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The evening so far had gone exactly as Aymeric had hoped.
At last, he had found and seized the opportunity to share a drink and friendly conversation with the Warrior of Light: May Kyrvel. So giddy had he been at the chance, that he had known it could not be wasted in his office or the Forgotten Knight. No, he would play the host, and the chef for that matter, risking no issue or interruption that could wait until the morrow. The weeks of torturous politic following the end of the Dragonsong war would have left Aymeric nearly spent, if not for the glimmering promise of this rendezvous. It aligned with May's return from Zenith, where some of her associates had been laboring to assist in the Moogle-led restoration of Bahrr Lehs, a monument of ages past whence dragon and man lived in harmony. Aymeric was delighted to hear her recount the Moogles' mischief and their triumphs, among the many other tales she had to tell of the world beyond Ishgard. It was only right that he provided adequate refreshment in return.
The food had turned out wonderfully, and his guest had spared no compliment to his culinary skills, nor to his selection of wines to pair. They shared a sweet tooth, it turned out, and Aymeric could hardly contain his excitement to share the fresh fruit tart he had labored to perfect after hearing of the Warrior of Light's fondness for berries. He would have to thank Mistress Tataru for her insight again, perhaps with a vintage from his cellar. Indeed a second may be necessary, as May looked a vision in the garments she explained were fashioned by Tataru's hand, her form elegantly tailored in contrast to her excited storytelling. Yet for how spirited her account of her travels had been, and how pleased she seemed with dinner and company, Aymeric was certain there was something on his friend's mind.
May Kyrvel, the Warrior of Light, Hero of Ishgard, who faced primals, great wyrms, voidsent, and even the immortal Ascians with such conviction to seem dauntless now appeared... nervous.
"...What do you want for yourself?" he had asked, but a moment before she broke away from his gaze to stare at her plate, biting at her lip. He allowed her a long moment to collect her thoughts, and then took a breath to begin his apology for whatever misstep he may have made, only to be silenced by her reply.
"I want to tell you something," May said, "something I've never told anyone, and I'm not sure how to say." Her eyes flicked to his momentarily, then back down. She shifted subtly, and Aymeric imagined her hands fidgeting beneath the table, pulling at her dress or picking at her nails. He almost thought he was imagining the faint flush on her cheeks and the tips of her ears as he prepared for what she might possibly have to be timid about. Could it be that May, too, felt...?
But of course the moment was cut short by a missive that brought them to House Fortemps with great urgency. He silently cursed his fate before diverting his thoughts to what aid he may need to provide upon their arrival. For her part, May was quick to drop the matter, and Aymeric pushed down the petulant voice inside and engaged his sense of duty. Dinner all but forgotten, the two arrived to the sobering scene of Alisaie Leveilleur, Alphinaud's twin sister, beset by poison at the hands of the self-proclaimed Warriors of Darkness. The girl's condition was unsettling, but her words were what sent a chill through the room, which settled into the cold resolve of those prepared to face the dangers ahead. Once he had sent Thancred with Alisaie to the infirmary, Aymeric lingered, eager to offer further assistance. He was, however, unable to fault Alphinaud's caution at using an airship to approach Xelphatol, and thus excused himself to follow his charge and rouse his men to offer support.
To his surprise, he had barely made it back into the brisk night air when he heard hurried footsteps and a familiar voice call out.
"Lord Aymeric!" May entreated, her voice not so loud as to echo into the street as she left the threshold. Aymeric turned, hoping for a moment she had found some new way in which he might aid her-- their cause. Her eyes were determined, but he noticed again how she bit her lip as she caught up to him. And there was that flush again, though surely it was from the cold and the pace at which they had journeyed through the Pillars.
"What is it, my friend? How can I help?" he offered earnestly. He watched closely as she looked downward, and reflected upon their earlier conversation as she searched for the words to continue.
"I was worried I might miss my chance," she explained, "to tell you what I was trying to say before." Her hands balled into fists at her side.
