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Of all the favors that Stephanivien had asked of him, he certainly did not expect this.
Maybe it was his knightly obligation to the nobility that ranked above him- maybe it was his way of seeking penance for how much he'd put the poor sod through- but Tedalgrinche had somehow found himself wanting to make himself useful to Stephanivien.
The machinist, for better or for worse, had wormed its way into the mealy apple that was Tedalgrinche's cold heart.
He had summoned Tedalgrinche to the Manufactory the day after he was supposed to have met with the Lord Commander for some project of utmost importance, not saying anything about what had occurred then, or what he needed from him, apart from "a little of help".
The "little of help" was nothing more than a limp looking plant in a celadon glazed pot, kept on the windowsill of his office in the manufactory where he took clients and visitors.
"Is this it?"
"Oh, don't say it like that…." Stephanivien trails off, a sheepish smile creeping up his lips. "I don't know anyone else quite as diligent as you, nor with so much spare time on their hands."
"Spare- I do not have as much spare time as you might think!"
"You certainly have time to make me come and listen to your newest orchestrion roll acquired from the Count Fortemps," Stephanivien remarks, "and then down a whole bottle of wine afterwards."
"That was-" Tedalgrinche sputters. "That was once. I had the evening free."
"Tedalgrinche, really, it's the only thing I ask of you. The training regiments have been arranged for the duration of my absence, and Aurvael and Joye have agreed to look after the manufactory while I'm gone. All I ask is that you water it once a day." Stephanivien's eyes are disarmingly big and blue as he gazes at Tedalgrinche's sour face.
"Ted."
"Do not- call me that." Tedalgrinche pinches the bridge of his nose, before letting out an overly long, dramatic sigh. "Very well. I'll look after your houseplant while you're gone. Where will you be going, anyways?"
Stephanivien's soft, puppy-eyed look quickly goes somewhere that makes Tedalgrinche feel the tiniest amount of concern for the man. There's a little spark of uncertainty there, the flash of a frown that quickly passes over his lips.
"That- I'm not supposed to say." Stephanivien licks his lips nervously. "But… as much as I hate to say it, you deserve to know. You'll probably be finding out soon enough."
"Hm?" Tedalgrinche crosses his arms. For Aymeric to have a plan, involving Stephanivien and a small unit of Temple Knights and machinists, as well as a sizeable amount of conscripts from the high Houses…. he would find out sooner or later, but knowledge was power, and he'd like to have the upper hand in whatever was going to take place.
"We're going to Ilsabard. To Garlemald. The news has not made it to Ishgard yet, but… the Empire has fallen into chaos, and the Grand Companies of Eorzea wish to provide aid. Ishgard was contacted for our machinists, since we have experience working with reclaimed Garlean magitek." Stephanivien twiddles his thumbs. The soft blonde hair that frames his face hide one of his eyes as he bows his head. "The situation has only gone from bad to worse. They need me to ensure that my people can rebuild as much of the infrastructure in the less affected areas. I told Lord Aymeric that I would lead my crew."
"You chose to go."
"If you want a job done right, do it yourself, eh?" Stephanivien laughs nervously. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. Gods, after all they told us… but I have faith."
"Ishgardians always have plenty of it." Tedalgrinche feels an odd turning in his stomach. Stephanivien in Garlemald? How odd to think of it.
"Aye."
He's heard and read about the Imperial capital, the black paved streets and the machines of metal that bolt down them, the tall buildings that the Castrums took their architectural inspiration from. It's similar to Ishgard after the Calamity had struck and frozen it over, except the Garleans had been living like that for generations.
Everything about Garlemald seemed to move as one huge, hungry beast, consuming all in its path, and once you were in its belly, there was no escape. All the citizens bowed to the Emperor, and all its conscripts had no choice but to bow, lest they be killed or imprisoned. A machine made just for war, with little consideration for much more than total domination.
For a moment, Tedalgrinche is angry. How could Stephanivien go and help them? The same people that Ishgard had so precariously bartered peace with, at the expense of their goodwill with the rest of Eorzea? And now-
He must go for a good reason. A small voice from the back of Tedalgrinche's mind rings. And that was right- Stephanivien always seemed to be able to scrutinize the details for the truths they held. It was what made him such an excellent machinist, after all. If he was going, the situation must truly be more than what the Lord Commander had made it out to be.
