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Standing across the cobblestones from the front of Fortemps manor, Haurchefant watched as the same cart-toting merchant made his third trip from the airship landing across the Last Vigil towards the bustling stalls of the Jeweled Crozier. Or was it his fourth trip? Shaking his head and pulling the hood of his cloak further down to conceal his face, the silver-haired man did his best to quell the shaking in his hands as he swallowed past another lump in his throat and ignored the desire to run. He could do this… he would do this… he needed to do this. At least he felt a little more like himself in the borrowed suit of mail that Francel had found for him, even if the colours and heraldry were wrong. It was still better than an ill fitting shirt and trousers and boots that he’d had to leave unlaced so they’d fit. And with the weight of the shield on his back, it was easier to try and divorce some portion of his mind from the gravity of what he was about to do. To pretend that he was just another soldier sent with a missive for the lord of the manor.
Of course he knew that his brother was lord of the manor now, but he could work with that. It simply meant that he needed to be a little more creative. Nervously pulling the cloak tighter, he rationalized that whatever he did, it couldn’t be ‘lurk around the manor for a bell’ because he’d already caught the attention of at least one of the guards at the manor doors and too much longer idling would demolish any excuse of being ‘overwhelmed’ at the ‘grandeur’ of the place. Squaring his shoulders, he strode up to the door with the sort of swagger that suggested a greener highborn knight who thought rather highly of himself and stated that he needed to see the lord of the manor. No, he wasn’t a member of the household guard, he had an important missive to deliver. No, he absolutely would not leave it with a mere servant, and nor would he be held responsible when Lord Artoirel found out that this delivery had been delayed.
Though some portion of him cringed inwardly at emulating the precise manner of attitude that he’d always despised among the nobility, the ruse seemed to work. Either that, or the two guards on duty had simply weighed their options and decided that allowing this persistent stranger to deliver the message himself was easier and less frustrating than continuing to try and bar his path. Allowed into the manor, he was handed over to a young man in immaculate livery and instructed with no small amount of strictness that he was to wait here and his lordship would be with him presently.
Once the rather stuffy seneschal had swept from the room to no doubt inform Artoirel of the incredibly rude and arrogant man insisting to speak to him, Haurchefant slipped up the curving stairs, through a side door and into an achingly familiar hallway. He’d been raised here, after all. It was his home and he knew it by heart just as he knew that this wing of the manor was - accepting that things hadn’t changed too much - where the family had their rooms. Which also meant that up this hallway and third on the left…was his father’s private study. Where, if his habits remained the same as they had since the day Haurchefant came to live in this house, the elderly man would be taking his tea as he had every morning before breakfast. It had been his time of quiet solace when he would greet the morning with a book chosen from the small collection of favourites whose home was there rather than the library on the first floor where Artoirel had all but lived in their youth. His fingers hesitated before they curled around the polished brass of the knob and he turned it. The well oiled mechanism gave only the faintest click as he swung the door open and stepped inside, breath catching and eyes watering at the sight of the figure seated in the chair. He was turned away from the door, a well-loved tome open and resting in one hand where the morning light from the window could splash across the pages. With a lurch of emotion, Haurchefant recognized it as a book he himself had gifted his father with for Starlight when he’d been a boy of a dozen summers. Blue eyes tracing up from the book, he stood silently as he took in the man who he had been both most anticipating…and most fearing seeing again. Even in profile, he could have recognized those features in a heartbeat, and though age had certainly begun to leave its mark, he was grateful that the lines drawn on his fathers face seemed more a mark of quiet dignity rather than feeble health. There was white in his dark hair now, streaks thickening at his temples and a few sweeping back from his brow, but the blue eyes pouring over the creamy pages had lost none of their shrewdness.
He nearly jumped as his father raised one hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture towards him, his tone of voice carrying a note of warmth and gratitude despite how the movements of his fingers could have otherwise been seen as condescending. “Thank you, Finia. You may leave the tea there, lass. I’ll make sure to let Ermine know how well you’re doing when I speak with her about dinner.”
