Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Just a little farther - see those men and women up there, in the shining armour? It’s all right, little one, your mummy’s just behind you, I’ve got her. We just need to go to them, a little farther…”

The girl in the singed dress keeps looking back to me, back to her insensate mother in my arms; though I pulled her from the debris with all haste, she needs immediate attention. As I stumble up out of the Brume, the chaos of the recent battle whirling all around me, I catch sight of him.

“Ser Aymeric! Lord Commander, please!”

The man has a thousand and one duties in this moment, having only just arrived from Ul’dah, but with one look to the burden I bear and the scared girl next to me, he raises a hand and calls for a chirurgeon to attend us. I lay the woman gently down onto the cobblestones - the girl starts calling to her, shaking her. I put my hands on the girl's shoulders and have her face me.

“It’s all right - the Lord Commander sends help for her. Breathe, now. Look at me. Breathe.”

I stay with her, knelt on the cobblestones, while help comes. Best she keep looking to me, for they must do the work of healing, which is not always pretty. And better not to look about her, to see the destruction wrought to her home, to see the wounded, the desperate, the dead.

The alarum sounded at the observatorium yesterday aft, and the beacon was lit; what had been a day of relative ease, training and lighter duties, suddenly became a desperate call to hie unto Ishgard and bear word, and shore up her forces - though the Wyverns were so damnably fast that they struck ere the garrison had crossed the Steps. Into the chaos we waded, into the Brume where the wards had always been weakest.

They have been routed, but not without a day and night of fighting, with Ser Aymeric called away from the feast at Ul’dah. Already his presence is drawing us together, all we disparate forces who answered the call, and who have laboured these long hours as wave after wave of the damnable beasts harried us. And now working to bring water and succor, to douse the flames that hungrily devour the homes of those who can least afford to lose them.

After some long moments, the woman stirs, asking after her daughter; I leave them in the care of the healers. For I must see to my men and women, and see to my city, until I cannot keep my feet. And then, only then, might I go home.

Hours hence, as the sun sets, finally I climb up through the Foundation to the Pillars, and find it passing quiet. There is a strange feeling about; people seem to be lingering more than usual, standing together in the natural places where folk gather, near shops, in doorways, at points of view. They speak in hushed tones, and watch me as I pass. For I am a symbol of that on which they no doubt speak.

As I reach the Last Vigil I allow myself just a moment to take in the city, the Vault; and to the south, the great arching warded stones which envelop Ishgard. Layers and layers of wards there are, here, where those with the vaunted names of eld dwell. And though I knew that they would be safe… to look upon the Manor this day brings me such relief.

The house guards salute as I approach - I can tell from their faces that I must look passing rough indeed. We exchange a few words, and then I enter Fortemps Manor. In the foyer, a house steward takes my sword and shield, with my apologies for how damnably dirty they are. I tell them to leave their care to me, but I will be resoundingly ignored.

As I open the door to the grand receiving room, my father is standing near the hearth, facing me already; it seems he was awaiting my arrival. Though implacable as always, I see him take in my current state with a measure of concern. “Haurchefant,” he says, before I can even begin a proper greeting. “Thank Halone, you are safe.”

“My Lord.” I bow, though I find that I cannot stop myself from smiling. “I knew all would be well here, but still - I am overjoyed to find things just as I left them, as always.”

“We are in much better spirits, knowing that the battle is at last won.” I see it now - the weariness he hides. He has not slept. He crosses to me, leaning just a little more upon his cane than he would in general company. “Though Artoirel returned some hours ago, and already takes his rest.”

“He and his were here from the very first,” I say. “I would love nothing more than to speak at length, but I fear I must excuse myself ere I sully the whole house, in my current state.”

“Of course,” he says. For a moment it seems he would say more, but he simply nods, and waves me off. I bow my head, and take my leave, heading up the stairs and straight to the bath.

Of all the luxuries of the Pillars, all the familiar comforts of my childhood home, it is perhaps this one thing that I most often and keenly miss at Camp Dragonhead. For my rooms there are comfortable, my bed especially so; and yet cold showers or hasty half-baths are the norm. Once a fortnight one might avail himself of one of the great wooden tubs filled with soapy tepid water and call it a special occasion. But a bath…

I linger perhaps overlong, only once or twice nearly falling asleep in the warmth as it works on every part of my battered body. I emerge and don the comfortable garments of estate life; how light and soft against my skin.

Waiting to attend me outside is one of the newer manor servants, whose name I must beg so that I can properly thank him for taking my armour for cleaning. I protest, of course, and am told that they are honoured to do their part, small though it may be; I suppose I cannot deny them this in good faith. For I am passing tired, and could not see it properly done at present. I will do well enough to find the kitchen in my current state.

There, I find a repast is laid out already. The table is set for two, for my father awaits.

I am surprised to see him here. In my youth, and in the early days of my knighthood, I oft found myself here at strange hours, looking for company or conversation along with a hasty repast. My father, I think, I have seen in this room less times than I have fingers on my right hand. The staff are of a mind with me, for they busy themselves about self-consciously.

He stands, and bows slightly. “Not exactly a homecoming feast befitting your deeds, this day, but hopefully welcome none the less.”

I return the bow without thinking. “I admit, I had not expected to find you here. I…” 

Too tired am I, to think what decorum might normally demand of me, today, this strange day, bells longer than it ought. I cross to him and embrace him like I do not think I have done since I was a child. When I release him, I find that he is looking upon me strangely, though there is a hint of a smile in his eyes.

I smile, fully, for I care not in this moment for aught that is not true. “Full glad am I for this welcome.”

