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orime-stories · 11 days ago

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Heavensent

Rating: General Pairings: Wolmeric Characters: Aymeric, Aureia (WoL) Word Count: 2,659 Summary: A chance meeting on the battlements opens the door to something that will change both Aureia and Aymeric’s lives. Prompt: i. first meeting | introducing family & friends Notes: Set during the ARR patch quest "Coming to Terms." Read on AO3

The stars shine bright, sparkling like diamonds in a velvet sea of blue and black.

Aureia cranes her neck, unbound hair tickling her shoulders. In a rare event, the clouds around Camp Dragonhead have cleared and the snow has ceased to fall, gifting them a stunning view of the heavens. Of course she can see them almost any night she pleases, but it’s different up here in Coerthas. Ul’dah and Limsa Lominsa are too crowded and generate too much light, masking the stars in a haze. Gridania has too many trees. Even in the deserts of Thanalan, everything feels too distant, too faint.

Up here, there are no distractions.

Up here, the world comes to a standstill.

It puts her mind at ease.

“And here I thought the battlements would be empty at this bell of night.”

She glances over her shoulder, jolted from her reverie. The speaker stands at the end of the narrow walkway, propping the door to the turret tower open with his shoulder. Candlelight seeps in from the landing beyond, sweeping out from behind him and across the stonework in a wash of yellow and orange. Though his face is cast in shadow, she can make out enough of him to note his powerful Elezen build and amiable, if formal, posture. His armour—some confusing combination of robes and plates and chainmail—glints, the blues creeping towards black and the golds fading to brown.

These are not House Fortemps colours. So, then…?

“Ser Aymeric, I take it?” Aureia says. “I thought you were not to arrive until morning.”

Aymeric steps into the light. His dark hair falls neatly across his forehead, contrasting sharply with his pale skin and bright blue eyes. His cheeks flush pink from the cold, only heightening his serene beauty. He has exactly the kind of face Thancred would balk at and call too pretty for his own good. No wonder Haurchefant referred to him as Ishgard’s most eligible bachelor after one too many glasses of wine.

“Considering the importance of our meeting tomorrow, I felt it best not to risk a delay due to poor weather,” he replies, letting the door close behind him. He strolls easily across the battlements and joins her, resting his hands on the parapet. He stares out into the wilderness below, where the trees and hills vanish into the dark. “‘Tis a short journey from the heart of Ishgard, but nevertheless, but Coerthas is as changeable as the sea. I would hate to disappoint young lord Alphinaud by not showing up after such an impassioned invitation.”

She catches his eye. “You may have to break his heart anyway.”

“How so?”

“Alphinaud loves an introduction. If he finds out we already know each other, it will take all the wind out of his sails.”

He doesn’t answer. Her gut twists, heart pounding in her chest, certain that he misunderstood her tone and her intention. They’re strangers, what do they know of each other anyway? To him, she’s the Warrior of Light. A hero to some, sure, but not a leader. Not a politician. Not like he is. To her, he is a knight, a commander, and perhaps the most important person in Ishgard save Archbishop Thordan himself.

What must he think of her, disparaging one of her own allies? Gods, do they even have a sense of humour in Ishgard? Is Haurchefant an anomaly?

He laughs, a good-natured smile brightening his face, and he glances down at her. “Naturally,” he says. “Alphinaud Leveilleur is a ship of his own making and his sails must be protected at all costs lest he capsize. Perhaps we can feign being strangers on the morrow, give him his moment to shine.”

“Are you proposing we lie to our friends, my lord?”

“Not at all. I’m proposing we hide a truth to boost their confidence. Of course, I would not dare to do so without your support, so shall we consider ourselves partners-in-crime in this little endeavour?”

She snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, holding back another laugh.

Aymeric chuckles, eyes sparkling with delight. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Malathar,” he says, offering her a short bow. “I have heard much about you.”

Aureia raises an eyebrow. “You have, have you?”

