match. Not that I feel particularly sorry for Ser Grinnaux,” Haurchefant snorted.
"Can you tell me what really happened that day?" Alphinaud asked. “I understand that Lang wasn’t originally supposed to participate in the trial, but he has been reluctant to talk about it.”
"You have the right of it. The plan was, I would volunteer in Mistress Tataru's place, and Artoirel would have done the same for you if they allowed it. Then Ser Lang showed up, clad in that fearsome drachen armour, and claimed my spot as champion before I could get a single word in! Where did he even find a suit of armour like that, I have no idea.”
"I must say, he is normally not prone to such rashness. It seemed uncharacteristic.”
"It was! It was also extremely heroic! And valiant! And noble! Unfairly so!" Haurchefant threw his hands up in frustration.
Alphinaud couldn’t help but smile. He felt a lot better after sharing that memory with Haurchefant. He hadn’t even been consciously aware of its weight on his mind until it was lifted. “Nonetheless, it would have been an honour to fight alongside you. I hope I will have the chance to do so another day,” he said.
“Likewise, my friend, but perhaps under less dire circumstances. And the next time I meet Ser Lang, I shall make it clear that I am very cross with him.”
Alphinaud doubted that Haurchefant could remain cross for very long in Lang’s presence. A mischievous thought crossed his mind. He only promised to not tell Count Edmont about the tea, after all. “You know, I did learn about a gift he would appreciate…”
Alphinaud lowered his voice and leaned in closer. Haurchefant was absolutely rapt with attention as he recounted their foray into the Jeweled Crozier. He actually gasped when Alphinaud mentioned the ring Lang laid down as collateral.
“But of course! What an unimaginable tragedy it would be, to let such a precious thing slip through one’s grasp!” Haurchefant exclaimed, gesticulating with the brush so much that the chocobo startled and raised its crest feathers warily.
“I wanted to help him, but he refused to accept even a single gil. He was adamant about not accepting any money that came from your father,” Alphinaud said.
Haurchefant nodded. “Naturally. It would be highly improper.”
“I feel as though I am missing something about the social conventions at play,” Alphinaud said. “Actually, yesterday he told me something about how Count Edmont owes him a debt, or rather they owe each other? He was frustratingly vague about it.”
“Ah, he truly is a knight’s knight.” Haurchefant sighed in admiration. Then he cleared his throat. “My apologies. You see, the relationship between a knight and a lord is one of mutual service and duty. Gifts only beget more obligations, no matter the intention of the gifter. As much as my father has tried to afford him the same hospitality, Ser Lang cannot actually be a guest in our house, as you and Mistress Tataru are.”
“That seems deeply unfair,” Alphinaud said. The more he learned about Ishgardian customs, the more tangled up and obtuse it seemed. “Could he even make fifteen thousand gil in time by himself?”
“Though I don’t doubt his capabilities as a seasoned adventurer, it’s a daunting task. Not impossible, but dependent on luck. It’s almost a month’s wage for most soldiers.”
“A month!”
“If we could cover even half the amount, the odds would be significantly more in his favour.” Haurchefant took out a coin purse and looked inside. “I could spare… an odd five hundred gil right now.”
“I’m afraid he likely won’t accept charity coming from you either," Alphinaud said.
Haurchefant winked. “Oh, but it’s not charity if you earned this money yourself, is it?” He tossed the purse up and down in his hand. “Say, I’d pay someone good coin right about now to finish up the chores here.”
“Ah, very clever,” Alphinaud said.
“Any takers? I’m positively exhausted.”
Alphinaud rolled up his sleeves. “Allow me, Lord Haurchefant. You may rest your weary feet for a while.”
“I didn’t realize… you meant for me to… clean the entire stable,” Alphinaud gasped, leaning against his pitchfork. He was absolutely drenched in sweat, and he didn’t dare wipe his brow because of the dirt he would smudge onto his face.
Haurchefant did actually pull up a chair, from where he was keeping an eye on Alphinaud’s progress. “I said I’d make you earn the gil,” he said cheerfully.
“I thought you wanted to help me.”
“Heavens, no. This is your gift for Ser Lang, after all. He would hardly be impressed if I took pity on you.”
“Fine, what do I do next?”
“Ah-ah, you missed some over there.”
“Who knew- you could be such a demanding taskmaster?” Alphinaud heaved up his pitchfork again. “This is- ugh- going to take all day at this rate.”
He complained a few more times, but finished all the chores Haurchefant laid out for him in time for them to return to the manor and have a late lunch. Tataru came in as they were finishing up their meal.
“Haurchefant! What a surprise!” She exclaimed. And then she said: “Alphinaud, what happened to you?”
“Mistress Tataru! It’s good to see you. Alphinaud kindly volunteered to help me clean the stables this morning,” Haurchefant said.
