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finalfantasyxivfanworks2018-12-04 07:17 pm
steppechild) wrote in finalfantasyxivfanworks2018-12-04 07:17 pm
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Plateau
Title: Plateau
Characters: Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel
Rating: G
Warnings: None
There was something comfortably settling about watching the sunset from the Dawn Throne.
The entire sky blazed with streaks of red and gold, splashes of orange and pink, looking as if the entire horizon behind the Tall Mountains was afire. Below that lay the Azim Steppes itself, sprawled out as an ocean of green, with Reunion as a tiny speck of bright blue from the Aetheryte, far to the south.
It was home, plain and simple, and it took so long for him to come back to it.
Granted, he ended up coming back into a role he really could do without. It was customary for the previous Nadaam winner to participate in the next, to hand off as necessary – it was only when extreme circumstances such as untimely deaths, injury or illness that the khagun skipped out on defending his title. Aza, who had no intention of seriously being a khagun, even for his tribe, and had told himself that the next Nadaam he’d pass the title off to shuck off the unwanted responsibility.
However.
Aza… hated losing. He hated it. Even if he told himself losing would be best, his damnable pride came shrieking into high gear the split second it realised he was about to be overcome by someone scrawnier, or weaker or incompetent. Every single Nadaam, despite telling himself he will throw this one… he ended up thrashing his challengers within every inch of their pathetic lives, securely cementing himself as Man Undefeated, and khagun of the Steppes until he was too old to lift his blade.
And old he was. Despite Crisp’s prediction that he won’t be Primal slaying any time soon past his forties, beating up young, arrogant Xaela warriors once a year was something still within his power even nearing his fifties. They always underestimated him, despite his reputation – all they saw was a small, greying old Miqo’te, half their size, a third of their weight and twice their age, and dismissed him.
He heaved a quiet sigh, slowly easing himself down at the edge of the Falcon Perch until his legs dangled off. The wind was cold and biting this high above the Steppes, the Dawn Throne acting as a manmade plateau, and he tugged his furred coat closer around him with stiff, aching fingers. He was so fucking old, he thought irritably, and yet was still somehow the strongest warrior of the Steppe.
Why couldn’t there be a strong Xaela to take this burden from him? Yes, take, because at this point Aza would sooner throw himself off the Dawn Throne than hand it over to some cocky whippersnapper that couldn’t see past their own nose due to their blinding pride. He’d worked hard at being khagun, at scrubbing off the Oronir taint from the title so he made it something new, something good, and… things were good. The Oronir were not occupying the Dawn Throne and the Iriq had set up something like a central trading hub within it and opened its doors for all, much to the teeth gnashing and outrage of the Oronir.
But its central location made sense for such a utility. What else would the Dawn Throne be used for? To sit there and lord his position over the other tribes? To let it fall into disrepair like the Dusk Throne? That was just boring and a complete waste of space. So. Trading Hub.
He understood Aymeric a bit better now, after this. The pride one had in their home, even though you could so clearly see its flaws and how much it could improve. The determination and stubbornness to keep going, even when a saner man would have handed the job off long ago. Aza loved the Azim Steppes, loved its wildness, its freedom – he never wanted it like Eorzea or Doma, but still, it could be better, in so many small ways, so…
“I thought you’d be out here,” a low, familiar voice sighed behind him, “Aza, you’re going to fall off that one day.”
“As you keep telling me,” Aza said, glancing over his shoulder, “Shouldn’t you be resting, handsome?”
Behind him, Aymeric was slowly limping towards him, his steps careful over the old, cracked stone of the Falcon’s Perch. Time had been kind to him in some ways, but cruel in others – while Aymeric still looked relatively young, with his hair greying at the temples, his back had not survived the years of hunching over a desk for twelve hours a day, leaving him almost in the same boat as Aza himself.
They were a right broken pair now, except while Aymeric was stepping away from his duties in Ishgard – he was here on sabbatical, whatever the hell that was – Aza was stepping up to them. Honestly, his partner had been invaluable when it came to asking help on how the fuck you acted as a reasonable leader.
“No more than you,” Aymeric replied as he stopped next to him and slowly, gingerly, eased himself down to sit down as well. Aza could almost hear his bones creak, “But the sunsets here are worth the pain, hm?”
“I suppose.”
For a long moment, they sat in a companionable silence, watching the sun sink lower and lower, the sky bruising and darkening into dusk. The wind’s chill picked up a sharper edge, Aza’s breath puffing out into a visible cloud of white, and it was then he decided that was enough.
