Hi there! With FFXIVwrite fast approaching I thought I may as well start a writing tumblr. Just to introduce myself:
I'm constellarium from AO3! I currently write for the FFXIV fandom and it's, frankly, mostly spicy Haurchefant content lol, though I do plan to branch out in the future! I currently have two fics, one of which is ongoing:
A Shelter from the Storm
rated E, ongoing, 22/30 chapters.
F!Warrior of Light/Haurchefant.
Description: The Warrior of Light, weary from her flight from the ill-fated banquet in Ul'dah, seeks sanctuary and finds it in the kindness of an old friend.
Haurchefant Greystone trains the Warrior of Light in the art of shieldwork, and finds his own defenses sorely lacking. Slow burn, friends to lovers.
An Unlikely Conjunction
rated E, complete, 4/4 chapters.
Haurchefant/Jannequinard
Description: Haurchefant Greystone, fond of overworking, gets forced to take leave and return to the city. One night, he finds himself at the most dreadfully dull party he's ever had the displeasure of attending. Thankfully Jannequinard de Durendaire is there, cards in hand, to make his evening take a rather delightful turn.
This is my first year writing for this fandom and as such will be my first FFXIVwrite! I am very excited.
Anyway, I hope to meet some new faces around here, and discover new fic to read!! My inbox is always open if you want to chat 💜
FFXIVWrite Day #6: Halcyon & Wolchefant Week Day #6: Reunion
Rating: E
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone
Description: The Warrior of Light returns from her expedition into Dravania, and Haurchefant is overjoyed at her exploits - but even moreso their reunion.
Notes: 18+ only! Direct followup to Day 5's prompt, read that first.
Read on AO3!
"Haurchefant!" came a disbelieving shout from across the plaza, and his heart leapt to hear it, his body spinning towards her voice. Not a moment later the Warrior of Light, heedless of onlookers, leapt up into his arms. Dizzy and breathless, he held her tightly as she pressed a kiss to his cheek -- here, in front of everyone in the busy markets? Oh, he squeezed her tighter at this, as firmly as their armor would allow, smattering her cheeks with kisses in turn, uttering her name in sheer delight.
"You have returned to the city," he breathed as she dropped to her feet, cupping her cheek in his hand as if to ascertain that she was real. "Was-- was your mission...?"
"A success, yes, after a fashion," she said, beaming up at him. Fury, how long had it been since he'd last seen her smiling face? It was even more radiant than he'd remembered. "Take me somewhere private and I'll tell you every detail," she added, slipping her hand into his. Haurchefant felt himself flush, his eyes darting around the square -- their public display of genuine affection had garnered some curious looks, it seemed, and he stood up straighter and gripped her hand more tightly in his.
"Very well, my friend," he answered, walking hand-in-hand with her up the steps leading from the Crozier.
"My name has been exonerated," she said, entwining her gloved fingers with his -- he looked down at her as they reached the top of the steps. "The war has not ended, not quite yet, but this at least -- this pretending that all that lies between us is mere friendship, it can--"
She gasped and melted into the kiss, drawing her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his hair. And Haurchefant's heart -- oh, it sang, as he held her close, breathing in her familiar scent of steel and sweet mint, tasting her as he flicked his tongue against hers, his hands at her waist keeping her so close to him. When their lips finally parted, they gazed upon each other with wondering joy, the Warrior's open mouth slowly quirking up into a thrilled grin.
FFXIVWrite Day #5: Stamp & Wolchefant Week Day #5: Time Apart
Rating: T
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone
Description: The Warrior of Light, on a journey to broker peace between man and dragon, receives a letter from her lover back in Camp Dragonhead that reminds her of what she is fighting for.
Read on AO3!
My dearest friend, the letter began in Haurchefant's clear, elegant hand, how fare you on your latest adventure? Have you managed to find a way into enemy lands, as you'd confided in me before your departure? It has been quite some time since my last foray into the wilds of the Dravanian Forelands, well before the Calamity I would say; are they still as verdant and lush with untamed beauty as I remember? Once, as a youth, my father allowed me to accompany some of our house's men on an expedition to capture wild chocobos for use in our stables; if you have made it thus far I trust you have already encountered some of your own, and have been well-warned to steer clear of those bearing crimson feathers. 'Tis truly a shame they cannot be tamed -- such splendidly powerful, awe-inspiring creatures they are!