“Uh-huh,” Tataru said.
“It’s true. How has your day been?” Alphinaud asked. He hurriedly wiped his mouth and flicked a piece of straw out of his hair.
“Well, I thought I’d try going to the Forgotten Knight again- I didn’t go alone, don’t worry! But… I was too afraid to go inside, even though I knew I was safe, so I came back early,” Tataru said, looking a little downcast.
“That’s perfectly understandable. I haven’t even tried going back there, and I feel the same trepidation at the mere thought of it,” Alphinaud reassured her.
“Indeed, you faced your fear bravely, and though you did not conquer it today, it was still a step forward,” said Haurchefant.
“I guess so… All right, I know you two are up to something. You wouldn’t be rolling around in the dirt for no reason. Tell me already!” said Tataru.
Alphinaud explained the tea situation again, and how he ended up spending the morning cleaning out the stables. “I’ve thought about it some more, and I’m resolved to earn this money with my own hands. To respect Lang’s wish on the matter, of course, but… it also just feels important,” he added.
“Count me in. You’ll need my help if you want to make some serious gil,” Tataru said brightly.
“It sounds like this mission is in two pairs of very capable hands,” said Haurchefant. “In that case, I shall be returning to Camp Dragonhead. Perhaps I will issue some additional leves with generous bounties, and a certain adventurer may chance upon them. Keep me informed how it goes!”
“First, what kind of marketable skills do you have?” Tataru asked. They had gone up to Alphinaud’s chambers to collude in private.
“I’m skilled at debate, I can write an excellent persuasive essay on most topics. I have extensive knowledge of arcanima theory. Erm… I can translate historical texts, I’ve studied a fair number of Sixth-era languages-”
“No, no,” Tataru stopped him. “None of that is going to help. You need to think about what’s in demand. What do Ishgardians want?”
Alphinaud shrugged helplessly. “Mostly weapons and religious paraphernalia, as far as I can tell?”
“What do rich Ishgardians want? What are they spending their coin on?”
“Hm, they seem fond of their tea and fine dining, and exotic foreign trinkets. But we don’t have any wares to sell.”
“What about something artistic? Music, painting, poetry and the like.”
“Well, I’m decent at drawing portraits.”
“There, that’s a good place to start,” Tataru said.
“I’ve never drawn on commission before. I suppose the Jeweled Crozier has the most potential clients. I saw a woman there drawing impressive caricatures for fifty gil.”
“You won’t get anywhere making fifty gil at a time on the side of a street. Look at this place!” Tataru gestured around. “The aristocrats are who you want to attract. They’ll pay you a thousand gil at least.”
“A thousand for a portrait?” Alphinaud said skeptically. “Surely I’d be overcharging.”
“No you would not, never undersell yourself!” said Tataru, pointing a finger at him. “If these people are willing to pay thousands of gil for a cup of tea, why not charge what your work is worth?”
“You have a point,” said Alphinaud. “Then, how do I begin soliciting these wealthier clientele?”
“That’s the next step. Researching your potential customers and finding out exactly what they want. Luckily, I've already done that for you. I have just the right little lordling in mind.”
"Lord Emmanellain?” Alphinaud hazarded a guess.
"Yep. I hear he’s a generous patron of the arts, he's more than a little vain, and he’s absolutely smitten with an Ishgardian lady who he keeps sending expensive gifts to. He’s your perfect target.”
“You make it sound so ruthless. I’m hardly trying to start a business empire,” Alphinaud said mirthfully.
“Big or small, that’s how business is done.” Tataru crossed her arms.
Alphinaud put their plan into action at dinnertime, Emmanellain showed up late, as he was wont to do. Alphinaud lingered at the table after the meal to speak to him, and when it seemed appropriate to the conversation, he mentioned that he dabbled in art. He demonstrated by sketching a quick portrait of Emmanellain on a napkin.
“Why, this is marvelous!” said Emmanellain, admiring the drawing. “You are no mere dilettante, old boy! See, Honoroit, isn't the likeness remarkable?”
Honoroit leaned over to study the napkin. "It looks just like you, my lord."
“Thank you,” Alphinaud said modestly. “At the moment I have no shortage of time on my hands. If you’re interested in a proper portraiture for yourself, or perhaps another…"
“Ah, of course!” Emmanellain snapped his fingers. “You’ve reminded me, I’ve been meaning to commission a gift for Lady Lainette, a little token for her to keep me in her memory, now that I have departed from Camp Cloudtop. Perhaps an illustration of me in shining armour and brandishing a sword, juxtaposed against those majestic floating isles in the background? Of course, I believe in giving the artist freedom to unleash their creative vision, so I’ll leave the details to you, as long as I look suitably heroic and impressive.”
