d' ... part of me hoped that you would fail.'
Haurchefant knew too well what that meant in Ishgardian tongues. Artoriel had hoped that his friend, the one he promised a safe santuary til the day came they were no longer wanted, the friend who had given him so much and thus was his turn to give in kind .. Artoriel de Fortemps wanted his friend dead.
The crime? For being his friend. For his father - their father - allowing them passage and thus refuge.
He knew how little Artoriel thought of him, knew how little he respected him. But Haurchefant believed he respected his House enough, the Count enough, to agree to the situation that had come to pass. To conspire death upon his ally that wiped his hands completely clean of murder by sending them off to dangerous lands-
Haurchefant's eyes burned as rage was quick to take him over. Rage that was long conditioned that it was rightious and good as Halone the Fury. Breaking from his position to be seen and not heard, the bastard son stormed over to the legitment heir and before any manservent or guard could even try to get between the two, a fist was cocked back and promptly slammed into Artoriel's cheek - a violent display for all to see.
Haurchefant was not a violent man. But even men had their limits and the tightening in his chest, the way he fought to not spill angry tears at this unjust - and his own failure to keep his friends safe - he'd met his limit.
"How dare you! To say we have our differences is a mockery of the tension that lies between us, and yet I've done nothing but tend to my own and stay out of your path. And yet - AND YET - when I plead safe passage for comrades of mine, you'd see to it to attempt to rid of them and for what?! What kind of man are you that plots against those in your care?!"
He believed Artoriel firm, rigid, but honorable. That view was shattered of the man before him. And how it broke his heart.
While he had not anticipated such a physical reaction from Haurchefant, Artoirel made no move to defend himself. He stumbled, remained standing, but did not retaliate. It was a reaction more than warranted. In truth, he had not intended for the Warrior of Light to perish in the Highlands -- but he had known that their death was a possibility and sent them ahead anyway. Intent did not matter.
He knew he had done wrong. Twenty-odd years of festering resentment, not only for Haurchefant but for the dark cloud that had hung over House Fortemps since his conception, could not go ignored forever. It was bound to crack through the perfect facade he bore, the ideal heir and knight and son -- and today, it had. Potentially at the cost of an innocent life.
Artoirel was no fool. Their ward would likely not have guessed his intentions if he had not spoken up. Even if he were not a devout follower of the Fury, the guilt would have devoured him whole. And so, perhaps in yet another selfish act, he put into motion a punishment he thought suitable for his trespasses. And Haurchefant was the perfect tool for such.
When Haurchefant was spent of words, for the time being, Artoirel spoke.
"...I have no words to defend my actions. You have the right of it, Haurchefant. It was an incorrigible act, one inspired by mine own weakness," his voice was low and measured. His gaze tracked to the Warrior of Light. "I do not expect nor deserve forgiveness. I will only state that I shall never doubt your ability again."
Turning back to Haurchefant -- it was difficult to look at him for many reasons in this moment, beyond that bred contempt -- he said, "I extend that same sentiment to you. I recognize that the pain our family has been through has no single point of origin. All of us have suffered from it. You and our father most of all. I will... I cannot say I always agree with your decisions. But it would be remiss of me to insist they did not come from well intentions. Ones that I will endeavor not to betray from this point forward."
