This is a continuation of “The Worst Kept Secret in Ishgard”
I deleted the last post in a fit of melancholy and embarrassment. It’s honestly very indulgent and dramatic, but it’s what happens in my version of this story so I might as well just keep it up. Sorry for the repost!
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The boy ran from the main hall of Camp Dragonhead in his dainty Sharlayan manner up to the carriage and swung the door open. Aodh watched as he climbed in and practically jumped into the seat beside Mor.
“What-“ he began loudly but then paused and covered his mouth, realizing the Warrior of Light was sleeping soundly. Aodh had fixed upon him a critical gaze, but Alphinaud seemed not to notice, all his attention was squarely on Mor. She was surprised to see he seemed worried.
After a moment had passed he finally sat straight in his seat, facing Aodh as the carriage began its slow pace through the snow back to Ishgard. He looked at her, his child’s eyes fraught with concern. Finally he spoke up.
“I have never seen her behave in this manner. Leaving without warning, acting without thought. Tis very unlike the Warrior of Light. This behavior is worrisome indeed.”
Aodh let out an involuntary scoff.
“Worried she won’t be up for saving yer bloody hero?” Aodh said, her tone mocking. It was more vicious than she had intended, but her nerves were shot. She had not known peace since the death of Lord Haurchefant. Alphinaud sat agape momentarily before mustering up the nerve to speak again.
“That would certainly be disappointing, but I was not speaking of that. Your sister means a great deal to me. To all of…what remains of the Scions.” This time Aodh could not contain it and let out her angry laugh. Alphinaud glared. “You do not believe me?”
“I believe my sister is nothing more than a tool for all the Scions’ bloody plans,” Aodh said, teeth grit.
“That is unkind and unfair!” Alphinaud exclaimed defensively, turning to Mor quickly to see if his outburst had stirred her. When he was satisfied she was still asleep he turned back to Aodh.
“If you all truly cared for her, then why did she not turn to ye when Lord Haurchefant was killed? Why did she have only me to console her? Where were all of you for a bloody moon while I listened to her cry day and night? While I force fed her? Bathed her? Where were all of you? Did any of ye even ken she was in love with him? Did ye even care? Have any of you ever even asked her anything about what she holds in her heart?”
Alphinaud held his chin to his chest, clearly shamed by Aodh’s heated words. There was no excuse that would satisfy her, and Alphinaud was not sure he wanted to make excuses.
“We…had…to plan for the next…” He began. He stopped himself quickly, losing the courage of his words.
Her words rang true. While Mor was left unconsolable in her grief, the Scions continued with their plans. He knew nothing else in all his years. For all his studying and veritable knowledge on various subjects, matters of the heart eluded his scope of expertise. He worked through his grief for his fallen comrades. He merely lost himself in his planning and strategies, hoping it would mend the foul feeling heavy in his heart.
“You have the right of it,” he finally spoke up again. “She never speaks much of herself. I suppose we…we have grown accustom not to ask. Not that it excuses our... excuses my neglect.”
His words came off as meek. It was a tone that Aodh had never heard from the boy before. Frankly she did not think it possible. He always spoke with the confidence of knowledge and conviction but now Aodh heard none of that. She just heard a sad boy. She sighed.
“Aye. She does not willingly offer her thoughts or feelings. Ye must press her. This is the first time…she has ever allowed herself to grieve. I do not think she truly even knows how.” Aodh eyed her still sleeping sister before looking at Alphinaud again. He seemed at a loss for words. There was a silence that carried on for-what felt like Alphinuaud-an eternity before Aodh spoke again.
“Well I s’pose if she never talked much of herself she never told ye about our brother…” Aodh said, looking out the window now. The trees dragged by the window at a snails pace, the carriage was clearly suffering in the deepening snow. Alphinaud’s eyes widened.
“Until this moment, I thought you to be her only sibling!” He said, almost excited by the information.
“Aye. I am. Now.” Aodh paused, reconsidering. She was not sure she wanted to tell this child something so personal after all, even if it helped him understand her sister a little better. Her eyes met with his and he seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for more information. Another deep sigh, as if it was enough to brace herself for the memories she was about to dig up.
“Our mother disappeared in Ala Mhigo on my ninth summer. Mor was barely eighteen, and left to raise me…and our baby brother who had yet to see his first year.” Aodh could feel burning behind her eyes and nose at the thought. She bit back the feeling and continued. “We had barely enough to survive a moon. Mor took on jobs as a seamstress so that she could be home with us as much as possible, but the need for that profession had long since died out in the years since the Imperials stole Ala Mhigo. There was almost no work to be had. Nearly two moons in she decided to write to our uncle, fearful we would die of starvation. Or worse.” Aodh looked to Alphinaud who was listening intently with his hand to his chin.
“I am sure you understand how dangerous this was. For Mor, who was trying to seek outside asylum from a terrorist military, hellbent on our subversion or genocide…if the letter was found out they would have torn us from our hovel and cut our throats leaving us to die in the dirt. It was also dangerous for my Uncle. He’s a fugitive of the Imperials. He was set for the chopping block rather early, so I’m told. His strong opposition to the Mad King, and then to the Empire…and his knack for pulling together and radicalizing strong opposition to the Imperials, well he could not stay in Gyr Abania long once they took over.”