“Okay, time for bed, I think,” Aza groaned as he started to bully his aching bones to stand up, “Urgh. Fuck. Ow.”
“Need help?” Aymeric teased, even though his attempts to stand were just as painful looking, “Ouch, my knees…”
“I think we definitely will topple off if I try using you as a crutch,” Aza grumbled, finally getting to his feet without taking a nasty tumble off the Dawn Throne. Something popped in his joints somewhere, and he grimaced, rubbing the back of his stiff neck, “Maybe I should take Alphie up on his offer…”
“Offer?”
“A week at Bronze Lake,” Aza said, watching as Aymeric finally got to his feet without incident, “Sitting in those hot springs, relaxing…”
“Sounds like heaven,” Aymeric sighed wistfully.
“Yeah,” Aza grinned, “But going there without you… well, that’s pointless.”
“I would also be intensely jealous.”
“Exactly! And when you get jealous, you get grouchy… and pouty…”
“Pouty.”
“So pouty! See, you’re doing it now! It makes me wanna bite that bottom lip of yours.”
“Well, if you try that now, I certainly won’t object…”
Aza laughed, loud and free, and hooked his elbow around Aymeric’s, “You’ve become more shameless with age, handsome. I like it.”
“I’ve always been this shameless,” Aymeric said lightly, “I just had to temper it due to my work hours.”
“Mmhmm…”
“Though, I will say…” Aymeric continued with a sigh, “I do wish you would choose somewhere else as your dramatic castle of dominance. Climbing up here is an ordeal each time.”
“My dramatic what?” Aza chortled, “This ain’t a castle.”
“Hm, it certainly seems like one.”
“It’s a… big bowl… throne thing,” Aza frowned, “That’s also a marketplace. Or something.”
“Or something, he says,” Aymeric playfully rolled his eyes, “Either way, it’s painful to climb up.”
“I’ll make sure to install a pulley system, just for you,” Aza drawled, “Or commission Cid to put in an elevator.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
Aza scoffed, but he found himself leaning into Aymeric’s side with a smile. Yeah, this definitely felt like home now. He’d fought his battles, he was protecting the place that had saved him as a child, and… it all felt right. It took almost fifty years to get to this point, but, better late than never, right?
Right.
Characters: Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel
Rating: G
Warnings: None
There was something comfortably settling about watching the sunset from the Dawn Throne.
The entire sky blazed with streaks of red and gold, splashes of orange and pink, looking as if the entire horizon behind the Tall Mountains was afire. Below that lay the Azim Steppes itself, sprawled out as an ocean of green, with Reunion as a tiny speck of bright blue from the Aetheryte, far to the south.
It was home, plain and simple, and it took so long for him to come back to it.
Granted, he ended up coming back into a role he really could do without. It was customary for the previous Nadaam winner to participate in the next, to hand off as necessary – it was only when extreme circumstances such as untimely deaths, injury or illness that the khagun skipped out on defending his title. Aza, who had no intention of seriously being a khagun, even for his tribe, and had told himself that the next Nadaam he’d pass the title off to shuck off the unwanted responsibility.
However.
Aza… hated losing. He hated it. Even if he told himself losing would be best, his damnable pride came shrieking into high gear the split second it realised he was about to be overcome by someone scrawnier, or weaker or incompetent. Every single Nadaam, despite telling himself he will throw this one… he ended up thrashing his challengers within every inch of their pathetic lives, securely cementing himself as Man Undefeated, and khagun of the Steppes until he was too old to lift his blade.
And old he was. Despite Crisp’s prediction that he won’t be Primal slaying any time soon past his forties, beating up young, arrogant Xaela warriors once a year was something still within his power even nearing his fifties. They always underestimated him, despite his reputation – all they saw was a small, greying old Miqo’te, half their size, a third of their weight and twice their age, and dismissed him.
He heaved a quiet sigh, slowly easing himself down at the edge of the Falcon Perch until his legs dangled off. The wind was cold and biting this high above the Steppes, the Dawn Throne acting as a manmade plateau, and he tugged his furred coat closer around him with stiff, aching fingers. He was so fucking old, he thought irritably, and yet was still somehow the strongest warrior of the Steppe.