Business at Camp Dragonhead proceeds as usual; well, no, in truth there has been much more keeping me busy these past weeks than has ever been typical. The stacks of paperwork in my inbox grow ever higher and higher, no matter what I do, much to Corentiaux's chagrin -- I must admit that he might be under the impression that I am penning a lengthy missive to a lord of House Dzemael at the moment. I do hate to disappoint him, but I dislike being parted from your side even more. So I pray the Fury forgives my deception, and allows me this indulgence of writing to you instead, before I must return to my work.
I miss you, my friend. Oh, this is the second page now, surely no one who might intercept this letter would read past the first page, or even the first mention of my petty grousing about something as mundane as paperwork.
I miss you, my love; oh that I were there with you, in the midst of your most dangerous adventure, as your sword and your shield, your most devoted and ardent ally. Your lover, to offer this humble body to warm yours on the coldest of nights; these palms to wipe the sweat from your brow, these hands to work the knots from your aching muscles and soothe your exhaustion on your surely arduous journey. I miss you.
FFXIVWrite Day #4: Reticent & Wolchefant Week Day #4: Nameday
Rating: T
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light & Artoirel de Fortemps
Description: The Warrior of Light looks for Haurchefant in all the places he isn't.
Notes: Major character death, 3.0 spoilers. This one hurts, just putting that out there.
Read on AO3
She doesn't know why, but she's found herself at the cathedral again, nestled in an otherwise empty back-row pew, hoping no one notices she's there.
The priest, tall and eloquent and dressed in the usual proper Halonic frippery, is speaking typical words of how the Fury's Gaze, benevolent and just, is always cast upon them all, or something. Frankly, she's only half-listening. Her eyes are on the shards of golden yellow in the stained glass windowpanes behind him, the spear in the Fury's hand, the altar where at one time there lay a long wooden box with a gentle face in it that looked as if he were simply resting--
She sucks in a sudden breath, her chest tightening. She shouldn't have come here. Did she draw attention to herself? She looks around, eyes darting to and fro to scan the churchgoers in front of her -- no, they are all listening to the sermon, finding comfort in the priest's words, or bowing their heads in silent, solitary prayer. True believers, real Ishgardians. Unlike her.
He'd believed in Halone until his dying breath, hadn't he? Known that his soul, offered up in noble defense, would come to rest in Her hallowed halls. If it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else, wouldn't it have been -- a knight lives to serve, to aid those in need...
But if the Fury were real, were a true deity worth believing in -- would She not have let one of her faithful die at the hands of a weapon that so keenly imitated Her power and glory? Would She not have intervened?
She clenches the fabric of her long coat, struggling to remain calm until the sermon is over. But it is-- is difficult. She has not felt calm in months.
By the time the first half of the sermon ends and the congregants begin to rise from their seats for a shared prayer, she is nearly shaking. She makes her way out of the cathedral as orderly as possible but finds herself unable to prevent herself from dashing out the door, her body trying to flee the clenching in her chest -- the desperate, futile grasping of her heart for a piece of itself that still belongs but is now gone, not here, not anywhere --
She isn't looking where she is going, apparently, for suddenly she finds herself crashing into a broad chest, then stumbling backwards in embarrassment, stammering apologies.
A soft, familiar voice speaks her name, laced with concern, and for a moment she holds her breath... but then she looks up and finds that, no, it is only Artoirel, dressed in some of his finer attire, looking at her with open worry.
Is she truly that much of a mess today?
"Oh... Artoirel, my apologies," she sighs, bringing a hand to her temple, as if what she felt were simply a headache she could sleep off or soothe away. "I thought to attend a service, but... I'm afraid I'm not feeling well," she mumbles, offering an appeasing grimace.
The new Count de Fortemps frowns, looking at her with stern consideration. "If that is the case," he offers carefully, "might I accompany you back to the manor?"
There's no need, she opens her mouth to say, but then as he adds softly, "I have not forgotten today's date either," she finds herself curling her lips inward and nodding, taking the arm he offers her though her eyes point down at her feet.
It was a decently long walk across the Hoplon from Saint Reymanaud's to Fortemps Manor, and today is a rare sunny day, though the wind blows cold as ever. He escorts her across the deserted walkways, and for a few long moments she finds herself lost for words, though this is nothing new -- she knows she's been quiet for months.
"I was going to the cathedral as well," Artoirel says, breaking the silence; she nods, feeling somewhat guilty for changing his plans. "But by the look of you, I suppose he isn't there, is he," he murmurs listlessly.
