sleepytimejunction | HALT THE VAULT

[His father — the archbishop — the archbishop had cared not for the impassioned words Aymeric had offered.

Deep in the lowest portions of the Vault, there is plenty of cold and damp and maddening quiet to contemplate the depths of his own failure. Aymeric has been down here once or twice before, usually on some service for the Temple Knights; it is in these lowest and most hidden of places that the deepest blasphemies are cleansed, far away from the sight of any who might fall corrupt to it by mistake or proximity. Down here is where the priests keep the icy wellspring used to cleanse heresies; that the rejuvenated faithful almost always die of exposure soon afterward is but mere proof of the depths of their sins, that it taxed their mortal flesh so bitterly to be expunged of them. Here is where the noblest of the dragoons claim command over the Eye of Nidhogg, where accursed blood is injected into their veins.

Here, in the Vault, is where the church does its most pious and terrible work.

And here he hangs from chains, languishing in wait for his blessings to come. Bastard-born noble fool that he is, the priests will soon come and try to save his soul, while the Heaven's Ward looks on to bear witness.

He wonders idly how they will seek to redeem him. There are so many possible ways of drawing pain out of a body.

But worse still than the thought of his imminent redemption is the cold understanding that he has failed his Ishgard and the Warrior of Light both. He had not impassioned words enough in all the world to turn his father's ear away from a thousand years of corruption and lies. His efforts were in vain. The war would continue. The deception would persist.

Failure is hardly an uncommon state for a bastard, and yet it tastes so bitter on his bloody tongue. He could weep from his frustration, but he dares not, for fear those same tears would soon turn to those of anguish and pain and self-pity.

His salvation is coming, whenever the priests finish their preparations and return.

He's terrified of it, and bows his head from the shameful weight like the way he hangs from his chains.]

[A familiar path has been born like this before when he'd barely become a man, his good friend Francel stolen away for ransom. Bandits are certainly less organized than this, but at the time it was all that he could do to throw himself into the situation, following his quarry and ensuring the safety of someone dear to him.

The enemies may be different, but the path is familiar to him.

A priest spots Haurchefant, then makes to turn and run, likely to warn his brothers and sisters. Without pause, he throws his sword as if it were an axe; the balance is different, but it still strikes true, the blade sinking into the man's back. He approaches calmly, taking his sword before stabbing down again, just to make sure the priest doesn't come back up. There is no coldness in his actions. Quite the contrary -- inside of him is a burning flame, controlled and fierce as he marches on.

There are, of course, guards in his way, but if the Warrior of Light and their comrades can manage, then certainly he can. He sees them, and they see him. Immediately, he steels himself, charging in with his shield up, battering one against the door before whirling around to block an incoming sword.

Down with you! the guard snarls at him.

Haurchefant doesn't offer a response. Instead, he shoves the other knight back before sinking his blade true into his throat. He doesn't have quite the time to retrieve it from flesh, turning in time to see the second the guard recovering enough to attack. His shield goes up just in time, the clanging of metal echoing in the hall.

Enough of this, he thinks, not wanting to spend more time than necessary here. He shoves hard, slamming the guard again with enough force to cause the door to swing open. Immediately, he pins the guard down, proceeding to beat him with his shield until he stops moving. It isn't proud or clean, but it's done.

Then he looks up, seeing Aymeric hanging there in chains, waiting for judgment. That fire inside of him dims just enough as he rises to his feet.]

Aymeric. [His voice is soft, despite all appearances of battle. No titles, just a careful, sweet tone as he reaches out, gently touching his shoulder.] You're safe. I'll have you down soon.

[The miserable truth is, he's startled and astonished when someone fights their way through the doors to his holding cell, because it never once occurred to him that anyone would come. Why would they? He had done his best, and his best had been found wanting. Why should anyone come running for his sake?

(Estinien did once, back in the days of their youth. Back then he was pinned to the ground beneath a savage wyrm, mud beneath his back rather than the cold stone of the Vault. It had nearly torn his ear off before Estinien had managed to kill it, and that very next Starlight those brave hands had delivered to him the earcuff that sits over the scarring, protecting the already-vulnerable place from the risk of any further harm.)

He had not thought —

He had not thought he deserved what he gets: Haurchefant, stalwart and strong in the mail and colors of House Fortemps, nudging him back to awareness with a gentleness that belies the savagery he'd just exercised in eliminating the guards.]

Haurchefant...

[It cannot be. It cannot, for to believe it would mean he should be so lucky, and he knows he isn't.]

