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It was no Hallows End, but the Moonfire Faire was certainly up there with Ira’s favourite Eorzean holidays. They had journeyed back to the Source, with full intent to bring some of that summer bliss back to their family trapped on the First, but, as things often go for a Warrior of Light, plans went astray.
Largely in the form of the Garlean who had been dragged through the rift with them, anchored so closely to them.
“You can’t go out looking like that, Emet.” Ira sighed, digging in the drawers of their inn room in Limsa Lominsa. The Ascian folded his arms and frowned. “And whyever not, hero? Am I not well dressed?”
Ira grumbled, dragging out a light orange shirt and loose white swimming shorts. “Oh certainly my dear, you are very well dressed for a Garlean. ” They pulled out a lower drawer, digging in it and finding a more hyur-sized red shirt and deep green shorts, throwing them at Emet-Selch. He looked at the clothes disgustedly.
“You expect me to wear some cast-off one night stand’s clothing?” He was deeply offended, tossing the clothes back at Ira, managing to hook the shorts directly onto one of Ira’s horns. “Fine. Magic yourself up some summer clothes. And hide your third eye.”
“Why so terse, hero?” Emet-Selch asked, standing and walking to the mirror, rubbing his chin as he tried to visualise appropriate clothing for the festival he had been indentured to go to. Ira was quiet for a time, buttoning up their shirt to cover the pearly scar across their chest. “I...usually go with Alphinaud and Alisae. Before that I went on my own, and, I thought I was prepared to be alone again.”
Emet-Selch watched them carefully from the corner of his vision, seeing their shoulders start pulling towards the ground. “But you are not attending alone this year; you’ll be accompanied by my radiant presence,” he trilled. “Interesting choice of words, Solus.”
He made a soft sound, turning back to the mirror and snapping his fingers. Heavy Garlean robes replaced with a white tank top with red piping around its hems, and deep green ¾ trousers. His feet were covered with leather sandals painted gold. And, of course, covering his forehead was a light straw hat. “Does this outfit appease your demands, dear monster?”
A small smile tugged at Ira’s lips as they regarded him, sighing through their nose. “It looks ridiculous on you, but yes, it appeases my demands.” Emet-Selch wandered over to them, kneeling to offer his arm, hand as a stepping stone. “Shall we go to this frivolous mortal affair, then?”
Ira climbed Emet-Selch like a tree, foot on palm, the other on elbow, lifted up onto his shoulder and braced by his hand. His thumb and middle finger pressed together, and then snapped. Travel via rift was...different from aetherytes. It didn’t feel like moving through space, and more that space moved around you, if only for an instant.
Costa del Sol was, as always, a resort paradise, with piers and huts stretching out from the sand into the sea, hundreds of people milling around between the main piers and the island that was heaving with bombard balloons, bunting and stalls. The two walked out along the winding piers, in relative silence as they headed towards this festival’s main celebration area.
“It’s...nice.” Emet-Selch started, shifting Ira so they were more securely perched on his shoulder. “You do this every year? Tell me, hero, the origins of this event.” He was trying to lift their spirits a bit, as they remained somewhat listless.
“Well, it’s one of my hometown events. Some years ago, a bit before I…” they trailed off, looking for the right words. “A bit before I first met ‘Shtola, there was a flood of bombards, and Limsa Lominsa formed a force to drive them off. They succeeded, and haven't been seen since, but we commemorate it with the Moonfire Faire.”
They reached the end of the pier, gazing out at the small spit of sand the celebration was taking place on. An obstacle course stretched out across into the water, and onto another island. People could be seen wobbling, balancing and clinging to it in desperation. A stall grilling fresh fish, and another selling the festival’s fashion for the year. Ira’s eyes lit up at the obstacle course. Emet-Selch...seemed less impressed. “Aren’t you a little...small for it, hero?” he asked teasingly.
“Oh, the man’s got jokes! Let me show you a thing or two about lalafell physiology.” They grinned with sharkish teeth, hopping down from his shoulder and taking a running jump off the end of the pier into the water, diving deep under it, a distorted blur as they swam to the small island, surfacing a few minutes later, waving to the Ascian still standing at the edge of the pier.
