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“A letter for the count, my lady.” Gaethan’s always polite, ever-correct words grated on Almira’s ears. He could not hide his slightly-curled lip, nor entirely mask the sneer in his voice. None of Edmont de Fortemps’ servants had been pleased when their lord had wed a mere carpenter’s daughter. Being neither deaf nor stupid, she heard the whispers and sniggers when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Nevertheless, she nodded and took the envelope from the steward, glancing at the seal. It was from the chapel at Camp Dragonhead.
There had been an attack there by the dragonkin recently. It was therefore likely that the letter was requesting aid of some kind. Edmont, however, was currently away on a campaign to retake Stone Vigil and was not expected to return for nearly a moon. But a request for assistance should not have to wait that long; Camp Dragonhead was their responsibility.
She waited until the steward had left the room before breaking the seal.
Edmont, Count de Fortemps
Manor Fortemps
Foundation, Ishgard
Greetings on this fifth sun of the fourth Umbral Moon, from Father Beltran, priest of the chapel at Camp Dragonhead. May Halone grant you mercy.
My lord Count,
I have taken pen in hand to write on behalf of an unlettered young woman here. What follows is her words as she spoke them.
My lord,
You ruined me and I hate you for it! You told me you cared for me and that you'd always take care of me. And then when you got me with child, you turned me out like so much garbage.
I was a fool to trust you. Now that my son is born, I am leaving here. May Halone forgive you for what you've done to us, because I never will.
Jevele
By the hand of Father Beltran and under the seal of the chapel of Camp Dragonhead.
The parchment fell from Almira’s trembling fingers. She’d tried so hard to be a good wife, a proper wife to Edmont. She’d given him a son! An heir of his body! What had she done to deserve his infidelity? She remembered Jevele of course. A quiet girl, but good at her work. Edmont had sent her away one day, saying she was a thief. And she, Almira, had believed him.
Sorrow and shame gave way to anger. She rose and washed her face, removing all traces of the tears. Once she looked the proper lady again, she sat down at her desk and began to plan. Edmont would rue the day he made a fool of her.
Ruthlessly, she considered her options. Ishgard law prohibited divorce; the Holy See of Ishgard considered it a sin. Thus, many married couples lived separate lives to one degree or another. Rumour had it that the Dzemael children were actually sired by one of their servants. Almira shook her head. She wanted a solution that would not leave any scandal hanging over her son’s head. Whatever vengeance she chose, she must consider that.
Whispering about the affair in the marketplace would also adversely affect Artoirel, so that was not a viable solution. In fact, anything that would blacken Edmont’s name would do the same. It was a difficult problem. She had not yet come to a conclusion by the time Gaethan’s diffident tap at the door of her solar summoned her to dinner.
Her dreams that night were of Edmont. Their first meeting, when the handsome Elezen nobleman had walked into her father’s woodworking shop looking for a gift for his mother’s nameday. She had helped him select a cedar jewellery box with the image of Halone engraved on it. Less than a sennight later, he came back ‘just to browse’, but ended up purchasing something else. So it went: he would come to the shop once or twice in a sennight to browse and eventually buy something. Then one day, he asked her to call him ‘Edmont’ instead of ‘my lord’. Of course, she’d demurred. “It’s not fitting, my lord. If the wrong person heard, it could ruin us.”
The following morning, he was back, this time with the jewellery box in hand. He showed her the scratch in the finish where it had fallen from his mother’s vanity table. Could they mend it? Certainly. She brought him into the workroom and allowed him to watch while her clever hands expertly buffed out the scratch and applied a thin coat of varnish. Once it had dried and the scratch had vanished, he had thanked her profusely and left.
Later that day, he’d come back and asked her father for permission to court her. He brought her small gifts, nothing ostentatious. They took walks together, and one day he convinced her to go on a ride on his chocobo with him. That had been wonderful, airborne, with his arms around her, just a little tighter than was strictly necessary. That was the day she’d fallen in love with him.
She awoke in the morning still angry with Edmont, but much calmer in her mind. It would do her little good to confront him about the affair. He wouldn’t deny it, but neither would he apologise. Affairs were far too common among the noble class, where marriages were more about alliances and power than love. She had known this, but foolishly thought her husband would be different.