"I'm not sure if- " Alphinaud began, but Honoroit was silently shaking his head at him, so he swallowed his words. “I mean, of course! I have plenty of ideas already.”
“And you would want your payment upfront, I expect? Name your price.”
“Let’s say, one thousand gil, if you can also provide the materials?”
“Oh no no, dear no, I would be criminally undercompensating you for your talents. Twenty-five hundred gil at the very least, I insist.”
“Oh. Certainly. Your generosity is appreciated.”
“Wonderful. Give me an hour to select the suit of armour I’ll model in, and then come to my boudoir.”
Emmanellain was clearly an experienced model. He held his pose perfectly still, with his nose proudly turned upwards, one hand poised on the hilt of his sword, and a leg planted on a stool. Honoroit was holding up his cape so that it appeared to be billowing in the wind.
He did talk nearly constantly, so Alphinaud had to surreptitiously glance at the other portraits on the wall to get the shape of his mouth right.
Alphinaud was too focused on the drawing to pay full attention to Emmanellain’s chatter, something about his opinions on a play he saw the other day, but one of his many tangents gave Alphinaud pause.
He leaned around his easel. “Pardon me. You said Lang came to you before the trial?”
“Oh, yes, he asked me if I could outfit him with a suit of armour,” said Emmanellain. “I had no idea the trial was happening at the time, so I merely thought he was going on another adventurous outing. My armour wouldn’t have fit him, so I gave him the keys to the armoury and told him he could borrow anything he liked. Then he went with that hideous getup, of all things. If I’d known what he was up to I would have accompanied him.”
“It looked quite intimidating. I assume that was the intended effect.”
“It was gauche. He would have cut a fine figure in the gold trim of House Fortemps instead.”
Alphinaud was about to point out how many implications that would have had about where the Scion’s loyalties lay, but decided it was unwise to argue with the person paying him for his services. “You were at the trial then? I must not have noticed you among the spectators," he asked conversationally.
“Indeed I was there, old boy, but I remained in the box seats so I wouldn’t get caught by a stray hailstone of holy judgement. That was some top-notch spectacle, by the way. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was real.”
"Uh." It was very rare that Alphinaud was bewildered into speechlessness. "It wasn't?"
"Of course not," Emmanellain said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The part where they boorishly arrested you on the streets? Sure. Though I'm sure once my father had a talk with them they quickly realized their mistake. But they couldn't just admit to it, so they had to set up that absurd show trial for the public. Ser Lang's dramatic entrance was very good, choice of costume aside, had everyone on the edge of their seats. You pretended to slap each other around a few times. The Heaven's Ward got to let you go without losing face. Ser Lang got a proper welcome back to the city from the Archbishop. Everyone's happy."
Alphinaud desperately made eye contact with Honoroit, trying to see if he could get another nonverbal signal to help him interpret Emmanellain's bizarre misconstruction of the trial’s events, but the young manservant's expression was totally guileless.
"Do you think... all of the trials like these are staged?" Alphinaud ventured to ask Emmanellain.
"Maybe. Most of them, probably. Who's to say? Honoroit got quite frightened during the more perilous moments, particularly when you were caught in those chains, but we knew you were just putting on a show. Right, Honoroit?"
"Um, right," Honoroit said.
Alphinaud glanced at Honoroit again, who immediately looked away. Actually, they were possibly of an age, weren't they? He had assumed Honoroit was several years younger than him, but that could be chalked up to his smaller stature and generally quiet demeanor. He imagined it had not been easy for Honoroit to watch a boy around his own age, armed with only a book, be mercilessly thrown into a pit to fight a fully-grown and heavily armoured man.
It was dead silent for a moment too long. Emmanellain was doing something with his eyebrows. He might have been trying to communicate something, or just making a face as a part of his pose. It was hard to tell. Alphinaud was not well versed in eyebrow communication.
"Yes... of course," Alphinaud said slowly.
"Yes! See?" Emmanellain immediately started back up. "If it was a fight they actually wanted to win, they'd never have allowed Ser Lang to switch places with my brothers. They're both very capable warriors, of course, but they can’t shoot blizzards out of their fingertips. It would have beggared belief a little too much to have one of them prevail against the best of the Heaven's Ward. Well, Haurchefant might take offense if he knew I said that, but Artoirel would have enough sense to agree with my assessment-”
Alphinaud leapt on the chance to change the subject. "Speaking of your brother, do you think Lord Artoirel might also be interested in a portrait?"
Emmanellain seemed, ever so slightly, relieved to go along with it. "Him? No. Alas, my dear brother does not possess a discerning eye for fine art."
"What does he do for enjoyment then? Does he have any hobbies?"