Tedalgrinche doesn't find himself wanting to know more, surprisingly. There's an unspoken dread that hangs in the air, the faintest whisp of the fog of war that they both know is further clouding the truth.
"I'll tend to your plant then. How- how long did they say you will be in Garlemald?"
"I… no more than a few moons, is the optimistic answer. Perhaps longer. There's been a total breakdown of society, from what it seems. The capital is all but destroyed. Worse than anything Ishgard has ever seen at its most dire." Stephanivien sounds unsure.
"Then they'll make good use of your work ethic. All I ask is that you remember to eat and sleep from time to time." Tedalgrinche tries to make his tone playful, but Stephanivien simply nods meekly.
"Thank you, Tedalgrinche. It must seem silly of me." Stephanivien rubs the back of his neck. "But I do appreciate your help."
Tedalgrinche waves his hand nonchalantly. "You'll have plenty of time to sing my praises upon your return. Just make sure that you're in one piece."
It's a week before Tedalgrinche realizes that the plant that Stephanivien has charged him with has begun to look even more wilted than usual, and alarm bells go off in his head.
The already limp fronds of the plant were now a soft, almost waterlogged dark green, and Tedalgrinche barely had to pinch one of its leaves between his fingers before it would simply pop off at the stem.
Of course- he panicked.
"Francel," Tedalgrinche says, short of breath, with the potted plant tucked under his arm. He has it wrapped in a burlap sack to ensure that the cold breeze didn't give it frostnip in the brisk walk from the Manufactory to the Firmament.
"Ser Tedalgrinche," Francel regards him with a cool gaze. "I thought you found the Firmament to be… most unpleasant to find yourself in, if I remember correctly."
"I'm not here for pleasure. I'm here to ask you a favor."
He places the potted plant on the counter before him, and unveils it from the sack draped atop it.
Francel raises an eyebrow.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Your lord brother's houseplant. He has tasked me to water it while he was away. It's looking uncharacteristically limp, and he has spoken highly of your affinity with gardening."
"It is simply a hobby of mine." Francel reaches out. "May I?"
Tedalgrinche nods.
Francel goes about evaluating the plant- from the soil as he digs in it with his ungloved hands, to examining the stems and leaves with a keen eye.
"Hmm, 'tis as I thought. You said he was keeping it in his office?"
"Yes, upon his windowsill."
"Ah, my fool brother… I hold him in high regards, but he has a black thumb when it comes to the keeping of plants. This pot is too small for it to spread its roots, and so the water has accumulated in the frigid temperatures at the bottom. It's drunk itself overly full, and now the leaves have begun to rot off of their stems. It's a gaelicatnip- I am quite sure that Laniaiette sent it along for his nameday." Francel sighs and shakes his head. "Really, for my brother to kill a gaelicatnip of all things-"
"Well, how do I revive it?" The rush of guilt that hits Tedalgrinche is most certainly unexpected- not only was the plant dying, but it was a gift from his sister-
"It still has a fighting chance. One moment while I fetch a larger pot, and some soil for repotting."
"Ah, you'd do that for me?"
Francel's gaze suddenly goes from concern at the plant's condition, to cold upon looking at Tedalgrinche.
"Who said I would do anything?"
Rolling his sleeves up in the middle of the Firmament to repot a plant in a generous mix of soil and fertilizer as Francel de Haillenarte watched was not on the list of things Tedalgrinche expected to do, but he was doing it nonetheless.
By the end of it, the gaelicatnip seemed to be fair drowning in the huge pot that Francel had brought for him to place it in, but it was necessary for its roots to have room to breathe.
The pot was complimentary, along with a little bag of plant food, a watering can, and the strict instruction to "for the love of the Fury, please don't stick it back in that wretched office."
Which left Tedalgrinche with little choice, but to bring it back to his own home in the Pillars.
The Manufactory's only source of heating was the furnace during the day, which was turned off at night, and the change in temperature made the plant only shrivel further, Francel explained. In an environment with a more controlled and even climate, it should flourish and become just as hardy as the rest of the gaelicatnip that grew in the Sea of Clouds.