“My point is, this letter was as dangerous to send as it was to receive. She had few connections left with the resistance and I’d later found out she pledged her future enrollment once the letter was sent and only after my uncle came for my brother and I. The pledge was enough to have them help her smuggle her letter into Eorzea.”
“Mor actually had mentioned this about your uncle. She has always talked about her family with great pride,” Alphinaud said breathily. Aodh let a smile creep across her face before it fell again.
“Aye. That sounds like her. She is much more willing to talk about her love of her family before talking about anything else goin on in that mind o’ hers,” Aodh looked at her sister and her heart truly felt like breaking.
“So you understand her love for us? You understand how she would do anything in her power to protect us? To keep us safe and happy? She was working her fingers to the bone waitin’ for a reply from our Uncle. She took any job, big or small, as long as it did not take her away from us for too long. Sometimes she even took us with her if it was not dangerous.”
“But raisin’ a child takes a village, as they say. Mor did not know how to care for a baby. With me, she helped with the things a child could help with, but raising a baby on her own, not to mention a willful nine year old, was beyond her ken. She was struggling. I knew it. The Echo would hum a tune into my head, tellin’ me my sister was not as strong as she was lettin’ on.”
Aodh noticed the boy’s position had changed. His body had slowly gone to slump against her sleeping sister, using her for warmth, or perhaps offering her his own. Somehow Aodh realized he was bracing himself. Aodh rubbed her finger against her bottom lip as she often did to try and calm herself.
“He was sick, our brother. We had lost our village apothecary and healers to the Imperials. More tried asking the older women of the village for help, but because of our mother they all turned their nose at us. They were stubborn, or perhaps just afraid. I don’t know. It matters not. I can never forgive them for letting a baby wither before their eyes and not lend a hand to help.
Mor was gearin’ to join the Resistance. They had the healers and perhaps the medicines we needed to mend our brother’s health. She was ready to lead us through the Peaks, prayin’ to Menphina every night as she prepared to protect our brother on the journey. To just have him hold out long enough to get the help we needed. The burden of this decision weighed on her heavily, for she didn’t know if it was the right one. How could she know? She was barely older than ye. Younger than I. Even at this age, I have no idea what I would’ve done.
But then it didn’t matter. Because Uncle Rhys showed up. No warning of his arrival, it was too dangerous to send us word of his location. He came in the dead of night. Said he was takin’ us away from Gyr Albania. He had a home, room for us all, enough to feed us. It all sounded too good to be true but he brought food with him, and some healing herbs. It was enough to convince us. Not that I had much say. Mor decided immediately, probably grateful for assistance with the wee one. It was not much, but he had the coin to get more supplies on the journey. We had to leave quickly. It was not only a harrowing journey, but if he were caught it would mean all of our deaths and they don’t give merciful deaths to fugitives.”
The carriage stopped abruptly. They had arrived at the gates of Isghard. It would not be much further now. It was hard to see her in the dark of the carriage, but she knew Mor had a fever. The Echo hummed around her, a quiet song of fire and troubled sleep. A nasty touch of cold was stirring in her. Aodh looked back to Alphinaud, the boy now fully resting against Mor an arm unknowingly curled around the blanket she was buried under.
“She spoke to our uncle of her pledge to join the Resistance but he would hear none of it. He said there was time enough for that. She was young still. But his priority was to see that his brother’s children were safe first. (Nevermind that me nor my brother were the children of his brother, it mattered not to him.). Said he owed him that much. Said they would talk about it once we reached his home. Mor agreed, also wanting my brother an’ me safe before anything else. We left that night with not more than the clothes on our back and what small amount of belongings we could carry and made our way to the border of the Shroud.”
It was about two days travel from our village to the border. Uncle Rhys said the Shroud was none too inviting but at least we would not have to look over our shoulders. He knew a former wailer that would give us shelter before the longer part of our journey west. We all knew we just had to make it out of Gyr Abania, just two days and we could breath a bit easier. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt the same fear as I did those two days. I couldn’t sing—my one true comfort— for fear it might alert the Imperials of our location. I felt like an ant waitin’ for a foot to crush me into the ground.
I didn’t know it then, because my sister hid it so well, but I know it now: Mor’s fear has never matched those two days either because no matter what she tried, our brother was not eatin’. Nothing she nor Uncle Rhys tried seemed to improve his maladies.”
Aodh was on the verge of tears now, but she had told him so much already, and she was almost done now. She snuck her hand to her cheek to press the tears away from her face.
“The morning we we meant to cross the border, we had gathered our belongings and headed away from our camp, so close to the Shroud 6yuiywe swore we could smell the trees. Mor walked behind cooing silently…” Aodh trailed off, the pain of the memory too much for a moment, plunging her into silence. She swallowed in her shaky breath and continued. “I knew it immediately. The dirge already stirring in my head and ready on my lips. Mor had stopped. I turned to look at her and she stood silently for a moment, looking at the…” her voice broke. She ignored the tears streaming down her face. “looking at the tiny, wrapped bundle she held in her arms. She made not a sound, she only looked at him, crying, smiling through her tears, telling him he would never hurt or want for anything ever again.
Uncle quickly realized what had happened and ran back to her, trying to stifle his own wails as he came upon them and confirmed what he already knew.” Aodh stifled another cry and turned to look out at the deep abyss that surrounded the Steps of Faith. The black of the canyon matched the feeling she had pulled out from the deep reserves where she had them buried. She heard the boy sniffling but could not bring herself to look at him.
