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To say it has been an interesting few weeks is a massive understatement. I’m tired, which isn’t entirely a new thing, and the moment I get a chance for respite I immediately go to Camp Dragonhead. I have a great deal to think about regarding what I learned in Foundation, not to mention the other few places I have visited, and I don’t particularly want to be somewhere that I can be easily found. I’ve no doubt Alphinaud and Tataru know where I’ve escaped to, but they won’t bother me unless there’s something absolutely urgent, for which I am unendingly thankful.
I find Haurchefant behind his desk, where he usually is, and he leans back in his chair and gives me a bright smile when he sees me. “Welcome back, my friend!” he says cheerfully. “This is a welcome respite indeed. I hadn’t thought to see you for at least another month or two.”
I smile and sit in one of the chairs across from him. Surprising him had, of course, been one big motivator for returning to Camp Dragonhead to rest as opposed to staying in Fortemps Manor, but also, I wanted to see him more than most anyone- and I was glad indeed of the chance to remind him of that. Our relationship, such as it is, is almost entirely behind closed doors, which is exactly the way we both want it… but still, it’s good to have a reminder every now and then that there’s someone in the world who looks at you and sees you, not your titles or your responsibilities or what you can perhaps do for them.
“So,” he says, clasping his hands over his stomach and smiling, “how find you Ishgard thus far? As I said, it’s a punishing country, but there’s plenty of beauty to be found.”
That’s certainly true. I tell him about my journeys in the west and in the Sea of Clouds, though he’d wound up having to come help me rescue his youngest brother from danger when he’d wandered off. He laughs and shakes his head. “Think nothing of it,” he says warmly. “I’ve spent most of my life pulling Emmanellain out of one scrape or another. I’m only sorry he dragged you into it as well.”
I smile and shrug. Emmanellain is the sort of dreamer that I’d expect to get into trouble like that. I don’t know that I consider him a coward, per se, but he’s certainly no Artoriel- and most certainly no Haurchefant. It’s nice, I think, knowing his family.
Haurchefant chuckles quietly. “My brothers are very dear to me, but I admit, they sometimes test my patience- Emmanellain more than Artoriel, as I’m sure you can imagine. Artoriel has grown into a fine man and will make an excellent heir for House Fortemps… and I think, with your help, he’ll lose some of that stuffy, stuck-up attitude he’s cultivated.” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture, still clearly amused. “I imagine, the next time I see him, he’ll be full of stories of your valor.”
My expression darkens. As the eldest, Haurchefant is the one who should be the heir, but he is bastard-born- something I’d discovered while working with Artoriel and Emmanellain. I can imagine why he hadn’t told me himself, as it doesn’t seem like something one would advertise… and Ishgard seems to be a country whose inhabitants punish the children for their parents’ misdeeds, from the dragons to the citizens. That, I think, is a horrible shame, given the man I know Haurchefant to be.
“Now now, don’t make that face,” Haurchefant chides gently. “He will make a much finer count than I ever would, and my blessings upon him for all of it. I am more than happy with my place in life. My father acknowledges me as his son, and I have the same privileges I would have had he married my mother… more or less.” He shrugs and smiles. “Honestly, the only people who have any issue with my birth are the Temple Knights, and Aymeric keeps them in check.”
I raise an eyebrow. Rumor has it that Aymeric himself is bastard-born, though those rumors are whispered in dark corners and kept from the ears of those nearby. Aymeric is well-loved by his countrymen, and speaking ill of him seems like it would be a poor idea in general. Perhaps this is why he comes down harshly on those who criticize those who are illegitimate, who have no control over the circumstances of their birth and must simply find a way to work with what they have.
He nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I figured you would hear those rumors as well,” he muses, judging my thoughts by my expression- something he is frighteningly good at. “Everyone has something to say about everyone else, I’m afraid. Ishgard is very entrenched in its caste system. I am, in the end, quite lucky.” He smiles and stands. “Come, let’s not speak of such depressing things! Your being here is cause for celebration as it is.”
I lift my hands, eyes widening. I don’t want any attention drawn to me- and as I am well-known and respected in Camp Dragonhead, my presence might just be worth a formal dinner of some sort.
He laughs gently. “No, no, not like that,” he reassures me. “I’m simply very happy you’re here, and I don’t want to darken the mood. Come, let’s have lunch and you can tell me more of your adventures.”
It isn’t until we’re alone that I am fully able to relax. I yawn and settle into a chair by the fireplace, studying the contents of our lunch curiously. I’m always fascinated at the various differences one can find in cuisine across Eorzea, and I haven’t found much that I won’t eat. I tell him about all the other things I’ve done- the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met, the things I’ve learned. Ishgard is an interesting place, I think, made more so by its people. One thing I don’t necessarily understand is the religious fanaticism, however, and I ask him about it curiously.