At the stall, Ira eyed up boxes of glass-like sweets that were shaped into bombards, and delicately decorated biscuits that bore the patterns of the Faire’s fireworks.
“It’ll cost yeh two tickets fer a box ‘o the sweets, adventurer.” Ira looked...up, very high, at the Roegadyn manning the stall. “If ye feel up t’the challenge, it’ll net you a tidy four tickets.” He gestured to the obstacle course set up over the water. Ira grinned. “Thank you!” They skipped back a couple of steps, disappearing into the crowd and jogging over to the obstacle course and tagging in for it eagerly, bouncing up to the platform from the magicked geyser.
Emet-Selch watched from one of the stalls as Ira bounced across the beams overhanging the water, their legs easily bounding them from platform to platform even as they became thinner. He was...impressed. He’d only been half-joking when he had mentioned Ira’s stature but they were proving every bit, if not more skilled than any of the races who could simply reach between some of the platforms. It wasn’t long before they disappeared out of sight, up a tower.
Soon, Ira returned, bearing four tokens in their hand that they ran up to the stall with, the Ascian all but forgotten as they exchanged them for two boxes of the sweets, carrying them with all the pride of a cat with a bird.
Over the din of the crowd Ira heard fingers snap, and the boxes disappeared. Their brow furrowed and they looked for a smirking face.
“Don’t worry, I’ve put them some place else for safe keeping. I’m sure you don’t want to get sand all over them, no?” Ira turned on a heel to look up, and for once, there were no sharp words, just a half-smile. “...Thank you, Emet.”
With the sky darkening from the sun descending through the sky, a balmy coolness began to settle on the beach. Lanterns were lit, giant bombards floating on the water, drawing the ire of fishermen as their soon-to-be-catches scattered beneath the ripples. Sparklers bounced light all around and the crack of prisms started to echo all around, glowing glyphs and facsimiles of bombards hovering in the air.
He had never seen the world through untempered eyes, and the sight of the lights, the laughter...his mouth curved into a smile, instinctively curling his fingers around the hand that placed itself in his. The crowd was beginning to thin on the island, some swimming back to the piers to enjoy the dancers and dancing of the festival.
“Ira? Ira Baragawa? Is that you?”
The voice was familiar but Ira couldn’t place it, turning to look at the source, finding a roegadyn woman standing before them, dressed just as much for the event as any other. “It’s me, Eyrigeiss!” With pale green-blue skin and deep blue hair cascading over one shoulder, Ira recognised this face well and blushed slightly.
“Eyrigeiss! It’s been so long! Eight years?” Ira said with a laugh. Emet-Selch’s brow furrowed, his aether creeping out onto their shared anchor, but finding himself quite firmly shut out. Their hand squeezed his slightly. They would tell him another time. “How have you been keeping; heard you only went and became the bloody Warrior of Light!”
Ira’s smile faltered as they scratched the back of their head. “Oh, that’s far too long a story.” Eyrigeiss bellowed another laugh, gesturing to Emet-Selch. “Alright, alright, what about this beanpole you got yourself, eh?” He looked gravely offended. Ira ummed and ahhed for a bit, panicking enough to say the first thing to come to their mind; “This is...my husband!”
Eyrigeiss looked shocked. “Didn’t think y’the type to settle down after all them conversations over all them bottles of whiskey!” they teased with a grin. “It’s been eight years, can’t a horrible little goblin have a change of heart?” They would have crossed their arms if not for their hand being very tightly held by Emet-Selch.
“Aye, that you can. Congratulations either way.” Eyrigeiss leaned down, ruffling Ira’s hair, tilting their head as the light of a waved sparkler caught their left eye. “Oy, din’t you used to be blind on your left?”
“Long stories, Eyrigeiss. When I’m next at the Drowned Wench, I’ll tell you all about it.”
Voices shouted the roegadyn’s name, and she stood up, waving to a group. “Why don’t you share it with yer old pals, eh?” they offered, before jogging backwards, turning, and running to their friends. Ira looked up, their Ascian companion having the most self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Something tickled you, Emet?” The question was wary, guarded, and they felt the way that the cherry-hue, gold-tipped colour of his soul blanketed theirs. “Oh, nothing of import, dear hero. An old flame, I presume? Goodness, you do like them tall.” Ira blushed a fierce hue, slapping his leg with their free hand.