'Tis death to be here, you shouldn't have come...

[Oh that he could offer more comfort than mere words, but he's too aware of the state of things. Himself marked with battle, and Aymeric needing a healer proper. Instead, he goes to reach into his pouch, fetching a bottle.]

If it is death to be here, then certainly you do not belong either. I am not alone in thinking so. Our dear friend and hero is pursuing the Archbishop with the others.

[He pops open the bottle. A mere potion, but it will have to do until he can take Aymeric to Alphinaud.]

Drink up, and I'll have you down in no time.

He — I could not prevail on him to change his course, Haurchefant. I had thought...and yet, twas all for naught. My words fell on deaf ears.

[He says it like it's a failing of his own. Like if he'd only tried harder, been better, been more — as though his father the archbishop could ever have been persuaded at all.

Head lowered, he leans toward the potion bottle, his cheeks heating with the shame of being forced to try to drink without hands — but as Haurchefant says, he'll have him down soon.]

Forgive me. I failed you all.

You failed us?

[The words are repeated, Haurchefant's tone genuinely incredulous, as if the concept simply cannot be accepted. His brows raise, and for the briefest moment he is still and puzzled.

Then a warm smile forms on his face, despite the circumstances. He'd love to offer more comfort, but once Aymeric drinks the potion it leaves Haurchefant to search the bodies of the guards he'd just slain to find the key to free his comrade.]

If a boulder tumbles down the mountainside and crushes all in its path, will I blame the boulder or the people unable to stop it? A crude metaphor, but you get my point all the same, I hope.

Not a single one of us blame you. If anything, I commend you! To have the strength to make your attempt to confront not only the Archbishop to plead your case, but also your own father -- tis no simple thing you did.

[A small ah-ha escapes him as he finally finds the key, setting about to free the other man.]

Do not lose heart, my friend. It was an attempt worth making. I am only sorry it brought you pain, both in heart and body.

Ah...

[Haurchefant has such a way of saying things, speaking of opinions with the conviction of a man who speaks of certainties. A lament that it wasn't enough goes still and dies unspoken on Aymeric's tongue; impossible as it seems, mayhap he can still allow himself an interval of time to believe it, simply because Haurchefant says it is so.]

...

[So let him believe it, then.]

Pray go carefully. I — I confess I may fall, when the chains are loosed and no longer support me.

[It's not as though he could just collapse on the other man, of course. Of course not.]

[No strength left in him, then. That is hardly Aymeric's fault, even if it does briefly cause his blood to boil at the wrongs done to him. Haurchefant loves his homeland, his people, but he is certainly no stranger to its hypocrisy and flaws either. But then, neither is Aymeric, and they both have similar reasons to know enough.

He minds himself, and he smiles kindly regardless.]

Then rest assured I shall catch you. I will lend you my strength however I am able.

[A hand goes to the small of Aymeric's back, prepared to guide him against his own body to bear the weight. The other handles the key, unlocking cuff and shackles keeping him bound. Though they are pressed for time, he will not rush this, determined to remain aware of Aymeric's well-being.]

[He doesn't fall, at least, and that's a small mercy; it's just that getting his legs under him doesn't quite go as planned, as the stress of being held in his chained position combines with his loss of blood to make his legs weaker than he expects. Haurchefant lets him down, and he manages to stay on his feet just long enough to get himself full free of the shackles, before risking a step and stumbling into the safety of Haurchefant's waiting arms.

Safety. Yes, it is safety, isn't it?]

Thank you.

[If he says it low, and quiet, while he rests here like this so close to Haurchefant's pointed ear, then none other need hear. It need not be repeated; merely known.]

I did not think anyone would come for me.

[It is not unlike a confession, in a way. For a moment, Haurchefant is quiet, but once all chains are undone and accounted for, he places his other arm around Aymeric as an impromptu embrace.]

Then I, for one, am certainly glad to be one of the many to prove you wrong in this matter.

[There is no lecture, nor does he take it personally; Aymeric is a man who must surely feel too much pressure as it is, and for many reasons. When he sees his own failure, then surely all must come to blame him -- but fortunately, the truth is much kinder.]

There are so many who are loyal to you, a notion that has been earned by what you believe in. You will know this to be true when you see your allies again, Aymeric. Now then...

[Propriety, per usual, has been tossed out the window for Haurchefant. It takes a bit of shifting, but he manages to arrange Aymeric into his arms.]