“My uncle was the one to break down. Crying for the bairn he had just met and cursing the Twelve for their lack of intervention. Cursing himself for not getting to us sooner. It was Mor, still…still gripping our…our dead brother in her arms…trying to soothe the both of us as we wept on the ground beside her. Mor, telling us we must quickly…bury him and move on.” Aodh breathed in sharply. “She said we could grieve when we got to safety. So she picked a spot not far off the dirt road and we dug…the smallest grave I’d ever seen….and we laid to rest…a baby.” Aodh paused, realizing her fists were clenched tightly in her lap. She looked to Alphinaud and his face was buried in Mor’s blankets as he cried softly. They would reach Foundation in moments and Lord Fortemps would have servants waiting to whisk her sister away to his home in the streets high above.
“We said our good byes. Mor apologized. Said she was sorry for not being the mother he needed. Sorry that he never got to see more’n a small hut in the middle of a dying village. Said she would visit him the first chance she got. And that she was happy he at least got to be buried in his homeland. And then she got up and start walking toward the border. She led a distraught child and let our Uncle quietly gather himself enough to put his head right again.
That tiny boy had his entire life ahead of him. He wouldn’t even be your age by now. He’d be a happy child, playing in my Uncle’s fields, not a burden in his heart. And I don’t know that I will ever stop being angry about it. I learned that day how cruel and unforgiving fate and the Gods could be to even the most pure and undeserving. I am angry to this day. But my sister. You know her well enough to know she hasn’t a hateful bone in her body. She has faced trial after trial and decided over and over again to press on with only love in her heart for a world that doesn’t deserve it. I know not another soul who is as loving as Mor. Maybe that’s why Hydealyn chose her. But it is beyond my ken why that damned Crystal would choose someone like Mor to suffer so.” Aodh finally went silent, allowing herself a moment to cry quietly. Alphinaud wiped at his tears and looked at Mor, then back to Aodh. After he felt he regained enough composure, he spoke again.
“Not that I am sorry for it, but why did you share this story with me? I thought you hated me. Why would you share something so deeply personal that clearly causes you a great deal of pain?”
Aodh exhaled heavily and sat up in her seat, wiping the last tears from her eyes.
“Aye, I’m not fond of you. Nor any of the Scions. I told you this because I don’t know that Mor ever would. And if she did, she would tell ye about how it was her fault our little brother died, and how she did not do enough for him and how she handled our mother’s disappearance poorly.” Aodh shook her head. “She’d tell you the most daft, bloody idiotic version of it. But I needed you to hear it from me. From what I saw my sister go through. And to tell you, she has never once allowed herself a moment to grieve for that boy. Haurchefant’s death…I think it was a final drop in a bloody ocean of sorrow my sister has kept hidden in her heart. You say she is behaving abnormally? I need you to know she deserves to do so, because this is the first time she has allowed herself a moment to let her pain drive her actions. And I know it’s a selfish thing, but she deserves to be selfish and let herself figure out how to carry on.” Aodh paused. Weary anger was clouding her judgment again and she continued.
“Because soon, you will ask her to do something terribly dangerous. Again. And she will steel herself, and she will do it because she loves you and because she feels she has to. And she will not stop until she has been all used up if it means she is helping you meet your goals of saving the Realm.” The carriage rolled to a slow stop and the instant it did, there were already hands upon the door handle, pulling it open.
“Mistress Aodh, Master Alphinaud,” A Fortemps guard greeted them.
“She’s asleep. Be careful with her. Take her to her quarters and I’ll follow shortly,” Aodh said, not bothering with a single pleasantry or formality. The guard nodded and gently pulled the sleeping Mor from the carriage. She stirred only slightly before falling back to sleep.
Aodh stepped down, her hand on the carriage doorframe as she let herself out.
“Aodh, thank you. For sharing this with me. I want you know I would never ask Mor to do anything that was beyond her-” Aodh cut him off.
“You will. One day you will ask too much of her and she will not bat an eye before agreeing to help you. But I can only pray to the Gods that you realize it before you send my sister off to her death. She deserves better than you lot.”
Aodh stepped from the carriage. The wind had died down but she was sure she would never get used to the biting cold of Ishgard, never certain if it was the weather or the looming city itself that sent the chills through her. She started walking the long trek back to House Fortemps.
“Wait!” Alphinaud hopped off the carriage nearly slipping to follow her. “What was his name?”
“What?”
“Your brother…what was his-“
“Rory.” Aodh continued her pace towards the Pillars, not looking back, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of her anxiety and lack of sleep catching up with her.
“Will…will you tell me more? About her? About your lives before we met?” Alphinaud continued trailing behind her (they did share a destination after all). His request sounded sincere, but Aodh frowned into the collar of her coat.
“No. I’m not your friend, Lad.” She she said. She heard his small steps behind her halt. “But I’m sure if you deigned to ask Mor for some stories, she’d gladly tell you a tale or two.”
The crunch of gravel and snow once again continued behind her and the rest of their walk to House Fortemps was taken in silence.
I wrote this after listening to a song that literally has lyrics about being empty inside and how well it suited Shadi and thought about why this is and it is because even if happiness is a concept he desires, it always seems out of reach for him.
Both Mor and her sister Aodh think of Rhys as a father, but Mor never refers to him as such. She was already an adult by the time she came to live with him and his wife, and she does have the memories of her real father.