Ira lightly huffed, tugging Emet-Selch’s arm to bid that he follow them to the rest of the group climbing into a boat, a little skip in their step as they leapt into the boat. It was an ungraceful display of trepidation as Emet-Selch boarded the boat, but thankfully not a wet one as he made it on with helping hands grabbing his arms, which he found himself accepting without more than a little grumble of his soul. Mortals.
A hyur at the fore of the boat shouted to another at the back, who flourished her hands and with a lurch, the water began to push the small boat out to a large ship floating far out, some revelers already on it.
“So, how’s yer tolerance for the drink these days, Baragawa?” the hyur at the front asked. “Well, I haven’t been much of a drunk lately, but I wager I could still drink’yeh under the table, Doyle!” A little of Ira’s native accent began to slip out, making Emet-Selch raise his brows in amusement.
“Oh yeh, y’reckon? I’ll put a thousand gil down that yeh lose it after six!” Doyle crowed, thumping his chest. Ira grinned, showing off their teeth. “I’ll be takin’ yeh up on that, brother.”
Ira’s terseness was gone, completely gone. He felt it in how their soul was pliant and calm. The group wondered and asked Ira about their horns and teeth, the lalafell having to swat away curious hands that tried to touch their horns, eventually retreating to Emet-Selch’s lap for his longer arms to ward them off.
“A thousand gil and I get to touch your horns!” Doyle boasted, almost falling off the boat as it bumped up against the huge ship, grabbing onto the rope ladder and hauling himself onto the deck, soon followed by the other five, Ira scaling the ladder with ease, and Emet-Selch...struggling. Until Ira’s hand reached out, braced on the edge, pulling him up with that strange, monstrous strength they possessed.
“Deal, y’big coward!” Ira called back, clapping their hands up at Emet-Selch. “No, my dear, you walk, and I will carry you when you are no longer capable.”
The hyur woman cackled a laugh. “Ira, ain’t you got your ‘usband trained yet?” Emet-Selch’s soul danced with a devious mood that Ira picked up on immediately. “Oh, don’t fret, I do plenty when they are not being a dreadful goblin. ”
The group descended below deck where the cargo hold had been converted into a bar, Eyrigeiss immediately grabbing tankards for the group at large of cool, buttery mead, and two smaller glasses of distilled spirits that made Emet-Selch’s nose tingle in a way he did not find pleasant.
“Alright you two, get yerselves goin, and let’s ‘ear some stories! ” Eyrigeiss laughed, Ira immediately knocking back the entire glass and making pointed eye-contact with Doyle. “Be ye a coward, Doyle?” they taunted, letting their accent loose for the first time in years. The hyur frowned, grabbing his glass and knocking it back as well. “As if I’ve ever bin’!”
Eyrigeiss set down two more glasses which were promptly drained. Ira began to speak “Listen, yeh know what the worst part of adventurin’ life is? Never ‘avin a proper house! I miss me apartment out at the coast!”
Emet-Selch watched silently, inspecting the lightly fizzing mead in the tankard, making a face as the faint scent of alcohol seared his nose.
Live as a mortal, one more time with me, Hades.
His chest heaved with a sigh and he tipped the tankard back against his lips; sweet, fizzy and floral taste flooded his senses, and the alcohol warmed his throat. It was...pleasant. If pressed, he may even have confessed that he liked it, as he took another long sip, watching Ira down their fourth shot of spirit, sharing stories of slaying primals, conjuring flame to wreath their horns as they recalled the first time they faced Ifrit.
“So, ow’d you two meet?” Eyrigeiss asked, sitting next to Emet-Selch, carefully nursing his drink. “And drink up, yeh? No lightweights at Moonfire Faire!”
Mortals.
Gazing over at his soulbound companion, he let out something resembling a chuckle and rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Would it be bold to me to say that if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me?”
“Hah, bein’ the bloody husband of the Warrior of Light?” Eyrigeiss gestured at Ira, now on their fifth drink and flushed cheeks and ears turning their skin bright red. “I’d believe just about anythin’, friend.”
He sighed heavily, trying to explain as best he could. “We were travelling together, and...got into a fight, which I rightfully thought was the end of any kind of anything until, well, some time later they find me and…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Asked if I would care to try again.”