Tedalgrinche manages to round up a couple of maids to bring it up to his parlor, where he places it upon the table next to the window. Surely that would allow it adequate sunlight, and it's warm enough in his wing of the house all round the day that it wouldn't experience the sudden shock of a furnace going cold for hours on end.
And… perhaps it might even look nice, once its leaves grow back and it regains a healther, light green color, like the example Francel had provided in his botany book.
Tedalgrinche wonders if he can just not give it back to Stephanivien, but if that would count as theft. Maybe he can let him see it sometimes-
Oh gods, it's like discussing the visitation rights of a child.
Tedalgrinche shakes his head. He picks up a pencil and a piece of parchment from his neat desk (a far cry from Stephanivien's) to chart out a watering and feeding schedule. Every day, in the morning, after checking how damp the soil is from the day before… a sprinkle of the plant food every two weeks.
And repeat the process until… Stephanivien comes back.
Tedalgrinche taps the pencil against his desk as he ponders Stephanivien's return.
A few moons. In a place like Garlemald, after the chaos that erupted….
Stephanivien was no hothouse flower, but he'd never been exposed to the true extent of war and its aftermath. He had only seen Chlodebaimt's casket. He had sat in vigils for the fallen knights of Ishgard as everyone did, at the turn of each winter.
Blood, certainly, but the charred, twisted corpses, the burnt out ruins of houses that once held lives in them, gore spattered across the street and strewn on each wall…
Tedalgrinche finds himself furrowing his brow.
He almost wishes he were there, to shield Stephanivien's bright eyes from such darkness.
He goes willingly. He knows what comes in such a place.
That doesn't stop Tedalgrinche from wanting to be there for him, someone to turn to when the reality becomes unbearable.
Tedalgrinche lets out a soft breath as he thinks about Stephanivien, in his fur coat, bundled up against the Garlean spring (no better than a Garlean winter). Rosy cheeked and huffing steam, rubbing his mittens together as the caravan trundles forwards.
He shakes his head.
"What has gotten into me?"
The plant only remains silent and wilted, offering no response.
A moon passes, and the gaelicatnip is doing much better.
And a letter has arrived, from Stephanivien.
Specifically addressed to him.
Joye delivered it to him personally, on her way back from an errand. She glimpsed him just about to enter his manor, when she called out to him.
"Lord Tedalgrinche! Lord Stephanivien has sent you a letter from Ilsabard. I was going to pass it off to your retainer, but seeing as you're here," she digs about in her apron before pulling out a grease stained, marked up envelope. "There you is."
Long ago, Tedalgrinche might have squawked at the insult of receiving mail in such an informal matter, but being around Stephanivien and the denizens of the Manufactory has softened the blow of such uncouth behavior.
Instead, he takes it from her gingerly, and tucks it into his breast pocket.
"Appreciated. Has he written to you?"
"Oh, of course he has. Milord is a good man, he's written letters to just about everyone," Joye says, with a sunny smile.
Everyone? So Tedalgrinche must not be particularly special.
Wait- where did that thought come from?
"I see."
"Well, I must be on my way. Be seeing you at the next practice session!"
Joye scurries off down the street, and Tedalgrinche is left with his hand over his pocket where the envelope burns a hole in his coat, demanding his attention.
He too, scurries into his house, to the solace of his parlor, where the gaelicatnip has unfurled new leaves in a soft green, different from the state it was in when it first took up residence in his home.
"Hmph, wrote to everyone. Let's see what he has to say to me."
Sliding his letter opener along the top, the parchment gives easy, and unfolds the letter within.
It is written in Stephanivien's precise print, neat and evenly spaced, despite the smudges of pencil and oil from the machinery he must be working on in Garlemald. It seems as though it's written on a sheet of the paper from Garlemald's mills- much thinner than the parchment produced by hand in Ishgard and Eorzea as a whole, evenly tinted a light cream color throughout.
Dear Tedalgrinche,
I hope that this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I apologize for not writing sooner, but the amount of work that is required to keep our camp running is much more than I had initially expected. I almost wonder if the rumors about Garleans being able to clone a person is true, and if they could clone a platoon of myself to keep things in order.