We sit, and sup, in silence for a time; I ask after Emmanellain, and learn that he had stayed here to defend the House if needs be. Now he and Honoroit have been sent out to help in the recovery in the Brume. Though my father has heard some retelling of the events from Artoirel, I fill in some details to which I was privy. I tell him of the girl and her mother, and of the general atmosphere of relief and hope at the Lord Commander’s return from Ul’dah.

“As I have watched him come into his own these past years, he has been quite a marvel to behold. To command not only honour and fealty, but hope…” My father sits back in his chair, tossing his napkin down with finality. “He is gifted, in this way. It is a rare quality, to truly inspire others, with naught but words and actions.”

"Indeed.” I can think of one other man with this innate quality, though it is of a quieter kind, oft through actions alone. He who also attended the Sultana’s feast, in celebration of yet another feat of strength and hope. The free paladin with a quaint name, which never fails to bring a smile to my lips. My dearest - my very dearest.

The letter I sent only a few days ago, telling my father all and asking him to meet my companion, would have arrived ere the Wyverns struck; but if his correspondence was vigorous or if his duties as Count called him away, he may not yet have read it. If he has, he has shown no signs of it, made no hints as to his feelings. I shall not ask him, not on this strange day; for I am simply glad of this small moment with him, in which we have spoken like men of Ishgard, like a father and son.

“You will stay the night? You must allow us a measure of time to see to your armour, at the very least.”

“I will stay, but I must return at first light - some of the garrison is to stay here and help in the recovery, and I must see that our meager forces are prepared for the unforeseen at the crossing.”

“Then I shall waylay you no longer.” He stands, and I follow suit. “You have earned a decent rest, and I pray to Halone that you shall have it.”

“I offer the self-same prayer to you, my Lord.” I smile. “Your sons are safe, thank the Fury, so you may sleep easily this night.”

He studies me a moment and adjusts his grip on his cane. “With all that has happened this day, I fear I must have you wait to discuss what I’m certain you will agree are more… trifling matters. When weighed upon the great scales of duty, at the least.”

My stomach goes to ice. So he has read it. “You may be certain that I look to my duties first in all things, my Lord.” First, but not only.

He makes a sound akin to a low chuckle. Again he regards me. “I hope he has had more time to enjoy the Sultana’s celebrations than did Ser Aymeric.” Ere I can think how to respond, he waves me off. “Go, take your rest. If I do not see you on the morrow, I wish you the safest of travels.”

I bow again and take my leave. As I mount the stairs to my room, I find that my hands are shaking. The cold that settled into the pit of my stomach is easing into a strange heat. He has read my letter; he knows all. He will not meet him, not yet - and I well know why. For with yet another attack so soon after the battle on the Steps, and the breach of our city’s wards, our people will do what always we do. Shut the doors, lock the windows, draw the curtains. Seal Ishgard up tight, and steel ourselves, and pray.

And if they come again - when they come again - what then? How many must lose their lives ere we throw wide the gates and beg our neighbours for aid? When we at last call out into the night for any who might help, who would answer?

I know of one who would. He and his comrades.

In the darkness of my room, with the door closed behind me, I feel a strange echo of my past. A want pushed aside, to be replaced by a need; my father, near and yet always so strangely far; my body, my mind, tired and hurt both. I am awash with feelings as I pace the black room in search of my much-needed rest.

I stop, and breathe. Just breathe. All will be well, or better at least, after a measure of rest. I rid myself of my borrowed garments and climb into bed. And as my thoughts try to race, as the feelings roil in my breast, as the thousand little horrors of battle make fleeting images behind my eyes, I tell myself what I told her, until sleep takes me.

Breathe, now. Breathe.

Even with the inevitable strangeness that comes after a battle, with the disruption of our normal routines and patterns, I know the moment I pass through the western gate of Camp Dragonhead that something is amiss. I alight from my chocobo and leave her to the stable hand, and make for the hall with all haste. The guard turns to me, saluting. “My Lord, we have… guests, this morn.”

“Already?”

“They arrived late in the night, my Lord,” she says. “They say they are of the Scions, but I do not think to have seen either of them before.”

“They were offered lodgings?”

“Yes, but they have not retired - they desired to speak with you at the first possible moment upon your return. They await in the Intercessory.”

I thank her and go to find these guests; with a deep breath I quell the rapid beating of my heart at the thought of what news they might have to share.

True enough, the faces that turn to me when I enter the Intercessory are not known to me, and yet from my discussions with Alphinaud and my dearest one, I am certain of their identities at but a glance. “My friends,” I say, “I most fervently wish that I could in good conscience bid you both a good morning, but I expect such pleasantries must be set aside. Lady Yugiri and Mistress Tataru, I presume?”

The taller of the two women, whose lovely features are not marred in the slightest by her strange lizard-like scales and horns, bows to me in the Eastern fashion I have seen used by the Domans. “You may indeed presume this, Lord Haurchefant.”

“You must tell me wherefore you have come in such haste, and under cover of night.”

Lady Yugiri looks to the Lalafell woman, who I see now has been weeping, for her eyes are red. The small woman nods. “Please, Lady Yugiri, I - I can’t.”

“In short,” Lady Yugiri says, turning again to me, “the Crystal Braves have turned against the Scions. We believe they may have staged a coup in Ul’dah.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins. “The banquet, then, the celebration… was but a stage for this?”

“We know not yet. Our first priority was securing safe harbour for all those we could. I have sent my best people to learn aught that they can of what has transpired in Ul’dah, and to lend what help they may.”