A solution had come to her overnight. There was an alchemist in the Brume that sold potions that the church had declared illegal - such as the one that would rid a woman of an unwanted pregnancy. One of his other wares was a potion to bind a man’s affections and keep him from straying. Were Edmont to remain faithful hereafter, she could accept that. And she would forgive him this one indiscretion. A very discreet visit to the Brume provided the potion she sought.
With her plan in place, and the package carefully hidden in her closet, life went on apace. Three more days passed. In the mornings she played the role of the dutiful wife and cared for her son. Afternoons were much the same. Evenings, after Artoirel had been put to bed, she considered what, if anything, she should do about the thorny problem of Edmont’s baseborn son. Her ruminations on the third evening since the arrival of the letter were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Come!” Her voice was a little harsher than intended and she took a breath to calm herself as Gaethan ushered a man-at-arms into the room. He was obviously exhausted, and just as obviously had not stopped to wash. Her nerves prickled. “Yes?”
“My lady, the lord count was badly hurt in our effort to retake Stone Vigil. We are bringing him home as quickly as may be. The chirurgeon says travelling too swiftly would kill him.”
“What happened? What injuries has my husband suffered?”
“There was a dragon, m’lady. It snatched him up with a great claw and threw him like a child’s toy. We drove the beast off finally. One of his legs is crushed and both arms broken.”
“How long until the lord count will be home?” she demanded.
“Tomorrow or the next day. I came ahead to bring the news once we sighted the city gates.”
“You did well. Gaethan, get this man a good meal and a place to sleep. He has earned the gratitude of the House. Then ready one of the rooms on the lower floor.” She thought a moment. “The Blue room.” At the steward’s blank look, she continued, “It will be much easier to tend my husband properly if he is downstairs. And set up the adjoining Rose room as a place for his chirurgeon to stay.”
Gaethan’s face cleared. “Yes, my lady.” For the first time in her memory, he sounded approving. He gave her a deep bow and gestured to the man to follow him.
Perhaps, Almira thought, this was the Fury’s rough justice meted out to Edmont in full measure. For all Halone was a warrior, she was also a woman. It was a comforting thought.
The following morning, over breakfast, she gently and carefully explained to Artoirel that his father had been badly hurt. “We will take care of him, you and I,” she said. “If Halone wills it, he will recover.”
Her son nodded seriously, but soon scampered off to his nursery to play. Almira rose and walked down the hallway to find the servants turning out the Blue and Rose rooms under the direction of Gaethan. “I thought it best to remove the rugs, m’lady,” he said as he caught sight of her. “With my lord count being so badly injured, a stone floor…”
“Is easier to clean. Yes, I agree.” She looked around the Blue room, noting the high bed positioned to allow access from either side. It had been made up with linen sheets, and the blankets were encased in linen slip-covers rather than silks. “You have some experience with the sick and injured, I see.”
“Yes, my lady. When I was a footman, I was responsible for aiding the chirurgeons during attacks. I remembered how they had things done and why they had them done.” He indicated the empty sideboard along one wall. “I thought this would be a good place to put medicines and bandages.”
“That is well. Perhaps set another up in the Rose room as well.”
“Yes, my lady.”
All was in readiness when they brought Edmont in just before evening table would have been served. Almira almost didn’t recognize him - his face was so pale and drawn. She led them to the Blue room and stood to one side as the chirurgeon and his assistant settled her husband in his bed.
“Could we have a fire in the room, my lady?” the assistant asked. “The Count has lost much blood and will feel the cold more intensely.”
At her swift nod, Gaethan immediately moved to the fireplace and laid a fire with practised hands. Under the grate, he placed bricks. Once they were hot, they could be wrapped in leather and put next to the count to help warm him. There was an approving murmur from the chirurgeon.
“I will be tending my husband myself,” Almira said firmly. “With Gaethan’s able assistance.” She would not have it bandied about that she was not a proper wife to Edmont. “What are his injuries?”
The chirurgeon nodded and began his report in a detached tone that Almira recognized as necessary to the profession. “Moderate concussion. Prognosis good. Simple fracture of right forearm. Splinted. Prognosis good. Simple fractures of left wrist and forearm. Splinted. Prognosis good. Multiple minor lacerations on right torso and upper arm. Cleaned and stitched. Prognosis good. Major laceration on right thigh. Cleaned and stitched. Prognosis hopeful. Left thigh bone broken. Splinted, prognosis hopeful. Left lower leg and ankle crushed. Splinted. Prognosis doubtful.” He shook his head. “My lady, we will do our best for him of course. He rouses intermittently but soon falls back into unconsciousness. This is normal for such injuries. When he wakes, we try to give him this medicine to dull the pain, and this one to help his body make new blood to replace the lost.