But Aodh will sometimes refer to him as "da" and it makes Mor happy that Aodh has that connection with him since she never knew her own father.
I should also mention that this is entirely pre-Shb. Like these empty feelings in Shadi are a continuous theme for his story. Finding his family helps, Hf and Edmont help, the group he's with help, but it's not the same.
I also think he's the type of character that becomes kind of promiscuous in an attempt to fill this hole in his life left by lost love...like he uses sex as a coping mechanism even tho he doesn't really feel anything from it. Which leads to more self loathing on his part. He doesn't connect the dots. He is utterly oblivious to his own self destructive tendencies.
He really withdraws for a while after the deaths in HW. He has been trying to save Eorzea and save the realm and yet he can't even save his heroes and friends? He becomes a lot more serious and becomes obsessed with taking down Zenos thinking it will finally make him feel... Better? More whole? Like Zenos represents this ultimate evil. So if he rids the world of him he will recapture that sense of peace. He doesn't get it. It nearly kills him a few times. It forces Gregorii to become the voice of reason, which they hate. Like hey kid ur being stupid and that means I can't do what I want. (at this point Gregorii would care deeply for Shadi but they still try to give airs that they are unattached and can leave at any point).
Anyway this post is getting away from me. My point is, G'raha's absence is more of a rational acceptance on Shadi's part but on an emotional level he never gets over it and doesn't realize it really. Until he gets to the First. Until he sees him again.
I found this note I saved on my phone. A snippet of the end of the conversation between Alphinaud and Aodh that takes Ave after Aodh fetches Mor from Francel's. Lol wl I ever write it? Lordt knows I should!
The entire reason I started writing the worst kept secret is because I was writing something else entirely for ShB and realized I haven't really gone into depth about any part of Mor outside of a Twitter rant now and then. I wanted to give that future piece more context because the deaths in HW very nearly destroyed her and changed her for the worse and I wanted to convey a bit of what she had to fight against (herself) and how strong her will really is when she talks about it later in a single passing remark bc I'm extra and I love Mor and if I were still trying to be a better person it would probably be more like her.
Part 2 will actually be more in depth about Mor but not from her pov but from Aodh's.
Francel had stood once more and was leaning forward, palms down on his desk. The room was silent but for the flicker of the fire and the blistering winds outside hitting against the shutters.
“Miss…” he stopped himself, then continued “Mor. You loved him, tis plain to me as anything. But he is not...he was not infallible, nor did he try to be. I will be the first to praise his unrelenting duty to bring more good into this realm but...do you not think if, Halone forfend, the tables had turned...do not think he would not choose the same course of action. I cannot begin to imagine what he would be capable of in that situation.”
Mor turned away from the fire and watched Francel as his eyes focused on his desk and he grabbed his chin in thought. He shut his eyes tightly then turned to look at Mor, smiling softly.
“As for your worthiness, I cannot begin to know what standards you hold yourself to. I cannot say how Haurchefant would judge your actions. He is no longer here. But,” the smile faded and tears came to his eyes once more, “he is no longer here because he deemed your life worth protecting at the cost of his own. That must mean something. Whatever path you choose to continue, I pray you realize that Haurchefant wanted nothing more than for you to live because he believed in you most fervently.”
The small office lodge was silent save for Mor’s quiet weeping. Francel took his seat at his desk, having nothing left to say on the matter and wishing to fall back into his own thoughts. Only minutes had passed before there was a gentle knock on the door.
“By the...it is well into the early morning, who could…” Francel said as he rose from his seat again.
“Ser Francel? Francel de Haillenarte?” The muffled voice was unfamiliar to him but Mor knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
“Aodh?” She said weakly over the blanket.
“Oh! Your sister has arrived!” Francel quickened his pace to the door. “I sent for her bells ago, when you were still asleep.” He threw open the door. “Oh good, the snow has died down at least. Aodh Coronach? I am Francel de Haillenarte, pleased to…”
“Mor!” Aodh pushed past the young man and ran to her sister. “Are ye alright? What were ye thinking being out in the cold like that? You’re going to catch yer death…” Her sentences were spoken quickly, no pauses between them. She inhaled heavily before she pulled Mor into a tight hug. Over Aodh’s shoulder, Mor saw Francel watching them, smiling. Her sister let her go and turned to him.
“I am so sorry for the trouble she’s caused. This is not like her at all. Thank ye so much for all ye have done for her. I will be takin her home now so we can get out of yer hair and into a warm bed!” She turned back to Mor. “Do ye need help standin’?” Mor shook her head. She pulled herself up, clinging to the blanket and cloak wrapped around her. She looked down at the remaining cold broth and bent to pick it up while Aodh apologized further.
“It was hardly any trouble. If anything, my men were merely worried for the lady’s safety. We are all indebted to Mistress Coronach for the lengths she went to for me in the past. We are only glad she is alright,” Francel said in that diplomatic way he spoke. Mor placed the mug on his desk and looked at him curiously. She had no idea he felt that way.
“Ye owe me nothing, Francel,” she croaked out, realizing now she would not go away from this night unscathed. A cold was definitely stirring in her chest. “I am sorry for causing ye trouble. Ye won’t need to post a guard by his headstone. It will not happen again. I am sorry for keeping ye from sleep,” Mor said with a slight bow as Aodh guided her to the door with her hands on her shoulders.
