Febuwhump Day 15: "Who did this to you?"
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet, Nourval Lhorulgois, Raicheille Lhorulgois
Triggers/Content warnings: Child abuse
Previously: Part One, Part Two
It's a small, unassuming house: fit for a single man with no aspirations grander than a simple life. It looks like any other house along the street: there is a small garden patch that appears reasonably well-tended, the decorations are modest, the windows are bright and warm.
No other house on the street has two armed guards standing in front of the gate, however.
They frown at Raicheille as she approaches - no longer running; it won't do her any good to outpace Captain Sanson by any great measure. But she is still hurrying. By now, her parents and fiance will have noticed she's escaped from the garden they'd told her to wait in, and they'll be searching for her. She has to hide. And... and where better to hide than with Nourval, who'd always protected her from them when she was little? If nothing else, surely her parents can't strong-arm their way past these guards, no more than she can.
She watches as the guards' expressions change from consternation to concern, and remembers the mess she's made of her nice new dress. Good, she thinks, savagely; she wishes she'd ripped the damn thing up even worse! It'd caught on every bush and bramble as she'd climbed over the hedge, scrambling up and over as fast as she could. She hadn't even had a destination in mind - only away, away, as fast as possible. She'd kicked her shoes off somewhere; she couldn't run in the silly things, and she needed to go as fast as her legs could carry her.
To think she'd run into Sanson! That's got to be the Matron looking out for her.
"Miss, are you-"
"I'm here to visit my brother," she says, all in one breath, forgetting that she needs to seem calm and reasonable. She doesn't want them to ask questions.
Probably shouldn't have shredded her dress climbing that hedge, then, but it's too late to worry about that.
Luckily, before the guards can interrogate her, Captain Sanson and his bard - whatsisname, the one they'd rescued last year - arrive, not even winded despite Rai's dash. The guards plainly recognize the pair; they quickly snap to a salute, which makes the bard's lips twitch into a small smile.
"We'll not be long," Sanson says, not troubling to explain her presence: the perks of rank! Just like last year, when he'd managed to weasel her past the prison guard who'd turned her away so many times. Her parents haven't gotten to these guards, obviously; they don't even seem to grasp who she is. They exchange curious glances, but don't try to stop the three of them as they enter the gate.
"Captain," one of them calls, as they near the door.
Damn! Rai's guts clench. They're going to stop them now, she just knows it, and she's so close-
Sanson turns. "Yes?"
"Is the... is the young lady going to require a conjurer?"
Sanson hesitates, glancing at her.
Rai feels her face heating. "I'm fine." All this fussing over a tattered dress and a few bruises! Where was all of this when her parents were-
Never mind.
She dashes away, closing the distance to the door and pounding on it with her fist as hard as she can, as though delivering all the vengeance she might desire. Let Sanson and his bard deal with the guards; she needs - needs - to see her brother.
"Yes, yes, give a man a chance to reach the door before you break it down," comes a familiar voice from inside, and Rai's heart claws its way into her throat.
The door opens, and it's him.
Nourval has seen better days, certainly; he never looked half so unkempt at home, nor even when he'd been a prisoner - he's not been long out of the healers' care, Rai knows. Their uncle had nearly killed him, running him through with a lance; a blow meant to kill. Raicheille herself still isn't certain how it didn't kill him, save that it had been a miracle - he still bears a hideous scar from it; she sees it poking out above the deep collar of his shirt. He's still gaunt and weary, with shadows under his eyes and hollows in his cheeks, where he has yet to regain his vitality and strength.
But it's him.
For a moment, he stares at her, as though she might be an apparition.
She will not cry in front of Sanson and the others. "Nourval," she says, and her voice is a little too high, a little too frantic. "Nourval, hello, I've come to visit, that's all!"
"Rai," he says, as though confirming she is who she appears to be. Does he not recognize her? It's been a year, she supposes, but she hasn't grown at all. "Rai, what... what happened to you?"
Oh, this damned dress.
"It's... er... there was-" What had she said before? "An accident. Fell off my chocobo. In the... Central Shroud. I'm fine," she adds. "Can I come in?"
"I think you'd better," he says, a little grim. He glances up at Sanson and Guydelot (right, that's his name!). "I don't suppose I might beg a moment's privacy with my sister?"
Sanson's gaze is a little too intent. Hells. He suspects something. "Of course. You'll inform us if we can be of any assistance?"
"Of course," Nourval echoes, with a small bow, as he ushers Rai into the house.
It's small, it's sparse, it's quiet. Rai looks around the tiny house with interest, surprised to find she likes it - a good deal more than the sprawling misery of her parents' house, at any rate, which has always seemed too big and too empty since Nourval left it.
"So," Nourval says, once the door closes firmly behind them both. "Fell off your chocobo, was it?"
She squirms. "Something like that."
"I might well believe it," he says, leaning against the wall, arms folded. His eyes narrow. "If I'd not been the one to teach you to ride. And no chocobo made those marks on your arm, either, Raicheille."
Her eyes burn again. Don't bite your lip, her mother's voice snaps in her mind, and she wills herself not to.
Nourval pushes away from the wall and comes closer. There's something in his eyes that looks like anger, but it's not at her. It's for her.
That's new.