She feels the bile rise in her chest -- the acrid pressure of grief that won't seem to leave her no matter what she does. Blinking back tears that would refuse to come anyway, she shakes her head.
"No," she says, though her voice comes out raw. He briefly squeezes her hand which is holding his arm, but says nothing, and they walk on in shared silence.
They arrive outside the doors of Fortemps Manor, the posted guards standing at attention, greeting them both. They untangle their arms and Artoirel opens the door and she follows, though she isn't sure this is where she wants to be either -- but it's the closest thing she has to a home right now. It's empty at the moment, save for the two of them; Lord Edmont left early to advise Lord Aymeric on some matter of governance, and Emmanellain is sitting in the seat his brother left him, trying his best to fill shoes that no one rightly can.
"I... do not claim to be good at these sorts of things," Artoirel concedes, bowing his head as he says her name, "but I do not think he would wish you to spend this occasion alone."
Artoirel is right, she knows -- he would want her to spend this day like he'd want her to spend all of her days if she could; greeting them with a smile. Remembering him fondly, perhaps, drawing strength and purpose from having known him, believing his kind, loving heart is still with her.
But it's so much, and he didn't know -- couldn't possibly have known how much he was asking her for. Could he have gone on smiling in a world where she'd died for him?
It is her turn to bow her head, trying to find the appropriate words, to get them to balance on her tangled tongue. "...He wouldn't," she finds herself agreeing, giving the man before her a meaningful look. He nods, and leads her into the drawing room, dismissing the steward inside and, after a moment's consideration, pulling out a bottle of spirits from behind the bar.
"It was his favorite," he says quietly. She knows; recognizes the bottle of Daniffen's Joy immediately. She'd brought him one once, though she had simply delivered it on another's behalf -- several months later, he'd shared a toast to celebrate clearing her name with the Ul'dahn Syndicate from the same bottle, he'd rationed and cherished it so much. "Mayhap we could give him an offering," Artoirel suggests, looking her over, trying to read her clearly complicated expression.
"He would like that very much," she answers quietly, walking over to join him. She picks out a glass from the rack behind the bar -- the kind he'd drank from with her before, one she thinks he will like. Would like.
His brother seems to let out a held breath at this, and breaks the seal on the bottle, going to pour a measure into the glass. He stops almost as soon as he does, reconsidering. "You should do the honors, I think," he says, offering her the bottle. She nods, gathering herself, and all but fills the glass with the strong spirits, giving him enough for a full night of the kind of revelry he would deserve.
"Ha," Artoirel laughs, though there's only a hint of mirth in it, "you know, this stuff is worth a veritable fortune. I can only imagine the look on his face if you handed him that much."
"He deserves it," she says, "he can drink the whole damn bottle himself if he wants."
Artoirel nods, his eyes reflecting clear emotion, and she looks at him rather seriously, not wavering. "...Aye, that he does," he agrees finally, then pulls out a couple of short glasses, takes the bottle from where she's left it on the bartop and pours them each a more reasonable amount. "To keep him company," he says, offering her a glass.
He isn't here, she knows this -- but she takes the glass anyway, looking his brother in the eyes. They're the same color, and almost the same shape, and if anything about Artoirel's affect was at all like his she might have a harder time looking at him; but instead it just feels strange, seeing faint hints of the man she still loves in these kind, difficult people who took her in, who she now calls family. Like fragments and reflections of him are still around.
He isn't here, but they both sit at the bar and take their sips as if he were -- and the moment the familiar taste of the liquor hits her tongue she feels heat flood her face, and suddenly her vision is blurring. Artoirel swims above her, taking the glass from her hand and placing a hand on her shoulder, peering in to see if she's alright; but she's not, of course she's not, and all the tears she's pent up for gods know how long it's been since the last time she let herself cry over him are flooding out of her in a sudden torrent.
"It's his nameday, Artoirel," she chokes out between sobs, her chest raw and empty where he should be, "he should be here with-- with the happiest godsdamned smile on his face when he sees the surprise party I've planned-- the presents I've made sure you stubborn fools of a family have brought him for once--"
"I know," he says, his ever-measured voice breaking. "If I could-- could only have a chance to make things up to him somehow, I--"
It's too late for any of this from either of them, she knows -- but it's all they can do, crying and lamenting over what could have been, what rightly should have been. It's none of their fault he's gone; he made this decision, would have given his life for any number of people he loved and perhaps even some he didn't -- but even though she's moved past blaming herself or anyone she gives a damn about for his death, even him, she can't help but feel in her bones that this is wrong, that something surely could have been done differently, could have kept him here by her side.