"Oh, he excels at all the hobbies befitting a proper Ishgardian gentleman, whether he enjoys them is wholly irrelevant,” Emmanellain scoffed. “He just takes it all so seriously, you know? I tell him he can just do something for the sake of it, but he approaches everything like a battle he has to win, be it chess, piano, or ballroom dancing."
"I'm told that often as well. But... I am enjoying this." Alphinaud found that he was speaking the truth, baffling conversation topics notwithstanding. Art brought him joy, and he so rarely had a chance to sit down and draw after he graduated.
“See? He could stand to learn a thing or two from us,” Emmanellain said. He briefly broke from his pose to brush a lock of hair out of his face before resuming it. “Honoroit, I do not think my cape is billowing heroically enough.”
Finishing the portrait took longer than Alphinaud anticipated. He had to return for a second session the next day to put on the finishing touches, but Emmanellain seemed thrilled with the end result. “Yes, this will be perfect with the sonnet I wrote for my lovely Lady Lainette. Are you as talented in poetry as art, Alphinaud? An honest second pair of eyes is always welcome. You’ll be compensated for your time in this as well, of course.”
“I’m more used to writing essays, but I can certainly try,” said Alphinaud.
He then spent the next hour reading some torturously florid poetry. He managed to convince Emmanellain to rewrite some of the most overwrought metaphors, and fixed a few verses to fit the meter better.
Emmanellain practically bounded away, no doubt to the courier’s office to send his gift at once. Alphinaud was about to leave the boudoir, when Honoroit tapped him on the shoulder.
“Pardon me, Master Alphinaud. I’ve also been writing something.” Honoroit was clutching a stack of paper. “It’s a memoir of sorts. If you could read it over for me, I can’t give you as much, but I can pay three hundred gil?”
“Of course, Honoroit, it would be my pleasure.” Alphinaud sat down again. He very appreciatively accepted a cup of water from Honoroit as he began flipping through the manuscript.
"And, um, if I may speak honestly, I know the trial wasn't just for show. At least, the fight wasn’t,” said Honoroit. “Lord Emmanellain is really not as ignorant as he may seem sometimes, I know he was just trying to make me feel better... I'm glad you weren't hurt too badly."
"Thank you, I am feeling much better now. And if I may be honest with you in return, you're far better at your job than I am at mine."
III.
“An excellent start!” Tataru said. Alphinaud’s new earnings were counted and laid out between them. “Did you remember to ask for information on our next prospective client?”
Alphinaud nodded. “I did, but according to his brother Lord Artoirel doesn’t have a favoured indulgence, so I was thinking we take a different approach. He’s in charge of House Fortemps’ ledgers, is he not? Perhaps he could use some assistance there.”
“You’re right, he definitely is a busy man... ” Tataru looked suspiciously at Alphinaud. “What do you even know about bookkeeping though? I seem to recall it was always Lang who helped me sort out the ledgers at the Rising Stones.”
Alphinaud grinned sheepishly. “I was hoping you could lead with your expertise this time. I promise, I will assist you to the best of my ability.”
Tataru harrumphed in mock indignation. “Oh, fine. But I will expect you to learn quickly.”
They said good night to each other and retired to their respective chambers. Alphinaud carefully tucked the coin away in the storage chest under his bed, next to Adelphoi. The next day, he and Tataru went to Artoirel’s office to pitch their services.
“Thank you for the offer, but my books are in order,” Artoirel said. A look of concern crossed his face. “Are you in need of funds? I can simply take it out of the guest expenditures budget.”
“We really couldn’t ask for that. You and your father’s generosity to us has already been exceptional in every way,” Alphinaud said.
“Please don’t feel under pressure to repay us. Our home is your home,” Artoirel said.
“We understand, and we’re truly grateful.” Alphinaud debated how much of the details he could trust Artoirel with, and settled on honest but vague. “The truth is, I want to make a discretionary purchase of an item I saw at the Jeweled Crozier the other day, but I feel strongly that I should earn it myself, and not rely on the charity of others.”
“I see.” Artoirel’s expression relaxed and shifted to thoughtful. “In that case, I may have an opportunity for you, Master Alphinaud. In a few evenings I will be visiting the Sleeping Crocus. It's a parlor usually exclusive to highborn, but sometimes musicians and artists are invited as guests. I can bring you with me, and you will have the opportunity to offer your portraitures to the patrons.”
“You know about that?” Alphinaud asked.
“My brother showed me your work yesterday. I was impressed with its quality,” Artoirel said. “You will be popular, I’m certain.”
“Aw, that sounds fun. I’d love to go too, but nobody’s going to be looking for a bookkeeper at a fancy parlor,” Tataru said wistfully.
“I can only bring one guest,” Artoirel said apologetically, “But I can make some inquiries for you as well, Mistress Tataru.”