Ira had their sixth drink for the bet, standing on their chair, their left foot on the table as they knocked it back and held up their arms triumphantly as Doyle wobbled unsteadily. “Yer challengin’ the Warrior of Light, Doyle!” they shouted, laughing. Doyle stood up. “No, no...this is...not finished! You gotta…” he looked around, seeing a dartboard. “BEAT…my score, on darts!”
They looked remarkably sober for a moment, their lips pulling into a sharp grin. “Yer shure?” Doyle was already grabbing darts from the board, stepping back to the line and throwing them. For a drunk, he was a good aim, and even managed to hit the bullseye with one of the three. “Le...let’sss see YOU beat that!” He slumped in his chair, and Ira stumbled around the table, standing at the line and sliding their gaze to Doyle as a fan of smaller rapiers crystallised in the air like ice, the group hooting and hollering in response as all three flew without so much as a twitch from the lalafell’s arms, embedding in the bullseye.
“Thass’ ‘ardly fair!”
Eyrigeiss laughed, looking fondly at Ira. “You look after that’n, yeh?” She made sharp eye contact with Emet-Selch, who looked wide-eyed, sliding his gaze to the side. “They’re an ‘andful fer sure but…” Eyrigeiss trailed off, smiling at the cackling lalafell knocking back an extra two shots, as if to put the final nail in the bet, another lalafell in the group bracing them as they stumbled.
“Twelve years and yeh can’t drink me und’ra table!”
Doyle looked like he was going to throw up while Ira continued to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, their soul’s unfettered joy almost as intoxicating to Emet-Selch as the mead he’d somehow finished, rubbing annoyedly at the pink hue he could feel creeping on his cheeks. Ira was grinning at him, a full show of teeth, a shot glass hanging off the end of one horn.
“Please excuse my spouse. They are a dreadful little beast.” Emet-Selch lilted, his smile strangely impish yet...something Ira couldn’t identify in the haze of alcohol.
Something old, ancient, barely-remembered in Ira’s soul trilled, but they did not know why.
“Yeh got no idea!” Eyrigeiss laughed, taking the glass off Ira’s horn and hefting them onto one shoulder. “C’mere yeh little demon, less’ get yeh some fresh air. You! ‘Usband! Assist me!” she shouted back as she climbed the stairs with the giggling lalafell, Emet-Selch rising, regarding the group and giving a half-bow and following after the roegadyn woman.
On the deck, the air was fresh and salty, the lights of the festival glittering from their faraway perch. “Warrior of Light, my arse! Still a drunk!” Ira sighed as they were set back down on the deck, wobbling once, twice...and then back up in the air as Emet-Selch lifted them onto his shoulder. “They’ll be righ’ in a few tics. Never seen ‘em off their tits drunk fer more than ten minutes.”
“You know them well,” Emet-Selch started, his brow furrowing. “Ah din’ be so jealous! Ancient history! We were young, ‘n fools.” He looked surprised that he had been so clearly read. “They’re bad at talkin’ it but...ah, well. Yeh got the rest’r your life to fig’r their mummery out.”
Mortal, one more time.
Ira was leaning against the side of Emet-Selch’s head, sighing contentedly each time they breathed out. “Truth in wine, aye? Well, truth in an ‘alf bottle ‘o whiskey fer this’n.”
“Were they...always like this?” he asked, frowning as he tried to keep Ira at least somewhat upright. Eyrigeiss bellowed a laugh. “Oh aye, always our favourite gremlin.”
Sure enough with a few minutes Ira was shaking the hazy cloud from their mind, yawning. “Oh. I won.” Their accent was gone and this duality titillated him. “You go watch the fireworks with yer ‘usband. Don’t be such a stranger, Warrior.” Her fingers cradled Ira’s jaw for a moment, and then she was gone, back below deck to drink even more. Cherry-gold aether wrapped around theirs tightly and Ira mumbled, patting him on the shoulder, “Don’t be jealous, Emet. Let’s get back out onto the boat.”
