mare lamentorum

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv #prompt #endwalker #stelmaria #venat #fluff

warnings: death (a lot) ; illness ; grief

general: i hurt myself in my confusion

noun

• a means of solving a problem or dealing with a difficult situation
• a liquid mixture in which the minor component (the solute) is uniformly distributed within the major component (the solvent)

On the day she was born, Hydaelyn wept.

From her solitude deep within the aetherial sea she watched. Looked upon the squalling kit encircled by the mother's ghost-pale arms, her little red face squinched against the indignity of the world outside. Heard the father's earnest prayer of thanks to Menphina, coupled with a dedication that all three shall devote themselves to love in Her shining name.

In that moment Hydaelyn bequeathed the traveler's charm to this newest shard of Azem. A gift she knew the child would one day need.

One day was not now, however, and in watching the doting parents cuddle and kiss the tiny kit she was overcome by joy and hope. A sorrow most bittersweet, a sugar confection laced with wormwood. Hydaelyn sobbed at the scene and the Mothercrystal wept along with her.

This most precious daughter grew under the care and love of her blood parents. They named her Stelmaria, after the sea of stars through which Menphina sails upon her silvered boat each night. Like her mother, she was blessed with a sweet manner, alabaster skin, and delicate features, but the child's shining amaranthine locks, formidable will, and clever subtlety were her father's.

They were happy. Until the sickness came with fevers high enough to cause one endless hallucinations, headaches, vomiting, a crimson rash that grew to blisters—even inside the mouth—and finally death.

Mother died first. At her loss Father became unwell in mind and body. Then he too, flew to the aetherial sea.

The child was alone.

Hydaelyn could only watch her struggle to comprehend what happened. The confusion, the fear, the loneliness, the grief; she felt it all, as though she experienced it through the child's eyes.

Stelmaria hadn't eaten in two days. Her cheeks were flushed. She seemed tired. She lay down beside her father and grew still.

Bells passed.

A woman arrived and bore her away to safety. Hydaelyn wept again, this time from relief.

The woman, whose name was Kona, and her mate, Rhaya, nursed the child through the sickness, fed and clothed her, and raised and loved her as one of their own.

She learned to hunt by moonlight, to climb trees, swim, and fish. Kona taught her letters, numbers, and to fight with sword and dagger. Rhaya imparted cooking, sewing, and gardening. She made medicines and tanned leather and grew close with her sister Miah.

Both girls fell in love and found mates.

Stelmaria's mate disappeared without a trace.

Then Dalamud fell.

She became trapped in visions of Amaurot as the Shroud burned. The soul within her fully awakening but rendering her unable to help anyone, including herself.

Miah died alongside her mate and her unborn kit.

Hydaelyn wished with all her heart it wasn't so—but it was. Indeed it must be so in order for the woman she met in Elpis all those millenia ago to deliver Etheirys through Meteion's infinite lament.

More years passed.

Stelmaria joined the Gridanian archer's guild and started her life over again. The third time in the two decades.

She worked hard, she made friends, and she healed. She learned to mix potions and distill herbal remedies from recipes developed by Miah, the better to keep her sister's memory alive.

Yet more time passed.

The Scions take notice and her true test begins. No god or mortal could stand against her, but the pain... the rage she kept inside.

Many of Stelmaria's days were given over to grief and despair. What little comfort she managed to grasp was soon lost, whether by death, stubborn misunderstanding, or betrayal. Years upon years unceasing, both the warrior and Hydaelyn shedding tears over the deep wounds a withdrawal of love can leave behind.

Still she fought without ceasing, the hope that better days would come burning fierce and bright inside her small, delicate frame.

Finally they meet again. Here at the heart of the world. At the end of her long, long life.

Hydaelyn couldn't be more proud of her chosen successor. Forging each hurt into scales for her armor. Pushing past tears and sorrow, to bear a torch through the cthonic silence of darkness and death so others may follow. Diminished in body but never in spirit, that was the true essence of Azem.

The essence of Persephone as well, her devoted friend and student.

And of Stelmaria, the brave spark that guttered and struggled, but never died out.

“Tell me, my love, has your journey been good? Has it been worthwhile?” asks Hydaelyn.

“Yes Mother Venat, it has. I thank you. For everything,” answers the warrior, her shining star, standing on tiptoe to brush a kiss across the goddess' fading cheek.

Diamond tears fall like rain, but in this moment, just this once, Venat does not weep alone.