“Safe harbour…” I find my mouth has gone dry. “Full glad am I, that you have thought of me as such, in this, your hour of need.”

“He will come,” Mistress Tataru says, though her voice slightly trembles. I know she speaks of my dearest one. “He will come, and bring them all, and we - everyone will be safe here.”

I nod to Lady Yugiri in thanks, and cross to where the Lalafell stands next to the great table; I see that a small repast has been set out, though it has hardly been touched. I kneel before her that I might look her in the eyes, and put a hand on her shoulder. “You have the right of it, my friend. You may rest easy for now, for you are safe here; and I shall be glad to send them directly to you the very moment they arrive.”

“Oh, thank you, dear Lord Haurchefant.” Her eyes brim with new tears. “He - he always speaks of you so fondly, I knew - I just knew -” She loses herself in tears again, and I pull her gently against me, aware that my armour may chafe her if I am not careful. She throws her arms around my neck and sobs while I softly pat her back. After some long moments, she composes herself as much as she can, standing back to show me a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

I offer again that they might retire to more comfortable lodgings, but they decline; at the least, the fire has been well built-up in the Intercessory, and if security is paramount in their minds there is no better place that I can offer. 

And so I quit their company, on the condition that they should ask if there is aught they need, for it will be provided; and I return to my duties, adding two. First, to keep close watch on the roads to the south; second, to send word to those at the Observatorium and the post on the Whitebrim Front, that if they encounter any in the colours of the Crystal Braves, they should turn them away from our borders, for they are no longer allies.

As I return to my duties, and bring the news of the Wyvern attack to my men and women who stayed to hold the Camp; as I work through the rosters and distribute our forces and set out the watches, my mind quietly whirls with thoughts of my love. It is one thing, to send forth people to battle; to know that our lives are as currency that might be spent. But to bid him a gentle farewell, to kiss him and smile as he takes the Aetherite to his celebration, and to think -

I cannot think on this.

The door of the hall flies open. “My Lord - an airship makes to land near the south gate!”

“An airship?” I leap from my place. “Not a Garlean ship?”

“No, my Lord, I think it to be Master Garlond’s ship, the Enterprise.”

Can it be? Oh, Halone, please. “Summon the First Guard, we go to meet them!”

It is Garlond’s ship, and what a sight and a clamour as it lowers to the snow and finds purchase on the great slope that winds down toward Skyfire Locks. As the engines lower in their pitch and the staircase descends, my heart races.

Two figures alight, only: Alphinaud… and my dearest one. Though they are many yalms away (for we have kept our distance, knowing not how safe it is to stand so close to such a massive machine) I can see from their posture that they carry a heavy weight this day.

But two. Two of them.

They exchange some words with their captain, being of course Master Garlond himself, and then the engines click and whirr and whine again, and the great ship lifts off in a flurry of disturbed snow, until it is aloft, high above Coerthas; and as quickly as it came, it is gone.

They walk toward us, like men on a prison march - I cannot help but close the distance. Alphinaud does not look up at my approach; my love wears an expression I have never seen upon him, a look of relief, chagrin, and fury. He meets my eyes, but he is not fully behind his own.

“Oh, my love, and my dear friend - I cannot express my relief at the sight of you this day. Though for only two of you to alight…” I shake my head. “I shall ask no explanation of you. Know only that you are safe here, in Camp Dragonhead, and that all of the southern outposts of the Coerthas central highlands have been made known of your foes.”

Alphinaud looks up at me - how ragged he looks, like a man who has never slept. “You know of it, then? How?”

“Oh, my friend, I am glad to tell you. For if you are in want of comrades, I have two of yours under my protection. I swore I would send you directly to them on your arrival, so please - come, and seek them out in the Intercessory. I know their hearts will soar at the sight of you, as did mine.”

I motion for my guard to fall into formation around us, as they might for honoured guests, such as Ser Aymeric or my father, the Count, and we make for the Intercessory. My dearest one moves stiffly, like a soldier on watch. He has not made to touch me; I resist the urge to lay my hand on his back as I walk next to him, my eyes ahead.

Quietly, I say to him: “I am here, my love. When you need me, or want me, for anything - anything. Or if solitude you require, you will have it.”

He does not look to me - but he reaches out and squeezes my upper arm, as if he is checking that I am real, that I am here. I am glad he did, for I would do the same.

I leave them to their private reunion. They will be in need of much comfort this day, and so I beg of our kitchens an early brew of mulled wine. While it steeps they will have time enough to discuss amongst themselves what they mean to do next, though surely it would be best to remain here some few days, at least, and let my peoples’ churlishness toward outsiders protect them. 

With warming drinks and a determination to bring what warming words I may, I enter the Intercessory. While I listen, while they deliberate and bemoan the choices they have made, I glean all I can of what has happened, little morsels of their plight. I do what I may, say what I may, in hopes of bolstering their resolve, and I am prepared to help in any way I can as the discussion turns to where they might go next.

“We will go to Ishgard!”

Mistress Tataru says this like it is a decree from on high, a noble calling - and well it may be, for this direction seems to give them all a small glimmer of hope. And I find I am fully in agreement, for how could one look back on these past moons, at all that has transpired to bring us to this moment, this place, and not see that the Fury Herself has laid this path out before them? We need each other more than ever, they and we; a boon of shared hope.

And yet… I know not how to make this be. For I have already asked for his admittance and been denied. And now, with the weight of accused treason upon his shoulders, and our doors again barred so tightly in the wake of our own hurts… how might I make their case? 

