PAIRING: haurchefant greystone x gender neutral!wol (ft. aymeric de borel x gender neutral!wol)
GENRE(S): angst, hurt no comfort, drabble
WORD COUNT: 1.0k
CONTENT WARNINGS: heavensward spoilers, major character death, implied suicide
A/N: ...so the vault huh
ao3 mirror
You should’ve died.
With your fists trembling at your sides, you throw your head back, baring your throat to the heavens. The ache in your beating heart does not hold a candle to the ache left behind by the anguished wail that claws its way out of your chest.
It should’ve been you.
The heavens make no indication of hearing you.
If only…
A half sob follows, then–
Anger.
It settles deep, a blooming that reaches the apex of your next sorrowful cry to the skies of Coerthas above. You vaguely wonder if he can hear you from Halone’s halls.
To have your other half torn asunder so suddenly leaves you broken, a lance having pierced you straight through your heart much like his shield.
If only you weren’t in the way.
Saltine tears drop from your glassy eyes into the snow below, his gravestone and shield doing little to comfort you. Resting your forehead against the cold surface of the slab of stone, you can feel your soul yearn for what you’ve lost. From what Aymeric had taken from you.
The anger seethes, burns, forming an unyielding grasp around your quivering frame. It was Aymeric that had indirectly orchestrated the downfall of your beloved, it was Aymeric that tore, tore, tore away at what you thought was the inseparable tie that had bound you once to your beloved.
The bastard laid in bed with you that evening. His apologetic kisses left nothing but disdain in their wake. But you couldn’t deny what Count Fortemps had seen in the young commander. An uncanny resemblance to your dear Haurchefant.
You wonder what cruel trick of fate this was.
Looking past the dark curls and striking dual blue hues, you saw what you had once fallen in love with. And that was precisely what kept you tethered to the sheets, fists twisted in them as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear with remorse in deep blues that reminded you all too much of him. You moan and keen, but naught was for the man above you, this he knew.
But that didn’t stop him from loving you.
And love you he did— he was every bit the picturesque lover, attentive, kind, endearing with a heart of blinding gold. Haurchefant was no different. You figure if you closed your eyes, you could fool yourself into loving a man that you had once came home to.
You knew this would hurt him, but that pain would be nothing compared to the one you felt when a hand you had traced the palm lines of and tenderly squeezed many times before grew cold and lifeless in your own.
—
The sun sets in Ishgard again, and with it, your eyes did for one last time.
It was Aymeric that had found you.
Your hair sprawled on the ground reminded him so much of that of an angel’s halo. Your peaceful countenance was no longer streaked with the tears Aymeric had time and time brushed away with the touch of a sinner seeking repentance.
For the second time that waning moon, he felt despair and ice filled his veins. His mouth parted to call your name, to shout, to do anything other than gawk and tremble like the fingers that cradled your face.
The Lord Commander was not often rendered speechless and shocked to the core. Your name eventually emerges as a questioning whisper from the churning depths of his stupor, and the color drains from his complexion.
No.
This couldn’t be…
But there you were. Silent, motionless. Unresponsive to his screams and shaking.
He checks for any hopeful sign of a pulse before burying his face into the crook of your neck, sobs wracking his body as incessant apologies interspersed with hiccups and tremors tumble out of his lips while his worst fears are confirmed.
Why?
The inquiry directed towards Hydaelyn echoes within his mind but there is no one to respond. His gloved fists crumple into your clothing.
Whywhywhy?
It wasn’t supposed to be this way…
Aymeric couldn’t fathom it, wrap his clever head around it. It’d be a lifetime before he’d glean an answer, he reckons.
He stands, holding your fragile, limp body bridal-style, his expression a tumultuous display of emotion.
A familiar, blonde-haired figure awaits him at the foot of the Pillars, the descent feeling like an eternity without you. When Lucia catches sight of your cold body nestled within warm arms, she stands with eyes wide and mouth agape, realization dawning on her sharp features.
Aymeric’s armored footfalls come to a standstill at the bottom step. He raises his gaze to meet his subordinate’s.
“The Warrior of Light is dead.”
–
There was a unanimous agreement that you should be buried next to your true lover you had loved in your waking moments. Both of you overlooked Coerthas as Aymeric kneels, eyes shut. A fresh bouquet of you and Haurchefant’s favorite flora lies betwixt your tombstones.
There was no well in all of Eorzea that would hold all the grief and guilt the knight harbored for both a fallen comrade and the light of his life.
But alas, he couldn’t very well give into his heartsickness when the Dragonsong War remained at large and Nidhogg’s vengeance and thirst for Ishgardian blood still posed a threat. It was a Temple Knight’s duty to soldier on and carry out the will of the dearly departed that had died for the cause that had once united them.
These wounds of his would never truly heal in full, immortally afflicted as he was, but it is with honor that he continues the fight in both of your names. Aymeric just wished Eorzea’s two brightest lights weren’t snuffed out so soon and that the dolor doesn’t succeed in pulling him under.
“Come, Lucia,” Aymeric calls out. She nods in response, waiting for the commander to lead the way before trailing after him. The trek back was one of silence, rumination, and regret.
Ishgard felt darker and colder in the Warrior of Light and the Silver Fuller’s absence, he thinks to himself.
