Chapter Text
The night of his death started quietly, with just Artoirel and his mother sitting in front of her vanity.
Artoirel liked braiding hair. He struggled to do it on himself with anything more than a few strands behind his ear, but sometimes before smaller events like the one tonight, his mother let him braid hers. Her hair was long, and soft, and the darkest shade of blue gave the appearance of the night sky when silver baubles were weaved in it.
Artoirel liked the stars as well. He wasn't as good at reading them as Carvallain, or as skilled at tracing the patterns of the constellations as Stephanivien, but they fascinated him nonetheless. It sometimes helped him carry the weight of his duties. They gave him a reminder that the universe is infinitely more expansive than his own little world. And yet, some legends claimed people are made of stardust, and despite their insignificance, sometimes Artoirel wondered if the stars looked back at them and drew meaning from the patterns of Ishgard’s people.
He wrapped a silver band around the end of a braid and sat back to judge his work as a whole. He still struggled with making it uniform with the way he'd done it before. Sometimes his mind would drift, and his fingers would have a mind of their own and start improvising, as they sometimes did when his attention deviated from his sheet music.
His mother turned in her chair, causing the hair to fall out of his hands. She reached behind Artoirel's neck to tie his hair up. When she pulled away, a pendant landed on his collarbone.
Artoirel picked it up and twisted it in his hands, feeling around the smooth metal and the points of the shield. His mother gently took it from his fingers and pressed the thing to the front of a box.
After two twists of the shield in the indent on the box, it opened up on its own. A miniature figure swirled around in time with the tinny notes of his mother's favorite lullaby. Artoirel looked past the dancer to the mirror set in the inside of the lid and used it to make sure his own hair looked okay. After a moment of checking, he pushed his small braid beneath some other strands.
His mother closed the box and put it in Artoirel's hands, placing a kiss at the top of his head. “Happy early nameday.”
“It's beautiful,” Artoirel replied. His fingers pressed along the divots of gems and filigree. “Thank you.”
The moment of quiet was interrupted by the sound of Emmanellain bursting into the room. Their mother hid a laugh behind her hand at his brother's ceaseless giggling.
The three of them walked to the palace together. They headed to their suite to relax until the ball really got into swing. It mostly looked like Artoirel sitting patiently on a couch while Emmanellain ran around in circles getting out his energy.
Artoirel found himself drawn from the room, looking over the balcony as the musicians started to play. He liked watching it from a distance, somewhere safe above the storm, partially because he was worried he would disappear in a crowd like that. He was sure he'd like it more when he hit his growth spurt, but at the moment, this was enough.
He must've lost track of time basking in the sound. The next thing he knew, the whole room had grown silent as the Archbishop moved through to the center. He banged his staff against the hard floors, which quieted the few stragglers.
Artoirel leaned further over the railing to see a little better. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the Archbishop, far from it, but it was one of the first times he could see the man without his guards. Artoirel also couldn't think of a single time he'd seen the man at a ball.
“My people,” the Archbishop began. His room echoed around the high ceilings and reverberated back down. “What a glorious eve is upon us.”
Apparently Artoirel's father had finally arrived. He walked through the middle of the crowd to the Archbishop. “Your Eminence. To what do we owe your presence this evening?”
Artoirel rested his chin on his folded arms.
“Why, Count Fortemps, you are about to see. Soon, the Fury’s grace will be upon us all.”
Artoirel frowned. He needed to focus harder on his religious studies, he had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
His father said something again, but Artoirel was distracted by a tug on his hand. He stamped down his frustration and prepared to tell Emmanellain that it wasn't a good time. He was surprised when he saw not a brother, but a friend. Stranger still, Stephanivien spoke quietly, his face all pinched up.
“We have to go. Please.” Steph tugged again, and Artoirel acquiesced far enough to be drawn back towards his family's suite.
“I don't want to sneak around again. I don't like getting in tro-”
Steph had the audacity to interrupt him. “Your mother said it's okay. We have to go.”
Artoirel frowned. He let himself be dragged further into the suite, where Stephanivien paused to open a part of the wall.
