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After Aurelle had left, the space had quickly been filled with Handeloup, with Lucia, with Handeloup again, with various other men under his command. All looking for his leadership as the city scrambled to catch up with all that had happened in the day. Word spreading of his imprisonment and of the Archbishop’s sudden flight. Not in a thousand years had his nation found itself in such systemic, spiritual and emotional disarray. Never before had its current populace experienced such a monumental challenge to their faiths.
The roiling of his own heart, at least, found its rest in the familiar rhythms and routines of work. Gathering perspectives, assessing options. Identifying the points of issue and clarifying the steps required to resolve those issues swiftly and skillfully. Hushing the parts of himself that were not useful in the moment, like the involuntary twinge in his gut when he moved his shoulder too suddenly and memory spasmed through it. Breaking everything down into its constituent parts, eyes clear and unwavering on the course before him. On Ishgard’s survival and the safeguarding of its future.
Not that it hadn’t felt callous to remain firm on that course with Aurelle breaking into pieces before him. Presenting the battered fragments of her grief-rent heart in trembling hands, beseeching him for some measure of comfort on this day when so much had been so cruelly torn from her. He might at least have held to basic manners. Basic condolences and courtesies. Had he not been so afraid that were he to reach forward in comfort, he would have found himself clinging to her for the satisfaction of his own. He could not afford to fall to pieces, now of all times. Could not allow raw grief, personal sentiment, to steer his actions. He was the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, and the people needed him now more than ever. He would not shirk from that duty. He would not.
The Knights that had not joined Lucia’s brazen rescue avoided his gaze as he moved through the halls, tension between those that had joined the fray and those that had not coiling thick enough around the Congregation to paralyse it entirely. Which is why one of his first orders of business was to draft a quick address for the men, to put that tension to rest lest it jeopardise all else the order would be called to do in the coming days.
“To those who stood by me, who honoured me with your trust and your loyalty during such an unprecedented test of all of our faith; words cannot express my gratitude and my appreciation. To those who did not, I only wish to say that I understand. ‘Tis much easier to believe a Lord Commander fallen to heresy than to believe that the head of our faith—the very heart of our city—could have betrayed us all. Would that the simpler tale were the true one. Would that my imprisonment had meant an end for the turmoil the city now finds itself in. But the turmoil rages on, and we Temple Knights have as our sacred charge to protect the people of this city from that turmoil. The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon have joined forces once more to put a stop to the Archbishop’s reckless and tyrannical ambitions. And until we hear word of their success, ‘tis up to us to keep the peace in Ishgard. The people’s hearts and minds are in disarray. We must be their stability in this moment. Putting our trust in the heroes that stand with us, that the people might put their trust in us in turn…”
It was not until he was in his bed that night, distraction-less and alone, that worry and doubt returned to eviscerate him in full. To force him to dwell in his father’s cruel dismissal. In the helplessness and the shock…
The imprisonment he had anticipated, along with the possibility of a swift but terrible end. He was not naive to the way Ishgard conducted its justice, after all. But the beatings… He had not anticipated the callous joy that would be taken in them. Nor how easily his father would turn away from his suffering.
As he had pushed for the man to reconsider — pleaded, when it had come to that last fateful encounter on the rooftops — his desperation, his sincerity, the bond they were surely supposed to have shared… even in the face of all that, his father had cast him aside and turned away. Eyes for naught but the wretched path he had so committed himself to.
And then there was Aurelle. Poor, sweet Aurelle. The people she held dearest maimed and struck down before her very eyes. The inadequacy of his response to that surely only sharpening her pain. As he had turned away from her, eyes fixed on his own path.
Realisation pierced through him as a knife to his breast. The two wounds in his heart merging into one as he saw his father’s callous indifference writ plain on his own face, an inheritance that he wanted no part of. The thought that he might have failed Aurelle, might have hurt her so deeply in that same way…
Oh Fury, what had he done?
What had seemed a selflessness, a denying himself of a comfort in order to dedicate himself more fully to the oaths he had sworn, suddenly seemed to be naught but selfishness. A prioritisation of his own needs in weathering the turmoil over hers.
Anguished thoughts snapping in and out of focus, incompatible in their demands of him. That he bury his own pains and remain focused on the people under his care. That he seek out the woman he had come to care so dearly for and beg her forgiveness, offer to shoulder as much of her pain as she would trust him with.
He needed clarity.
And he quickly found it in the framing that had ever been his guide. Returning to the core of the matter that all else hinged on, he removed himself from the equation and asked;
What does Ishgard need, right in this moment?
His father’s madness brought to an end. The Warrior of Light to end it.
Everything rested on that Warrior now. And so it was his duty to do all in his power to see that Warrior succeed. A Warrior who had ever found her strength in the love and support of the people around her.
Cursing his shortcomings these past days, he climbed out of bed and padded his way through to the study, already drafting a letter in his mind.
—
Mistress Aurelle Silmontier,
Warrior of Light and most cherished friend.
I remember sitting down to write you a letter once before, as you prepared to confront the Lady Iceheart on behalf of my people despite our reticence to offer aught in the way of support against your own troubles. I remember the admiration I felt for you then, as I feel that admiration now a thousandfold.
I know that we ask much of you this time. Perhaps too much, in light of all that you have endured in our name. But we cannot hope to stand against this threat without your aid. So ask we must.
Ever have you placed the needs of Eorzea and its peoples before your own, and ever have we cherished you for it. Few could stand firm and squarely face the things you do. Fewer still could maintain your warmth and kind nature throughout such trials. You are a remarkable individual, deserving of all the gratitude and praise you inspire.
I know that I have not made things easy for you, or indeed for either of us, in recent days. And for that I can only apologise, and beg that you permit me the chance to better express myself the next time circumstances allow. The Congregation does not lend itself to undivided attention on my part, and there is much for us to talk about. Much I wish to say, if you would permit me that chance.
With everything that I am, I thank you. For all you have done. For all you are yet to do. For the dinners which have been a source of such brightness amongst these darkest of times.
I thank you.
May Halone watch over your journey and see you safely home to us.
Aymeric