17. sally

Haurchefant had never expected to receive the Warriors of Light and the sad remnants of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn on his doorstep in the middle of the night, cold, unarmed, and dressed for a gala, not a trek through the wilderness. He had certainly never expected that, when one of them looked at him with beautiful, tired blue eyes and declared that they’d not known where to go, where they would be safe, so they’d come to him, that his heart would crack open and leave him in awe of what lay within it.

So he did what he could in the moment – granted them sanctuary in the only place he’d ever been able to call his own, made jokes to lighten their spirits, served them drinks to warm the body and nourish the heart. And when all of that was done, and was not enough to stand against the darkness that wished to snuff out the light of the dawn, he had steeled himself and sallied forth into the unknown, to attempt to claim for a friend what he had never been able to fully claim for himself: a home in Fortemps Manor, safely ensconced within the protective walls of Ishgard.

His plea was refused, of course. Ishgard had closed her gates years ago, and it would take more than a few feats of heroism in her name to bid them open once more. But if the count de Fortemps would not heed the requests of his garrison commander, then perhaps his father would listen to his son, just this once. Never before had he asked anything of the man who sired him, but the look on the Warrior of Light’s face as she’d stood in the snow, lost and cold and uncertain as he’d never seen her, spurred him on.

Haurchefant spoke of light, and of inspiration, and of virtue; of a knight he had trained by his own hand, valiant and true and innocent of the crimes spoken against her; of a hero but also of a friend, dear to him above all others. He spoke of his obligation, his need to help her, to secure her passage to the only place in the realm that her enemies could not touch her. And in his heart, he admitted to himself that it was for her that he did this, not the others she brought with her. It was for her that he laid aside pride and put himself at his father’s mercy, knowing that refusal would bring an irrevocable end to a relationship long fraught with as much difficulty as affection.

It took a very, very long time, but in the end, his father’s love outweighed his sense of tradition and duty. Just as it must have all those years ago when he’d taken a lovely servant girl into his heart and his bed, and not turned out the baseborn child that had resulted, even though it drove a wedge of resentment between himself and his wife and trueborn sons.

Never before had Haurchefant been more sure of the strength of his father’s regard than in that moment. He had not granted him his name, or a place at his table between his brothers, but at the very least, he could give him this one thing. Fulfill one heartfelt wish, and take a dear friend into his home and into their family as much as he was able.

Edmont de Fortemps was a powerful man, but the Holy See was stubborn beyond measure, and for a time it seemed that even the determination of one of her highest lords, even with his voice amplified by another high house and the lord commander of the temple knights, would not shake her from her refusal. Would not convince her to open her gates to those who had literally stood with their backs to them, and guarded them against the onslaught of dragons that breached the wards of the Steps of Faith. In those long days of uncertainty, it was all Haurchefant could to grant whatever shelter and succor was within his own power, to guard his borders with sharpened steel, and pray to the Fury that it would be enough.

And it was. It was.

He saw his friend delivered to safety, though naturally it came with strings attached, as did every kindness in the city of his birth. He could only trust that when they attempted to strangle her, she would survive them, that when knives came at her in the dark, he would be able to shield her from them.

He needn’t have worried. Every challenge set before her, she rose to, and then overcame, by her grace and her valor. She repaid him many times over, saving his brother, saving his family’s reputation, saving his city itself by doing that which no one else had dared dream – walking alongside the heretics, learning and understanding, and from thence traveling into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold and cutting off the head of the horde that had long harried them.

So when she returned, with tales that exposed the rot that lay at the heart of everything his people held dear, he believed her. He took up arms in her defense. He loved her, even when she did not love him in return.

And when the time came, he shielded her as he always had, and felt not a moment of regret, save for the sadness it brought her. He had never wanted to be the cause of her pain, only the salve for it. Never her loss, only her shelter.

Never before had he asked anything of the woman he loved, but in that moment, he wished only to see again, for one final time, that for which he had risked and given all. His hero, no longer cold and lost in the dark, but brave, and brilliant, and smiling. And there, even at the end of all things, she did not disappoint him. She rose to the challenge and surpassed it, one final time.