Tataru crossed her arms. “Well, if Alphinaud is going, he’ll have to look more presentable.” She looked at Artoirel with big innocent eyes. “If you gave me some money so I can get him a proper outfit and some nice perfume, it can hardly be considered charity for him, can it?”
“Tataru…” Alphinaud sighed.
“I have no objections to that,” Artoirel said with a smile. He withdrew a coin purse from his desk drawer and handed it to her. “If you need more, just ask.”
Tataru prepared a very lovely outfit for Alphinaud in short order. It combined his personal fashion tastes with a touch of both Sharlayan austerity and Ishgardian high-class gilt. Her real talent shone through in that it still managed to be comfortable, and most importantly, warm.
She ended up mixing him a custom perfume, after they visited a fragrance shop and she was dissatisfied with their selection. For this she went entirely with her own preferences. It smelled bright and aromatic, like the spice markets of Ul’dah on a warm summer day, and entirely unlike the heavy floral fragrances that Ishgardians favoured. Even Artoirel commented on it as they were making their way to the Sleeping Crocus.
“It’s a bold choice, but suitable for the occasion. It will make a statement,” was what he said. Artoirel, for his part, wore a richly embroidered ensemble and smelled like a bouquet. He seemed at ease in his finery, and moved with practiced elegance, but the way he carried himself still somehow gave the impression that he was clad in a suit of armour.
“Will anyone really notice? I don’t typically pay attention to how someone smells when I meet them,” Alphinaud said.
“The purpose of gatherings like these is to make connections and alliances. Every aspect of your appearance will be noted upon as a reflection of your social standing. Perhaps in Sharlayan, you don’t have the concept of parlors?”
“A Sharlayan might find this a little too ostentatious,” Alphinaud said, gesturing to himself. “But we have as much politics and theatrics as anyone else.”
Artoirel looked surprised. “Is that so? I apologize if I’ve caused offense.”
“Not at all, Lord Artoirel.”
“Admittedly, we are often incurious about the world beyond our borders. Most Ishgardians simply assume that every Sharlayan is an ascetic scholar. Your showing at the trial has been the subject of some talk.”
“Has it? That does not sound ideal,” said Alphinaud. The Scions had thoroughly lost the advantage of obscurity at this point, but still.
“Time will tell. Some are experiencing consternation about our northern neighbours, after they saw what you’re capable of, but you have also changed the hearts of many.” Artoirel stopped abruptly. “We’ve arrived.”
They were in front of an unassuming building with a doorman outside. Artoirel showed him a pin on his lapel. "Master Alphinaud is my guest for this evening," he informed the man.
"Noted, my Lord."
The doorman gave Alphinaud a silver crocus pin to put on, then ushered him and Artoirel inside. He followed Artoirel up the narrow flight of stairs, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
"Are you nervous?" Artoirel asked.
"Nervous? Not quite, though I fear I may accidentally breach a rule of etiquette."
"There's no need to be too concerned, they will be lenient. However, I advise you to stick to tea for the evening."
All in all, Alphinaud ended up having a pleasant and productive time. He had to endure a few cheek pinches from tipsy highborn ladies, but they were delighted by his portraits and tipped very generously. Some of them did indeed comment on his perfume, so he told them it was Tataru’s handiwork and promised to put them in touch with her.
Eventually he ran out of paper and came away with a much heavier purse. He looked around and spotted Artoirel at a table with some grizzled older military types, in the midst of a rowdy conversation. Alphinaud decided to leave him alone for the time being.
He helped himself to some food from the tables laden with tiny appetizers. Then he made a face and, as discreetly as he could, spat out what turned out to be a disc of liver covered in jam. He fed it to a dog slinking around under the tables, which had a curiously long snout and silky white curls like a karakul’s. Fortunately the tiny eggs and miniature tarts were more palatable, and the dog lost interest in him when it realized it wasn't getting any more scraps.
His attention was drawn to some younger nobles in a corner, huddled over a chess board. They were playing for bets. Alphinaud joined in and played a few low-stakes matches, but after being utterly demolished three games in a row, he decided to stop before he could lose more gil.
His last opponent graciously offered him a handshake across the table. "You are a good positional player, Master Alphinaud," she said.
"I thought so before tonight, but you've shown me that I'm only a novice when it comes to navigating the strategic depths of the board."
"Oh, it’s only because I have to come here every week with my aunt. There's not much else to do here," she said. "It's interesting, isn't it, that the rules of chess are the same in Ishgard and Sharlayan? And yet, the way you play is quite different from anyone else I've ever played."
The others agreed, and it turned into a conversation about where the game originated from, whether Ishgard imported it from Sharlayan or the other way around, and the relative merits of opening moves and tactics favoured in one city over the other. Only when Artoirel came over, tapped him on the shoulder, and reminded him of the time, did he regretfully get up and say his farewells.
