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They left W’ynter and G’raha’s home as the first rays of the morning dawn were glissading through the snowcapped cottage roofs of Empyreum and sliding along the towering spires of Foundation. Curls of thin smoke rose in the early breaking day, reaching skyward from hearths and cookfires that had kept their owners warm through the night without the warmth of the sun to aid them in their task. The streets were mostly quiet, save for the sprinkling of Temple Knights at their guideposts and walking their patrols through the city or the odd citizen making their way to whatever endeavor began their day. Even the dragonets that - true to Francel’s word - flitted about the eaves and gables were mostly snoozing in sheltered overhangs or in clever little stone houses fixed to a number of buildings like somewhat larger birdhouses. Though rather than ruffled blue feathers puffed up against the cold, there were flashes of coloured scales and a ridged tail hanging out of one or another from the sheltered interior of the little nests.
Haurchefant was glad for the relative emptiness of the streets, and not only because it gave him the means to take in the changes in Ishgard without appearing as a gawking tourist… but because it meant that there was little chance of him being recognized before he was ready. And if the Temple Knights they passed on their walk to the Steps of Faith questioned the identity of the cloaked and hooded figure at Francel’s side they made no mention of it as the two men wound their way to the city gates. He was still in Hades’ borrowed garments, but Francel had brought the cloak back from House Haillenarte when he’d gone to fetch mounts for them both in the early predawn hours. He’d almost expected to see remnants of the devastation that the Dravanian Horde had visited upon that long passage of towering stone, and it warmed his heart to see that though he could discern old stone from new… the imposing edifices had been almost completely restored to their former glory. Even scars of war that had stood since before he was a boy in awe at the gates had been carefully healed. Not obliterated entirely, but repaired and amalgamated into a façade that served to remind one that the hurts of the past should not be forgotten even as they healed.
A wise decision, and he wondered if it had been a deliberate choice by Aymeric or merely a matter of cost versus intent. Knowing the man as he did, Haurchefant was willing to bank on the former. The once Lord Commander of the Temple Knights had ever been a man who understood the weight of symbolism, after all. The cold wind bit at him as they stepped through the final gates and he paused to take in the landscape that seemed at once so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. Sucking in a low breath of bracingly cold air that felt like home as Francel’s gloved fingers gently squeezed his elbow. A silent reminder that he didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to, but he shook his head before his attention turned north. Towards the dark bulk of Camp Dragonhead in the distance… and beyond that, to their destination. Of course he understood Francel’s worry; but he also knew that this was something he needed to do. Even if no one else could understand the reasons. Hells, even if he couldn’t find the words to explain them to himself much less to someone else.
At least his lover supported him. Remaining at his side whether he understood or not because the only variable that mattered to Francel about this was that Haurchefant wanted it. And he didn’t have to understand it to be a silent show of solidarity. Reaching to curl his own gloved hand over those fingers holding to his elbow, he gave them a tight squeeze in a wordless gesture of gratitude before unwinding them from his elbow and curling the fingers of his other hand through Francel’s.
“Thank you for this.”
Francel’s response was a smile as he reached up to slip fingers below the hood of the dark grey wool and comb them through silver fringe in a soft caress before turning his own attention beyond Dragonhead. They’d already decided that they would skirt the edges of the settlement rather than travel the normal route straight through because although it would be easier to do so… Haurchefant wasn’t quite ready to face his younger brother and he knew that Francel’s presence was almost guaranteed to be noticed by any number of people. He would see them… just not quite yet. And in his own way. Something that Francel agreed with, mostly because he could scarcely imagine how overwhelming the world itself was to Haurchefant right now and adding the emotional weight of reuniting with his family after nearly thirty years seemed a cruel burden to place on him before he was ready. It had been easy to acquire a pair of chocobos from House Haillenarte, and not difficult at all to explain away the need for a second one by a white lie that he was collecting supplies and did not wish to burden his bird with their weight as well as his own.
They rode in silence save for the sounds of the world around them and the clinking of tack and saddlebags, but it wasn’t a suffocating quiet. It was thick and charged with emotion, but it reminded him less of dread and more of anticipation as they climbed the hill and the smooth polished stone came into view. Pulling his bird to a halt and swinging down, he caught the faint hesitation in Francel before he did the same. Completely understanding, given the situation. And not only because most men would have thought it utter madness to want to see your own grave. And for his dearest love, who had suffered so much, it couldn't have been easy to stand before this stone again. But he needed Francel to understand as he knelt in the snow and brushed the powdery white from the carved words with a gentle hand.