I am a Lord of Coerthas, of the Great Crossing, of the still place through which the lifeblood of Ishgard flows. One could say that I have made something of myself. But to the Holy See, am I of aught more value than the merchants and peddlers who cross my yards? If I had laid down my life when the Wyverns came, the flow would not have abated. The caravans will move, with or without my welcome.

But I must make a welcome for them. I must forge a passage. For Ishgard wants little for food, or wine, or other pleasures of the moment; but for the future, for light, for hope… with but another breach, another blow, we may awake to feel at last the pangs of hunger. For we are nigh on starved for hope.

When at last they make to quit the Intercessory (and I do hope that my suggestion that they take it as their headquarters and call it “The Falling Snows” was not ill-received - for truly, a better name is warranted in any case), I bid them to take their rest. Without thinking, I lay my hand lightly on my dearest one’s back - and feel him shrink away from me, as though my touch caused him pain. “I’m sorry -”

He has grabbed my upper arm again; he does not look at me, though there is indeed pain on his face. “I - please.”

The others have quit; for the first time, we are alone. “Dearest. What would you have of me?”

He shakes his head. “I must - move. Please, let me work.”

“If work you crave, you shall have your fill of it. We are short of hands in the wake of the Wyvern attack on Ishgard.”

His head snaps up and his eyes meet mine. For a moment, he is here. “You - your garrison…”

I nod. “I am only just returned this morning.”

“I… knew not.” I watch as relief and chagrin roll over him. “I - please. Words are…” He closes his eyes; his grip on my arm is fierce. “Please.”

“Come,” I say. “I will find you your work.”

I find him a place with a small hunting party, and warn them not to press him for conversation. I do not relish leaving him in this state; always he has been more careful in his words, more prone to silence, but never have I see him struggle so. And the sting of his recoiling from my touch is still fresh, though I blame only myself for this.

I wish I could speak with him, learn all that has happened to him, learn what I might do to help him. For now, I can but pray that the work he craves will help him to release the things he keeps inside, or else soothe his troubled thoughts and warring feelings. And all the while, I have work which calls to me, and so I throw myself into my duties with every onze of my being; for I am desirous of distractions myself.

I am quite surprised to find that of the three who remain under my protection (for Lady Yugiri has taken her leave, to resume her clandestine work with her people) it is Mistress Tataru who has rallied most quickly. She takes up a place in my hall, and within two bells she has taken the measure of every one of my people there, from knight to scullery maid, and rather made herself known to them.

It is from her that I hear more of what occurred, mostly through what Alphinaud relayed to her. It seems my dearest was with the Sultana when she died, a horrible death to poisoned wine; and this when he had been called to meet with her, as a confidant and a friend.

“I’m worried for him,” she says to me, quietly; I have come to kneel next to her, that we might speak eye to eye. “I have never seen him so - so downcast. So stiff.”

“I am of the same mind, my friend. I hope that the work he demanded is as a balm to him, but I mean not to leave him to it overlong.”

“You’d better not, or I’ll have words for you.” She is frowning, utterly serious.

I smile. “Full glad am I. That he should have such stalwart friends, on this darkest of days.”

“I know you’re terribly busy, but might you spare a moment to check that Alphinaud is all right? He went to his room so quickly, and I worry about him being alone for too long.”

“And you are far too popular to leave your place here, I see.”

She crosses her arms and regards me quite sternly. “He thinks all of this is on his shoulders. I can only offer platitudes, but you might have some practical advice to share.”

“... That I may.” I stand. “Is there aught you need that I might provide, ere I see to this?”

“You’ve done so much already.” She shakes her head. “Thank you.”

After checking for news of my dearest one - it seems the hunting party returned and he immediately took up an axe in aid of those cutting firewood - I make my way to the upper hall and find the room that has been assigned to my young friend. I knock and announce myself: “A word, if you please.” I do not phrase it as a question, for I expect him to refuse my company if given the choice.

There is a long pause before he speaks. “Come.”

I find Alphinaud lying on the bed in the small room, atop the blankets; he has not even removed his shoes. I close the door behind me, that we might speak more freely; I set the chair next to where he lies, and sit. “I mean not to stay overlong, or try to convince you to leave the meager comforts here. But I would take a moment of your time, that you might listen to my prattling rather than the thoughts that no doubt plague your mind at present.”

He is staring at the ceiling, brow slightly furrowed, as though he were attempting to solve some problem of arithmetic or logic. “I thank you for your concern, Lord Haurchefant, but I don’t crave any relief from my thoughts. I have earned them, quite soundly.”

I think on this some moments. “I cannot claim to understand what you are feeling. But having some years of experience as a commander of men and women, I am -”

A curt laugh comes from him. “As if I ever commanded them to begin with. They used me, from the very first. And if I’d just taken one moment to look about me, to question myself…”

“Were you taught to question yourself, as a commander? Look to your most celebrated role models, to those who command the Grand Companies. Do they question themselves oft enough, in your eyes?”

He is quiet a moment. I see his eyes darting slightly, his brow furrowing deeply - a sour memory has bullied forth into his mind. I reach out and gently lay my hand on his arm, and watch him blink back to the present.

“I am sorry, my friend. I misspoke.”

He shakes his head, though there is still pain on his face. “I only - I worry for General Raubahn.” He lets out a breath. “You are not wrong, Lord Haurchefant. I have thought as much, on occasion. But that does not excuse my failings.”

“Nor does it excuse mine.” At this he turns his head to regard me. “When first I met you and your companions… you came upon us in a dark time. So blind were we to our failings that we harboured a heretic in our midst for moons.” I draw in a breath and quell the heat that threatens to rise in me; to share this shame is difficult indeed. “When men and women were accused more oft, when people I knew to be innocent were slandered, did I question myself? If you and yours had not brought these heinous deeds to light, would I have known, would I have seen?”

