VERENDAEL, Nicolaes Van (1640-1691)

I’ve played through the Journey and I quite liked that game

after that I discovered you get a white/orange outfit if you replay it and I just had to draw my WoL like this (with a guest:D)

a/n: an excerpt from a longer WIP that I don’t know if I’ll ever post. At least I can use it as a very abstract contribution to today’s entry of #febhyurary

title: glamour | rating: teen & up | word count: approx. 1000 | characters: guinevere talon/warrior of light, y'shtola rhul | setting: shortly after the dragonsong war

–

The sight of a light party brought a smile to her face. It wasn't rare to see dragoons jumping around the Lancer's guild in Gridania, showing off in front of the new recruits or paying a visit to old mentors. As she followed the trace of their spears, her eyes lowered to the female dragoon's exposed belly. Since the moment she received her amor from Alberic she thought it was ridiculous, specially under the harsh winds of Coerthas. She wondered how funny it would look on her now.

Her body hadn't changed that much in such a short time, but she could feel every minimal variation. Her abdomen was still flat, but her abs were softening under her ribcage, and the healthy pocket of fat she'd never been able to lose had grown a little since she last checked. She wasn't sure her tight dragoon armor would fit her now, nor anytime soon.

With the hearing of footsteps getting closer, her smile vanished.

"I had the feeling I'd find you here," Y'shtola said, leaning on the railing right next to her. "You shouldn't turn off your linkpearl, you know. You had everyone worried."

"Am I to blame for wanting some time for myself? I think I earned it."

"And you did, but that doesn't mean that they aren't a little on edge."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Right. Whatever."

Still, she didn't attempt to move. Five more minutes wouldn't hurt anyone. Y'shtola did neither, as she drummed her fingers, humming lightly.

"I know we've never been the best of friends. Not that I've ever made an effort to change that, but..." She shook her head. "I'm just trying to say – I understand you didn't tell me of all people right away, but trying to keep it a secret? That's mean."

The Midlander looked at her sideways. "I beg your pardon?"

Y'shtola seemed to be taken aback. "Guinevere, you do know you are pregnant, right?"

Oh. That.

"I... do, aye. But I haven't told anyone else, not just you." She sighed. Well, almost anyone. "How did you find out?"

"Your aether," she answered inmediately, as if it were obvious. "It has changed, grown considerably in just a few weeks. I did some research, and found my answer." Guinevere placed her hands on her belly, as if she could feel that growth on her fingertips the same way she did. Y'shtola's eyes were wide open, and she could read her curiosity in them, even if the white fog veiled her features. "And... You haven't told the others because you don't know what to do, or...?"

"Still thinking about it, aye. The risks are too high, and the timing couldn't be worse, I know, but..." She gestured vaguely. "Since Hydaelyn awakened the Echo in me I haven't had any choice but to follow her path. I cannot just not slay eikons, I cannot let the Ascians or the Empire have their ways in Eorzea. I had to involved in the Dragonsong War. But I have a choice in this, and I want to make things right."

Guinevere blurted it all out, her whole heart, to Y'shtola. She didn't think they ever had shared so many words – at least without Vicky around trying to make them become friends. And she had the feeling she was really listening to her, without second intentions, with more than morbid curiosity. She couldn't exactly tell why, mayhap she was an idiot and it was just her blindness making her look nicer and more innocent now, but she didn't feel any bad by talking to her about this. Y'shtola dared to push things a little further, patted her shoulder and asked:

"What does the father think about this?"

"I wouldn't know. He died before I found out."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Guinevere smiled bitterly. "I think he would have been excited about it. He was excited about everything."

The dragoons cheered over the victory of one of them, and the laughter of the defeated echoed their yelling. Her time at the guild had never been so blissful. It was almost hard to believe she once stood in the same ground as them – but her path seemed meant to always be the most difficult one. Another reason to be sensible and simply not bring a child to this world.

"It's pointless to think about it now," she told Y'shtola. "It only makes me feel like I'm betraying his memory, or whatever shite my brain is trying to drown me into. If I have it, it has to be my decision."

The Miqo'te tilted her head. "Mayhap we should best talk about this over a cup of tea. I can tell Alisaie we'll delay a little. I believe you don't still need them, but we could discuss glamour spells I could cast upon you to disguise your belly, and I know a variety of shells and protections for when you inevitably show up in the battlefield."

Dubious, Guinevere arched an eyebrow. "You... would do that? Why? You said it yourself, we're not friends."

"Mayhap I want us to be."

"Look, if this is because I helped bring you back from the aetheric currents..."

