sleepytimejunction | HALT THE VAULT

HALT THE VAULT

Dividing their forces is the best way to confront this matter, to ensure that the Archbishop does not escape and that Aymeric is successfully rescued. Though there is the selfish urge to remain at the Warrior of Light's side, he also knows that they cannot spare another moment if possible for Aymeric's sake. He has no doubt of the Warrior's skill and abilities, but it is still difficult to turn away and not lend his shield.

"Be well, my friends," Haurchefant says, keeping his encouraging smile up. Time isn't at their side, so no more words are exchanged, giving him the gift of the Warrior's stoic nod. It is enough for him. They part ways, leaving to their own respective duties.

As he goes into the bowels of the Vault, keeping his head clear and his eyes focused. He does not love to kill his fellow Ishgardian, but if they aim to protect the Archbishop and keep him from finding the Lord Commander, then they are his enemy. They will not spare him mercy, so in turn none can be spared for them.

"They're here! Sound the--hrrk" a temple knight begins, at least until Haurchefant guts him.

Well, hopefully cutting him off will give him enough time.

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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.

[At that, he offers his hand out to Aymeric.]

Then please, take mine so that I can see you to bed, even if it is only for a time.

[Though it is tempting to tell Aymeric that he really should just go home, Haurchefant would also have no leg to stand on to do so; he himself will take a bit of time for respite, but beyond that he plans to be ever ready for all of his allies.

And here, he can ensure Aymeric at least try to rest.]

If I may, I would also lend you an ear, if you have need. Tis more than just your wounds of flesh that need mending, it seems to me.

Let me be your shield in all ways.

You have done more than enough shielding for one day, I am sure we can agree.

[It's a joke, though, however tired it may be in its delivery, and he doesn't hesitate to place his hand in Haurchefant's upturned palm, implicitly agreeing to follow where he leads.

A simple touch, he thinks with a catch of his breath, should not feel charged as a levinbolt. And yet the mere act of bringing their hands together sends an unexpected thrill up his aching spine, and opens a yawning chasm in his heart that hungers to be filled.

And yet —

And yet, he thinks with a note of lament, he should not entertain such notions of yearning. Haurchefant is a dear friend, yes, but surely the events of the day have emotionally compromised his own judgment. The ache will flee with a good rest and some time to collect himself. It would be foolhardy to give it any more credence than that at a time like this.

Foolhardy indeed. He needs must leave it alone.]

Where you lead, my friend, I shall follow.

[Despite how exhausted Aymeric sounds, Haurchefant still lets out a chuckle, his tone as jolly as ever. Gently, he squeezes the Lord Commander's hand, smiling brightly at him through the trying day that was endured.

So he keeps the hand, for now. His other arm braces Aymeric's back, perhaps as an excuse to remain in constant contact, but also offering as much support as he is able. They continue on to the infirmary, where he nudges the other man to bed.]

Might I bring you anything to make you more comfortable?

[The infirmary beds are not known for their decadence, but they are at least comfortable enough, accustomed to holding honorably wounded soldiers for long periods of time while they recover from their valorous deeds. Aymeric does not feel particularly valorous himself at the moment, but he settles down onto one of them and begins the methodical process of removing his armor, extracting himself from it piece by piece in preparation for retiring.]

Nay, this will do, I think. And you have done so much already.

[There is much he wants to say, or to do. If he were a more selfish man, he just very well might, but here he lingers a moment as he gazes at Aymeric quietly. Ah, how delightful it could be to offer to help him undress! What it might be like to see more of him, or kiss the back of his neck. Such wonderful temptations.

Alas, he knows, it has been a trial for Aymeric today. His rest is more important than any idle fantasy floating in his mind.]

Well. Know that I am willing to do more, if you have need.

For now, would you allow me to stay?

...Aye.

[He means to say it with casual confidence, yet the word, when it escapes him, emerges surprisingly fractured and small. The infirmary is utilitarian and sterile, more focused on function than form. There are no personal trimmings or luxuries, as one might find in a noble house.

There is very little to distinguish it from the Vault at a glance, when he closes and opens his eyes.]

More than allow you. I would pray you to.

[Perhaps, then, this is what Aymeric needs, even if he would not have said it without it being offered first. Still, Haurchefant keeps his smile, warm and pleased to give whatever is asked and more.]

How fortunate you have no need to pray at all. I am here, for as long as you wish.

[He'll find a chair or some such, even if he might want to cheekily ask that they share the bed -- but he'll tease Aymeric another time.]

You did well today, Aymeric. Think not otherwise, even if all you see is fault. No one could have asked for greater attempts than a solution found through words alone, even if the other party chose otherwise. I only take regret in your suffering.

[Piece by piece, his armor comes free, and he methodically stacks it on the arms rack at the foot of the bed, every implement in its proper place. Good military training, always.

It's only after the last piece has been set aside that Aymeric truly seems to deflate, as though the rigidity of the plate had been keeping his poise and composure upright along with his body, and now at last he can spill free of it.]