“But you alone were not responsible,” he says.

“You have the right of it; for there are others who might have questioned themselves as well. And yet we did not; and so one man, one heretic, took us all for fools.” I stand and walk away some paces; I take a long breath, until I feel my hands stop shaking. I turn to him again. “I am sorry, my friend. This wound opens easily. The point I come to is this: you, acting alone as commander, were fooled by many foes, working together for the sole purpose of doing so. I would not like my chances, were I in your place.”

He is quiet for a time. “It is still my responsibility,” he says.

“Yes… it is. And I will not say that there is no merit in retracing those mistakes, to know and own your failings, for as commanders we must always strive to better serve our people. But for the moment, you have been relieved of your command, one way or another. You have been set on a new course. And so you are free to ask yourself: what might I do now, to best serve Eorzea, and to save my friends?”

He breathes out slowly, his look pensive. “I… will think on this.” He looks to me, still so weary. “Thank you, Lord Haurchefant.”

I bow my head, and replace the chair. As I make to leave, I turn back. “When the bell is rung for supper, please join us. Mistress Tataru has quite made friends with all and sundry, but it is the sight of your face that will bring a smile to hers.”

For a time I lose myself in the duties of the day, checking oft for the whereabouts of my companion. Always he has begged another task - at one point I learn that he has been seen beckoning a favourite lost sheep back to the paddock. I am briefly of a mind to seek him out at this juncture, so amusing an image this is; surely he will be more himself, after indulging his instincts and receiving the heartfelt thanks of those he has helped.

The sun is low and fighting through a swirl of dark clouds as I climb down from the western watchtower, where some unnoticed damage during the day of assault on the Steps was recently found, and needs repairing. I find I am quite ravenous as I cross the yards to the great hall; the wind has picked up,  and there are the beginnings of snow in the air. 

As I reach the door I hear muffled voices chattering happily, and as I push it open the bubbling laughter of the repast in progress mingles with the warmth of the hearth and the smell of bread and stew. I look about the room for my newly arrived friends - I am happy to see that Alphinaud has indeed come, though he seems somewhat lost in thought. Mistress Tataru is with him, engaged in conversation with a pair of my guards just returned from the watch.

A hall full of merriment and warmth; a balm to my soul, after so long a day - so long and difficult a series of days.

And he is not here.

I find the maid as she seeks to return to the kitchen, begging for news of my dearest one’s whereabouts. “I’ve not seen him, my Lord, though I heard he was with the Second Guard of late. He would do well to come home soon, with the squalls expected this night.”

My stomach goes to ice. “Squalls?”

“Yes, m’Lord. Skywatcher was warning of them this morning, though they’re moving in faster than expected.”

Every morning without fail, I have the weather from my maidservant. But I awoke not here today. I had not stopped to ask, to think -

“Thank you,” I say, and hasten across the room to where the Second Guard sit and sup. Seeing me approach with a look of concern on my face, the lieutenant in charge stands.

“My Lord?”

“Be easy, my friends. I only wish to know - has my companion not come with you? Or has he retired already?”

“There was word of some touched snow wolves to the north,” she says. “We begged him to wait, that it would be better to go in the morning -”

“He went alone?”

“Aye, My Lord. It was half a bell ago. From where the wolves were said to be harrying the road, he ought to be there by now. They shouldn’t give him any trouble.”

“The wolves worry me not. Had he supplies with him? An overcoat at least?”

“I don’t think so, my Lord. We’d just dispatched some Dragonflies at the north gate, and he seemed warmed from the fighting.”

I thank them and make for the kitchen, begging a skin of ale and any morsels that might be quickly made ready to travel. While they do this, I beg a blanket and two overcoats from my maidservant.

“You don’t mean to go alone, my Lord?”

“I do - and on foot, for the chocobos are like to panic and bolt from the road in the squalls.”

“You’ll be out in the thick of it!”

“As will he.”

“But -”

I grab from her the proffered items, and my pack, and leave the hall (how bracing the wind is already), stopping only to inform the First Guard of my movements. “If I do not return this night, you are not to set out until the storm has run its course. This is an order - I will not endanger others for my lapse in judgement.”

He salutes. “I pray to the Fury that you both come back safely, my Lord.”

“As do I.”

As I strike north, I quell my worries with plans and contingencies. The snow has not  yet picked up, thank the Fury, though as I round the hill and at last lose sight of Camp Dragonhead behind me, I realize how dark is has become. I must find him before it is full dark, or else -

I will not think what else.

It is half a bell and darker still when at last I hear him, his taunting, his bellowing - and the snarls and growls of snow wolves. I break into a run.

When I crest the ridge his back is to me, some thirty yalms away, and the thickening snow is full in my face. I hold up my hand to shield myself, and nearly fall over a wolf’s carcass in the snow, half-buried. Two wolves are snapping and slavering, circling him as he calls out to them, beckoning them, his voice rough and raw.

I draw my sword and run to him. “On your right!”

He hesitates not for a moment, whirling and forcing the wolf to strafe before me and fall to my blade. (Oh, in any other circumstance I would relish this moment.) The other, seeing an opportunity, leaps at his head - he ducks, and springs it from his shield, and as it falls before me I pierce my sword through its tainted heart. It perishes with not even a whimper.

I look about us, breathing hard, bracing against the wind and the snow. “Is that all of them?” There are more carcasses, more lumps in the snow. At least a dozen.