"It is not." Y'shtola rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I am fully aware I owe you naught. For real, I don't know do you get everyone to love you so much when you are so defensive all the time."

She scoffed. "That makes the two of us."

But she bit her inner cheek. This was something she never expected to happen, and felt grateful the Miqo'te wasn't able to see the light blush that covered her cheeks. It was a nice feeling for once, though. She swallowed all the other mean replies she could spite her back, and simply murmured:

"Thanks. You... It's nice of you to offer. I didn't know glamours could do that."

Y'shtola's smile was radiant under her usual smugness. "My, my, but who taught you conjuring? Or thaumaturgy, for that matter? You can't call yourself a mage if you don't even know how a simple glamour works."

"I'm starting to regret this..."

Mayhap this was the start of a new friendship. If Vicky could see them now...

Raha

well this glam sure is Something

DEATH UNTO DAWN

Winter's Toil

The Lord Speaker of the house of Lords is working far into the night once more. But even though he still has a good many things to do, he cannot help himself but think about those he loves.

Read on AO3.

Winter's Toil

Five pages of report written in small, almost unreadable letters. Ten pages of the days minutes. Construction plans for the extension of Falcons Nest. A request for ishgardian craftsmen to support the renaturation of the coast of Werlyt.

His right wrist ached. Nothing new.

Signed. Corrected. Approved.

So far so good. Except for the strain in his shoulders. Nothing he had not experienced before. Sword practice could do this to a man, if practiced excessively. When had he last held a sword again?

The work he couldn’t finish at his office was finally done. A glance towards the clock told him it was about ten minutes before midnight. A second glance towards the left of his desk told him that there were at least two hours more of intensive reading, pondering, approving and rejecting.

Why was there sweat on his face?

He leaned back in his chair. There was a deep sigh somewhere in his chest, but he wouldn’t. Instead he reached for the next stack of papers. The muscles in his neck protested.

It would be another long night.

The next document was the appointment of the guards to Empyreon. Yes. He had asked Estinien to apply. A joke of course. And regrettably, the dragoon and newfound hero of the world had ignored the offer entirely. Unsurprising. But yet again, regrettably. Though, this was probably Estiniens polite way to say no.

It would have been nice to have him back in Ishgard. With Lucia in charge of the camp broken glass he felt perhaps the tiniest bit lonely. If it hadn’t been for his old burly cat and the steward, he would actually be lonely.

And with that his thoughts drifted back to her.It had been a while since they had talked to each other. Having her support in that last crisis had been a blessing. Her presence was always all too welcome. And before that..? When had she last visited… The construction of Empyreon perhaps. Oh… if he only could have watched her. From what he had heard, she had been working through even the most daunting of tasks with perseverance and a smile on her lips.

Her smile.

The simple thought of it brought one to his exhausted features, too. When she returned, he would need to ask her about her latest travels. But mostly about her journey to the stars and far beyond.

But for this moment it was high time he chose a few lucky souls to serve the people of Ishgard. The candle closest to him light the paper. The letters though were almost unrecognizable. Had the other documents been written with the lines so close to one another?

His feather dropped to the ground the moment he let go of the paper. And everything went black.

A pair of cold hands on his face. Dampened voices, as if someone was talking into a pillow. Another pair of hands.

And darkness again.

When Aymeric opened his eyes, he no longer sat at his desk. Someone had gotten him upstairs and partially undressed. Some embers still light the otherwise dark room. It took him a moment to realise he was in his bed.

He groaned and tried to shift to his side, but couldn’t. There was someone else. A rather warm someone. A someone with those hands-

“Go back to sleep,” her voice was nothing but a whisper, “it’s not morning yet.”

“You are back … since when-“

“Only a few hours ago. I found you sleeping at your desk again.”

“Right…” he rolled onto his back. There was still work to be done. He could sleep some more but if he were to wake up in a couple hours, he could finish everything and still be in time for the session.

The last thought sent a throbbing pain through the back of his head.

“Stay.” She was calm, but firm. “You have a slight fever and I already had your steward sent word to the house that you will not be available for a few days.” The woman playing his conscience rolled over to hug him around the waist.

“And if not for yourself, please stay here for me, yes? We could sleep some more and then catch up at breakfast.” She gently kissed his chin. “There are so many things I would tell you.”

The battle was over before Aymeric knew it. He had her wrapped in his arms only a second later to bestow a kiss of his own onto her hair.

“Thank you, love.”

“Always.”

Divided

A step by step process of this will be available at my Patreon on september 1st 😊

Persimmon trees in winter snow, an imagery of the 17th twenty-four solar term 霜降shuangjiang/frost fall.