Ahh, he had heard the door and assumed it was one of the maids bringing his tea. A new one, if Haurchefant had to guess, and likely nervous and unsure to boot. Something that his father had always been incredibly understanding and forgiving of, and it made him smile to see that time and loss had not embittered the man as it often did to so many others. But now was the moment of truth, because nervous and shy or not, this ‘Finia’ would be expected to tender a response and Haurchefant rather doubted his ability to mimic a soft-spoken young girl well enough to fool his father.
Taking another shaking breath, he fervently prayed to Halone that his voice wouldn’t crack as he spoke up. “It isn’t Finia… Father.”
Count Edmont’s shoulders tensed and Haurchefant could see the man catch his breath before swallowing hard and turning in his chair towards the door. Blue eyes widening and brimming with tears as Haurchefant pushed back the hood of his cloak with a shaking hand. He didn’t know what to say, and gave up on trying after a few attempts and the realization that he likely resembled a water-starved carp. Watching the play of emotions across his father’s face, he caught his own breath as a soft, bittersweet smile spread across Edmont’s features and the man gave a nod of what seemed to be resignation. “I see… so it’s to be my time, then. I’d rather hoped it wouldn’t be so soon but… I always hoped that you would be the one to come and usher me to Halone’s halls. I’ve missed you, son… You look the same as the day you were taken from us. And while I know we likely haven’t time… would you permit an old man a few stolen moments with his son before we go?”
At first he was confused before the realization hit him; Edmont thought he was dying. That his time on the star had come to an end and the spirit of his departed son had come to usher his soul into Halone’s halls. He understood almost at the same moment that the elder man made to stand up from his chair and stumbled. Justifiably having thought that if this was death then he wouldn’t need the polished cane leaning against the edge of the desk, and Haurchefant reacted without thinking. Diving forward to catch his father by the shoulders and ease him back down into the chair before he could lose his balance entirely. An action that stunned his father into silence as the man’s eyes widened even more and his gloved hands groped at Haurchefant’s shoulders. Squeezing for a moment before one hand pressed against his chest and another one went to his hair. Confusion shading to disbelief and then into a kind of desperate, broken hope as his shoulders began to shake and he whispered Haurchefant’s name as if speaking it aloud might break whatever spell this was. It was too much for the reborn man to take, and even though he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he could say, it was impossible for him to stay silent even as emotion thickened his voice.
“Hello, Father… It’s me… I… I’m sorry that I’m so late…”
It seemed a woefully inadequate explanation - Hells, it was no explanation at all - but that hardly mattered to Edmont, who choked back a sob before yanking his son into a tight embrace. Pressing his silver head to his chest as he let the tears free and whispered a prayer of thanks to Halone for whatever miracle had brought his son back to him.
His father’s reaction was everything he hadn’t been able to allow himself to hope for. Fears that all of those years of being raised by a father who loved him and was proud of him would prove to have been only out of duty washing away as he clung to Edmont and buried his own face in his father’s chest. It was as though a weight had lifted from his heart, taking with it the ugly insecurities that he would walk into this house only to find a family who had not only moved on… but who had realized how much better their lives were without him. Who had discarded the notion that a bastard son could ever truly have a place among them.
He couldn’t have said how long they remained like that, but it was long enough that his knees began to get stiff against the thick rug and he didn’t even care. But eventually the tears began to fade and Edmont pushed him back to cup his face in one hand as if he needed to see him again to convince himself that this was real. One hand combing silver fringe back the same way he’d done when Haurchefant had been a boy crying over the harsh words of peers who looked down on him. Shaking his head softly before pulling him into another tight hug. “How? What… what could I have possibly done to deserve such a gift from the Fury?”
“It’s W’ynter you should thank, Father… though I can’t believe she didn’t have divine aid in this.”