I would not speak of the events of today any longer, Haurchefant, lest my heart break from the repetition.

[Gingerly, he eases himself down onto his side, and then wincing onto his back, seeking to find a position that doesn't aggravate his lingering pains.]

But you are kind to console me. Even in the darkest of times, you never fail to find kindness to spare.

Of course. I meant no harm, but another word shall not be spent on it.

[And certainly no offense is taken. It is Aymeric who needs healing, even as Haurchefant weaves to find a balm to it.

He brings a chair left in a corner. It's rickety and wooden, but it functions and Haurchefant has certainly been less comfortable many times in his life before. Besides, he doesn't need much right now.]

I spare it toward those who need it most, I should like to think. Mayhap that is arrogant sounding, but to me it costs not to be kind when another needs it so.

[This, he allows himself: he reaches out, gently brushing Aymeric's hair from his eyes.]

And you, my friend, can always afford to have it.

[Sword-calloused fingertips skim lightly over his forehead, barely touching his skin; without even meaning to, his breath catches in his throat, and he keeps his eyes fixed on Haurchefant, the blue widening an imperceptible fraction.]

There is little kindness spared for ones like us in Ishgard, Haurchefant.

[Even now, his wrists ache from the bite of the chains.]

Yet you bear it so well. Some days I know not how you manage it so. How you keep smiling.

[He knows it too well. Although a hand was never raised to him while growing up, words at times could cut even deeper; the scorn of the Countess de Fortemps is something that shall always burn, but those are the kinds of scars he would bear. To serve someone who might otherwise feel they have nowhere else to turn.

Ishgard has never been perfect. Oh, so far from it, but Haurchefant loves his people all the same. What a wonderfully flawed place, he thinks, when there are so many worth protecting. And to know that perhaps they will find peace, with the aid of their dear Warrior of Light. Even if others like the Archbishop would rather live in a lie.

It is better to try to fight for a future full of smiles than become downtrodden.]

I think that perhaps it is because of those like us that make it all the easier to be kind. For me, at least. There are those who can become bitter, and how could I fault them for it? Yet, all the harder I shall be a knight.

What have I to lose by giving a smile? Not a thing. Mayhap I will even be granted a beautiful smile in return, especially by those I cherish. A fine prize that I would gladly fight for. I should be glad to see yours again soon.

...Cherished.

[He repeats the word softly, a little ruefulness bleeding into his tone despite himself.]

What does it feel like, to be cherished? I wonder. I have been much and more in my years of life, but never that. Never...never that.

[Gently, he places his hand over Aymeric's, lightly squeezing it. It breaks his heart to know such a thing, but it also does not surprise him in the least. This is where it is different for them for how they were raised, he thinks.]

My father could never express fondness nor love for me, yet I could not hold him accountable for it. Quite a terrible mess things were when I was born into this world, not even touching upon Ishgard itself. [He hums, as if amused.] Yet, for all that was never spoken, I knew it from other things. The tiniest of gestures and looks. For me, that was enough. I couldn't say if that's quite the same as being cherished.

Yet, I would like to try. Mayhap in the same way, I cannot tell you in words. It is a feeling I hope to give, even when one does not think they are deserving.

Pray do tell me, of course, if I am too forward, and I will understand.

[He lifts that hand in his own. Though he had promised himself not to tease until another day, he thinks this is not quite the same; this is more like a confession, he supposes. The only heartbreak here is how little Aymeric thinks of himself. And so, let him be adored by as many as possible.

Haurchefant bows his head, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Aymeric's hand.]

No, you speak truly. Openly, he surely could not — and yet the Count de Fortemps's affection for you is the worst-kept secret in all of Ishgard, my dear.

[His hand rises, held sweetly captive in Haurchefant's. His breath catches again, and he does not seek to pull his fingers away. Too forward, he says, and something in the pit of Aymeric's stomach flutters, the aching void within him shivering at the prospect of, even for but a few fleeting moments, being filled.]

Be so forward as to make me forget my father, Haurchefant.

[He closes his eyes, lashes dark against his cheek.]

Let us both forget together, if you are willing.

[It is true, and Haurchefant cannot dare to deny it. It is in party why he knew he could boldly ask to have the Warrior, Alphinaud, and Tataru act as wards of the house. He knew that the Count would not deny him. It does feel a bit selfish in that way, but he does not regret it.

For now, his focus shall be on Aymeric. To heed his request, and give him as he so wishes. Halone, he is lovely, but he would be all the lovelier with a smile indeed.]

I shall not take back my words. I am willing and here.

[Another kiss to his hand, then another to his fingertips.]

What I give is because I wish to. You ask no burden of me.

As am I. Willing...and here.

[It's difficult, the way they're positioned; with Haurchefant still upright and himself lying stretched on his cot, there's no good way for Aymeric to reach and touch him without moving up and out of his repose again, which would both ache and likely draw a chastising from his friend besides.