He finally turns away from the wind. He looks to me, like he sees me in a dream. “Yes.” He is not fully here, not fully behind his eyes. He puts away his sword and shield, seeming to fumble them a little. “How came you here?”

I sheathe my still-bloody sword and put my hands on his shoulders - oh, how cold they are. “Do you not see how the storm has swept up? We must find shelter, now.”

He frowns. “We are… not far -”

“We are too far to go back in this.” I draw out the second overcoat from my pack and thrust it at him. “Don this, then follow.”

He does not argue; his movements are becoming stiff, slow. I reach out and grab his arm once he has the cloak about his shoulders, and we move.

On this road that I have travelled some hundred times these past years, I know of every place where a man or woman might take shelter; for I have gone out in search of them after the weather has turned, or else on one or two occasions made use of them myself. After that first never-ending winter, when we lost more than one bold knight to exposure to the cold, I swore to myself: never again.

And I mean not to break this promise tonight.

As darkness draws in around us, we stumble along the road, or what remains of it - heading north, for the nearest place we might find shelter is there. With the snow and night nearly leaving me blind, with my hand outstretched before me, I find it at last - the outcropping of stone which forms a low ridge. It curves around, away from the road and the wind; it may just offer the shelter we need.

My arm is tugged roughly down as he stumbles and falls to one knee in the snow. I stop and offer my hand, that he might take it, that he might stand - and he struggles even to see it, looking about himself, breathing so hard.

Oh, Fury.

“I’m sorry, my love, I must -” I grab his other arm and pull him up, and with his feet barely under him, I bend, and fold him over my shoulder, and stand, carrying him. Holding his arm with one hand to balance him, I follow the outcropping, down, around, slowly so as not to trip and fall. Finally we come to a depression in the rock, some two or three yalms deep, clear of snow and sheltered from the winds.

I kneel and gently roll him from my back, sitting him against the wall. I put my hands on his shoulders, and say his name; he looks at me, as though from across a room. “You are dangerously cold, my dearest.” I take off my overcoat and hasten to unhook and doff my armour, talking to him all the while, trying to ground him here. “I know you feel uneasy about being touched, but you must take your warmth with me, from me. Can you open your shirt?”

He is shivering - thank the Fury, he hasn’t gone so far as to stop - and his fingers have difficulty with the buttons. I take off my gambeson, and hang it on my back; the air is so bracing and sharp against my bare skin. I sit next to him against the wall, upon my armour, for a little reprieve from the cold earth. I lean to him and hook my arms under his, and pull him into my lap, between my legs, lying him back against me. Quickly I pull his shirt off of his arms (oh, how cold his back is against my chest), and replace his overcoat, draping it about both of us, pulling it tight around us. I grab mine and do the same again; my fingers stiff from the cold, finally I pull the blanket from my pack and draw it up over both of us, over our heads, holding in all of the heat from our breath and our bodies that we may.

As he shivers, his breath gasping and shallow, I wrap my arms around him, and close him in with all of my body. I would give him all the heat I have; oh, that I could burn with a fever and give him more. I squeeze him tightly, and pray that I have come in time, that I have done enough. 

Please, Halone. Take all the warmth I have. Let him be warm.

I know not how long I sit with him, whispering that all will be well, silently begging for succor; the only other sounds the wind and our shivering breaths. Slowly, in fits and starts, his shivering abates and his breathing evens. I turn my head, and lay my cheek gently on the top of his head; he makes a small sound as I do, his ears flicking slightly. He takes in a slightly longer breath, which exits him in a shudder. After some few long moments and easier, longer breaths, he says, his voice strange and weak: “How came you to find me?”

“When I came to supper and you were not there, I asked upon your movements.” I let out a breath, which warms the air under the blanket. I arrange it, that we might have a little fresh, dry air. “I knew not of the impending squalls, or I would have demanded that you return before dark.”

He is quiet a spell. “It was… later than I thought. And the wolves were many.” I feel him curl up on himself a little in my arms. “You risked your life, to come to me. Because of my recklessness. I am… ashamed.”

A small laugh comes from me. “You sound like poor Alphinaud.”

Again he is quiet, for a long time. I find one of my legs has gone to pins and needles; I shift myself slightly, finding more comfort. He moves, turning himself about in my arms, so that he is kneeling and facing me, his chest pressed against mine, head just against my collar bone; he moves his arms against my sides. They are still a little cold, and I shift my arms to better give him the warmth he still needs.

He tilts his head against me. “Are you well?”

“Better now.” I sigh, deep and long. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear your voice.”

“I…” His ears flatten. “I am sorry. For my actions. For my lack of words.” At length he adds: “For making you fear to touch me.”

“Oh, my love. You owe me no access to your body.” I look down on him. “Is this all right? If you need space, when you feel more yourself, it may be safe to -”

“Please, no.” He presses his head against me, and huffs out a breath. He is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, it is so quietly. “Please. Will you… squeeze me. Hard.”

I am only too happy to oblige, pulling him tight against me. He sighs so deeply; I hold him thus, for as long as I can, until finally my arms are like to give out, and I ease my grip.

“Thank you,” he says; his voice is a little easier. “This is good. Lightness of touch, it makes me feel…” He shakes his head, and thinks a while. “When I am safe, when it is you… it is good.”

“I… can understand why you did not feel safe, this day. Thank you, for telling me this.”

Again, we are quiet a while, as the wind howls on but yalms away. There is something that I would say to him; I take some long moments to put words to this feeling, this thought.

