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“They’re thinking of leaving, you know.”
Artoirel‘s head whipped up, eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “What do you mean ‘leaving’?” he said slowly. The papers Father had given him in preparation of his approaching promotion lay forgotten.
“What do you think it means? The Scions are readying themselves to depart for further lands.” Emmanellain examined his nails with feigned interest. “I thought it might benefit your curiosity, should you desire to know.”
“Cease your prattle,” Artoirel said irritably. His heart seemed to be attempting to squeeze itself down to the smallest it could be. Leaving? Now? He stood, flinging his quill into an inkwell with abandon. He had known the strange Hyuran man and Mi’qote woman would take House Fortemps’ wards when they left, but it was too soon. “I was not notified of their departure.”
“You are not count yet, brother,” Emmanellain replied saucily. Artoirel scowled at his younger brother and strode through the halls. He gave instructions to Firmian on the way, Emmanellain at his heels. The steward’s professional mask cracked for a brief second, his surprise showing briefly before he nodded. “Very well, my lord.”
Trying to crush the panic rising in him, Artoirel had to keep himself from running the last few yalms to the entry hall. Pushing the doors open, he was greeted with the sight of two familiar white-haired heads and one brown.
“Ah, good!” Relief rushed through him as he strode into the hall. His gaze immediately sought out Harmonea, still in her House Fortemps hauberk. “We were afraid you might have left.”
He paused at their odd expressions, then mentally rewound his conversation with his brother earlier. The Scions, Emmanellain had said. Not which ones. “...Ah, pray forgive me. I had thought you intended to leave with your other companions. It seems I was misinformed.” Feeling mortified at his transparency, he studiously ignored Emmanellain’s snort behind him, though he made a mental note to pay back his brother back for the unneeded alarm and for using such bait to tease him. “But I am glad to have caught you for one last thing in any case.”
He caught Firmian’s eye and briefly inclined his head. The steward would have gathered everything according to his instructions. Firmian returned to his side, bearing that precious token in arm.
“A shield, my lord?” Alphinaud blurted in surprise. Indeed, it was one bearing House Fortemps’ coat of arms, the alicorn head sharply embossed and lacquered in a bold red. Artoirel inclined his head.
“Aye. Fit for a true knight. An expression of gratitude to you and yours, long overdue.” Harmonea tore her gaze from the shield to stare at him, a slightly lost look on her face. Artoirel could practically read her thoughts, the memory his words evoked. And he wished could take them back.
But she nodded silently, jaw clenched. She had faced down dragons, had fought with entities far beyond what even he could envision. No elezen before or after her could have undertaken the trials she had.
With a deep breath, she faced Firmian once more as the shield was extended to her. Taking it with a careful reverence that was not lost on Artoirel, her fingers clenched bloodlessly around its edges. She remained motionless, silent, staring down at it with that same lost expression. He wished he could have given it to her under better circumstances.
“But there is something else I would discuss ere we part. Something which cannot leave this room.” He sucked in a breath through his nose, trying to calm the small panicking part of his mind. This was all too soon, all too real. “My father will soon step down as head of our house.”
The Scion’s reactions were instantaneous. Tataru clutched at Alphinaud’s arm while Harmonea’s eyes finally snapped up from the shield.
He continued, bitterly. “Ser Aymeric was not the only one to fall under suspicion following the death of the archbishop. There are some who believe my father complicit in a coup d’etat. Thus, he intends to renounce his title to absolve our house of suspicion and secure the support of our peers.”
Alphinaud unfroze a little at this, eyes wide. He’d ever been the peacemaker, Artoirel thought with a pang. “Surely there must be another way to convince Houses Durendaire and Dzemael?”
“So I said to him. Alas he will not budge.”
Artoirel averted his gaze, unsure how much of his heart he was willing to share with these people he had shared a roof with for two years and had begun to view as family. How much he dared share with Harmonea.
“Ever since I was a child,” he said softly, “I knew I would one day succeed my father, and the thought of it filled me with pride. Yet once I learned the day was at hand, my heart was filled with naught but dread.” He drew in a deep breath. He was weak, he knew. Artoirel Ironbone was merely a name and a title from those who had only ever seen him on the battlefield. All his brothers shared that same dangerous softness. Where would it end?
He rubbed his forehead. “Our legacy is built on the lies of our forefathers. In accepting this title, an I not perpetuating this injustice? Why must I become the next count?”
“A knight lives to serve.”
Harmonea’s low voice softened the sting on the words, but he only felt more ashamed.
Artoirel couldn’t halt the pained, bitter smile he turned on her. “You sound just like him. Aye, I suspect that is what Haurchefant would have said. ‘To aid those in need...’”
He drew himself up, fortifying himself with the knowledge that his brother had already tread this path for him. “When you look on that shield, I trust you will remember his words. And should I once more find my resolve wavering, I ask that you show me the way.” He sought out her gaze once more, felt himself drowning in the bittersweet warmth he found there.
He had not loved her at the first. No, the Warrior of Light had seemed naught but a pretty tale spun to give airs to a greedy mercenary. But she had proved herself again and again and again. Never accepting defeat. And he had respected that.
And if what he felt had grown into something else, well...
“You were a sister to Haurchefant. Will you be a sister to me as well?” Could I ever be what Haurchefant was to you? There was none other he trusted so well at his back, but he knew her heart had already been given to another.
Time stilled painfully and he waited on tenterhooks for something, anything.
Her eyes searched his. Artoirel didn’t know what she found there, but he felt like he’d placed his heart in her hands, unaware of the pain she might inflict on it. Only for her to gently place it back in his chest.
He could have wept when her head moved in a jerky nod. “Yes. I will.” Though her features remained unnaturally still, he could feel her pain even as he gave a smile in return.
He had waited overlong to tell her of his feelings, and after Haurchefant he had lost all chances of doing so. But even if he managed to confess to her now, whatever they might have would be tainted by his brother’s death.
The rest of the farewells were made, along with promises to return as soon as possible. Artoirel knew it would never be as simple as that. They could be gone for months, or a year.
It was cruel of him, he felt, to have invoked Haurchefant. But he had known no other way to ensure she would return. There were too many memories in Ishgard for it to ever be a truly happy place for her.
But if this is the only way to keep you at my side, so be it.
.