She hasn't seen Artoirel cry before, though she knows he has, she's seen him composing himself, seen the telltale redness around his eyes. And well, she can't exactly see much through her tears like this, but she can hear the quiet sounds coming from him, and suddenly needing more than anything someone to share in her pain, she reaches out between them and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.
A whimper comes from the man beside her as he grips her hand in return, and now they are both sobbing, Artoirel's head in his hand against the bartop, hers much the same. She mourns for the man she still loves, and the future he deserved to live with her -- he mourns for the brother he should have loved far more, not realizing what he'd lost until it was too late.
The glass they'd set out for Haurchefant overflows on the counter between them, unnoticed for now but never forgotten.
FFXIVWrite Day #3: Tempest and Wolchefant Week Day #3: AU
Rating: T
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone
Description: Named WoL, Stella Altair. Haurchefant, cast adrift from his home and seeking a new beginning aboard a certain pirate ship, has a chance encounter with an adventurer amidst a raging storm.
Notes: AU where the Warrior of Light is... well, not exactly the Warrior of Light, and Haurchefant is not in Ishgard anymore for reasons.
Also this is my first time writing my actual named WoL in any real capacity!
Read on AO3!
The storm was relentless, unlike anything Haurchefant had seen. Sheets of rain heavy and loud as buckets of nails pounded down on the deck, tendrils of levin coiled around the darkened clouds, shooting bolts that lit up the blackened skies with stark, piercing light. The scent of salt and lightning set his nerves on end. He'd been up in the rigging when it had begun, patching a tear in the ropes in an attempt to be of some use, when the sun had suddenly gone dark. Frustratingly, it had been all he could do to climb down and get out of the way.
Now the brave men and women of the Kraken's Arms ran back and forth across the deck, struggling to keep the Misery afloat among the dark, towering waves. He could hear Captain Carvallain shouting orders to his men from up near the helm, see the seasoned sailors all around him working in unison to keep them on course.
"Navigator guide our sails," he found himself uttering in awe from where he'd hidden himself in the entryway to the cargo hold.
"Oh? Not the Fury this time?" an amused voice came from behind him, calm and at ease amidst crisis as ever.
He turned to see the familiar presence of an Auri woman with dark horns and scales -- an adventurer of some renown, he'd been told, hired as insurance on this dangerous mission -- standing behind him, eyes glowing pale violet in the dim light of the cargo hold, saber gleaming at her hip. She was an incredibly slight thing, though she insisted she was somewhat of a giant among Auri women; but she cut an imposing silhouette nonetheless, one that seemed to inspire his courage.
He shook his head earnestly, despite her clear teasing. "I suppose life at sea is finally wearing off on me. 'Tis difficult to witness a storm so furious and pray to the Fury of all gods to get us safely through it."
"I suppose I would agree," she shrugged, taking a step closer, so that she stood in the doorway by his side. "Though 'tis more difficult still to witness such a storm and sit idly by doing nothing," she vented, dark tail lashing behind her as she spoke.
"Aye, that it is," he agreed, finding himself wishing he was behind his shield again -- but, no, he'd left that behind long ago, and it would be of little use in these circumstances besides.
"You still haven't told me, by the way -- what are you doing here? You are clearly no sailor, and your faith and your accent speak of Ishgard of all places -- highborn, perhaps?"
She looked at him expectantly, openly curious. On their previous encounters these past few days aboard the ship she'd also asked as much, but circumstances and interruptions had prevented him from being forced to answer.
Yet... Fury, she was godsdamned perceptive. "H-How did you--"
The woman shrugged, the points of her forward-curving horns gleaming in a sudden flash of lightning. She looked towards the skies briefly, then back to him, unphased. "I've been places. Not Ishgard, admittedly; their tight borders have kept me from scratching that one off my list for quite a while -- but I've dealt with enough in various ports to distinguish your countrymen."
"I see," he answered, finding himself a bit dumbfounded.
"So? How does an Ishgardian nobleman find himself aboard a Limsan pirate ship bound for the treacherous seas of the Near East?"
Hm.