“I know you bore witness to awful things; I know you are nigh on mad with worry over your friends. And I know that movement, work, action are comforts to you. But please… remember that there are other ways, other people with whom you might find comfort.” I kiss the top of his head, and squeeze him again. “Next time, please. Please come home.”

His fingers clench against my skin. “I am not worthy of going home, of taking my comfort. I have left them in danger, drawn you into danger.”

“My dearest,” I say, a little hardness creeping into my voice. “I need not explain to you my oaths. To wager my life for the safety of those in need is my calling, my duty, my right. I do this with gladness, and I dare say your fellow Scions would say the same. And were we to speak of worth, then tell me: is this not payment in kind for the risk you took on the Steps of Faith?”

“I want no payment! I want only your safety, their safety. I do not want my life to be bought with -”

“You cannot demand this. You cannot give, and give, and only give, and never be given. To watch you fall so that I might live would cut my heart from my chest! Do you think I would hesitate for even a moment if our places were reversed, and I might buy your life with my own?”

He is shaking; his fingers dig into my skin. “I would not - you cannot…” He makes a sound that is half a growl, half a cry. “I am not worth more than you, than them.”

“But you are worthy! My love, you have made these past years of your life a banquet of good will - you cannot expect all of Eorzea to come to your table, again and again, and bring only their hunger. You cannot ask those who love you only to take from you, when there is so much joy, so much hope for this world in the giving.”

He gasps and curls himself up tightly against me, and I realize he is sobbing, quietly. I squeeze him again, hold him fast against my chest. I wish there were words I could say that might give him comfort; all I can do is tell him, softly, that I am here, and that I love him; the smallest of truths, of certainties, on this day when so little is known to us.

And so little is known of him, and he of himself. He is so solitary still, my gladiator, my hero, who came as from nowhere; who now must learn to face the fear of loss, as if for the first time. Please, let him turn to me. Let me help him bear this weight.

It is a long time before he begins to come back to himself. When at length he stills, and breathes deep, cleansing breaths that are not wracked with small gasps, I lay my cheek on his head again. “My dearest. My very dearest. Of all the burdens you bear, I am sorry that this one weighs upon you so heavily.”

The wind howls on; I wish I could draw him closer still, close every gap. I would take just a little of his pain, if I could, and bear it away; for these are paths I know well, and I fear them not.

“It was easy before.” He is quiet a long while before he goes on, his voice so low. “When I was no-one, and loved by no-one.”

“You cannot go back.” The words come ere I can think, and my breath quickens in my chest. “You were never no-one. Never. Even in the years you have so cruelly lost. You are hope, made real by force of will; by choosing to love a world that did not yet know to love you. But we know, now - I know. And I love you. I love you.” I press my cheek against his head, though my body quakes, though his hair is wet with my tears. “I cannot unwalk the paths of my heart. I will not. Oh, do not turn away from me, please.” 

“My love. Oh, my love.” His arms tighten around me. “I would not go back. I would not turn away. I would come home.” He is shaking again; I hold him so tightly. “I want not to be no-one again. I want to be yours.”

I say his name, like a prayer, like a plea. “You are. For as long as you will have me. You are.”

The night passes slowly; though the squall has not abated, the winds have shifted still, granting us a little more reprieve. We sit together in silence, or in quiet conversation; oft I close my eyes to rest them, but I do not dare to sleep.

After a few bells, at least, we separate from our cocoon of shared warmth, and I don my gambeson and overcoat again; he buttons his shirt and fastens his overcoat tightly around himself. Still he sits with his body leaned against mine, both of us under the blanket. We share the cold ale and small repast I have brought, slowly, for neither of us have much appetite, despite how many bells it has been since either of us had a proper meal.

In his slow and quiet way, he lays out what happened that day in Ul’dah, what he last saw of his friends and comrades. I am heartened to hear that, at the least, they were well at the last moment he saw each of them. I gently encourage him to be hopeful, though I am careful not to press too hard on this point, for he would see through false optimism. 

As he tells me, haltingly, of what the Sultana had meant to do, I take his hand, and squeeze it. He lays his head on my shoulder, squeezing back.

I tell him of the Wyvern attack on Ishgard; how we disparate garrisons and house guards and Temple Knights struggled to hold them back, struggled to give space to one another through it all, until Ser Aymeric returned and brought us together under the banner of shared hope.

“What my father sees in him, that power to wield hope, to unite people… I see it in you, my love. And I am sure Ser Aymeric would agree, were he free to speak his mind.”

“I am glad that your father, your brothers, are well.”

“Yes, thank Halone.” I let out a breath, which briefly clouds the air; it must be near morning, for I can see it, see his face. “He read my letter. He told me… that we must wait to discuss these more trifling matters.”

“How long would he have you wait?”

“I wonder if he meant it as an indefinite pause - but this will not do.” I look to him. “Come home with me and wait some few days. Take your rest, and see to your friends - they worry for you, and have many burdens of their own. We will have news from Ul’dah soon; we will see if they are so bold as to expect that all of Eorzea has forgotten your selfless deeds these past moons. If the accusations cling to you, we shall make for you all a more permanent home here. If not… I will go to my father, and plead your case in person.”

He regards me, his look soft. “When we looked upon Ishgard together, only some days ago, I told you I desired to see it one day.”

“If the Fury is willing, it may be much sooner than I imagined.”

He smiles, for the first time a small hint of his typical roguishness showing upon his face - oh, how I have missed this look. “You would show me, where you and Francel would go, with the knight’s bread you stole from the kitchens?”