"Rai. Tell me the truth. Who did this to you?"
She doesn't mean to tell him the truth, not really, but it spills out of her like blood from a fresh wound. She tells him everything: the beatings, the days she's spent locked in her room, the shouting, the threats, the days without meals, the pinching and poking and prodding as they try to make her obey. The lectures. The unwanted betrothal.
"B-but... but the dress, that was my fault," she adds, wiping her nose on one ruined sleeve, between hiccuping sobs. "I c-climbed a h-hedge, and it ripped. I h-hate it anyway, but everyone's s-so worried because my s-stupid dress is ripped-"
He pulls her into his arms, then, clutching her close, just like he had when she was small - when her problems were as small as a broken doll or a skinned knee.
And it's safe there, even if only for a moment.
"First things first," he says. "You can have a bath and a rest, and then we'll talk about what happens next." His gaze slides toward the door. "I'll need to have a word with the good Captain and his man."
Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet, Nourval Lhorulgois, Raicheille Lhorulgois
Triggers/Content warnings: Child abuse
Previously: Part One, Part Two, Part Three
Once Raicheille has scrubbed away the day's travails, dressed in one of Nourval's long nightshirts (fully a dress on her slight frame), and gotten some food in her, she promptly retreats to the bedroom for a well-earned rest.
It's just as well, Sanson muses; having dealt with the girl during Guydelot's abduction at her uncle's hands a year ago, he knows how much of a handful she can be - and how unconducive to conversation her boundless energy can be, at that. Last year, she'd successfully wrangled him into breaking Nourval out of gaol, and if he cannot deny it was a gamble that paid off, still, he'd just as soon avoid any more of Raicheille's wild schemes if he may.
Although he fears he may have already stumbled into one.
Is that better or worse, though, than the idea that she has no control over the situation?
"It was the Order's understanding," he says, breaking the tense silence that settles over the three of them once the girl leaves. "That your parents had no part in Astarnaix's plot, and that your sister could be safely returned to their custody."
Nourval nods, weary. "He wouldn't have told them, not after I..." He glances at Sanson, then drops his gaze, staring intently at the floor. "I'd known things must be terrible for her at home. I knew. But I'd assumed... I don't know. They'd never gone so far as to beat her, not while I lived under their roof. Raised voices, aye; locked in her room, aye - but starving her, beating her? She's too young yet for a serious betrothal." He shakes his head. "They've fallen out of favor with Astarnaix's cronies, plainly, and they're trying to win their way back with a good marriage. She's the only coin they've left to spend."
Guydelot looks deceptively calm, leaning casually against a wall. "Aye, and they're doing their level best to polish her up, never mind if it leaves a few dents." Sanson wagers only he can see the thunderclouds brewing behind his bard's eyes, and the fury hidden behind his relaxed posture. Guydelot may not like Nourval, but that doesn't mean he'll stomach what's being done to an innocent girl.
"I should have argued for custody of her," Nourval says, hands curling into fists. "After Astarnaix, knowing what she would be returning home to-"
"You were in no fit state to argue for anything," Sanson protests, remembering all too well how perilously close to death Nourval had been; if the man had even been conscious enough to protest his sister's return to their parents, Sanson would have been astonished.
Guydelot cuts in, "Even if you had been, I reckon they'd've been reluctant to let her stay with a man who'd broken out of gaol."
"He was released under the authority of myself and Commander Vorsaile Heuloix," Sanson replies primly, fighting a smile.
"Aye, so says the official report. Now."
There had been a great deal of back-and-forth, and for a time, Sanson had been certain he'd be stripped of rank, and Vorsaile too. In the end, discretion won out: the plot had been exposed and halted before any harm could be done to the delicate negotiations between Gridania and Ala Mhigo, and none could deny the role Nourval had played in it. House arrest seemed a fair compromise between allowing Nourval to walk free despite his past actions, and condemning him to prison once again despite his more recent heroics.
But house arrest is surely no place for a girl of fifteen... unless, of course, her home life is so dreadful as to make even this seem a paradise by comparison.
"Well," he says, quiet. "The question is... what do we do now?"
Silence.
It's Guydelot who breaks it first, pushing away from the wall. "Well, one thing's for sure - we can't just hide her here forever. I figure your parents know she's fond of you?" He looks at Nourval, who hesitates, then nods. "Right. So if this ain't the first place they'll think to search for her, it sure as hells won't be the last, either. And all they'll have to do is tell those nice lads out front that they're looking for their daughter, and wouldn't you know it? We brought a girl matching her description here a few bells ago."
"You'd aid her?" Nourval peers up at the bard, surprised. "After I..."
"What, held Sanson hostage? Tried to stir up a war?" Guydelot shrugs. "Your uncle did the same thing, twice as bad. I reckon bastard just runs in the family."
"Then-"
"But the way I see it, I owe the lass a favor or two." He smiles, flexing his hands; they may still ache from time to time, Sanson knows, but he's otherwise healed nicely from his ordeal. "Besides, look at it this way. This time, it's sort of like we've got the hostage, seeing as we've got what they want."
Nourval's face is mutinous. "I will not hand her back into their keeping."
"Never said you should. We're in a position to negotiate, is all."
Oh no. Sanson inhales sharply. "Guydelot. What are you planning?