Letting go reluctantly, he began to detail everything he knew from start to finish as he’d been told. Of W’ynter’s association with Hades and Zolik, how her knowledge of the time Hades had lived as Emet-Selch and his connection to the aetherial sea had inspired her to consider that there was a small chance a soul could be brought back. The way Hades himself had commented that it was nothing short of a miracle that his soul had languished there for so long rather than being reborn and his best guess was that perhaps it had to do with W’ynter and the fact that he had given his life protecting her. That somehow his soul had still been trying to do the same thing, perhaps in unconscious knowledge of the role she had yet to play in saving the star. Or perhaps it had been Haedelyn herself that had kept him there for that reason. But whatever reason had prompted it, the end result had been the same; him, restored to life as he was now and taking his first steps in relearning a world that had changed drastically.
Edmont listened with rapt attention, seeking clarification here and there but overall taking everything with a surprising degree of rationality. Though Haurchefant supposed that probably had something to do with having lived through the Final Days among other things. But his story was winding down as he explained how he and Francel had visited his grave when a commotion outside the study door interrupted him mid-sentance. There was the echoing sound of doors slamming and raised voices growing louder by the moment and he rather thought he could make out the sound of Emmanellain shouting. At their older brother, if the shorter and more measured responses were anything to go by and as the voices grew louder he could confirm his elder brother’s voice as well as one he didn’t recognize - was that Honoroit - making a valiant and seemingly futile effort to calm Emmanellain down. Whatever argument it was seemed to be escalating as another voice joined the existing three, this one younger but no less exasperated sounding as Artoirel seemed to be.
Haurchefant hardly had time to try and log the sudden deluge of new information away - or even ask if Edmont knew anything that was going on, for that matter - before the study door flew open in the face of Emmanellain’s loud assertions that ‘if neither of you will do anything, then I’m certain that Father will see reason!’ His own presence seemed to have gone unnoticed as the youngest son immediately launched into a tirade about an injustice that needed to be addressed. Artoirel grabbed his arm with a frustrated scowl. “Cease this, Emmanellain. It is entirely unnecessary to burden our father with something like this.”
Swinging around, Emmanellain fixed his brother with a look that suggested the elder had proposed they drown puppies for fun. “‘Something like this’?! Brother, have you no heart?! Can you so readily allow our brother’s grave to be plundered and defaced like this?! You are the lord of House Fortemps, this is an affront to our entire house. An affront to Ishgard! And even if you refuse to see reason, I thought your son would understand! Ald, old boy, you have to dispatch the Temple Knights! We need every set of eyes searching for this fiend!”
It was…honestly almost entertaining to watch as Emmanellain squawked his indignation and Honoroit - oh Fury, that was him, but all grown up now - tried to calm his husband down with the patience of a saint as he commented that there was certainly an explanation and they should wait to speak to Francel first because he had likely taken the shield for cleaning as he often did. The other man must have been the one Emmanellain referred to as ‘Ald’, and even without having heard him referred to as Artoirel’s son, Haurchefant would have guessed as much by his appearance. Which made Ald his nephew and Haurchefant inwardly beamed with pride as he recognized the familiar gold ceremonial armour and watched the youngest of the group pinch his nose in frustration and growl that it was Alderique, he wasn’t 10 summers old anymore, and just because he commanded them didn’t mean that the Temple Knights were his personal weapon to use as he saw fit. To which Emmanellain resumed bleating about ‘Haurchefant’s stolen shield’ and he suddenly felt rather guilty realizing that he was the cause for the chaos and should probably speak up.
Only Edmont did it for him. Sighing before clearing his throat sharply and pounding his cane against the wooden floor with a bang that startled all four men into silence as they stared at him. Satisfied that he had their attention, Edmont turned his attention to where Haurchefant was lingering just behind his chair. “I am already aware that the shield has been removed from Haurchefant’s grave so there is no need for this foolishness. Now, perhaps you could all cease quarreling long enough to welcome a member of your family home after so many years.”