“It’s an interesting thing,” he admits, taking a sip of his tea before continuing. “As you recall, when we first met it was due to Lord Francel being accused of heresy- and you cleared his name.” He smiles happily. “To be quite honest with you, I do not know exactly where our fervor came from, only that it has been a part of us since the beginning. My guess is that it originated around the time the four Noble Houses were born, but I am no scholar.”
I nod thoughtfully, looking down at my now-empty plate before looking back up curiously. I know he calls upon Halone, quite frequently in fact, and this intrigues me. Even someone who does everything right by his country’s standards is still held in low esteem due to his birth, and I can’t understand that.
He sighs when I point that out. “It is a blemish on the face of our society,” he replies. “One would think it stands to reason that a child has no control over his parentage, and yet, here we are- but, I hold no malice toward my father’s wife. Every woman wants to see her own children lifted high, and I was, frankly, in the way.” He smiles and lifts a finger. “What’s most important is how we conduct ourselves. We can be bitter about our births and rage against those who we see as our betters, or we can strive to rise on our own.” He winks. “Fair is fair, however… as you’ve discovered much about my family, why not tell me about yours?”
I blink, then sit back in my chair and shake my head. My family are the people I’ve chosen, and that’s how I prefer to see things. Everyone comes from somewhere, though, and I tell him what little I can while stressing my personal views on the matter.
“Ah, then you understand,” he replies, a soft smile curving his lips. “I choose to acknowledge my father and my half-brothers as my family… and Aymeric chooses to acknowledge myself and those closest to him as his. There’s far more to family than birth, isn’t there?” He rises, then, and I do as well- and he walks around the table to take my hands. “Most importantly, I have you. I need little else.” He laughs, then. “And, think of it from this angle- were I set to inherit, I likely would have been searching for a proper Ishgardian noblewoman to marry. How boring would that be?”
I can’t help but laugh and shake my head as he pulls me into a warm hug, and I return it. Boring indeed, I think, amused. It’s certainly good that I’m not that. I pause, then look up at him curiously. Does he want to wed, want a family of his own? That sort of thing isn’t something I can give him, and a cold lump settles in my stomach.
He chuckles softly and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Never fear,” he says gently. “I want nothing more than what I have. I am a knight, and my duty comes foremost- and you understand that better than anyone could, I think.”
I sigh and lean against him, smiling and closing my eyes. We compliment each other well, he and I… and though what we have isn’t and won’t ever be common knowledge, it’s perfect for us. I’m sure he wonders sometimes, when I’m far away, if someone else will catch my eye- I wonder the same thing- but I don’t let it bother me. What I know is that I love him, and for me, that is what matters the most.
“Come,” he says suddenly, drawing back and taking my hand with a wink. “I have something I want to show you.”
He leads me down the hallway and into a room I’ve never been in- it looks to be a small library. I gape at the floor to ceiling, wall to wall shelves packed with books. If I had time, I would read all of them. I look around the room in sheer awe and he stops to let me, grinning and squeezing my hand. It smells amazing in this room… like paper and leather and ink, like firewood- and, a little like him. I smile and relax, figuring that he spends a great deal of time here.
“You can spend as much time here as you like, you know,” he says cheerfully. “This is my library, of course, but you are more than welcome to it while you are resting here.”
That is very tempting. Between him and the books, I may never leave.
“What I wanted to show you is this way,” he says, gently tugging on my hand until I follow him across the room. There’s a painting on the wall next to one of the shelves of three children, and I blink at it until I realize who it is- and I look up at him in surprise before peering intently at the painting. He chuckles and squeezes my hand again. “My father had it done when we were young- not so young that we wouldn’t sit still, mind, but obviously before we became men.”
The painting shows two boys sitting on a couch and one leaning over the back between them. The youngest has a wide grin on his face, and the middle boy is stuck somewhere between amusement and irritation… but in Haurchefant, one can see nothing but joy. I can’t help myself- I start to laugh. This painting, I think, describes Haurchefant and his brothers perfectly.
“Artoriel didn’t want to be there, as you can tell,” he says, amused. “He felt he had better things to do than sit still for a painting. Emmanellain was young enough to do whatever Father bid him without complaint, and really, he was a sweet child.” He looks at me and smiles. “I was there because I very much wanted to be included.”
I lean against him and smile, gazing at the picture. “You look very happy,” I say softly.
He nods and wraps his arm around my waist. “I was, and am, happy and proud to be a son of House Fortemps,” he says. “So, you see… as I said earlier, I consider myself a very lucky man indeed.”
That makes sense to me, and I nod slightly. The picture is beautiful for many reasons, but what stands out foremost in my mind is how happy he looks- it is a look I’m used to seeing on his face even now. He’s happy with what he has, with where he is, and it doesn’t bother him that some people choose to look down on him. Though I didn’t think it was possible, I love him all the more for this… and I am more than honored to be loved by someone as amazing as he is.