“Indeed. Lord Haurchefant speaks highly of you, but even without his vocal support, the news of the decisive blow you struck the Garleans would have reached across the border. I daresay some among my country is rather enchanted with you, though tales of intrepid folk heroes will always have the capacity to stir the hearts of the lowborn. The Holy See and the High Houses may show more caution, but their attentions are seldom given the allowance to look beyond our borders.”

“I’m aware.” She looks away and crosses her arms, rising up on tiptoe to rest against the parapet. Camp Dragonhead was built for Elezen proportions, and everything is just a little too tall for her. “I’ve been to your Steps of Faith and looked upon your city. I’ve stood outside your Gates of Judgement and was turned away. I knew your country was cold, but I didn’t think they would be blind, too.”

He whistles, long and low. “A harsh assessment.”

“I have harsh eyes.”

“Are you certain of that? I rather think you have kind ones.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “You may know the cost of war intimately, Mistress Malathar, but even the blind can see you have a purpose worth fighting for.”

“I…” She flushes. Gods, he is smoother than she expected. How does he seem to know the right thing to say at the right time? Is he flirting with her, or he is simply being pleasant for the sake of their alliance? “Thank you.”

Aymeric smiles, his dark hair falling across his cheek. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“What would you like to know?”

“What brought you up here tonight? I’m certain there are kinder places to take a stroll in this fort. Some may even be closer to the ground.”

She snorts with laughter and turns to face him, leaning casually against the parapet. No matter where she positions herself, she can never quite see his face. Damn giant of a man. “Perhaps,” she replies. “The journey from Mor Dhona is long, and Haurchefant is always keen for me to rest and take in the comforts of his hearth, as he puts it.” No point in mentioning that he was the one who suggested she take a walk this evening and take in the stars. “I think he worries about my well-being. But I like the cold, and I like to be up high where no one else is. A quiet place to quiet my mind.”

“Ah, I see. Quite the view there is from here. Very dark. I see a tree. And a slope. Is that perhaps a rock over there?”

“Very funny. But you’re missing the best part.”

“Which is?”

In answer, she presses her palms into the parapet and hoists herself up. He lets out a yelp of concern, his eyes wide with shock, as she scrambles up the stonework as she twists around, swaying precariously on the ledge. Acting on instinct, he reaches out and grabs her by the shoulder, supporting her as she plops herself down. She grins and sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear, kicking her legs back and forth like an excited schoolgirl, and meets his gaze.

Finally, they can see each other eye-to-eye.

“Look up,” she murmurs, raising her arm.

He presses his lips together, breathing hard, his grip firm around her arm—as if he’s terrified she will fall if he lets go. Slowly, he tears his gaze away from hers and cranes his neck, following her pointing finger upward into the sea of stars.

“Have you ever wondered what’s out there?” Aureia asks. “Beyond the stars? Worlds so far away, they are free from all the troubles that plague us here.”

“I can’t say that I have,” Aymeric replies softly. His grip on her hasn’t relaxed, as if he is afraid she will fall if he lets go. “I prefer to consider matters a little closer to home. But it would be a lie to say that I don’t find the vastness of their multitudes enchanting. There is much beauty to be found in the stars, just as there is wisdom and knowledge.”

“Oh?”

He leans closer, his breath whispering across her cheek. “Are you familiar with the constellations?”

“Not really.” Outside of the realm of art and novels, the stars are unimportant in Garlemald, just lights in the sky that could sometimes be used to triangulate one’s position. Her brother once said that there was a good chance most of them are dead—ghost lights, he called them. So far away it would take a thousand lifetimes to know whether they were living or dead. “I just think they’re pretty.”

“Then let me teach you.” He cradles her back and takes her hand, his long fingers threading gently between hers as he maps out the sky. “That there, shaped like a tree? That is the Bole. Scripture says that it is the gate to the first of our heavens, which houses the World Tree. Beyond it is the Balance, representing the heaven of fire, where equilibrium is maintained.”