All eyes swept up to Haurchefant and the silence was so profound that you could have heard a pin drop. Artoirel turned pale, the colour bleeding out of his handsome face as one hand groped for the doorframe and the other one gripped the shoulder of his son who looked a mix of confusion and disbelief. Unsurprising, considering he was looking at an uncle who had been dead his entire life. Honoroit was staring at first, then muttering a curse and grabbing for Emmanellain whose lower lip quivered before his knees buckled with a wail as he burst into tears.
Haurchefant wasn’t sure what he should do in the light of such varying reactions, but that was answered for him when Emmanellain scrambled free of Honoroit’s grip and flung himself across the study to drag his older brother into a tight embrace. What for, Haurchefant wasn’t really certain, but he did his best to assure his brother that everything was alright and he had nothing to be sorry for. Which… only made Emmanellain cry harder and Haurchefant shot a moderately panicked look at Honoroit. Who sighed and stepped over to run a gentle hand through dark hair. “He’s always blamed himself, you know. For the way he was before. I think he still believes that if he had been braver… been more sure of himself, that perhaps he could have done something and you wouldn’t have…”
“Died?”
Honoroit flinched at the word, and while he regretted it somewhat… neither was it something he was willing to dance around. Not saying it didn’t make it any less true, nor did it offer him some semblance of consideration and Haurchefant sighed as he petted Emmanellain’s hair. “I’m sorry, but not speaking the word won’t undo the fact that it happened. And no matter what any of you may think… none of you were at fault. Not W’ynter, or Lord Aymeric, or anyone else. I made the choice to take that hit for her and I’d do it again even knowing that it would cost me my life. You must understand that I have no regrets. So neither should you.”
He gave an affectionate ruffle to Emmanellain’s hair as the shorter man pulled back to wipe at his eyes and lean against Honoroit’s shoulder. “I hear you’ve been doing a fine job running Dragonhead while I’ve been gone. I’m proud of you.”
“Do you…? That is, if you want it back…” Emmanellain stammered, looking for all the world as if he might cry again, and Haurchefant laughed before shaking his head and patting his younger - did it still count when he’d been dead almost 30 years? - brother on the shoulder. “Nope! From what I hear, it’s doing better than ever with you running things so why ruin a good thing? Besides, I’ll be too busy learning about everything that’s changed since I’ve been gone. Like this.” He gestured to the hand that his brother had reached to twine through Honoroit’s, the bluesteel band set with an emerald an obvious match for the one on the no-longer-boy’s hand. “A rather belated congratulations to you both. I’d say that I was surprised, but the Fury frowns on liars and I think Emmanellain was always the only one who didn’t see this coming.”
Honoroit’s snort of amusement could have been at his teasing or at the incredulous look on Emmanellain’s face, but Haurchefant didn’t really have time to try and figure out which one as a hand on his shoulder spun him around and he was pulled into a tight embrace by his older brother. He froze for a long moment before he returned the embrace tightly, unwilling to question the reason behind it. Artoirel and he had never been close, and he had learned from the beginning that the older brother he hoped to look up to viewed him as an interloper who didn’t belong. There had never been outright cruelty, not as there had been from his stepmother, but her eldest son had seemed to take it to heart that his father’s indiscretion did not belong among them and was to be tolerated at best. It had hurt when he was a child to be so utterly dismissed by a much desired sibling, but as he’d grown older he had come to better understand the reality of his situation. That he would never be truly considered ‘brother’ by either of them as even Emmanellain distanced himself somewhat - likely out of the same desire for recognition from Artoirel - and he had resigned himself to the scraps he could get from them and the love that his father always showed him regardless of the rest of the family. Even when they had grown beyond their adolescence and he’d thought perhaps boyhood competition could be discarded…it had become obvious that in Artoirel’s eyes he had grown from a tolerated annoyance to a rival for their father’s attention and approval and Haurchefant had given up on attempts at closeness. So it shocked him to the core to see the sheen of regret and unshed tears in Artoirel’s blue eyes as his brother released him and turned to beckon to Alderique and the other young man who had come running into the room at the commotion. “Boys… come and meet your uncle. This is… my brother. Haurchefant.”