"How did it go?" Artoirel asked.
"Very well," Alphinaud replied. In truth, even better than expected. His initial goal was to only cover half the cost of the tea, but now he almost had enough to buy it outright. He said so as much.
"The Crocus will be open again next week, if you'd like to come back."
"That will be too late, unfortunately. The item was only kept on hold for ten days, four days of that remain now. But not to worry, I have a few more opportunities to follow up on."
"Perhaps I will find myself in need of your services after all,” Artoirel said thoughtfully.
"You've already aided me more than enough, Lord Artoirel."
"Could you provide me a lesson in Arcanima? Two thousand gil seems like a fair price for an afternoon of instruction."
Alphinaud was rather taken aback by the request. "Is that something you're genuinely interested in?"
"It would be of use to-" Artoirel stopped himself, paused, and finally said, "Yes. I thought I would like to try it."
The next day, Alphinaud waited for Artoirel in the courtyard behind the Fortemps manor. Artoirel arrived exactly at the agreed time in combat gear and with his hair dampened with sweat, like he had came directly from a training session, but he indicated he was ready to start without delay.
“Before we begin, what is your understanding of arcanima?” Alphinaud asked him.
“Very little," Artoirel admitted. "I know it is a type of summoning magic, originating from the lands of Vylbrand.”
“‘Summoning magic’ is an imprecise term that can refer to many things. What do you mean by it?”
“As I understand, it is about controlling creatures of an aetherial nature to follow one’s will.”
“That’s a common misconception about arcanima. Carbuncles are not living creatures in that sense, they’re more accurately described as constructs which can shape pure aether into a physical form.”
Artoirel made a thoughtful hum.
“We could cover the theory, but I think it will be more instructive to start by trying your hand at casting a spell," Alphinaud said.
"Very well."
"Allow me to demonstrate first." Alphinaud opened his tome and summoned a standard carbuncle. At his command, it did a few tricks and sat down by Artoirel's feet.
“This carbuncle is a different colour than the one you summoned at the trial,” Artoirel noted.
“Yes, I used one of my own creations for the battle, but this is the most basic form.”
“May I touch it?”
“Of course,” Alphinaud said. Artoirel knelt down and gingerly patted its head.
“It’s surprisingly corporeal. I thought my hand would pass through it.”
“Being corporeal is a necessity, otherwise it couldn’t attack in battle.” Alphinaud handed his tome to Artoirel. “Now for you to try.”
Artoirel studied the dense array of lines and curves on the page. “This looks complex, would I not have to master the individual elements first?”
“I assure you, this is a straightforward spell that arcanist students practice on the first day. For now it’s not necessary to understand exactly how it works, you can just channel aether into it.”
“How do I do that?”
“It’s simple, you... huh.” Alphinaud paused. He hadn’t thought about how to teach someone to channel aether. He had learned to do it instinctively when he was four, playing with a mammet his mother gave him.
Artoirel chuckled. “It must seem laughably simple to you, but I am wholly unpracticed in this field. You will have to bear with me.”
“How do I explain it...” Alphinaud began pacing around. “Have you travelled by aetheryte before?”
“A few times.”
“When you touch the aetheryte, do you feel a sort of tugging sensation?"
“No, I always perceive as though I’m instantaneously transported to the destination. It’s a little disorienting, but that’s all.”
“What about… Have you ever observed how a chirurgeon conducts aether to heal?”
“Yes. I have also read some books of theory and broadly understand the rudimentaries of conjury, but the practice itself eludes me.”
Alphinaud paused and turned towards Artoirel with a grin. “Why, It seems you have dabbled in a number of the magical arts, Lord Artoirel. Dare I say it’s a subject of fascination for you?”
Artoirel shrugged, not answering.
“Why do you conceal it? If you wanted, you could practice magic along with your swords. There are even disciplines that integrate both.”
“It’s not quite as simple as you make it sound, Master Alphinaud,” Artoirel said. “Were I not the eldest son, I might have been able to pursue such whims. Nonetheless, I am proud to be a knight, and it does no harm to learn about the many ways of the world, even if I am only able to walk on one. I will consider today’s lesson successful if I simply glean a cursory overview of arcanima from you.”
“I am certain I can do you one better," Alphinaud said. An idea came to him. “Here, hold your hand forward. I am going to give aether to you, as if I were healing you.” He held up his own hand a few ilms away, and began to channel a trickle of aether to Artoirel. The air between their palms shimmered like heat waves.
“What should I be feeling?” Artoirel asked.
“Nothing. You have no wounds in need of healing, so the excess aether is simply flowing away, like adding water to an already brimming ewer. Now what I’ll do is reverse the direction of the flow, and you should sense a change.”