Let us quit this place, and help our friend reach victory.

Aye...aye, we must fly, and with all speed.

[Propriety is a thing for nobles and saints. Here in the deepest recesses of the Vault, surely Halone would not begrudge a pair of bastards carrying on so. Surely she would not withdraw her mercy and favor from one as good and true as Haurchefant.]

I know not where my father may be found. Twas long enough ago that I was sent down here...

[He shakes his head.]

Where was our friend headed?

We went in opposite directions, so it would be fair to guess to the top, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps the Archbishop means to make his escape, or pursue his true goals? Either way, tis little that will remain in our path, no doubt!

[The Warrior of Light was, indeed, quite good at ensuring so little foes remain. Their way ought to be clear.

Haurchefant makes his way out, to follow their dear friend. It means leaving his sword behind, but he has his shield and that is plenty. A path is laid out for them clearly, in the way of many bodies of clergyman and knights strictly loyal to the Archbishop. Though he does not relish in the death, he knows that there'd been little other choice in the matter for anyone; these people so loyal that they would lay down their lives for their beliefs... What else could the Warrior do?]

...An airship. Of course — my friend, we must hurry.

[In which we pretend that Alex actually remembers how this cutscene goes and that I'm not just playing fast and loose with sequencing of events here, I do what I want.

Aymeric clings to Haurchefant as they make their way out of the deepest levels of the Vault, feeling the exhaustion and lingering ache from his wounds starting to catch up with him. But this is not the time to let such things get the better of him; no, not yet. Not yet.]

If he is yet to depart, then mayhap — there may yet be one last chance to turn his mind...

[listen we're gonna get real handwavey here we're gonna just ROLL WITH IT.

Although Haurchefant doesn't think that by now the Archbishop is going to really change his mind, he would never dream of trying to stop Aymeric. If he wishes to try with all of his might, then Haurchefant would support him to the last without any hesitation.

It is fortunate how easy it is to follow the trail of destruction their dear friend has left, and with no enemies to prevent them they are swift to get to the airship landing at the top. It is there that he sees the back of the Warrior, and the Archbishop making his way to the airship.]

Careful now.

[As gently as he is able to, he places Aymeric to his feet.]

I have you, if you need.

I...yes, help me stand, if you would. I must not appear...

[Whatever word might have followed that dies quickly on his lips. Wounded? Defeated? Weak? Any one would do, truly. But if he is to stand even the slimmest chance of prevailing upon the archbishop, he will not do it speaking as someone at the mercy of the church — not when Thordan VII is the church.

He draws a slow breath, grips tight to Haurchefant's arm. Nods slightly to him, urges them both forward.]

Father!

You have me, of course.

[And he knows what Aymeric means. In the face of all of this, he would give his strength to the Lord Commander, especially if it means he saves face despite all he's been through.

There's barely hesitation from the Archbishop, though. The slightest glimpse, and then he continues toward the airship. It infuriates Haurchefant on Aymeric's behalf, and he has half a mind to say something, but there's a glimmer out of the corner of his eye.

A glowing lance, held by-- is that one of the Heavensward? He can't tell, but he knows it's directed at both of them.]

Behind me, Aymeric!

[Immediately, with the only tool he has left, he raises his shield.]

Haurchefant!

[He doesn't see it until after Haurchefant calls his name in warning, too fixated is he on the sight of his father turning his back and walking away. Tis not as though it is even unexpected or surprising, but there's something in the finality of it that feels like a slap in the face — a door slammed closed, a chapter ended with no more talk about it.

But then Haurchefant raises his shield, and the movement draws Aymeric's eye — up to the glow from the rooftop, the malice of one of the Archbishop's most loyal, taking aim at them — !]

Fly, you fool!

[There will be time for apologies and niceties later, as his positioning behind Haurchefant puts him in the perfect place to shove him with all his might, hoping to send him stumbling back beneath the cover of the Vault's arch. And he, too, is stumble-falling after him, using the momentum to carry him forward after Haurchefant, praying with all his might that it will merely be close, too close, but enough.]

[well oop he didn't expect that.

Though Haurchefant had steeled himself to try to brace against the incoming blow, it also means his back is not prepared for Aymeric to shove him. It's graceless as can be as he stumbles and basically falls out of the way of the incoming magical lance fired upon them.