“Mor, ye can write him a formal letter of apology later. Let us be goin,” Aodh said in a rush. “We will need to borrow these blankets. I did not think to bring anything of warmth in my haste to get here,” Aodh stated. Francel nodded.
“Of course. And worry not, Mor. I have not slept much these past weeks. The only thing you interrupted was a proposal I was drafting in my sleepless state. And it seems an unlikely request so perhaps your interruption was for the best.”
Mor stopped her path to the door and instead walked to the young man. She hugged him tightly.
“I am so sorry. Ye were grieving yourself and I...If it were not for me he would…I am so so sorry.”
“Do not apologize. Not for that. Haurchefant made his own choices. And you must make yours. I look forward to the day we can meet again under better circumstances,” the man said quietly. Mor could not look him in the eyes and nodded.
“Our thanks again, Ser Haillenarte,” Aodh said with another nod. He nodded in return and the women stepped out into the numbing cold.
“You were rude,” Mor said as she followed her sister to the coach that awaited them.
“As rude as showin’ up to his office unconscious? Do not lecture me right now, Sister. I am so disappointed,” Aodh said, the anger bristling in her voice now that they were out of earshot of the Lord.
“I know,” Mor mumbled.
“Driver, to Camp Dragonhead,” Aodh said, climbing in beside Mor. Mor’s heart sank.
“Why are we...oh Gods. Alphinaud?” Mor gasped.
“He was frantic with worry on the linkpearl! Even before the dandy Lord’s men contacted me. He said you had wandered off after he met with you to talk about that insufferable fellow,” Aodh said as the coach slowly made its way down the hill.
“He is worried about Estinien. He admires him,” Mor said, thinking back to her conversation with Alphinaud, but not really recalling much of what was said. Only that she had agreed to yet another crusade.
“Gods know why. The man is about as tolerable as a stick up the arse,” Aodh said, watching her sister stare blankly outside the coach at the trees. The snow was starting up again. “My point is, that boy has lost so much. You both lost Haurchefant, then you both lost Ysayle. Now that dragoon’s soul is possibly lost. Ye want him to think he’s lost ye too, do ye? He was nearly in tears Mor.” Aodh could not keep herself from scolding. It was how she coped with her fear for her sister. Mor stifled another sob trying to shudder its way up her chest.
“I will apologize. It will not happen again,” Mor said.
“No, it will not,” Aodh said sternly. Mor had no idea what she meant by that, but she could see the lights of Dragonhead in the distance and shut her eyes only to quickly drift off into a black sleep.
Mor’s heart raced watching him run up the grassy path of the Sea of Clouds, sword and shield at the ready, the moonlight dancing off his armor.
“Haurchefant!” She shouted happily, despite evading the hora of a particularly large Vanu tribesman. She dealt with him quickly and closed the gap between her and the newly arrived troops from House Fortemps.
“My lady Mor!” Haurchefant shouted just as cheerfully back at her before knocking back a Vanu with his shield. She smiled wide, unable to stop. He beamed back. “I could not leave you to all the fun!”
“Pray, have your fill!” She jested, though in truth, she was glad for his aid. Finally! Someone wanted to help.
Later on, aboard the airship back to Ishgard, having evaded their enemy for a time, not even the news of a new primal was enough to dampen her spirits. They stood side by side, facing out over the airship railing.
“I’m grateful ye came when ye did. That ye came at all,” Mor said, trying to control the hair that flew around her face.
“You sound surprised,” Haurchefant smiled and watched her intently as she brushed the hair out of her face and pulled it to one side.
“Surprised? I suppose,” her words trailed off as she watched the clouds disappear behind them. Realizing her mistake her eyes grew wide and she shook her head at Haurchefant’s lost expression. “Not surprised that ye showed up! I mean, Honoroit said he was getting help for Emmanellain. I knew someone would come. I did not expect ye, necessarily. Ehm. No…” She inhaled and exhaled to clear her thoughts, and shake the building nervousness from her. “What I mean...is that usually when someone shows up it is after the battle is over. When people want to fight beside me it is generally...up until a point. When ye showed up, I was surprised. Pleasantly.”
She hoped her words would suffice as an explanation. He laughed his silly giggle before clearing his throat and smiling at her warmly.
“I didn’t come for Emmanellain. I knew the moment I heard you were with him that he was in excellent hands,” he said softly. Mor furrowed her brow.
“Then...why?” Mor asked.
“I should think it would be more obvious,” Haurchefant’s smile tweaked slightly and his own brow furrowed giving his look a bit more mischief. “I have never been very good at keeping quiet about my desire to fight by your side, even if you don’t really need me, there is nothing I would like more. My men tell me I should be more wary in matters regarding the Warrior of Light,” Haurchefant paused, staring into her eyes for a moment before continuing. “ But secrets don’t suit me.”
The colors in her memory were far more vivid than any she saw before her now. There was a gray haze around her world since he had left it. She remembered distinctly how much she had wanted to reach out to him then, on that trip back to Ishgard; to tell him that he could fight by her side any time he pleased, how she would appreciate it--cherish it. But their moment was interrupted by their arrival at Ishgard and there were already several guards and knights awaiting them at the airship landing to guide them to their next duty. Always something else to do. She was never given a moment. She never had a chance to tell him.
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Francel’s well-intended words fell like heavy weights on her chest. She was shaking her head; her entire body was shaking, cold with anger.