He settles, then, for a soft noise of discontent, pacified only slightly by the kisses pressed against his skin, desirous of so much more.]

Pray have mercy on me, and do not bid me languish without your warmth for long.

[So forward, Lord Commander. How very scandalous.]

[For a moment, Haurchefant is pleasantly surprised -- but he does not let it give him pause for long. Instead, he looks overjoyed, his hand reaching to gently touch the side of Aymeric's face.]

Then I shall give all that I have, for my warmth is unending!

[A bit over the top as he is wont to do, yet, he still presses on: Haurchefant moves out of the chair to lean a knee to the bed, bowing down to rest his forehead upon Aymeric's.]

And if after you still do not feel cherished, I will put forth all my efforts once again tenfold for you deserve to be wanted and adored.

[At long last, he presses his lips to the other man's, careful and sweet as can be. Not that he isn't capable of more, but he wants to treat every inch of Aymeric as lovingly as possible. To ensure he knows how every part of him is found to be beautiful. So his affections are soft and encouraging.]

[How safe it feels, to be covered over like this by the tender shield of Haurchefant's body — and better still that the only dangers here are the phantoms of memory that threaten to steal him away, and not the terrible lightning of the Heaven's Ward. Full rare is it that Aymeric allows himself to relax enough to indulge even a moment like this, but surely if there were ever a time that such respite was warranted, surely it must be now.

And so, weakly, he runs the tips of his fingers along the mail Haurchefant still wears, feeling each battle-burnished ring in the slim space left between them as their lips meet and bodies gravitate together. Haurchefant bears the shame of bastardry they share so much more nobly than he ever could, enough so that one could almost pardon it rather than merely feigning ignorance to it, but in the end it is all they are: two bastards with noble fathers, tucked away on an infirmary cot where none shall look or see.]

Haurchefant —

[He manages to work a hand free, sliding it first up Haurchefant's side and then to his arm, until finally he can settle his long capable fingers at the back of his friend's neck.]

Then as you cherish me, I shall show you all the fondness that others before me have held back.

[His thumb moves slightly, running the edge of Haurchefant's sensitive ear.]

For I am fond. So very...so very fond.

[That means more to him than Haurchefant honestly expected. He eyes slide closed for a moment, and he shudders at the fingers delicately tracing up his ear. He holds his breath, then turns his head slowly to press his lips against Aymeric's palm before leaning toward the contact.

Fond. As if finally, someone can afford to give him some manner of affection openly. Fury, he hasn't truly examined himself much in that regard as he just realizes now how much that means to him.]

Ha, how you've made me speechless... Then, let us not keep each other waiting.

[He keeps his voice even as he can, but he is moved in his heart.

Not that he needs more encouragement, but he does pull back just enough so he can actually properly take off his mail. There is a bit of urgency as he does, undoing straps and his belt, but he has no shame about it.

He truly wants to make Aymeric feel beloved.]

[He sits up a little as Haurchefant starts to work at his armor, moving to help with the deftness of one full familiar with the assortment of clasps and buckles of a knight's garb. And how strange it is, that for all that his movements are matter-of-fact and utilitarian, the very act of it sends a blush of color rising in his cheeks.

Soldiers assist each other with duties such as these as a matter of course; 'tis not a new or unusual thing. And yet the knowledge that he is helping to undress his lover is...potent. And thrilling.]

Yes — I want to feel you...

[It would be satisfying to push off the mail and let it rattle carelessly to the ground, but that would also attract all manner of attention to their little refuge here. Aymeric swallows hard and tries to be patient, easing the fastenings free without undue or haste.]

What secrets hide beneath your armor...show me, I would see all of you...

[For a moment, he smiles warmly as Aymeric is determined to help him, just as Haurchefant had wanted to aid in undressing the Lord Commander earlier but held back. A shame, he thinks; he will have to make up for that! For now, he welcomes the aid, and though he too is tempted to simply dump the chainmail to the floor he's more cautious than that: instead, he leaves it carefully on the chair as he removes it before untucking his tunic.]

No more secrets than you have, I am certain. But I would share myself with you in full regardless.

[And so, off with his tunic, leaving his top half bare. There are nicks and scars, as one might expect for a knight. Nothing devastating, but they each have their tale to tell, well worn just like his mail.

Once more, he kneels on the bed, cupping the side of Aymeric's face gently as he is able despite his callused hands.]

Well? Am I to your liking?

You are exquisite.

[And now, suddenly, there is muscle and flesh for his fingertips to savor instead of cloth and metal — and savor he does, reaching boldly for Haurchefant, drawing him down and closer even as his hands begin their slow, tender exploration of the planes of his chest.]

Strong. Bold. Incorrigible. And so wonderfully warm.

[His fingertip grazes past a nipple, careless at first, then back again more deliberately.]

Would that I could admire your body with eyes as well as hands, but I cannot tear my eyes away when you see fit to smile at me that way.

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