Alphinaud very carefully reached into Artoirel’s aether reserve. He began drawing from it, like Lang had done to him during the trial, but he took care to keep the flow to a miniscule amount. Artoirel took a deep breath.
“Yes, I can feel that,” he confirmed. “It’s curious that I feel more invigorated. Logically, wouldn’t this be meant to cause harm?”
“If I did this more forcefully and over a prolonged period, yes, but this is slow enough that your aether can naturally replenish itself," Alphinaud said. "What you’re feeling is an increase in your aetherial circulation. I am now going to stop, while you focus on maintaining that sensation.”
Alphinaud eased off as gradually as he could, while holding open the aether channel. The shimmering faded in and out a few times as Artoirel found his footing, but eventually he was sustaining the connection entirely on his own.
“Good. I’m going to siphon your aether again, slightly harder this time, while you continue to keep this channel open.”
Artoirel nodded. Alphinaud began pulling again, increasing the intensity until he was right on the cusp of taking more aether from Artoirel than he could naturally regenerate. Artoirel was staring intensely at the space between their hands, brow furrowed in concentration. He pulled a little more, and the shimmering suddenly burst in a pulse of blue light.
Artoirel winced and shook his hand. “Again,” he said.
They made a few more attempts, but Artoirel snapped the aetherial connection closed each time, as if he was reflexively pulling his hand from a fire. “I understand what I must do, but it is difficult to suppress the instinct to protect myself from harm,” he said.
“An entirely reasonable instinct,” Alphinaud said. “I know this is much easier said than done, but you must trust that I will not harm you. I am only taking as much from you as you are willing to give.”
Artoirel nodded. “Again.”
With each subsequent attempt, Alphinaud sensed Artoirel allowing his aether to flow out of him with less and less resistance. When the trickle of aether grew into a steady stream, he handed Artoirel the tome again and directed him where to touch his hand to the array.
Artoirel poured his aether into the book. A pale blue light appeared in the air before him and coalesced into the shape of a carbuncle before alighting on the ground.
“Fascinating,” Artoirel lowered the tome. The carbuncle turned its head to follow him as he walked in a slow circle around it, examining the little creature from every angle. “How remarkably lifelike it is," he murmured, totally absorbed.
Alphinaud stepped back, allowing Artoirel to have a moment to himself. He recognized this state of curiosity and wonder. Sharlayans called it eusophia and valued it highly, some even claiming it was a state of communion with Thaliak himself. It was strangely satisfying to have gifted it to another person for the first time. Grandfather would be proud.
He spent some time teaching Artoirel how to give his carbuncle basic commands. Like all newly-summoned carbuncles it was rather fickle, but Artoirel was able to teach it to follow and heel. Eventually, it ran out of aether to sustain its form and returned to the Sea, and they used the remainder of the lesson to discuss the theory and history of the primary magical arts.
The time came for Artoirel to attend his next appointment. He gave Alphinaud a formal bow as they parted ways. “Thank you for your time, Master Alphinaud. It was very instructive.”
“And enjoyable, I hope?”
“Yes, that too.”
“If you’d ever like to delve into arcanima again, I’m more than happy to provide another lesson,” said Alphinaud. “Who knows? Perhaps one day you will charge into battle as a mighty carbuncle knight.”
“Hm. An amusing image, to be sure, but I may take you up on your offer in the future when I have time. Best of luck on your endeavour."
“And that totals to sixteen thousand and two hundred,” Tataru said. “Nicely done, Alphinaud!”
“Nald’thal smiled upon us indeed.” Alphinaud idly fiddled with one of the coins stacked in neat piles on the table, balancing it on its edge. “Of course, Lang has been making his own gil too. We could buy the tea outright for him, but I have a feeling he’ll insist on paying as much as possible.”
“I’ll lead the negotiations. I can convince him to let us pay two-thirds,” Tataru declared confidently.
Alphinaud made a doubtful noise.
Tataru sighed. “You’re right. I’ll start high and barter him down to one-half, how’s that?”
Alphinaud laughed. “That sounds more plausible. Shall we split the remainder evenly then?”
“Since you got me those perfume contracts, I’ll take just the extra twelve-hundred as my consultant’s fee, the rest is yours.” Tataru pushed the pile of fifteen thousand gil across the table. “You’ve earned it, you know. Just don’t go spending it all in one place!”
They gathered up the coins and headed out to the airship landing together. The jingling coin felt weightier in Alphinaud’s purse than usual. Fifteen thousand gil seemed paltry compared to the million-gil Ul’dahn contracts he was negotiating several months ago, but what this was about to get them in return was, quite possibly, priceless.
Several airships came and went, but Lang was not among the passengers aboard any of them. They checked the aetheryte plaza and the Fortemps manor just in case. No luck. It was still a few hours before the shops would close, but Alphinaud’s worry grew more every time the clock towers rang their bells.