“Why are ye telling me this?” She practically screamed the words at him, unable to feign any semblance of composure. Did he not understand how much it hurt her?
“Because you said there were words left unsaid. And because if you continue down this path, you will not be the woman worthy of the love he so eagerly bestowed upon you. You would not be the woman I had to hear about incessantly for moons. Because you needed to know.” Tears were staining his cheeks now from his own memories stirring painfully in his mind. Francel watched as Mor’s expression became void of any discernible emotion.
“I killed Thordan. I killed Zephirin too. Killed the lot of them,” Mor said in a low tone.
“Yes,” Francel confirmed the fact that had spread throughout Eorzea more than a week ago.
“I used my bare hands to end each of their lives. They were numb, and my muscles were aflame and yet I could not stop myself. I did not want to stop myself.” She finally looked to him.
“I am already unworthy.”
Francel’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“You delivered justice to--”
“No! It was not justice, Francel. It was revenge. I wanted them to suffer. For what they did to Haurchefant. I wanted them to suffer as I have suffered since they took him! And I made it so!” Her jaw was clenched and she stared down at the cup of broth on the ground, now barely lukewarm.
“Mistress Coronach, absolutely no one would hold that against you. You did what had to be done. Thordan was--” Francel was saying in what Mor took to be a diplomatic tone. She wanted to shake him, to make him understand.
“No one has to! No one can measure the morality of my deeds but myself. I did not kill him because it needed to be done, I killed him because I wanted to. I killed Haurchefant’s murderer because I thought it would make me feel good. Intent matters Francel. It has to! And if ye see me walking a new path, it is because I am lost. It is because I do not know what to do anymore. Why am I the Warrior of Light when I can succumb to these base urges? When I am willing to crawl down to the level of my enemies, as wretched as they are, how can I be a hero? The brightest star I have known has burned out and I was helpless to stop it. My title means nothing. I am nothing.” These words had been on repeat in some form or another, in the back of her mind since this all began ages ago at the Waking Sands.
She thought herself past doubt and self-deprecation. The last time she had uttered these same words was in front of Haurchefant, and it was he who had brought her back from the self pity and self-loathing. But he was not here now. He was not here.
Tears were hot on her cheeks again and she looked back at the fire. The flames flickered seductively; inviting, just as the snow had looked earlier, soft and welcoming. Mor shut her eyes quickly. Since the moment Haurchefant grew limp and cold in her arms, not a day had passed where she did not desire to join him.
Thordan laid with his face battered, bloodied, barely recognizable, yet some fear stirred so deeply within him that compelled his twisted mouth to move and form dying words with which to question Mor. She stood before him with her hands bruised and just as bloodied as he, and she had no answer for him. What? Indeed.
The rage in her had given way to a gnawing despair. Thordan drew his last breath and Mor felt...nothing. Empty. His death had been her goal since that day on the top of the Vault. Now she had nothing and she was still without him. She looked down at her hands, ashamed at what Haurchefant might think of her brutality. Thordan saw a monster and maybe he was right.
---------
His door cracked and thundered with a loud pounding before flying open. He practically jumped from his desk as the brisk wind and snow burst into his small office before a Haillenarte guard stepped through.
“By the fury,” Francel de Haillenarte exclaimed. It was the middle of the night.
“My apologies, Ser. But…” The guard stopped and nodded toward the bundle in his arms. Francel sighed.
“Again?”
“Ser,” his guard confirmed with a nod. He placed the bundle in front of the fireplace and Francel walked around his desk, pulling his own cloak off of his chair to take with him.
“This is the third time in almost as many suns,” Francel mumbled. He tugged at the end of the cloak wrapped around the body on the ground to reveal the purple hair he had come to recognize well. It was matted with bits of frost and ice. He pulled at the cloak further revealing that her usual skin tone was flushed blue. Francel gasped.
“A good that you added a patrol by the grave, Ser, or else she might have--”
“Quickly, have a healer come from the tower to be safe! And any blankets that can be spared! Please use the utmost discretion, Marceau. We cannot have gossip stir surrounding the Warrior of Light,” Francel interrupted his man, not wanting to hear the rest of his speculation.
“Ser!” The guard said with a quick salute and left the office. Francel got to his knees and continued making a comfortable space in front of the fire for his unconscious guest.
-----
A burning sensation hit the corners of her eyes. She quickly realized her lashes stuck together when her attempt to open her eyes was met with resistance. When she tried to move her arm to wipe at them it was heavy with warmth and the weight of who knew how many blankets. Through slits, her eyes slowly came into focus revealing the light of the fire flickering on the familiar walls. A painful light. She wriggled her arm free and finally wiped at her eyes. She inhaled too deeply and her lungs shuddered in protest at the sudden influx of air being pulled through them. A burning cough followed and its force threw her body forward at the waist until she was hacking into her knees.
This continued for many moments more before the door to the small room flew open and Francel appeared in a thick hooded cloak with ample snow dusting the head and shoulders. He blew air from his lips several times before throwing the hood back and letting out a sharp exhale.
“Halone preserve me, I thought I might be buried on my trek back from the tower! Good that the healers had some extra robes lying about,” he said. The words sounded cheerful, but the tone did not match. Mor was not very well acquainted with Francel, but something was amiss. He was talking to a guard posted in a seat in the corner of the small room whom Mor had chosen to ignore up until this point. Francel shook the cloak off his shoulders revealing a small metal pot and mug in his hands. He directed his gaze at Mor.