He turns onto his back, watching as the lance just misses Aymeric before he's, once again, catching the other man into his arms, bearhugging him as if that will keep him safe from harm. The scuffle, as it turns out, also is distracting enough for the Warrior of Light to not quite pursue after the Archbishop. It is a regrettable thing as he watches the airship depart, but if nothing else at least they are all safe for now.]

'Twas a bit too close there, my friend! Are you all right?

[Oh. Well. This.

This is certainly a thing that's happening now, isn't it. Fresh off the heels of a narrow escape from imminent peril, Haurchefant is on the ground and he's — on top of him and this is all horribly undignified and improper and a spectacle but at least, at least they're both alive.]

No worse for the wear; you seem to have broken my fall, my dear.

[And he is. Probably crushing him. Beneath pointy armor. Whoops.]

And you? You are unharmed?

[Under any other circumstances that did not have to do with life and death, Haurchefant probably would have made some sort of flirtatious comment about their compromising position. He is thinking it, but he wisely keeps it to himself considering everything at the moment.]

Ha, we're both fortunate that my chainmail took the brunt of you! Not that I should think to complain if I took all of you.

[Well. Mostly keeping it to himself.]

Alas, I regret that we could not have the Archbishop listen to you. It seems for now, perhaps we should regroup and have your wounds seen to proper?

[He goes to sit up slowly, but keeps an arm braced around Aymeric to help him, keep him steady. Over his friend's shoulder, he sees the Warrior approach, looking frustrated for a moment before relieved after glancing both of them over. Eventually, they nod, seeming to agree that regrouping is for the best.]

[It's not that he's not accustomed to Haurchefant's flippant, forward demeanor, it's just — tis something of a different beast when it's delivered in a position like this, sprawled atop him with arms curled snug around his body. If I took all of you, he says, and Aymeric knows it's a joke, just a play on words to follow what he'd said before it, only there's a twinge of something that doesn't...feel as though he was joking.

Wouldn't it be something, if he weren't joking.]

...Aye. And you would do well with a look-over, yourself. Thinking to take a blow like that with your shield alone. Are you daft?

[He shakes his head, easing himself up and off Haurchefant when he starts to move, letting them both find their way into a sitting position.]

Back to my office, I think. We'll not be bothered there.

If leaping in to protect my beloved friends from our foes means to be mad, then I shall be so eagerly. Shield or not. I could not simply let anything else happen to you on this day.

[Aymeric has been through more than enough. He'd been pained, and not just in body but in spirit. Thinking that none would come to aid him because of his failure. It was quite heartbreaking, and he never wishes to see Aymeric like that again if he can help it.

It's almost disappointing to let Aymeric go, but he objectively is aware that they have more pressing matters to look into. So, he shifts himself up to his feet before politely offering his arm to Aymeric.]

My strength is yours again as you need. Let us reconvene in your office, as you say.

Then 'tis a privilege I do not well deserve, Haurchefant, to be counted among your beloved.

[He says it so graciously, so kindly, that you could almost blink and miss the fact that there's a word he omitted from the remark, and a rather significant one at that. But the roof of the Vault is neither the time nor the place for such things, and so Aymeric merely takes Haurchefant's arm and uses it for support, aching from his failures but at least still in one piece, however worse for the wear he might be.

The reconvening at Aymeric's office doesn't last long. They compare notes, make plans. But everyone rightly agrees that it will serve them no good to press on without a rest, and so one by one they all go their separate ways, until only Aymeric and Haurchefant are left.

And still he aches, stung with his father's betrayal and the way he'd been cast aside, aching for something good yet in the world, something soft and tender and his.

And there, as ever, is Haurchefant.]

Have you things to attend to, Haurchefant, or will you idle here awhile longer?

[Well. The word left out is quietly noted, albeit he knows not if it's worth reading into. But it is indeed hardly the time or the place to dwell on such things, and more that he is grateful that his comrades are safe for now, even though they have quite a bit to do.

However, these tasks can only be done with enough rest, and even the Warrior of Light needs respite. Whatever the Archbishop hopes to accomplish will take more than a day to succeed; tomorrow will be met with confrontation.

And he does linger, looking over Aymeric. It is impossible to not have some remaining concern, not after all that he has endured.]

If I may. It seems more to me that the one matter left tending to is likely here. I would see you to repose, Aymeric.

The Temple Knights infirmary, I believe, is empty but for the chirurgeons yet standing their post. I should remain here at the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, where I may be close at hand should an emergency arise.

[He sighs, then offers Haurchefant a tired smile.]

But so long as I do not leave, I am willing to place the rest in your capable hands, my friend.

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