It was probably for the best not for him to speak of his circumstances; Captain Carvallain had instructed him as much when he and his network had helped him flee the continent -- keep a low profile, adopt a new identity if possible, don't let word get back home. But Carvallain's presence was wanted in Ishgard; he was House Durendaire's missing heir, whose father mourned him still. And Haurchefant... well, he'd been branded a heretic and only granted exile at the pleading of his father for mercy. Ishgard would not open its gates for him again.
And something about this woman looking at him, strong and savvy but somehow appearing terribly honest, gave him an instinctual feeling that she was someone he could trust. He didn't rightly know why -- but it wasn't simply that she was a pretty face, he was certain.
"And how does a Xaela of the Azim Steppe find herself in a similar circumstance?"
She blinked at him, then smiled knowingly -- oh, he truly was intrigued by her. "Oh? You have heard of it? I thought Ishgardians thought my kind dragonkin," she laughed, running a hand through her dark, short hair.
He cringed a bit, the little he'd learned about the Au Ra in regards to Ishgardian history coming back to him. "Some still may, perhaps... I am glad to be better educated than that," he answered sincerely. "Plus, any dragons worth fearing tend to be a bit larger than you," he teased, and the scoff that came from her lips made him grin.
"I may not be a towering dragon, but I assure you, I am still worth fearing," she answered, her glowing eyes glimmering with amusement. "So will you tell me or not?"
A powerful wave rocked the boat then, and Haurchefant stumbled, struggling to stay standing upright -- the woman at his side grabbed his arm to steady him as she held fast to the doorframe, positioning him with a rather shocking strength.
When the wave passed, both of them breathing heavily but still intact and notably not underwater, she let go of him, cocking an eyebrow as if to say "Well?"
"Are you sure this is the time?" Haurchefant panted, still catching his breath.
"Why not? We aren't sailors; we are both useless in this storm. All we can do is watch and wait while others do the work -- wouldn't you rather share stories?"
"An excellent point," he conceded, and she smiled again, seeming pleased. A flicker of warmth lit in his chest, and he found himself offering her his outstretched hand. "Haurchefant Greystone, at your service," he said, placing a palm at his chest.
She grinned, taking his hand in a firm handshake, the smooth texture of the scales at the back of her hand surprising under his fingertips. "Stella Altair of the Kha," she answered, making eye contact before dropping her hand from his.
FFXIVWrite Day #2: Horizon & Wolchefant Week Day #2: Colors
Rating: G
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone
Description: Haurchefant reflects on what the sight of Ishgard on the horizon has meant to him over the years as he prepares to depart on a new adventure.
Read on AO3!
The Holy See of Ishgard, for all its culture and comforts, was ever a sea of stone and slate. Before the Calamity, it rose over verdant forests and snowcapped mountains like a mythical city in the clouds, shining in the sun's rays like it sat among the heavens themselves, an otherworldly vision. Haurchefant had been amazed the first time he'd left its gates and saw it rising upon the horizon -- a stirring in his breast of deep pride and amazement that his people had built such a marvel, that he'd dwelt there his whole childhood and not known just how truly incredible an achievement it was.
Even after Dalamud had fallen and brought a seemingly eternal winter along with it, the sight of the capital from Central Coerthas still moved him. It may have lost some of its dramatic contrast against the lush, green forests, true; but if anything the Holy See appeared to him like the Heaven of Ice itself, pulled straight from Halonic teachings.
Yet it was simply heavenly in appearance alone -- a convincing guise, yet illusory just the same. As the years passed, Haurchefant found he much preferred to lay his eyes upon the inspiring vision of the city in the sky from a distance, rather than to walk the flagstones laid by the blood of his forebears, to feel the weight of a thousand years of history bearing down upon his shoulders. He didn't dare voice this to anyone, not even himself; he was a knight in service to Ishgard after all, the safety and happiness of his people his sworn duty and truest joy.
It was only when she appeared, eyes weary with grief but shoulders set with determination, softening at his interest in what had brought her here and regaling him with inspiring, thrilling tales of the people and places she'd found joy in and fought to protect, though she no longer remained by their side -- that he began to consider that the way he felt about his homeland might not be wrong, after all.
As he grew closer to her, infatuated, perhaps, as he was wont to become, with this Warrior of Light who fought for his friends and his people though she stood little to gain; he found himself indulging in daydreams of what it might be like to fight by her side in foreign lands. To see new horizons, to know their people -- to devote himself to their happiness as she did, though she was ever an outsider. He was an outsider, too, in his own way, even among his people; not a true highborn nor welcome among the people of the Brume either. What would it be like to belong as an outsider, to be a welcomed traveler, an adventurer whom the people of all places relied upon?