“Ah, finally awake. The healers did well. You should thank Marceau here. If he had not found you when he did, you would be...well, let us not dwell,” Francel said. He walked to his desk and placed the pot and mug down side by side. Mor turned to the guard who seemed as tense as Francel sounded.
“Thank ye,” she muttered weakly. Her voice was scratchy and words felt like fire drawing from her throat.
“Not at all, Mistress,” the guard said with a nod.
“Marceau, you have earned a rest. I shall be fine for a bell or two. Tell the next guard to await instructions from the tower, please,” Francel said, a softness to his voice again.
“Yes, Ser. Please do try and get rest yourself,” the guard said with a bow. Francel smiled softly and nodded a bit before turning back to the desk. “Mistress,” the guard said to Mor with a quick salute before heading outside.
Mor had to adjust her position in front of the fire to see what Francel was doing at his desk. He had lifted the lid from the small pot and a heavy steam curled upwards towards the ceiling.
“Ah, good. I worried it was so cold it would have been lukewarm by the time I got it back here,” he said. She watched him wave the steam away from his face before procuring a wooden ladle from his sleeve. He began scooping the contents from the pot to the mug. The smell finally wafted its way toward her and her stomach growled at the familiar scent.
When he was satisfied with the liquid in the mug he left the ladle in the pot and turned toward her, holding the mug before her face.
“Duck broth. I did not wish to wake the cooks in the middle of the night and I’m afraid this was all I could manage on my own.”
“Thank ye, Francel,” she said quietly. Pathetically. After a moment, she began to sip slowly. It was much cooler than she anticipated and felt good going down her throat. She sipped over the sound of Francel’s pacing, wondering when his words would cut into the repetitive noises...Sip. Sip. Sip. Pat. Pat. Pat
“Tell me, Warrior of Light,” Francel began. She focused on her mug, unable to look into his eyes just yet. “How often do you plan on doing this? Shall I post a permanent guard by his headstone? Shall I keep a cot by my fireplace?”
“No. That will not be necessary,” Mor mumbled into her mug. “It was not intentional.” Her eyes were already brimming with tears as if on reflex from doing it so often for many suns past now. She put the mug down beside her. “I did not plan to.”
“Not a plan?” The pacing stopped abruptly. “So each time you visit Haurchefant’s grave,” Francel’s voice was already breaking and Mor’s face twisted in hurt. “It is mere mishap that you fall asleep beside his headstone in freezing snow in the middle of the night?”
Francel was hardly the type to raise his voice in anger, but the pain brimming over in him for weeks now was finally pouring out. Each time the Warrior of Light ended up, frozen to the bone in his office, it picked at a bitter scab. Her stifled sobs could be heard muffled beneath the cover of the blankets wrapped around her.
“I wanted to be near him...I needed to be near him somehow.”
Her voice was broken and weak. It was nothing like the voice he knew. Mor Coronach had a voice steeped in friendliness, booming yet soothing. It was a quality she shared with his dearest friend. This woman before him was barely recognizable.
“I cannot stop thinking of his final words to me. And the words we left unsaid. He called me a hero. I could not even save him. I could not save him!”
The words left her mouth in a pitiable wail. She resumed covering her face with the cloth and tried to quiet herself again. His heart tightened at the sight. He walked over and knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“It does my heart ill to see someone he loved so dearly in such a state,” Francel said softly. Mor’s cries caught in her throat and she stared at him as if he had just said something incomprehensibly cruel.
“His love for you was Ishgard’s worst kept secret if it was ever one at all. Ask anyone in Camp Dragonhead. Ask anyone in Coerthas. Who did Haurchefant cherish most in this world?”
you ever wonder how far ppl would have come if ascians didn’t periodically plunge worlds into near apocalyptic diasasters reverting them to dark ages until they all died. As cool Amaurot is, exploring it made me wonder that shit because it isn’t /that/ unreachable...even ironworks with a single minded goal came up with tech that ascians didn’t quite understand with just three generations of work. feeling like alphinaud in this chilis tonight when he lamented all the societies and histories and culture being eradicated with every clam mitty
There was another post going around that posited the MSQ showed all sorts of ways people were able to come together, be creative, and do all the things the people of Amaurot used to do themselves.
That the Ascians cannot see, in their grief and obsession with the past, that they are stifling and preventing current life from reaching the same heights, is part of their tragedy.
Also likely in part due to their tempering by Zodiark; he needs them to succeed in Rejoining all the worlds and then feeding him the Source’s life. For the Ascians, this is with the idea that Zodiark will restore those originally sacrificed to create him and save the old world...but I really, really doubt it would turn out that way. Particularly with the stark example of Sri-Lakshmi and the Ananta; the soul’s aether may be recycled by the Lifestream, but that particular person is gone once they’ve passed. I doubt even Zodiark can do much about that.
Meaning of name: Mor=great one, Coronach=a funeral song
Origin of name: Mor’s mother had a faint beat of the echo, and saw the possible path that Mor could follow and decided to name her appropriately. Their last name comes from her father, a long line of Ala Mhigan fighters, several of whom were originally members of the Fists of Rhalgr. Essentially legend told that if you were planning to go against this family, you had better prepare your funeral song in advance.
