Today we have a story of love. Of tragedy. Of beauty, and what happens when it encounters the beast. Today I give you the story of.. Lalaroon and Breanna.
“Lalaroon?” you might say. “Isn’t that a.. Qiqirn name?” And you’d be right. Lalaroon was a humble Qiqirn merchant, who came into Limsa twice weekly to sell his wares. Every week he set up his stand in Hawker’s Alley, selling fishing supplies and baits. And every weekend, he stayed until far past closing time, waiting.
Waiting for Breanna. Never in his time in his tribe had he ever encountered anyone who captured his attention so thoroughly. Breanna of the flaxen hair, blue eyes, and lips so full it looked like she had always just broken off a kiss. Breanna with the apples in her cheeks, with hips that made him never want to leave the city. Breanna… his love.
Each night, Lalaroon stood at his stand, waiting. And each night like clockwork, she appeared. Sauntered over to his stand, with a smile for him like no woman had ever passed his way before. “Hello, you,” she said, bending to kiss the top of his hood. The kiss had become a regular occurrence after the second or third visit. She sat with him, till there was no difference in their heights, and they laughed. And somehow, they found enough in common to talk for hours.
Breanna was always ready with a smile for Lalaroon, and a clinging hug goodbye that left him with her scent and her warmth to think about for the journey home.
And Breanna, for her part, usually went and found an alley to empty her dinner into, before wandering home and falling asleep, sometimes even making it to bed. For Breanna was a drunkard.
Every night after her time working on the docks, and every night she staggered through the alley home. And some nights it took longer than others. For there was, you see, a handsome man who she liked to stop and speak with. He was a little short, of course, and she wasn’t ever quite clear on what they talked about after she got home.. but she knew that she was left with a sense of wellbeing after their meetings.
Both of them, separately, tried to work up the courage to arrange a meeting outside of their usual times. Lalaroon with his breath held when he imagined it. Breanna with her glass empty.
Before they could sabotage their own arrangement, however, fate intervened.
It came to pass that Lalaroon came to work an extra day in the markets – the day Breanna had off from the docks. Early enough in the day for her to still be more or less sober, she decided to use the time to do her shopping. And so she walked down the familiar streets.
Lalaroon bolted upward when he saw her – never had he seen Breanna before dusk. In the sun, her hair shone like freshly spun silk thread. Her skin was dewy with health.
“Breanna,” he found himself calling out, and waving to her. She turned, wrinkled her nose at him, and then turned away.
He shook his head – perhaps she hadn’t properly heard him. “Breanna! It’s me! Lalaroon!” He waved harder at her, then hung a sign on his stall and went to her. She looked down. “Do I know you?” she asked, her tone worse than mean – disinterested. She might as well have put a knife through his heart.
“But-but-we-I-” Lalaroon found himself falling back into an old stammer as he encountered the wall in Breanna’s mind between them. “Never-ever-never-never-mind,” he murmured, and went back to his stand. “Strange little thing,” muttered Breanna, before continuing her shopping.
Lalaroon felt his tiny heart breaking as he watched her walk away, as sure as if she’d crushed it in the palm of her delicate hand with those fingers – even her fingers were perfect.
So imagine the sensations when that night, six bells later, when he was dejectedly packing up to leave, she walked over as though nothing had happened. He tried to bring it up with her, but she laughed it off. “What do you mean?” she said, as jolly as usual. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, love. I didn’t see you today.”
When they parted ways that night and she kissed the top of his head, Lalaroon knew there was only one possibility.
Cursed. Breanna had to be cursed.
What else could explain it? How else could she treat him like a stranger, and then less than a day later, act like nothing had happened? Surely this was the work of some dastardly thaumaturge. Perhaps even one who had his eyes on Breanna’s heart for his own! That must be it. Some selfish magician who was keeping her under his thrall.
It must be said at this point that Lalaroon had read, perhaps, too many books.
Well. At any rate, Lalaroon knew what he had to do. That night, he returned to his residence, and spoke with the village elders about the situation. With his blessing, he set out on his path. Winding through Eorzea, his path took him across many lands. But he finally found himself in the place he’d read stories of – the place that his kin spoke of.
The Dravanian Hinterlands.
His kin spoke of a powerful witch who made her residence in a cave there. A witch who could overcome any spell. No matter what was wrong with his love. The witch could help.
Ever south he went, till he found a cave, the walls glistening with the light of mushrooms. And there he found her: Matoya. At first, she nearly chased him away screeching with a broom. But he managed to sputter the basics of the reason for his trip there, and she sat and listened.
Matoya, as you probably know, is rather more worldly than poor Lalaroon, and she guessed the truth of the situation. To her credit, she managed to listen to his entire story without laughing.