The more he knew her, the more he knew the trials and burdens which that life had brought her -- and the more he wished her to share them with him, so that he may help carry her load. And... and when she finally did, and wished for him to share his burdens with her as well...
It came as little surprise to anyone that the day the Warrior of Light finally left Ishgard behind, Haurchefant departed by her side, leaving its stone and slate behind, dyed in the golden colors of the rising sun.
"Is it sad, to be leaving?" she'd asked, holding his hand as they stood on the Steps of Faith, looking back at the city. "We can visit, you know -- will visit. I know it's not simple, but with all your family has done for me--"
He shook his head, smiling fondly at the gleaming towers, nearly ethereal in the light, feeling a sense of some sort of vastness spread through his chest. "'Tis strange. Ishgard has been my home, it is all I have ever known, and yet... this feels right. We are at peace, and the nation is in excellent hands... and there is nowhere else I would rather be than by your side."
Her small hand gripped his own tightly then, and he tore his eyes away from the horizon to look at her -- the face he'd come to know and love more than any other, who he'd nearly given his very life for, forsaking his duty to his own nation -- she was so beautiful in the dawn's golden light, and looked at him with such true affection it made that vastness in his chest catch alight.
She took both his hands in hers and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and he watched, curious. For a moment he nearly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, thinking she was about to do the same -- but then her eyes opened and she graced him with a smile so radiant that the sight of Ishgard at dawn behind him was all but lost from his memory.
"Then let us call our chocobos and be off," she said, brilliant excitement glimmering in her eyes. "I can't wait to show you all my favorite places beyond these borders -- the beautiful forests of the Black Shroud, the desert sunsets in Thanalan... and, oh, I know you'll just love Costa del Sol! Warm waters, great things to eat, happy faces everywhere you look..."
The places she described did sound truly splendid, and he'd been so excited to finally see all the sights she'd long told him about... but now, standing here with her on the precipice of adventure, he found himself more excited than anything to do so with her.
"Then show me, my love," he replied, taking in a deep lungful of crisp Coerthan air, squeezing her hands in his, "I want to see it all with you."
As they rose into the sky on the pair of black chocobos he'd raised for each of them, quickly leaving the skies of Ishgard far behind them, Haurchefant couldn't help but notice that the new horizon which now stretched out endlessly before them seemed so much more vivid and colorful --full of hope and possibility -- than anything he could have imagined.
FFXIVWrite Day #1: Steer & Wolchefant Week Day #1: Holiday
Rating: T
Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone
Description: Starlight is nearly upon Coerthas, and Haurchefant learns that this is the Warrior of Light's first time celebrating the holiday and endeavors to whisk her away for a celebration.
Extra Info: This is the same wolchefant as the one in A Shelter from the Storm although it isn't strictly canon for that story!
Two prompts in one!
Read on AO3 here!
It was perhaps later than he'd hoped to be leaving the city, but when Haurchefant Greystone finally escaped a series of lengthy last-minute meetings at the Congregation, shed his armor at the manor and found his way behind the reins of the chocobo carriage he'd prepared for the occasion, he still breathed a sigh of relief. The sky was beautiful this day, clear and painted in dusky tones of indigo and orange; and the crisp, clean mountaintop air of Ishgard filled Haurchefant's grateful lungs as his feathered companions carried him across the Steps of Faith, towards where the Warrior of Light awaited him outside Camp Dragonhead.
Oh, the Warrior of Light, his dearest friend, and... well. In truth she was much more than that, though neither of them had yet admitted it in public, for propriety's sake. Yet ever since her arrival in Ishgard, their meetings had predictably but regrettably become more infrequent -- far from the weeks spent inseparable when he'd had the Scions sheltered in his camp. But that made this occasion all the more exciting; a chance to see her, to be alone with her, for a full weekend at that!
Thank the gods for Starlight. A wondrous season, where even in these perilous times amidst a thousand years of war, those in positions of high command and those with family were granted a measure of leave to spend time with their loved ones. Haurchefant himself only took this leave infrequently, often taking the opportunity to entertain those of his men who didn't have the fortune of a loving hearth to go home to, but, this year...
