Chapter Text
The freezing winds of Coerthas had thoroughly burned their faces by the time Elora, Alphinaud, and Tataru reached the city proper. Ishgard was a monumentally impressive structure, but in their weary and chilled state, it was difficult to appreciate it. Elora pulled the fur collar of her borrowed cloak higher. The fatigue of their escape from Ul’dah lingered - as did the sting of betrayal.
It seemed so obvious in hindsight. She’d made a mistake to trust any of them, and now the closest thing she’d ever had to a family might very well be dead.
The difference between the upper and lower levels of Ishgard were much like Ul’dah. Starving wretches and desperate peddlers on one, impossibly wealthy nobility on the other. She all but snarled at a noble woman who walked past in the Pillars with a carefree laugh - the privileged of Ishgard knew no hardship other than petty gossip while their fellows below froze to death.
“‘Twould seem there is quite a discrepancy between the classes here,” Alphinaud commented quietly.
“To put it lightly,” Elora retorted.
The only thing that quelled her irritation was the sight of Haurchefant, walking to greet them with a spring in his step. His grin was even brighter than usual as he spread his arms wide.
“Friends! How glorious it is to see you in Ishgard. Welcome!” Gesturing at a large home, Haurchefant beamed. “Allow me to present my family home, Fortemps Manor. How I have looked forward to this day - but pray let us continue indoors.”
Indoors sounded lovely, given how the sun was setting. It would soon be even colder in the high city, though it seemed impossible.
Fortemps Manor was indeed warm and sweet smelling, but as they traversed the halls with Haurchefant in the lead, Elora wrinkled her nose. So much opulence, oozing from every little detail. Gold and silver, fine wood and stone. Alphinaud, being something of nobility himself, was unperturbed, and Tataru seemed thoroughly charmed, but Elora would have taken the simplicity of Camp Dragonhead over this excess any day.
The lord of the manor, Count Edmont, was amenable to her relief, though his appearance was curious, as were that of his two other sons. Elora had expected to meet a man with the same distinct silvery hair as Haurchefant, but these men bore few similarities to her friend. Was this not Haurchefant’s kin? Mistaken or no, she held her tongue and left the talking to Alphinaud.
“My home is your home,” Count Edmont assured. “A tour of the city may be arranged tomorrow, but for now, take your rest. You must be weary.”
Elora thought that he didn’t know the half of it.
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An opulent chamber was prepared for the three remaining Scions, with a single bed that could have fit four grown men. Count Edmont offered them each their own room, but as Elora looked to Tataru and Alphinaud, a silent understanding passed between the three of them. After what they’d suffered, they took comfort in proximity to each other, the wounds of Ilberd’s and the Crystal Brave’s deception still fresh.
The chance to have a hot bath was most welcome - so cold was Ishgard that Elora wondered if she would ever acclimate. She shoved all the perfumes and flowery toiletries aside and settled for plain soaps, scrubbing herself with a touch of anger. If only she’d figured it out. If only she hadn't let her wits become dulled and listened to her instincts, they might not be in this situation.
Clean and dressed in a luxurious woven nightgown, the three companions sat in silence. A fire crackled in the hearth as Tataru combed out Alphinaud’s damp hair, his eyes far away, too absorbed in his thoughts to protest being doted upon. As the hours wore on and sleep overtook her companions, Elora remained awake, staring at the tiled ceiling. Her mind was far too engaged to rest. Carefully so as not to rouse her bedmates, she slipped from the covers and retrieved the thick dressing gown that hung from a stand. It was long enough to nearly touch the floor when she walked, clearly made for an elezen, but not enough to trip on as she exited the room as quietly as she could.
The hallways of Fortemps manor were dark, save a candle here and there. Elora walked aimlessly, driven by restlessness. In a strange home, a strange city, strange country. While it was not so different from her first foray into Ul’dah those many moons ago, there was a weight on her heart she’d never felt before now.
“‘Tis quite late, milady.”
Turning, Elora expected to see the family steward or perhaps the manservant, but it was Haurchefant at the other end of the hall that walked towards her, his wide smile visible even in the dim light. She blinked as he approached; it was so strange to see him without his chainmail armor, dressed instead in a fine embroidered jacket with his family’s unicorn crest.
“Would you care for some companionship, friend?”
She frowned and clutched at the lapels of her dressing gown. Would she? It would be a slight better than wandering a rich man’s home alone at night, and as odd as Haurchefant sometimes was, he made for pleasant company. His sincerity amidst the chaos was soothing.
“Yes,” Elora said softly. “I would.”
With a hand at her back, Haurchefant led Elora to a parlor, directing her to a plush couch as he lit a candle.
“May I offer you a refreshment? Tea, cocoa?”
Elora sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything stronger.”
His eyebrows went up into his hair briefly, then Haurchefant smiled and went to a nearby cabinet. Soon a carafe of liqueur was revealed as he poured two glasses, handing one to Elora before taking a seat at her side. She stared at her cup, tense, unwilling to drink until she saw him take a sip from his own. Silence reigned for several minutes.
“You are troubled, ‘tis plain to see. You have said precious little of what transpired in Ul’dah,” Haurchefant said softly. “Only that the Sultana is now dead, and certain parties seek to blame the Scions for her demise.”
Elora took a swig of her drink that was a little more than she’d meant, grimacing. “That’s all there is to it. Nanamo Ul Namo was assassinated, I was implicated in her death, and my fellow Scions stayed behind so that I could escape. It was a carefully constructed plot from beginning to end.” She rubbed at her eyes. “The Sultana… she was barely past twenty. Just a girl. And her last moments were filled with agony and fear, choking on poison. I’ll never forget it.”
Haurchefant leaned towards her. “What a terrible thing you were made to witness.”
She leaned back against him and sighed. The weight of it all was finally beginning to settle, the bleak reality of her situation. “What am I to do?” Elora whispered.
The man at her side shifted, then one arm draped over her shoulder. “I don’t know, my friend. But I have faith in you, and will stand by your side to see it through. Of that you have my word.”
It was hard not to believe him. Elora swallowed the remainder of her drink, set the glass on the table, and curled into his side, Haurchefant’s long arms wrapping around her as he bent to kiss her forehead.