I laugh. “Oh yes. Gladly.” As that memory rolls through me, I remember my conversation with him, just a few nights ago. A thought occurs to me. I turn myself a little, toward my love; he looks up to me. “Dearest, I would… speak on something, if you are willing to indulge me in yet more of my prattling.”

His look is almost sad. “Always, you worry that you speak too much.” He presses his body against me more firmly. “I love your words, your voice. Please, do not apologize for it. I want to hear it, always.”

I draw my arms around him with a small sigh. “I… thank you.” I take a moment to think how I might begin. “I would share with you some thoughts. One might be tempted to call them advice; I do not think myself wise enough to offer anything of the kind. Only… I know you have but a damnable few years of memories, of experiences to draw on; I, by way of contrast, am full to bursting with memories, and all the thoughts and feelings that come with them, for good or for ill. I would share some of these with you, if you are willing; for I think there are some from which you might take some small direction or comfort.”

He hums. “I will listen.”

“When I bade Francel goodbye, the night before you were to go to Ul’dah, he asked me how I could be so bold in matters of love. How I made my feelings known; how I expressed them, with no remorse, no reservation. He told me that he feared to love, because he feared the pain of loss.”

“You said he still mourned his brother. That his disposition was… soft.”

“You remember this so clearly? I think we spoke on it the night you first went to his aid.”

He smiles softly. “It was a night I meant to remember.”

“We were of the same mind, it seems.” I close my eyes a moment, letting those warm memories linger, briefly, before I go on. “As a boy I, too, felt that fear to love - though in a different way. As my father made room for me and yet closed every door that was asked of him by the Lady of our House, as I struggled to find my place in the world, as every person passed judgement upon me ere I might prove myself… I thought that it would be easier not to care, not to love. Oh, how I longed to be no-one, and to love no-one. To erase myself and become the pure avatar of a Knight, service and fealty incarnate.”

“But… you loved him.”

I chuckle. “I did not intend to. I had quite made up my mind. But he… loved me. So openly, so easily. And being loved by him was so… comforting.”

He hums. “You do so enjoy being fondly regarded.”

How keenly he listens. “I must take care of what I say in your presence, my dear, else I will find myself in trouble one day.”

“I am ever ready to pounce,” he says, with a ghost of a smile. “I am sorry, my love. I interrupt you.”

“Not in the slightest.” I take in a breath and go back to that memory again. “I told you how I came to my knighthood. How I took Francel back from those who sought his ransom. Before, if I had imagined this happening, if I had considered how it would have hurt to lose him, to see harm done upon him… I might have gone back to my churlish ways, and closed off my heart. But I was too young to consider such things.”

As I speak, slowly he moves to sit before me, much as he did when we took our warmth together, laying back against my chest. I arrange the blanket around us. I can see from his ears that he listens still; he is waiting for me to go on.

“I did fear for him, when they took him. I was almost mad with worry, and sick with the thought of what might happen to him… but oh, my dearest, how strong love made me. How clear my course, how noble my purpose. As I let myself love, and be loved, I came to realize that love might endure, when all else crumbles. Nothing can take love away, not even death, so long as there is one alive who might feel it. And when I took my knighthood, how easy it became - as a man who no longer feared to love, or be loved - to do what must be done. To move in the world. To help those I may.”

He hums. “You… remember those words, of mine. From when I spoke of my life, then.”

I smile. “You must take care of what you say in my presence, dearest.”

For a moment he is quiet. “And so you would call my work, my calling… love?”

“I think that you could not do what you do without love. I think that the hope you enkindle is born from it.” I lean down and kiss the top of his head. “I think that if you let the world love you back, nothing could stop you.”

He is quiet a while. “It is… not easy. To be saved. Sacrificed for. By one, by those, who might love me. Who I love.”

“Oh, dearest. I know.” I let out a breath. “You did not hesitate, on the Steps, when there was no time to think. I imagine it was the same for your friends.”

“And you.” He turns himself around before me, facing me, drawing his arms around me. His eyes meet mine. So many feelings war upon his face, as he thinks on what to say; oh, I know this feeling well. At length, he rests his forehead against mine, and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

I kiss him, softly, and he sighs and leans in so close; oh, how I have missed this. When he pulls away, I gently draw the blanket up around our shoulders. “There is hope,” I say. “For you and I yet live this day; so, too, might your friends. And I will do all that is within my power to help you find them.”

He kisses me; and as I thank Halone for giving me the strength to save him, as I nearly lose myself in this familiar act of joy in this strangest of places, I almost miss the sounds of voices on the air, of chocobos warking and ruffling their feathers angrily against the snow.

He pulls away. “Do you hear…?”

“I do.” Finally, true relief rolls through me. He stands, a little gingerly, and offers me his hand. As he helps me to my feet, I see the snow has dwindled; the winds are stiff but less apt to bellow and howl. A little more light has crept in. It must be full morning.

In only a moment we have gathered our things and are ready to set out and call to the rescuers. As I make to leave, he takes my hand. I turn and see that he smiles, but there is a quiet worry in his eyes.

I squeeze his hand. “Let us go home, my love.”

As I lead him from our makeshift shelter and call out for aid to those on the road, my mind again turns to the woman and her daughter that I led out of the Brume but two days ago. How fortunate am I, to have been given, again and again, the chance to serve and to save those I love so dearly: my people, my family, my dearest one. I find my heart begins to race, my eyes begin to sting -

And I breathe, just breathe - and between breaths, utter my prayers and thanks to the Fury. For She has designs for him, and I will see Her will done. I will bring him to Ishgard, where we might beg of him his light, his strength, his hope.

But today, I bring him home.