Why couldn’t there be a strong Xaela to take this burden from him? Yes, take, because at this point Aza would sooner throw himself off the Dawn Throne than hand it over to some cocky whippersnapper that couldn’t see past their own nose due to their blinding pride. He’d worked hard at being khagun, at scrubbing off the Oronir taint from the title so he made it something new, something good, and… things were good. The Oronir were not occupying the Dawn Throne and the Iriq had set up something like a central trading hub within it and opened its doors for all, much to the teeth gnashing and outrage of the Oronir.
But its central location made sense for such a utility. What else would the Dawn Throne be used for? To sit there and lord his position over the other tribes? To let it fall into disrepair like the Dusk Throne? That was just boring and a complete waste of space. So. Trading Hub.
He understood Aymeric a bit better now, after this. The pride one had in their home, even though you could so clearly see its flaws and how much it could improve. The determination and stubbornness to keep going, even when a saner man would have handed the job off long ago. Aza loved the Azim Steppes, loved its wildness, its freedom – he never wanted it like Eorzea or Doma, but still, it could be better, in so many small ways, so…
“I thought you’d be out here,” a low, familiar voice sighed behind him, “Aza, you’re going to fall off that one day.”
“As you keep telling me,” Aza said, glancing over his shoulder, “Shouldn’t you be resting, handsome?”
Behind him, Aymeric was slowly limping towards him, his steps careful over the old, cracked stone of the Falcon’s Perch. Time had been kind to him in some ways, but cruel in others – while Aymeric still looked relatively young, with his hair greying at the temples, his back had not survived the years of hunching over a desk for twelve hours a day, leaving him almost in the same boat as Aza himself.
They were a right broken pair now, except while Aymeric was stepping away from his duties in Ishgard – he was here on sabbatical, whatever the hell that was – Aza was stepping up to them. Honestly, his partner had been invaluable when it came to asking help on how the fuck you acted as a reasonable leader.
“No more than you,” Aymeric replied as he stopped next to him and slowly, gingerly, eased himself down to sit down as well. Aza could almost hear his bones creak, “But the sunsets here are worth the pain, hm?”
“I suppose.”
For a long moment, they sat in a companionable silence, watching the sun sink lower and lower, the sky bruising and darkening into dusk. The wind’s chill picked up a sharper edge, Aza’s breath puffing out into a visible cloud of white, and it was then he decided that was enough.
“Okay, time for bed, I think,” Aza groaned as he started to bully his aching bones to stand up, “Urgh. Fuck. Ow.”
“Need help?” Aymeric teased, even though his attempts to stand were just as painful looking, “Ouch, my knees…”
“I think we definitely will topple off if I try using you as a crutch,” Aza grumbled, finally getting to his feet without taking a nasty tumble off the Dawn Throne. Something popped in his joints somewhere, and he grimaced, rubbing the back of his stiff neck, “Maybe I should take Alphie up on his offer…”
“Offer?”
“A week at Bronze Lake,” Aza said, watching as Aymeric finally got to his feet without incident, “Sitting in those hot springs, relaxing…”
“Sounds like heaven,” Aymeric sighed wistfully.
“Yeah,” Aza grinned, “But going there without you… well, that’s pointless.”
“I would also be intensely jealous.”
“Exactly! And when you get jealous, you get grouchy… and pouty…”
“Pouty.”
“So pouty! See, you’re doing it now! It makes me wanna bite that bottom lip of yours.”
“Well, if you try that now, I certainly won’t object…”
Aza laughed, loud and free, and hooked his elbow around Aymeric’s, “You’ve become more shameless with age, handsome. I like it.”
“I’ve always been this shameless,” Aymeric said lightly, “I just had to temper it due to my work hours.”
“Mmhmm…”
“Though, I will say…” Aymeric continued with a sigh, “I do wish you would choose somewhere else as your dramatic castle of dominance. Climbing up here is an ordeal each time.”
“My dramatic what?” Aza chortled, “This ain’t a castle.”
“Hm, it certainly seems like one.”
“It’s a… big bowl… throne thing,” Aza frowned, “That’s also a marketplace. Or something.”
“Or something, he says,” Aymeric playfully rolled his eyes, “Either way, it’s painful to climb up.”
“I’ll make sure to install a pulley system, just for you,” Aza drawled, “Or commission Cid to put in an elevator.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
Aza scoffed, but he found himself leaning into Aymeric’s side with a smile. Yeah, this definitely felt like home now. He’d fought his battles, he was protecting the place that had saved him as a child, and… it all felt right. It took almost fifty years to get to this point, but, better late than never, right?
Right.