Aymeric hardly noticed as his hand reached out-- an impulse to comfort her, perhaps-- and so was surprised when he felt it grasped by both of hers. He felt his own face heat as he brought his other hand atop hers, and his breath caught when she looked up at him with an expression he had never seen her wear before.
"My name..." she began, "my given name. It is Madrienne de Coeurvoile." Aymeric could barely hear those three words for how quietly she whispered, trapped in the island of warmth between them. When had she drawn so close? "I was born in Ishgard, to a merchant family serving House Dzemael." May fidgeted in the moment of silence that followed, and Aymeric realized he must still wear a look of shock. He smiled and squeezed her hands in reassurance.
"I would never have guessed... though I do not recognize your family name, I am sure they would be proud to know that their daughter is the Hero of Ishgard," he offered, but his surety wavered as May's expression soured.
"They would not, nor do I wish to tell them," she denied, with such resignation that it nearly broke Aymeric's heart. Homeland aside, it seemed they yet had more in common. "I don't know anymore if I blame them for abandoning me, when the gifts I've only recently begun to understand would have condemned them as heretics. Sending me away was the kindest thing they could have done. It's probably the only reason I survived to return here." Tears welled in her eyes, and Aymeric felt the urge to wipe them away, but could not bear to release her shaking hands. She had not bothered to don her gloves in their rush to leave, granting him the privilege to feel some of the callouses and scars she had earned from a life of adventuring.
"It pains me that even you, my friend, were subject to the cruelties of the Church in this way. I thought I knew, before, how brave you were to stand against it, but I can see now that you are braver still," he mused solemnly. May sniffled and looked up at him with a sad smile.
"I didn't feel very brave," she continued, shaking her head, "not at first. Were it not for the sake of my friends I might never have stepped on Coerthan soil, let alone through The Gates of Judgement."
"And yet you did, to my good fortune," Aymeric stated, firm enough to leave no room for argument on that point. "To face your fears, I believe, is the greatest act of bravery one can take, especially for the sake of others. No doubt your friends would say the same." How much fear, he wondered, how much suffering had she overcome for his sake? More than he might ever know, he supposed, and that made the admission ever more precious. "I thank you for sharing this with me, if only so that I may share the burden of your trouble and ease your mind. If there is aught else I can do for this purpose, you need only ask." He watched as May closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and though he knew it must be to calm herself, the sight of her bid the thought of how easy it would be to lean the scant few ilms closer...
"When I left... when I was taken," she continued, "I was, I think, seven summers old. Old enough to know my letters, and understand how they longed for another child so that they could be rid of me." Aymeric understood that feeling, the deep sadness of being so unwanted by one's own family. "One of the few servants they could afford was my wet nurse, and she was the only one who pretended she was not unnerved by me or the things I should not have known, the voice I claimed to hear. I remember, once, she told me it was my nameday, and even gave me a sweet she had made at home. But I cannot recall the day." The sadness in May's eyes when she opened them made clear her request before she asked: "If it is in your power, could you find it for me? There must have been some record of my birth, or else my parents would not have gone to such lengths as they did to orchestrate my disappearance."
Aymeric felt himself nodding, which must have been why that sadness gave way to hope and gratitude, much to his relief.
"Of course, as soon as I can I shall make the proper inquiries," he promised. May let out a wet laugh, releasing his hands to finally scrub at her face.
"Gods, this one is a mess," she lamented, no small amount of humor in her voice. "There's a summoning to stop and here I am getting snot on Tataru's stitching..." Quickly, Aymeric produced a handkerchief to allay her woes, which May took gratefully.
"I suppose we should return to our respective tasks," he agreed reluctantly. His hands were already beginning to ache from the cold. "I shall pray for your safe return."
"Thank you," said May, and he watched as she turned to look back at House Fortemps. She paused, and for a brief moment, Aymeric expected her to say something more. Instead, when she turned back to see him still standing there, she surprised him again, this time with an embrace he was nearly too stunned to return. "Thank you," he heard again, muffled against the fur of his coat.
And then, as quickly as she had caught him, May turned and rushed back inside, leaving the Lord Commander to make equal haste to his own duties. She would not fail, of this he was certain.
Nor would he fail her.
