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The minion she was bequeathed held a strong resemblance to the man she’d come to know and love as her dearest friend. She’d been told it’d been made to honor his passing, as Artoirel had handed it to her. But she stared at it for the longest time, tears brimming in her eyes, before she started sobbing right then and there, heart feeling like it’d been shattered yet again into a million pieces. She still remembered when Haurchefant died, the memory fresh like it’d just happened yesterday. In reality, it’d only happened a couple months ago. Everyone in House Fortemps had taken measures not to let something like that happen again.
She could still hear Haurchefant’s last words as she held the minion close while she sobbed.
“A smile better suits a hero...”
What kind of hero was she? She couldn’t even save Haurchefant. No amount of Vercure would bring him back. Verraise couldn’t bring him back. It was useless to think of the what ifs, but she couldn’t help herself. What if he’d just shoved her out of the way instead? What if she’d died instead? She sometimes wished she had died instead. People were dying around her, people close to her and great allies that weren’t supposed to die so young. They had their whole lives ahead of them, and they were dying for her. She knew that Haurchefant wouldn’t of had it any other way, but she did wish his death had been painless.
She still remembered how many times she stabbed Ser Zephirin’s corpse even after everything was said and done, how much fury that she’d let out. The pain, the screams, even as her teammates tried to stop her. By the time they’d gotten her away, his corpse was full of rapier holes. She’d screamed how he deserved that for murdering Haurchefant, for his crimes against House Fortemps and Ser Aymeric, how she was so glad that he was dead.
It was the first time she’d ever felt happy about killing someone. And it wasn’t a nice feeling, no. She hated feeling so happy that Ser Zephirin was dead. For some time after, she’d felt like she’d become a murderer. So she’d holed herself up at the Forgotten Knight, in an inn room, waiting for the urge to kill to come. It never did, which she was grateful for. She left, only to come back to the manor and be presented with the minion.
A minion she loved. That she felt pain over.
He, the Wind-up Haurchefant, was always with her from that day forward. She kept him bundled up or in her bag, but never went near fights if he fully present on the field with her, as she feared losing him like she’d lost the real Haurchefant. The cold was nothing compared to the safety of this minion, this loyal…
“Haurchefant, aren’t you cold?”
“No, I’m rather warm.”
“It’s snowing outside, you’re on patrol and all you can say is No, I’m rather warm? Come on, inside with you!”
Her head turned as she heard that. Either in her mind or actual reality, she couldn’t help but see someone who resembled Haurchefant, save that his ears were shorter, his hair the wrong colour and skin a bit lighter than Haurchefant’s… and it hit her hard.
No matter how much she screamed, cried or swore vengeance, nothing brought back the dead. She could only see him in her dreams, even if she no longer wished to sleep. Bringing the minion to her chest, she lowered her head and let the tears fall freely.
If only I wasn’t alive, would you still be…?