“I’m sorry. It isn’t fair of me to ask you to come back here with me. Hells, it isn’t as though a man usually has occasion to visit his own headstone. But I… I needed to see it, Francel. To touch it, to… to remind myself that this…” He gestured to himself with a helpless sigh. “Is real. That I’m not trapped in a fantasy, waiting for the soap bubble to pop and reality to creep back in.”
He caught the sharp inhale as if Francel finally understood this fixation that he’d tried to dissuade him from, and then there were arms sliding around his waist and a chin resting on his shoulder as Francel cuddled close. “It’s real… I’m sorry I didn’t understand at first. I just…”
“Thought I was being morbidly curious?” He teased with a chuckle before his eyes slid to the kite shield leaning against the corner of the marker. It wasn’t his, obviously - his shield had a gaping rent in the center and besides it was mounted on the wall in W’ynter and G’raha’s home. But the fact that someone had not only placed, but maintained a House Fortemps shield in a place of honour at his grave brought a lump to his throat and he reached out to reverently graze fingertips against the frosted metal surface. Lingering over the sigil that had once seemed so out of reach even after it had been gifted to him. Fortemps and yet not Fortemps. Allowed to serve and protect and fight for, but never to truly claim for his own. And yet he’d felt such pride the day that he’d been gifted his shield, that even if the nobility of Ishgard would never view him as anything but a bastard, he could bring honour to his father’s house.
“You should take it.”
Francel’s soft suggestion caught him off guard and he paused in consideration with his fingers still resting on the edge of the shield. It felt… almost as if he would be breaking some sort of taboo by taking it and yet there was a part of him that felt it was his shield as much as the former had been and reclaiming it was right. But there was another issue to consider, that of any other visitors to this place who would see its absence as a sign of theft. “And what then, when someone notices it gone? I don’t wish to set the whole of Ishgard into an uproar by plundering my own gravesite, you know.”
His lover muffled a soft laugh as he imagined just such an uproar before he did his best to reassure a doubtful Haurchefant. “I fear that I have already done so, the first time I removed it to have it properly polished and cleaned. In my earnestness to see to it that no damage or wear came to it, I neglected to inform anyone of my plans and your brother set the entirety of Camp Dragonhead to locating the ‘dastardly brigand’ who had dared to loot your resting place. It was… quite humbling to be forced to slink around until I could clear up the misunderstanding lest I found myself labeled a graverobber.”
There was a full moment of stunned silence before Haurchefant burst out laughing. Dropping back to one knee as he wrapped his free hand across his midsection, face reddening with mirth as Francel turned crimson and sputtered indignantly before crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, I’m sure my plight must seem incredibly entertaining to you, but the crux of the matter is that I routinely remove the shield to see to its maintenance so it would be several days before its absence would be noted as unusual. Certainly enough time for you to have informed the notable parties as to your return.”
Mention of that seemingly monumental task was like a sobering splash of icy water and Haurchefant’s fingers tightened on the shield as he slowly drew it towards him to smooth his palm across the surface. Of course he wanted to see them, it was just… well, like Francel had said before; overwhelming. But if he kept avoiding taking that step, it would only become more difficult. And, as was often the case, the first step was going to be the most difficult. And if he wanted to do it the proper way, then he would need Francel’s assistance. Pulling the cloak aside, he buckled the shield to his back and rolled his shoulders to settle its weight. It felt odd without the bulk of chainmail beneath it, but there was something comforting about the pull of the straps against his torso and he slung the charcoal grey wool back over it. Wouldn’t really do to get noticed carrying it and draw unwanted attention, especially when discretion was the very soul of what he needed right now. Turning back to Francel, he reached to lace his fingers through the blonde’s with a sigh. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Other than graverobbing, I assume?”
The subtle jest worked its magic as Francel must have hoped it would and Haurchefant found himself smiling as he slipped an arm around his lover’s shoulders to kiss fair hair. “Yes, we’ve already done that as you see. What I need is to borrow a set of armour, if you think you could oblige?”