He sighed longingly, resting his chin on his hands as he rode across the flagstone steps. Oh, this Starlight he had the most wondrous surprise planned for her, and he could not wait to see the look on her face -- to make memories with her, even start new traditions with her perhaps, though that might be getting ahead of himself... but he couldn't help it. He was always getting ahead of himself when it came to her. It was impossible not to. Either way, he dearly hoped she'd like what he had planned.
After all, a few weeks ago...
---
"Oh!" The Warrior gasped, still clad in her morning lounge robes. She stood in the entry hall gawking as a group of stewards brought in boughs of fresh pine, handing them to other workers who began to hang them along the walls. The usual floral bouquets that adorned the room had been replaced with crimson poinsettias and young saplings of pine and cedar, decorated in baubles of red, green and gold. "Is it that time of year already?"
Haurchefant had already taken an early meal and was getting ready to depart; but upon seeing her in the hall he strode over to her side, joining her in watching the house stewards decorate the place. He had to admit it did make the manor feel cozier, more welcoming. "Mmm, it surely is. Do you like Starlight, my friend?"
"I do... well, I like what I have heard of it," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "In truth I don't believe I've ever partaken in a Starlight celebration, though I understand it has something to do with giving gifts to children in need, yes?"
She flushed a little, looking a bit embarrassed -- he nearly brought a reassuring hand to caress her arm, before remembering where they were. Right. She seemed to notice the halted gesture and looked reassured nevertheless.
"Ah, no... it wasn't observed, where I come from. These decorations are quite lovely, though, and they smell wonderful."
"I see..." he answered, suddenly in deep thought, placing a hand to his pursed lips. "Well, then we shall have to rectify that," he declared, looking up sharply and meeting her with a wide smile. "I swear to you, my friend, this season you will be shown all the delights and joys that a true Ishgardian Starlight -- we began the tradition, in fact -- has to offer."
"Oh, Haurchefant, you needn't trouble yourself--" she'd begun, but he'd waved off her polite objection.
"No, no; it will require little effort on my part, I assure you. House Fortemps has its own wonderful Starlight tradition, and I am certain that your presence will be sought after for it. But..." he looked around the room to make certain everyone was occupied, then back into her curious eyes, adding in a low whisper, "I may call upon you before then, for our own little celebration?"
She flashed him a sly grin, as quick and secretive as it was thrilling. "I might be persuaded," she allowed, reaching over to rub a mark out of his pauldron with her thumb. A casual excuse to get closer to him for a moment, perhaps?
"Splendid," he'd returned with a grin of his own, before politely taking his leave, wishful thoughts of festive celebration filling his head.
---
The Warrior of Light's first Starlight..! In the days and weeks since he'd learned of this, he'd been planning a surprise getaway, on the more romantic side of Ishgard's Starlight traditions. Charitable works were of course the heart of the holiday, and something he greatly looked forward to every year, but he had always wanted to spend a romantic Starlight night with someone he loved. And now he had not one, but two nights ahead of him to do just that.
His chocobos' feet touched down onto the snow-covered paths leading to Camp Dragonhead, the festive bells at their necks softly jingling with their steps, and he couldn't help but feel utterly giddy.
About three-quarters of the way down the path to their meeting place -- a little alcove in the outer walls of Camp Dragonhead -- Haurchefant passed another carriage apparently leaving the camp, some of House Fortemps' knights -- his men -- riding in the back along with the cargo, for protection.
Ah, ingredients for the Starlight feast, he thought excitedly as he recognized the look of the crates, though as he took the reins and steered to the side of the road to let them pass, he locked eyes with one of his knights in recognition -- ah, Ser Yaelle, he realized. It made sense; his second-in-command was always heavily involved in his house's efforts this time of year, volunteering for all kinds of Starlight tasks. Yet the expression on her face, looking him up and down in his alpine coat and meeting him with a grin -- what, what was that about? Surely she didn't know where he was off to --
A deafening thump sounded from below, and suddenly Haurchefant found himself jolted by gravity and flung from his seat, warks of alarm coming from both his chocobos. When he came to, he was face-first in the fresh snow, his carriage askew and his chocobos stamping their taloned feet in distress.
"Lord Haurchefant!" came the distant, worried cry of his second, along with the sound of several pairs of armored boots crunching on snow. "Your carriage -- you were unarmored -- are you alright?"
Haurchefant lifted his dazed face from the snowbank, and let the Elezen woman help him up to his feet -- he... seemed to be intact, although the impact had scattered his mind a bit and left him somewhat unsteady on his feet, adrenaline still rushing through him.