Age: 27
Gender/pronoun preference: woman/she/her
Orientation: Pansexual
Species: Hyur
Nationality: Ala Mhigan/Ishgardian DUAL CITIZENSHIP BAYBEE
Ethnicity: Highlander ???
Birth date: 32nd Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon, 1550 Sixth Astral Era
Birth place: The Peaks, Ala Mhigo
Current residence: Nomadic, but has a home in Mist, close to her family’s farm in Lower La Noscea. Also has a standing apartment shared with her sister in Ishgard, which she considers a second home after the events of Heavensward take place. She tends to spend more time in the latter.
Describe their dwelling/house: Her spaces are designed with rustic decor and lots of plants and lights and glowing crystals.
Occupation: Main job is Monk. But also Dark Knight and Dancer
Title/Rank: Warrior of Light, Of the Silver Fuller,
Immortal Flames, Second Flame Lieutenant
Hobbies/Pastimes:
Mor loves dancing, mostly because dances tended to go with community gatherings in celebration and always had happy memories, and it grew into a great fondness of dancing for her in general. She swims as a second nature since living in Lower La Noscea. She also enjoys cooking, and storytelling. She has a good sense of humor but not a lot of people tend to joke with her because of who she is/how she looks (very large and serious). She’s not much of a reader/writer but she loves listening to stories/legends and passing on stories to others. In general she seems to enjoy activities that can be shared.
Motivations: Originally, Mor’s motivation to be an adventurer was to learn more about being a monk, connect with that part of her family’s history, while making money to send to her family in La Noscea. The echo had been with Mor since early childhood, and kind of guided her on the path to Ul’dah, and ultimately the path of the Warrior of Light. As time progresses, while she does still work to keep her family (and Eorzea) safe from primals and the empire, she also essentially begins to feel obligated to fill the role she’s had thrust upon her. Ultimately, in her heart, she just wants to do what is good and what is right to the best of her ability.
Cautious (1)-Reckless(10): 7
Selfless(1)-Self-serving(10): 2
Generous(1)-Greedy(10): 2
Driven by Emotion (1)-Logic(10): 5
Friendly(1)-Unfriendly(10): 1
Trusting(1)-Suspicious(10): 4
Naive(1)-Wise(10): 3
Faith(1)-Reason(10): 6
Moral Alignment (thus far): Neutral Good
Family: Mor comes from a large family of Hyur and Roegadyn. Her mother is pure Highlander Hyur (Ala Mhigan), and her father is Ala Mhigan as well but is half Hyur (mother), half Roegadyn (father). He was the middle son of 5 brothers, all of whom live in La Noscea due to connections with the Sea Wolf clan in the area through their father. Before traveling to Ul’dah, Mor lived with the youngest of her uncles and his Sea Wolf wife in their large farm in Lower La Noscea.
Birth order/Siblings: Mor eldest, 27, (half from different father) Aodh, 19 and (half from different father) Rory, 12
Mother: Rowena (would be 47 years, but is deceased)
Father: Dagr (would be 52 years, but is deceased)
Hometown: Small settlement in the Peaks at Ala Mhigo
Childhood:
Mor was only a 2 year old when the Civil War erupted in Ala Mhigo. Her parents were immediately embroiled in the resistance to push back against the King of Ruin and his forces. Her father died shortly after the beginning of the civil war, and her mother pulled back activities to less aggressive forms of resistance to keep her daughter safe. When Mor was seven, the Garlean Empire invaded Ala Mhigo and her Mother made a move closer to the Gridanian border to make for a quick escape if necessary. While during the day, she worked as a seamstress, she continued lending her support to the Resistance at night, despite her pregnancy soon after the Garlean occupation. Eventually she had another child. Mor was actually very well known to the Resistance for bringing them messages and she was beloved by friends of her father and protected by them. She was known as a Daughter of the Resistance.
Past failures they would be embarrassed to have people know about and why:
She doesn’t really get embarrassed over her failures, because she tends to learn from them. To be honest most of the failures she sees are with the Scions, with the Crystal Braves, being unable to save anyone. She’s not embarrassed, just heartbroken.
Biggest role model: Her uncle Callum. When he found out she was left alone with her two younger siblings in Ala Mhigo, he immediately began arranging to have their family moved to a safer location, with some of their Roegadyn relatives in La Noscea. He and his wife were nothing but open with Mor and her siblings, despite the fact that her siblings weren’t their blood. Though Mor was already grown, he raised the three of them as his own children and gave them a fresh start at a peaceful life. She learned her spirit of generosity and the majority of her sense of humor from him.
Adult life:
Mor spent her entire adult life looking after her siblings, worrying about them, trying to do her best to be a positive influence in their lives. She spent most of this time on a farm with her family, learning to read and write at a much later age than her siblings, and never truly getting the hang of it with all the confusing Eorzean letters. She was mostly happy and tried to pass on kindness to others. Her entire life, however, she felt the Echo stirring deep within her. Don’t do that, it would urge, somewhere deep in her chest, or Look over there, it told her, brushing her ear to turn her head. She mostly ignored it, her family was her priority. But when Aodh was old enough to watch after Rory, and Rory was old enough not to really need two older nagging sisters on top of their aunt and uncle, Mor finally decided to heed the sensation of the Echo, and follow in the footsteps she had been meant to walk in since she could remember. She was going to become a Monk.
2087
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