Alone on the deck, Emet-Selch snapped his fingers, stepping back through a rift and emerging -wobbling- onto the small boat, sitting down on it with haste. Ira slid down from his shoulder and walked a few steps to the back, murmuring softly, aether shifting just beneath the water, the small casting off from the ship, propelled by something just underneath the surface, a faint echo of Leviathan’s power.
“Full of tricks as always, hero. Always had the constitution of a boulder, too?”
He didn’t get an answer as Ira returned to sit on his lap, grabbing one of his hands and holding it in both of theirs, the boat drifting almost aimlessly before it came to a stop between the ship and shore.
His thumb softly stroked over their hand, the two of them silent for a while as they watched lanterns bob in the dark, the stars descended from the sky to settle upon the earth.
“Have you ever watched fireworks?” Ira asked suddenly, their ears lifting slightly. He fought the urge to laugh at such a question. “Hero, I am plenty old enough to have seen everything and your mortal firew-”
His voice was drowned out by the first mortar, startling him into looking skywards at the sight of glittering lights and swirling motes.
No, he hadn’t seen fireworks like this before. Not like this before. Ira pulled at his arm, draping it around them, allowing them to do so with nary a complaint as batteries of fireworks bloomed into the sky. He removed the hat that had been hiding his third eye, throwing it out into the water. Ira shuffled, resting the side of their head against his chest with a contented sigh. Emet-Selch froze, unsure of what to do, but eventually slowly stroking through their hair, their aether still buzzing from alcohol. In the darkness, he could see how the scar on their chest glowed dimly through the fabric of the thin shirt.
Between barrages of fireworks, he spoke softly. “I didn’t see you as a drunkard, hero.” Ira rubbed their arm slightly, picking at a loose thread in the well-loved shirt. “I was young and stupid once. Always feeling like there was a gap somewhere even though my life was perfectly fine.”
Another battery of fireworks bloomed into life with bone-vibrating booms and ear-tingling crackles. Ira shaded their left eye slightly, still unused to bright light in it. “So I filled it with drink, at the Drowned Wench. And when that wasn’t enough, I filled it with women, and men, and never found what I was missing.”
Phosphorous stars scattered across the sky, descending with the acrid smell of cordite. Emet-Selch found himself slightly in wonder of it. He had seen fireworks hundreds of times but they would never register, only two things causing his vessel’s heart to beat in those thousands of lifetimes. A calamity, and the sight of their soul.
“I never thought that it would be quite as literal as missing pieces of my soul.” They paused for a long time, resting their head on Emet-Selch’s chest. “And you.”
His back stiffened under the admission, so used to deadpan admonishments. He knew when they dreamed, it was the closeness he remembered with them, but outside of them, they found Ira standoffish and petulant. He dipped his head to speak softly to Ira.
“You know, were this one of the plays I so enjoyed in my days as Emperor, a scene like this would necessitate a kiss.”
Ira’s gaze slowly turned. “Emet-Selch, are you flirting with me.” Their voice was deadpan, their gaze meeting his, a smile that reached the Ascian’s eyes lifting his face. “Are you flirting with me by referencing your reign as the Emperor of the nation that-” they were cut off by the soft touch of his lips to theirs, holding it for just a moment before breaking away, showing the mildest bit of tooth in his grin. “Yes. Yes I am, my dear monster.”
They were speechless, staring up at him, their soul yielding and allowing the two to weave together. What Ira could not vocalise their soul practically shrieked, drawing a soft sigh of a laugh from Emet-Selch. Adoration, comfort,
love,
joy. “Have you no sharp words for me?”
Ira leaned up, pressing their lips to his, their eyes closing as they softly moved their lips against his, cradling his jaw in one hand. Emet-Selch more than content to return this affection, his soul prickling with a smug little sound.
Ira broke away softly, lifting their gaze to his. “What is it?” Oh, he wanted to be asked, as his aether bloomed and crackled like fireworks.
“In Amaurot, referring to one’s companion in public as their spouse was just the same as your ceremonies of bonding.” The smile on his face. The smile on his face. Ira’s sunny warmth heated through and became a supernova.
“I’m sorry, but, WHAT? ”
He was laughing, grabbing Ira’s wrists as they went to slap him. “Oh yes. I’m surprised you didn’t remember that in a dream.” Ira huffed and growled, eventually slumping against Emet-Selch. “But this isn’t Amaurot...” they trailed off, and the heat of their soul calmed, their stomach wrenching with a feeling they could only describe as homesickness.