At the end, he pleaded for her help. He promised her all the gil he’d made from his endeavors. He promised her anything in the world she could want. He promised to be her faithful servant. He promised, to be honest, a great number of things he shouldn’t have promised a witch. But Matoya took pity on him. She put a finger to her lips, and went to the back of the cave. The sound of bottles opened and poured, a cauldron bubbling.
After a little while, Matoya brought him back a small vial of potion. She handed it to him and placed her hand over his tiny paw. “The next time this woman sees you and knows you,” she says to him gravely, “you must give her this potion. Make sure she drinks all of it. And then the truth of the situation will come to light. And little one…” Matoya let go of the potion and rested her hand on his head briefly. “Remember that sometimes the truth isn’t what we expect…But it’s almost always for the best.”
Lalaroon, his eyes welling up, thanked Matoya profusely for her generosity. He packed his things, and away he went, back over the winding roads to his village. When he got there, he was so excited he nearly went to open his shop the same day, but he fell into bed fast asleep before he could. And so it was a day later that he set out for Limsa Lominsa. He set up shop, as usual, the small vial nestled in his pocket.
That night, as though by clockwork, Breanna came to the stall. “Love, it’s been so long,” she said, and even after his time away, her voice was like a balm to his pointed ears.
She sat with him, and they talked for a little, Lalaroon with one hand in the pocket of his robe, fidgeting nervously. Even though Breanna was so drunk she couldn’t keep from crossing her eyes slightly, she picked up on it. “Oy, love, what’s the matter, then?” she cooed.
“I-I-I-can-you-please-drink-this?” Lalaroon stuttered, shoving the potion into her hand unceremoniously. “I-i-it’s important.”
Breanna wasn’t sure what was going on, but she /did/ know that someone had handed her a bottle. And we all know what Breanna did with bottles.
Down the hatch went the potion. The effects were instantaneous. Matoya had been around long enough to know a thing or two about how to handle a drunkard who was ruining the lives of others. Including how to make one sober up. Very. Quickly. Indeed.
The sobering potion took hold on Breanna quickly. She looked at the Qiqirn in front of her, and her face twisted with pain from the impending headache, and disgust at being so close to him. “Oy, what’s this? You’re-you-” She shook her head and coughed, then stumbled to her feet and ran down the cobblestones.
Lalaroon watched her go. The poor little Qiqirn had so much in his heart, it nearly tore his body to pieces. Recalling Matoya’s words as the tears welled up in his eyes, he knew he’d been made a fool of. And even the old witch had known it.
Dejected, he packed up his things. Loaded them onto his cart. Took a moment to sob before he started making his way home. Back to the village he went, the sounds of the nighttime and the crunching of the wheels punctuated by his occasional sniffle.
To make matters even worse, his entire village was waiting for his return. For after he’d returned from Matoya’s cave, he’d told them all excitedly of his plan. They were waiting to see if Breanna would make the journey home with him. When they saw him alone, trudging along at a pace that even a snail could have defeated in a race, they didn’t know the whole truth, but they knew enough of it.
Lalaroon dropped the cart as he walked into town, silently making his way to his little hut, without a word to any of the waiting residents. He sat inside, looking out the window, having run out of tears long ago.
At this point, he was resigned to his fate. To be alone forever. Breanna had been his love. The universe had betrayed him. The stars were out to get him. He was a joke, the gods above laughing at him.
And then there was a knock on the door.
“Can I come in?” a small voice called out.
“I-i-i-guess-so,” said Lalaroon, still curled up against the wall. The door opened, and in came a girl who lived across the village – a shy one, who’d never spoken a word to him before. Looking at her, he managed to recall her name. “Didiroon? Do you need something? I.. I don’t think I can sell anything tonight. If you need bait.”
Didiroon shook her head, and walked over to sit with him by the wall. “No. I’ve felt how you feel, and I know I just wanted someone to come be with me when I felt this way. So I came to be with you, if that’ll help you.” She went silent as she sat next to him. Lalaroon nearly told her to leave, but something made him let her stay.
They sat together in silence for a few hours, before one of them coughed, or made an observation. Whatever way it started, by the end of the night, they were talking just as earnestly as he and Breanna ever had.
And Didiroon, it must be said, was tremendously sober.
And, as he discovered a few days later, she didn’t need to bend down if she wanted to kiss him.
And so through the help of the witch Matoya, Lalaroon found the happy ending he was looking for, even if it wasn’t the one he expected.
Breanna, for her part, by the way, was scared sober. Because if falling in love with a Qiqirn doesn’t do it, what will?