His linkpearl chimed in his ear. He scrambled to take it out and held it up so Tataru could also listen in.
“Alph. Are you there?” Lang’s voice crackled through. He sounded like he was in the middle of a hurricane.
“Lang! Where are you-”
“Damn it, I said call Alphinaud, not leave a message. Call Alphinaud. Bloody thing-”
“Good gods,” Alphinaud groaned. “Why does nobody over the age of fifty know how to use a linkpearl?”
“Listen, I’m a little delayed-” the screech of some monstrous beastkin interrupted the recording. “I’ll be on the first airship back tomorrow morning. I need you to do me a favour, go to Ghiselle’s and ask for my ring back. Don’t trouble yourself about the tea, all right? Things don’t always work out, please just get the ring. Have to go.” The linkpearl cut out, and refused to pick up when he tried calling back.
“Well, have we got a surprise in store for him tomorrow,” he said.
“Good morning, you two,” Lang said. He looked like he hadn’t slept too well, and his clothes were a bit damp, but otherwise he was none the worse for wear.
“Welcome back! How was your trip?” Tataru asked. Alphinaud kept the box of tea surreptitiously behind his back.
“Less productive than I hoped, but I got a little something for you both.” He handed them each a small bag of confections. “Come on, let’s get back to the manor,” he said, yawning.
“We have something for you too,” said Alphinaud, unable to contain himself any longer. He presented the wrapped gift to Lang.
Lang looked uncertainly between the box in his hands and Alphinaud. He peeled back the wrapping to peek at its contents. “This… look, I appreciate it, I really do, but I told you to not ask- ”
“He didn’t!” Tataru said. “Alphinaud earned that money himself! I can vouch for that.”
Lang stared at them both. “You did? How?”
“Mostly by drawing portraits. Tataru contributed too.”
Tataru patted his arm. “Well, I helped you get your venture off the ground, but you did all of the work.”
“I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you both,” Lang said, voice thick with emotion. "This is a wonderful gift."
“Oh, and.” Alphinaud pulled the ring out of his pocket. “Here’s your wedding ring back.”
“What? You’re married?!” Tataru exclaimed, loudly enough to turn a few heads.
“Alph, don’t- hush!” Lang pulled a hand over his face. “Not so loud, please.”
Tataru lowered her volume, but she was still practically bouncing up and down in indignation, “How come you never told me? Alphinaud, how long have you known?”
“Come on, not out here,” Lang shooed them both off toward the direction of the Fortemps manor. “Actually, I could really use a bath and a proper bed right now,” he muttered.
A few hours later, Alphinaud and Tataru were making plans to resume their search for the missing Scions, when the chamberlain came and informed them that Lang wanted to see them in the sitting room.
Alphinaud burst through the door without bothering to stop outside and listen in first. “We’re here. Did something happen?”
“None of the sort, I just wanted to invite you two for some afternoon tea.” Lang gestured to the table, on top of which was a tea set and a tray of pastries.
Alphinaud saw the engraved wooden box, and his eyes widened. “Are you sure? But… it’s so precious, and you went to all that trouble for it.”
“All the more reason to share it with my trusted companions. What’s the good of keeping it in a box? Come and sit.”
Lang poured an equal amount of milk and water into a crystal pot. “This is the Coerthan way of preparation,” he explained. He set it over a heating apparatus, and when it came to a gentle boil, he added a spoon of honey and a generous pinch of leaves. He poured each of them a cup.
Alphinaud took a sip, careful to note the taste, the aroma, the soothing warmth spreading out from his core. “It’s quite unlike that Gridanian tea we had with Count Edmont. It’s richer and warmer,” he commented.
Lang poured a cup for himself. After taking a sip he closed his eyes, appearing lost in thought.
“Yes, that’s the difference between a new and aged tea, the flavours change over time,” he said. “This batch is three years old, I reckon. We’ve always sold our harvest fresh, so this flavour is new to me as well. I wasn't expecting it.”
“Three? But the Calamity was almost six years ago,” Tataru said.
Lang smiled wistfully. “When the Calamity struck, my siblings and I tried to convince our parents to move to Ishgard, but they refused to leave. They said they were too old and had lived through too much to be moved by the cold. So my family stayed behind, eking out the last few precious harvests from the earth before it froze completely. The ‘frost harvest’, as it’s called, is especially prized for its complex profile and bitter notes.”
“To think that a simple tea plant could be so tenacious,” Alphinaud mused. “Thank you, for letting us partake in this with you.”
“Yes, well, you two ended up paying for it, seemed to me you deserved it the most.”
“Yet it tastes all the sweeter for being freely shared by a friend, rather than exchanged out of obligation, does it not?”
Lang chuckled. “That it does.”