Artoirel's mother stood behind them. She looked upset too. One of her arms wrapped around her middle, and her other hand held on tight to Emmanellain.
“Mother?” Artoirel tried to keep down his rising anxiety. “What's wrong?”
His mother spoke slowly and softly, to the point the distant voice of the Archbishop nearly drowned her out. “Your friend is going to take you on a trip. Follow what he says, all right?”
Artoirel knew not why, but he was well aware his mother and Stephanivien didn't like each other. He couldn't fathom what made them agree on this. “I don't understand.”
“It's just a precaution, darling. Move quickly and stay safe. When the danger has passed, you can come home.”
“Danger?”
Stephanivien finished whatever he was doing and took Artoirel’s hand back. “We have to go,” he said a third time.
Artoirel's mother held Emmanellain tighter. “Go. I'll see you when it's passed.”
Steph pulled him through the wall, into a series of small tunnels. Stephanivien had always known of every nook and cranny, every hidden passage in the palace. He had to. It was how he got away with all of his tomfoolery. Artoirel had only joined him a handful of times in the tunnels, and it never ended well.
They had exited into the kitchen right as the first scream rang out. An audible panic ran through the people just outside the room they were in. “Faster,” Stephanivien said, pulling him through the back exit.
The night was pretty and dark, and the stars shone bright over the winter snow. It had been cold enough for ice to spread along the lake. Stephanivien tried to pull him onto it, but Artoirel held his ground.
“What is happening?”
“I'll tell you after. Now-”
Artoirel heard more screams, closer now. He still couldn’t make himself move. “We can't go on the ice. I'll fall.”
Stephanivien readjusted the grip on his hand to make it stronger. “We have to go this way, it's the fastest way to the station. No adult is idiotic enough to follow kids on thin ice.”
He made his way onto the slippery surface, tensing every muscle in his body to avoid being knocked prone. They were halfway across when the idiot arrived.
A member of the Heavensward, a knight with a heavy sword and shield, ran to catch up with them. His boots kept him steady, but the weight of it all started forming fractures in the ice beneath him. Steph scrambled to make Artoirel go faster. Artoirel did as much as he could to help.
The knight had far longer strides than either of them, and it wouldn't be long until they were overrun. Artoirel had his eyes fixed on the man even as his body moved the other way. He hadn't seen the ice break.
It was a large crack, taking up all the space between them. The knight tripped and fell in, which might have been a miracle if Artoirel hadn't fallen in as well on the other end.
The water overtook him so fast. He wasn't dressed for it at all, his heavy fur coat keeping him down for the most part with the added water weight. The knight hadn't been ready either. His plate mail dragged him down and the metal of his armor conducted the cold. In the few blinks he got, Artoirel saw the determined look in the man’s eyes. His thoughts were clear. If I go down, you're coming with me. A gauntlet wrapped tight around Artoirel's ankle.
Artoirel forced himself to keep surfacing as best he could. It felt like a losing battle. He coughed up water with every breath. His fingers grew numb as the rest of his body started to burn in the temperature.
Luckily, with much of his remaining strength, Artoirel was able to kick the armor-clad hand from his ankle. The knight bounced back with the movement, trapping him under the ice.
Artoirel flailed his hand above the water, despite how much colder it felt, until Steph snatched it and helped him get out.
“I'm sorry,” Stephanivien gasped as he pulled Artoirel into a hug. “We need to hurry up before another one of them arrives. You can rest and warm up on the train.” With that, they were off again.
They made it to the station. Steph jumped on a train just beginning to start moving. Artoirel's eyes widened. Everything had spun out of control, and now he was supposed to board a train to Fury knows where-
“Take my hand.”
Artoirel shut his eyes tight and let himself be pulled up onto the train. The door didn't close behind him.
The train accelerated. Artoirel clung tight. The wind began to batter his frosted hair, and Artoirel was just so cold…
The train hit a turn that made his weight lean further through the door.
“Hold on. Just hold on.”
Artoirel tried. He tried. But the force was too strong, and his hands were numb and slippery. He fell. The last thing he felt was something hard on the ground connecting with his head, and then the cold tore him from consciousness, leaving him to bleed out alone in the snow.