“What of his diet? Can he eat?”
“Nothing terribly rich. No solid food until he is more aware. Broth would be best.”
“Gaethan, have a pot of broth brought from the kitchen. We will keep it on the hearth here to stay warm. A new pot twice a day. Someone will have to stay with my husband always and try to feed him after the chirurgeons have given him his medicine. The more nourishment he takes, the better for his recovery.”
The steward nodded and scurried off. In only moments, one of the footmen appeared with a steaming pot. Gaethan followed with a bowl and spoon which he set on the mantel above the fireplace. “I have informed the cook, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Almira turned to the chirurgeon and his assistant. “Gentlemen, I have a room for you if you wish to rest. It is yours for as long as you are needed here. Ring the bell if you need anything. And please, let me know if there is anything that can be done to speed Edmont’s recovery.”
Gaethan led them off to settle in the Rose room, and for the first time Almira was alone with the battered wreck that was her husband, recipient of the Fury’s Justice. She sat on the edge of the bed, and took his right hand in hers, careful not to jostle him. “Edmont, come back to us. We need you.”
His voice was so thin, she almost missed it. “Almira, beloved…”
The next several days passed in something of a blur for the Fortemps household. Wound fever set in, and Edmont lost what little weight he had gained back as the infection sapped his appetite and burned through him. Artoirel’s third Nameday was still celebrated, although in restrained fashion. Artoirel didn’t really notice, having received the toy knight that he wanted. That evening once she’d put her son to bed, the chirurgeon requested to speak to her.
“A crisis approaches, my lady. Tonight, the fever will break or the lord count will pass. We have done everything we can; it is in the hands of the Fury.”
Almira thanked them, and sent Gaethan to fetch Father Gervase from the cathedral. Were Edmont to die that night, it would not be for lack of prayers. As she passed through the hall, she heard a soft murmuring of voices and saw flickering light. Curious, she peered around a corner and saw the servants holding a candlelight vigil for their lord, one of the footmen reading the service for Intercession from a battered prayer book while the others made the responses. Despite the gravity of the situation, she smiled, touched and comforted.
In later years, Almira preferred to forget about that night. She sat beside Edmont, bathing his forehead with cool water, the fever inside him raging so hot that her damp cloth dried almost immediately. Father Gervase had immediately given Edmont the Rite of Absolution when he arrived, and now knelt in a corner of the room, murmuring the prayers. Edmont was lost in fever dreams, thrashing against the restraints that held his broken bones stable.
Just before dawn, he cried out once more and fell back into unconsciousness. For the first time sweat appeared on his forehead and along his hairline as the fever broke. The priest came to her side at her call, and lifted his hands and voice in a paeon of gratitude. Out in the hall, she heard Gaethan’s scratchy bass voice pick up the hymn, and other voices joining in. A thousand tonnes lifted off the House. For the first time since Edmont had been carried through the door, Almira allowed herself to relax.
The following morning, Almira found Edmont awake when she came in to change the bandages on the lacerations that covered his right side. “Edmont..”
He gave her a pleased smile, even though there were shadows of pain in his eyes. “I feel as though I have been dragged through the fires of Hell,” he said. “What day is it?”
“The fifth day of the second Astral moon,” she answered as she gently unwound the soft linen wrapped around his upper arm and shoulder. “These are healing well. Your chirurgeon says if they continue apace, the bandages will come off for good in another day or two.” She took clean linen from the sideboard and began gently wrapping the cuts again.”
“I have your gentle hands to thank for it,” he said.
“It is good to see you yourself again,” Almira answered as she brought his breakfast to him. “I … we were all worried about you.” His appetite had returned, for he applied himself to eating - for the most part he managed, so long as the bowl was held steady.
When he was done, she gave him the medicines the chirurgeons had provided and he took them without complaint. “Thank you,” he said quietly as she returned the medicine bottles to the sideboard.
She touched his face gently. “Gaethan will be in momentarily to take care of the rest. I’m not able to lift you to change the bedding. When that’s done, I’ll come back.”
He took one of her hands then, and only let it go reluctantly when the steward arrived. She left to give them privacy - Edmont would have been mortified to have her cleaning him as if he were a babe.
It did not take long, and when Gaethan was done with him, she went back to her husband and locked the door to prevent interruption. Edmont’s left eyebrow rose fractionally. “Almira?”