His mind was reeling as Artoirel introduced him not only as their uncle… but called him brother when before his death it had always been ‘my father’s son’. He wanted so badly to ask what had changed, but he found his hand clasped in two other gloved hands as the gold-armoured man smiled and introduced himself as Alderique Edmont Vallerin de Fortemps, eldest son and current Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. He so resembled his father, but Haurchefant assumed the green eyes must have come from his mother. A suspicion that was only confirmed further when Alderique turned to clap a hand to his brother’s shoulder and the redhead flashed an identical smile and another pair of forest-hued eyes. So his brother had preferred redheads, as he remembered teasing him about so long ago. But thoughts of teasing Artoirel about that fact ground to a halt as the younger of the two introduced himself and the words registered in his ears.
“Janremi Haurchefant Armantel de Fortemps. Jan or Harch to my family, Haurchefant to the garrison, or whatever else you like. I’m not quite as uptight about names as ‘Ald’ is.”
He laughed at the scowl that Alderique shot towards him, but Haurchefant’s eyes had snapped to his own brother as he swallowed the thickness that had rose in his throat, wondering if he dared to ask the question that was weighing on his mind. He didn’t have the chance as the eldest of them bit his lip and sucked in a breath before he spoke. “Yes… he’s named for you. I… I know that I was awful to you when we were children. I never wanted you as a brother, and your presence in our house was something that my mother couldn’t accept. And I was the first son. I was her first son. There was no option for me but to disregard you, and I was too young to realize that we were both children. Innocent of the choices our parents make. But by the time I realized it, the damage was done and I.. I was too proud to try and reach out. To try and mend bridges that I had allowed to be broken because even when I was no longer a foolish child I was more concerned with being a proper son than I was with being a good brother to you. You gave me so many chances, not even to be your brother but to simply be your friend and I spurned them all as though they were beneath me. When in reality… I was ashamed. Ashamed at how much better of a man than I you were. That you… the bastard son, the one who didn’t belong… was so much more noble than myself who was meant to lead this House one day. And then… you were gone and there were no more chances. No more opportunities to regain what you had always offered without reservations or judgment. Our House… our family was broken without you, because you were always the beating heart of it even when we refused to see. So… I did my best to make my legacy one that would have been worthy of you. To be the kind of man… the kind of brother that I should have been to you all along. And I named my son for you…because I wanted him to grow up into the same kind of warm, brave, open-hearted person that you were. And I… I never thought to have a chance to make things right… to not just be your father’s eldest son… but your brother in truth. I would understand if it is too little and too late, but if you would allow me to do so… I would welcome a second chance to be the brother I always should have been to you, Haurchefant.”
The gravity of the moment was broken by the younger Haurchefant piping up with a ‘yes, Da?’ to which he received a swat to the back of his head from Alderique and a snort of amusement from Emmanellain who shook his head. “He’s obviously your nephew, because he didn’t get that sense of humour from Artoirel.”
He could feel the tears in his eyes as he chuckled at his namesake’s antics, his blue eyes raking around the room. It wasn’t everyone - according to Francel there was another nephew and two nieces and that didn’t even include his own children - but this… this was his family. Smiling and crying and welcoming him in spite of everything. Turning back to Artoirel, he stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before knocking it aside and pulling the other man into a tight embrace. “It will never be too late… Brother.”
Now here is where I attempt to put pictures lol
Edit - here is where dropbox fails me.
Edit 2 - Here's where I make Dropbox my little bitch and just post the straight links for anyone who's interested
Alderique Edmont Vallerin de Fortemps Janremi Haurchefant Armantel de Fortemps