"I... I think so," he said, meeting her concerned face with a placating smile as she sat him down on a boulder, which was... much like the one he now saw that his fine carriage had apparently run into, hidden underneath what had seemed to be an ordinary snowpack. His heart sank. Even if all was well, this repair would take hours, and... and his plans with his dear Warrior...
"...Someone send for a tradesperson, and a fresh chocobo," Yaelle instructed to her knights, and a pair of them nodded firmly and ran off in the direction of Camp Dragonhead. "You have Starlight plans, yes? I have it covered, milord," she whispered to him, and he drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. "Are you certain you are alright? I daresay you flew."
How... how did she know? He hadn't voiced any of his plans to anyone, only announced his upcoming absence to his men -- but the knowing twinkle in her eye spoke volumes.
Well. He supposed she was certainly clever enough to figure it out, and he was more than grateful to have her eager help. He nodded gratefully, patting his body to make sure everything was indeed intact and in good working order. "I believe I am unharmed -- and if not I shall see a healer posthaste," he assured Yaelle, and the fact that he said healer and not chirurgeon seemed to make her eyes light up in knowing glee.
"That is most reassuring, milord. I am sure she -- that is to say, a healer -- could put you right in no time." She smiled at him, looking every bit a proper knight who had said nothing she shouldn't have, then turned to speak with her men, who were unyoking his birds and making them comfortable.
Oh, Halone, what a turn things had taken, he thought with flushed cheeks -- but Haurchefant yet held on to hope. It was Starlight season, a time for miracles; and it seemed the stars had already granted him an ally.
The Warrior of Light rubbed her gloved hands together to keep them warm as she waited for Haurchefant to arrive. It was a beautiful evening, but it was edging into night and she'd been told he'd rendezvous with her shortly before Camp Dragonhead's evening meal bell. Said bell had rung out quite some time ago, and she was beginning to feel a bit hungry and rather concerned. Had his business with the Congregation kept him longer than he'd expected? It certainly wouldn't have been the first time, though every time he wound up late to one of their meetings he'd always pull her aside and rather sincerely offer recompense in many kisses that left her giddy and flushed.
She could use some warming up right about now, she thought, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her winter coat. She hoped it was just a simple delay; he knew he was sorely looking forward to his time off with her, and what with how tirelessly he served his people every day he certainly deserved a well-earned break.
When she saw a pair of knights running breathlessly towards the gates, she started in alarm and thought to make her way to them -- but, no, she would be too far away to meet them before they reached the gates. Moments later what looked to be a carpenter nearly flew out of the same gate on a chocobo, and, now rather anxious, she fiddled with the sword in its scabbard at her hip. Just when she'd resolved to see if the Camp had any spare chocobos and go to investigate, she caught sight of someone cresting the hill -- it was Haurchefant, she realized, his pale hair catching the last golden rays of dusk as he bobbed on chocoboback.
"Haurchefant!" she cried out as he reached her, his yellow steed coming to a stop only fulms away.
He said her name with a tone of considerable relief, dropping down off his mount and spreading his arms wide to invite her into an embrace. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, sighing at the welcome warmth as he squeezed her tightly in greeting.
"Is everything alright? It's awfully late, and I saw a bit of commotion, and..."
Haurchefant sighed, nodding knowingly. "There was a bit of a mishap... I had a romantic carriage ride planned and everything, you should have seen my finely dressed chocobos," he laughed, though she could tell he did seem genuinely disappointed. "All is still well, though, 'twas only a minor accident and I was sent on my way. May I have the pleasure of having you ride tandem astride my -- less festive, but still rather fine -- mount?"
"Oh, Haurchefant," she sighed, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face -- he looked as if he felt rather a mess, although he did look terribly handsome in the fine coat he wore... this was the first time she'd seen him in proper nobleman's attire. Had he gone to all this effort just for her? "You were in an accident? Are you well? You don't have to push yourself on my account."
"I am whole and hale, I assure you -- aside from having to dig some snow out of my ears," he chuckled, and the smile he gave her put her at ease. He took her hand in his and planted a kiss to her knuckles, and she felt herself flush. "Come, my lady, your chariot awaits."
She rolled her eyes playfully at him, and he grinned and helped her up onto the saddle with him -- the bird was just large enough to hold both of them without undue effort, thankfully -- and with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Haurchefant took the reins and they sped off together into the starlit Coerthan night.