She sat down next to him again, and simply gave the letter into his hand.
One eyebrow raised slightly as he noticed the broken seal, and he inhaled sharply once as he read, but he said nothing until he’d finished. He looked over at his wife, seeing the lines of strain in her face. “I.. am ashamed,” he said finally, softly. “I have no excuse for betraying you as I did. Nor explanation, save foolishness. I was very, very wrong, and I most humbly crave your pardon.”
“I was, am, angry with you,” she answered softly but with steel in her voice. “I think I will manage to forgive you one day.” She thought of the little package from the alchemist, hidden in her closet. As it might interact badly with the medicines he was taking, she would continue to hold off on using it.
“That is more than I deserve.” He reached for her hand, gritting his teeth against the pain it caused him. She took his, and moved closer so his arm could return to its proper position. “Whatever penance you desire of me, I will perform to the best of my ability. I so vow and declare, in the name of Halone.”
She squeezed his hand gently. “That is more than I expected, my husband. Do you need to rest now, or may Artoirel see you? He has been missing his father.”
“I would love to see my son,” he answered simply.
Artoirel was loudly happy to see his father awake and aware, and dismayed by the bandages and the lingering sickroom odour. But Almira encouraged him to sit on the edge of the bed where Edmont could stroke the boy’s hair. Unsurprisingly, the two fell asleep fairly quickly, Artoirel’s head pillowed on his father’s chest.
Edmont had been in excellent health prior to the battle with the dragon, and this stood him in good stead as he slowly healed. It was a great day for the Fortemps Household when the family attended services at the cathedral for the first time since he’d been brought home, Edmont in a wheeled chair, Artoirel carefully sitting on his father’s lap.
The lacerations healed, and splints came off Edmont’s forearms, a brace went on his left wrist to steady it while it continued to heal. The chirurgeons shook their heads over the slowly mending left leg and said they could do nothing more - it was in the hands of the Fury.
There were changes, of course. As the services of the chirurgeons were no longer required on a daily basis, they were thanked profusely and released to other duties. The Rose room was turned into the Count’s study and the doorway widened to grant easier access to his wheeled chair. His desk and books were brought from his former study on the upper floor.
They were watching the servants arrange the furniture under Gaethan’s direction, when Edmont turned to his wife. “Beloved, what would you think of moving your writing desk in here. By the window, so you could get plenty of light.”
Almira considered. Edmont had not wanted her to share his study before. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” she asked, throwing his own words back at him. The words he’d said when she’d suggested it once, two years ago.
He flinched. “I am sure. I am also sure that I would like it if you would share my bed again. Were you to stay on my right side…”
“Edmont,” she said slowly, “If I return to your bed, it will break my heart if you are unfaithful again. I could never forgive you.” She thought again of the unused potion in her closet. But he was still talking, softly, each word wrenched out of him.
“I remember the dragon’s claw wrapping around me, and then flying through the air. And pain. I remember burning up, as if I was walking through the fires of the Hells. I dreamed, so sharp and vivid, one might almost call it a vision. I saw you lying dead before me - you’d taken your own life because of my actions…” A tear tracked down one cheek. “Almira, I realised then I could not bear to lose you, and that if I did not change the kind of man I was, I surely would.”
She moved her chair closer to his, so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Gaethan,” she called, “have my writing desk and books moved to our new study as well.”
The steward turned and nodded, and moments later a small parade of servants ascended the stairs to move the requested furniture.
“What would you think of changing the Red room into a master suite?” She asked him. “We could build in a new bath.”
He gave her a mischievous smile, the one he’d worn while they were courting, the one that heated her blood like nothing else. “Let’s go take a look and plan it out!”
She slid into bed beside him that night, to be greeted by his pleased smile and gentle hands as he brought her close. And if they could not be together in the usual way of man and wife because of his still mending leg, they found other ways to enjoy each other’s company.
The seasons turned as the year worked its way around. Artoirel’s fourth Nameday was approaching. Edmont had learned to walk again, first with two crutches, then one, and finally a cane along with a brace on his left ankle. The alchemist’s potion stayed unused in Almira’s closet.
Count and Countess were in their study together, as had become their custom. Almira was working on the household accounts. Edmont was writing a letter to the commander of Camp Dragonhead. Gaethan knocked at the door.
“My lord, my lady, there’s a man here who wishes to speak to you. I have settled him in the ante-chamber.”