That alone sends a shiver down Tedalgrinche's spine. A platoon of Stephaniviens… his worst nightmare. He continues reading.
It hasn't been all too bad. Thankfully, the Grand Companies and warriors from the Steppe have been able to retrieve materials from the city's ruins to enable to reconstruction of heaters and filtration units for water, and cereleum can be siphoned from warmachina if you have the gumption for it. Thankfully, we had the foresight to bring pumps instead of having to use our mouths!
Use their… what? Tedalgrinche is glad that he has no idea how that would even work. He shakes his head. Stephanivien goes on for a bit longer about the camp, the food, the talk, the people. Garlean refugees in need of more care than just simple triage and their families who have accompanied them, before they were moved to the secondary camp at Tertium. Living underground… Tedalgrinche doesn't like the sound of that, but considering that the city was reduced to little more than cinders, and Camp Broken Glass only had so much room, the options were understandably limited.
I did want to know how you were doing, which is why I wrote to you in hopes of a response. It would be amiss of me to say that I do not miss your presence. It is an odd feeling, having everyone aquiesce to your whims because of your authority. I enjoy having someone to butt heads with, even if you often leave me feeling as though we argued in circles for ages. You'd like it here- Garleans are fond of rhetoric and debate.
Also, how is Tinker? Last I remember, they were missing a few leaves. I trust that they are in your capable hands.
Yours,
Stephanivien.
He had named the damned plant, because of course he had.
Tedalgrinche gets out his inkwell to begin drafting a response. He looks up at the newly christened plant.
Tinker's stems are lush with scalloped, spear shaped leaves, and the tiniest little green bulbs have begun to form here and there. Tedalgrinche hopes that they're not some kind of disease- but apart from the odd wilted leaf, there's been no sign of anything amiss.
As he puts pen to paper, the absurdity of it all strikes.
Stephanivien is in Garlemald, and he's writing to Tedalgrinche to ask about the state of his potted plant, which he has named as one would a wolf pup or a couerl kitten.
Perhaps, Tedalgrinche reasons with himself, in such times, levity was needed, even if the levity bordered on the absurd.
Stephanivien was right- it would be a few moons before his return.
The time seemed to pass by quickly after Tedalgrinche had mailed back his reply, and every week, a letter would come back in response.
They talked about anything and everything- the odd tower that Stephanivien had explored with extreme caution- the drive for blankets to be sent to Garlemald, courtesy of Francel and the Firmament's crafters. The Lord Commander and Count Fortemps establishing martial law because of the rumors of a dragon within the city's walls, which had all of Ishgard in a tizzy. Some speculated that the dragon was actually some sort of beast having escaped the dungeons beneath the Vault- others claimed that a deacon had gone mad and drank of the blood in the middle of the Pillars.
And then, for two weeks- there was no letter.
Tedalgrinche paced back and forth, worried, for all those days. Normally he would not be so concerned- he knew that Stephanivien was a capable man. Perhaps not a survivalist, but in numbers like he had spoken of-
And an unsettling thought had begun to take root there, too. Behind the worry… why was he so fixated on Stephanivien? Gossiping back and forth with him like old maids, confiding in him his every day routines. Talking about the growth of the plant he was tending to for him, and how he wants him to come and see how it had flourished under his care.
It felt… strange. Odd. A juvenile affection in notes passed between each other during class. Tedalgrinche had looked so forwards to each letter, had come to expect them, that in the two weeks that he had not received one, he had wilted just as Tinker had when he had first received them.
That was, 'til a knock on the door had come as a surprise.
"A visitor for you, Lord Tedalgrinche."
He'd recognize that voice anywhere.
Wordlessly, Tedalgrinche springs to his feet from the armchair he had sunken himself into.
The door swings open, and Stephanivien stands before him, freshly washed and dressed in a comfortable looking ensemble of a simple coat and shirt beneath a wool vest, his boots buttoned up neatly over his knees, and his hair worn loose around his shoulders. His face is just as he remembers it- and the customary green smudge of makeup around his eyes (he had complained about not being able to source it, and Tedalgrinche had sent it along in a parcel for him) makes his heart flutter with joy.