“Oh, that is quite true, much as that pains me still, but I do so love to stick to tradition, my dear.”
“So, by Amaurot law, this is it? Given that you are unsundered , and I, still…” they gestured vaguely as they trailed off. They were full of sharp words and dour attitude but with their souls woven together he could clearly see how much the idea thrilled them.
“You must be honest with yourself, hero.”
“I...don’t know how.”
The two of them sat like that in silence for some time until the sounds of the festival started to fade, with just late night revelers drunkenly dancing and spinning on dry sand, kicking it up in clouds. Ira’s ears lifted as they realised that Emet-Selch was humming, his lips parting to sing softly. “The river always finds the sea, so helplessly, like you find me.”
Ira...recognised it. From somewhere, some past life that Hydaelyn had not been able to scrub from their soul. They found themselves softly whispering along with him, in just as much of a trance as when they would speak Amaurotine. A display of softness from the Ascian, he gently rubbed the tip of one of the lalafell’s ears as he fell silent for a while, watching boats of fishermen paddling out into the deeper water. At the shore, people continued to climb the wooden tower, occasional splashes and shouts calling out across the water as they slipped and fell down.
He didn’t ask further, but he heard the softest, smallest voice that he knew Ira was actively smothering, only audible through the alcohol still making them wobble against him. “Tell me your truth, Ira.”
In a split second at being called their mortal name, thoughts unfettered, rushing to tell him, to pour all adoration and affection and sorrow and comfort out to him, and the first one to race to the forefront was simple;
I love you.
Ira didn’t speak it, not for a while, idly playing their fingers over Emet-Selch’s. “I think...I am quite madly in love with you, Emet-Selch.” He had a soft chuckle in response, his fingers touching the faintly glowing scar on their chest. “I thought that much was clear when you did this?” Ira frowned at him. I confess this and your response is to laugh? His lips curved into a smile and he wrapped both arms around them, pulling them up in a close embrace, one hand stroking through their hair. “Fear not, my love, those feelings are nothing other than mutual,” he practically purred, his voice low and soft. Ira’s breath hitched in their throat, blushing a furious hue that was, this time, not from the alcohol.
The festival had all but ended, the two silently floating in the water, Ira shrouded in the Ascian’s embrace, silently pressing their foreheads together as their aether, tangled already from Ira’s actions, openly mingling rather than simply weaving twists about each other. How could he have ever been jealous when all their actions of devotion showed him they only cared for one person? It was so often shrouded in Ira’s foolish behaviour but he felt as if he had been blind, that they only loved him in their dreams of Amaurot.
“I love you, Emet,” they repeated softly, nuzzling into his neck, sleepy from alcohol and the headrush from their confession. “Let’s get you somewhere to pass out, my dear,” Emet-Selch spoke softly, lifting one hand to snap his fingers, the world turning around them as it faded to blackness, and then back in, surrounded with the inn room at Limsa. With a soft rub of their cheek with his thumb, he practically poured Ira onto the bed, the lalafell making a soft sound of disagreement as he let them go. Like so many nights he wandered over to the comfiest looking chair in the room, slumping in it and resting his head back.
“Hades,” Ira called tiredly, propping themself up to look at him. He visibly stiffened under being called by name. He looked over, raising a brow quizzically, but not saying anything.
“Come to bed. Can’t have my husband sleeping on a chair.” Ira shuffled over the bed, made for roegadyn and thus comically large for a lalafell. “Please?”
How could he refuse such an honest request. He sighed dramatically, “Very well, my dear monster,” and wandered over, kicking off sandals and climbing into the bed to lie on his back beside them. Ira propped their torso up on his chest, laying their head down onto him with a contented sigh. “You’ve been promoted to pillow,” they mumbled tiredly, finally allowing sleep to drag them down. “I love you,” they repeated one last time, before their breathing slowed, and their aether settled out, fizzing slightly in the way that it does when he knows that they are dreaming. He smiles, laying a palm on their back and resting his head back on an arm, closing his eyes and allowing a peaceful sleep, perhaps the first in centuries, to swallow him whole.