The visitor was a tall Elezen man with sun-darkened skin and a shock of gold hair that caught the light. He was roughly dressed in linen and cotton, and there was a large leather traveling satchel at his feet. He bowed as they entered, the bent-double bow that exposed the back of the neck, such as a supplicant would use.
He waited until they were seated and Edmont gestured to him.
“M’lord, m’lady, Byregot’s blessings upon you for receiving me.” His accent wasn’t of Ishgard. “My name is Niell Mainrocquet, and I come to you from Gridania though I was born here.”
That explained why the guards had allowed an apparent foreigner into the city.
“My father is a bannerman of my lord Durendaire,” he continued. “You saved his life at Stone Vigil with your quick actions. We are grateful to you.” He bowed once more, again the deep supplicant’s bow.
“There is no debt among soldiers,” Edmont replied. “Mainrocquet - I remember the name. A good man. Just promoted to sergeant before that fight.”
“Just as you say, m’lord.” He bit his lip. “I’ve come to beg your lordship’s mercy. I hired a girl some moons back to work in my shop. She’d a young child, and needed the work. ‘Twas a simple bit of charity at the time. But she took ill and died a sevendays ago. And..” his eyes dropped to the floor, “she said, my lord, that her son was yours. Made me swear to tell you.”
“What was her name,” Almira asked.
“Jevele, m’lady. I’ve no way to care for a child meself - no wife, y’see, or I’d keep him for her sake.”
Edmont looked at his wife. “It is for you to say,” he said softly. “If we take him in, there will be talk, and you will bear the brunt of it.”
“‘Twill also be a constant reminder of your shame,” she answered just as quietly. “I can bear it if you can. We cannot do nothing.”
“The shame is mine to bear and so I will bear it. The child should not be made to suffer for my sin.” Edmont looked up. “Master Mainrocquet, please bring Jevele’s son to us. We will take him. Do you know - did she have him baptised?”
“No, m’lord. She didn’t. She named him Haurchefant.”
Almira hmm’d in thought. “You stand as his guardian now,” she said to Niell. “Will you cede him to us, let us adopt him into House Fortemps as the son he is and will be?”
“With pleasure, for his sake, m’lady. And hers.”
“We’ll have to get another chair,” Edmont said as they entered the dining room that evening.
Artoirel looked up at his parents. “Why?”
“You’re going to be getting a little brother soon. Within the week,” Almira answered gently as Edmont handed her into her chair before sitting down himself. “His name is Haurchefant.”
Artoirel’s spoon clattered onto his plate and he looked back and forth between his mother and father in abject horror. “Is… is Haurchefant going to be my nameday present?”
“No, we will get you something else for your nameday. A book, perhaps. But truly, Artoirel, little brothers are not as bad as that,” Almira answered, taking her husband’s hand. “If you are kind to him, he will come to look up to you. You can help him learn everything he will need to know.”
Artoirel beamed and turned his attention back to his dinner. Peas were hard! They wouldn’t stay on the spoon. While he was preoccupied, Almira leaned over to Edmont. “It is good that we will have Haurchefant,” she whispered to him. “He will give us a few moons of practice for our next one.”
Edmont nearly dropped his wineglass as his eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “Beloved… are you quite sure?”
“Quite. And quite pleased about it.”
Within days, Haurchefant was installed in Manor Fortemps. There was a baptismal ceremony at the cathedral soon after, whereat he was named Haurchefant Deveraux Edmont de Fortemps. There was talk, of course, but no one in the household deigned to acknowledge it. And when Marcelliene de Dzemael was seen kissing one of her father’s stablemen, the ensuing scandal drove all thought of Haurchefant’s birth from the gossips’ minds.
Artoirel was much appeased by the book of stories and the stuffed chocobo that he got for his Nameday. He accepted Haurchefant wholeheartedly, especially when this behaviour brought him approval from both parents.
On Little Ladies’ Day, count and countess were talking over the idea of holding a ball for Heavensturn. They’d not hosted one in some time. Almira gasped, stiffened, and her hands flew to her abdomen. “Edmont…”
Edmont didn’t waste time expostulating that their child wasn’t due for another moon at least. Instead, he carried his wife to their room, adrenaline giving strength to his bad leg, while calling for Gaethan to summon the chirurgeon.
“It’s not good,” the chirurgeon told him a bell later. “This early, the child hasn’t turned. I will do what I can, but…”
The words tore from Edmont’s throat, raw and ripping. “If you must choose, save my wife.”
