squeaklings: (last unicorn)
[personal profile] squeaklings
Title: Flowers
Wordcount: 431
Fandom: FFXIV
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers up through 3.3.
Summary: A chat with a dear friend.
Notes: Welp, that didn't take long. I am still not over this.

The snow crunched under his boots as he made his slow way up the hill. Ishgard stood like a magnificent pillar in the distance, stark against the bright blue sky.

The flowers he placed looked like a reflection of the sky against the snow. Eon didn’t know much of anything about flowers or their meanings (he hadn’t really listened to the hawker in the Jeweled Cozier), but he hoped these ones let his friend know how much he was missed.

“I helped your brother meet a dragon today,” he said as he crouched before the grave, talking as normally as he could despite the tightness in his throat. “He looked so awkward standing there I almost laughed. If not for Honoroit I don’t think Emannellain would have even showed up. But having the Warrior of Light be your House’s ward kind of puts you in the spotlight.”

Eon glanced past the gravestone towards the city in the clouds. “Artoirel is doing fine as Count. And your father is writing a book, but he won’t let me look at it, and when I snuck in to take a peek the butler saw me and I had to help with chores just to get back in his good graces. The man’s a tyrant.” He laughed softly to himself, and for once the sound didn’t hover around the gravestone like a dark cloud.

So much had happened in such a short time. The battle with Nidhogg wasn’t even a week old and yet it felt both like it happened yesterday and years ago at the same time. His laughter faded.

“It’s…” Eon paused, the words lodged in his throat. “It’s been hard. First you, then Ysayle, and then Estinien and Minfilia…it’s been hard. I can’t say it though, and I haven’t until now because I’m the Warrior of Light, y’know? If I can’t take it who else can?” He sucked in a breath to steady himself. “I couldn’t save you or Ysayle, and I don’t know if Minfilia can even be saved. But Estinien is alive, and I think,” he paused and lowered his head, staring at the flowers until his vision didn’t blur anymore, until the memory didn’t threaten to consume him.

“Thank you.”

The snow crunched beneath his boots as he stood. Eon stared out into the distance as he let the memories wash over him, of hot cocoa and boisterous oaths and the strength of a friendship that lived on through death. A small, happy smile tugged at his lips as he bowed to the grave.

“Until next time, my friend.”


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December 2016

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