Gods, Tedalgrinche was-
"Ted."
-he was going to-
Before he knows what he's doing, he has pulled Stephanivien into the most bonebreaking hug he has ever bestowed upon another living being.
"Tedalgrinche!"
Tedalgrinche is silent as he hugs him, shaking his head against his chest. He feels nice and solid and well fed, contrary to what he believed would be an emaciated Stephanivien returning from the wastelands of Ilsabard. Instead, Stephanivien is just as warm and full as ever, and Tedalgrinche shivers against him as the start of a pathetic, hiccuping cry begins in his throat.
He manages to quash it down and attempts to replace it with venom.
"You lout, you had me worried. No letters for two weeks, for all I knew you got blasted to bits in a ceruleum accident-"
"I hadn't the chance to send a letter- I apologize. They moved us along quickly once they announced the plans for who was to stay and who was to leave." Stephanivien pets Tedalgrinche's back gently. "If I knew you were so upset-"
"I am not upset!" Tedalgrinche peels himself away from Stephanivien's chest. "I am simply- annoyed. That they would not mention that you were returning."
"Things were up in the air, messages were misplaced." Stephanivien smiles down at Tedalgrinche, whose ice blue eyes glare up at him, slightly reddened with the start of tears. "But I'm back, and you won't have me out of your hair so easily this time."
"Good. I missed my sparring partner."
"Letters were not enough to keep your tongue and your mind sharp?"
"I do better when you're here." Tedalgrinche feels his cheeks turning pink by the second. "And- I'll have you know, that your company has been missed, apart from that."
"You need someone to listen to your backlog of orchestrions with, don't you?"
Tedalgrinche worries at his lip with his teeth.
"That, and you need to regain custody of your plant."
"Tinker?" Stephanivien grins. "How is the little bugger, anyways?"
Tedalgrinche manages to tamp down the odd queasiness that has settled into his stomach since Stephanivien had stepped through his parlor door.
"Take a look for yourself."
Tedalgrinche gestures to the windowsill, and Stephanivien lets out a delighted gasp.
"Ted!"
Tedalgrinche feels his chest puff up with pride.
Tinker has filled out into a huge shrub of gaelicatnip, tiny purple blossoms pushing up here and there, craning towards the window for more sunlight. Spring seemed to have been ingrained into the memory of the seed it had been planted from- it recognized that despite the chilliness, now was the time to bloom, and sure enough, it had produced a mess of flowers to present the world with.
The world, and Stephanivien.
"Gods, you're a miracle worker. I don't think I've ever seen them so happy!" Stephanivien's voice makes Tedalgrinche only smile wide, crossing his arms proudly.
"Courtesy of yours truly," Tedalgrinche says, smugly leaving out Francel's assistance. He did most of the work, anyhow.
As Stephanivien oohs and aahs over the lush greenery that makes up the corner of paradise under Tedalgrinche's window, he can't contain himself.
"Stephanivien."
"Ted?"
"I… there's something I have to tell you."
"Oh?"
Tedalgrinche steps forwards until he's standing just next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He looks up into his eyes, and briefly, they flicker down to his lips.
"When you were away… I found myself thinking of you. Of all the time we've spent since… well, I don't have to say it. I found myself wanting to be closer, and as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder." Tedalgrinche can't stop the words as they come out of his mouth, even as Stephanivien knits his brow together in confusion. "That is to say- Stephanivien, I enjoy your presence, no matter how irritable you may be, and I…."
"You don't have to say it." Stephanivien smiles. "Ted, I think of all the damned things I missed about this city- I missed you most of all."
Tedalgrinche blinks.
"May I?"
Tedalgrinche barely is able to nod his approval, and Stephanivien leans down.
The brush of his lips against his own is soft and chaste. His lips are gentle, as if unsure of how much pressure to put behind the kiss, but it makes Tedalgrinche's heart burst with joy.
Before either knows it, their arms entangle around the other, and Tedalgrinche laughs with delight as Stephanivien's hug picks him up off the floor ever so slightly.
Beneath the windowsill, the gaelicatnip blooms, and so does the bud of their future.