Edmont badly wanted to pace around his study while he waited for further word from the birthing room. He’d strained something, and his leg would barely support him even with the cane. So he was seated at his desk clenching and unclenching his fists with nervous energy.
Gaethan came in then with a steaming mug. Edmont took it with a nod of thanks and sipped cautiously. It was hot chocolate, made the way he liked it best, with a dash of peppermint.
“Pardon the liberty, my lord, but I’ve sent for Father Gervase. He should be here soon.”
“Thank you, Gaethan. You’re a good man. Show him in, when he arrives.”
The priest arrived soon thereafter, having been made aware of the circumstances. “Where there is yet life, there is hope,” he said. “Let us speak the Intercession together.”
The age-old ritual was comforting, and Edmont found himself calming somewhat. Still, it felt like an eternity had passed, when the chirurgeon was shown into the room. Edmont blanched as he saw the man’s once white sleeves were now stained with red nearly to the elbow. He knew what blood looked like.
“My lord count, your wife will live and you have a healthy son as well.”
Edmont didn’t - quite - run to see his wife, but he definitely moved much faster than was his wont. The chirurgeon waved him inside and Almira gave him a tired smile. “Edmont - come meet our son! Our third son, I should say.”
“He’s a handsome lad! I think he’s going to look like you,” Edmont predicted, looking down at the tiny head with its raven-dark hair so much like his own.
“What shall we name him?”
“Artoirel is named for my father, your father, and my grandfather,” Edmont mused. “Haurchefant is named for his mother’s father, your grandfather, and me. All very traditional. But there’s nothing that says we must pick names from the family tree.”
“Could we name him Emmanellain?” At Edmonth’s questioning look she blushed slightly. “That was the name of a prince in a book I had when I was a girl.”
“Emmanellain…” Edmont tried the name out. “I like it. I would like his second or third name to be Barendouin, if you agree.”
“Second name, I think,” she said. “And his third name should have two syllables so it will flow better. Would you object to Gervase? After Father Gervase.”
“If Father Gervase has no objection, I have none. He is a good man.” Edmont paused a moment. “May I hold Emmanellain?”
He had never wanted to hold Artoirel at that age. Almira put their latest son into his arms, showing him how to support the baby’s head properly. Her husband’s smile could have lit the heavens.
“Edmont, may I speak with you?” Almira’s voice trembled despite her best efforts. Her hand gripped the doorframe of their study.
Her husband’s eyebrows shot up. “Always, my love. What’s amiss?” He rose from his desk and took a step toward her.
She came into the study and shut the door, turning the lock. This was not a conversation that should be interrupted. “I spoke to my chirurgeon today… He… he said…” Her control broke and the tears came and she buried her face in her hands.
Edmont took her in her arms, holding her close and letting her gather herself again. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”
For a while they stayed there, his arms around her. Finally she raised her head. “Oh Edmont… I’m so afraid…” she trailed off.
“Of what?” his voice was a soft rumble and his arms tightened slightly.
“I’m afraid you’ll hate me,” she got the difficult words out at last. “The chirurgeon… he told me today… I can’t give you any more children. Too… too much damage from Emmanellain’s birth. He’d hoped it would heal better, but it hasn’t. It won’t!”
Edmont tensed slightly. She felt it and he knew she felt it. “That’s a sorrow for us both,” he replied, searching carefully for the right words. “But I could never hate you for it. Nor would I blame Emmanellain. There’s no fault here to be assigned… Yes, I wanted more children - but it’s a want, not a need. We have three fine sons already.”
“I was afraid you’d put me aside…” she mumbled into his chest, “or take a mistress…”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Father Gervase told me of how you cared for me yourself rather than leaving me to the servants. That was far more than I deserved. I would not blame you if you hated me for shattering my vows to you.”
“I did, for a short time,” Almira replied. “I was so angry. Then you were brought home, and I realised I still loved you despite what you had done. And that night - the night your fever broke, I forgave you for it. I just wanted you back.”
Many years later, after Nidhogg was slain by the Warrior of Light, after the Eyes were wrested from the Azure Dragoon, after something like peace fell over Ishgard, Almira went for a walk by herself. She came to the precipice where the Eyes had been cast. It seemed fitting. She looked out over it for a moment, and then with a single savage movement threw the package she’d bought from the alchemist so long ago.