A breeze blows by, ruffling her hair. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving them standing in the still serenity of a snowclad night. She exhales a breath, shoving down her desire to make a sarcastic comment about the religious overtones of Eorzean astrology. Though she has little desire to wrestle with it herself, it is important to Eorzeans. She chose Nymeia as her patron god on a whim when pressed. She should take any opportunity she has to rectify that, even if she has her doubts about the Twelve’s divinity.

“If we follow the line, we arrive at—”

“A tower?”

“The Spire. It is a tower, yes, representing the third heaven, a realm of destruction and creation. Its twin is in the opposing quadrant—the Arrow, representing the heaven of wind. Once loosened, the arrow may fly far and true, striking the Ewer, where its mighty rivers flow through the fifth heaven. Lastly, there is the Spear, of the sixth and final heaven, where the Fury resides within her realm of ice.”

The Fury. Halone. Patron of Ishgard.

Aymeric stiffens, as if voicing his goddess’ name has drawn her gaze upon him. “Those are the six,” he says, letting the moment pass. His breath rises in the cold air, higher and higher until it vanishes into the darkness. “The most important of the constellations, the ones from which all manner of magicks may be drawn. Perhaps you know something of this already? I’ve heard you are a talented mage—”

Her heart twinges. Though she has made progress over the past few months, black magic still eludes her. Casting spells should come easily and naturally, and there’s a barrier in her mind blocking her at every turn. X’hrun Tia’s red magic has proven promising in whittling it down—even though his idea of mentorship makes her teeth ache and her head hurt—but she has a long way to go before her magic will be ready for combat. For now, it is easier and faster to punch her problems than it is to cast a single spell, as Thancred keeps reminding her.

At least Hamon would be proud of her.

“—what do you know of the art of our astrologians?”

“Not much. I thought astrologians were healers?”

“They are, but that is simply one aspect of their gifts.” He pauses, his gaze wandering across the sky. Something has drawn her attention, but there are too many stars to figure out what. “With their understanding of the constellations, they can dip into the celestial currents like drawing water from a stream, and perhaps even chart fate itself.”

“Fate? I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No? Their readings have steered Ishgard away from disaster more times than I can count.”

“You could also call that luck. Or putting two and two together from objective observation.”

“A skeptic, I see.”

She shrugs. “There is powerful aether to be found in the celestial currents, I don’t deny that. They could supply a very powerful mage. But predict fate? No one can. No one should.”

“Many find comfort in knowing what lies ahead.”

“And what if you don’t like what lies ahead? Do you do everything in your power to avert it, only to have it happen anyway? Or do you stand back and accept it, because it was always destined to happen?”

Aymeric stiffens. Slowly, he releases her hand and disentangles his fingers from hers. “I am going to impart something to you, Aureia,” he says quietly. “Something that should be saved for our briefing tomorrow morn, but it is the true reason behind my journey here. Believe what you will about fate—it is not in my interests to attempt to change your mind—but our astrologians have observed alarming changes in the heavens. The dragon star waxes unnaturally bright, and that in tandem with an increase in Dravanian activity points towards the resurrection of Midgardsormr.”

She blinks. The giant dragon carcass in Mor Dhona? “But… how…?”

“I do not know, nor do I want to know. I fear there is much we do not understand about Dravanians, either through our own failings or secrets that our forefathers sought to hide from us. Regardless, we cannot allow it to waken. Unfortunately, the Holy See will not see fit to send our knights to Mor Dhona while Dravanian forces hound us day and night.”

“Your people need our help.”

“And yours need ours.” He meets her eyes and takes a step back. A cool breeze washes over her in the wake of his presence, as if his proximity was keeping her warm. Suddenly, she feels quite foolish sitting here atop the parapet. “An alliance between Ishgard and the Eorzean city-states is not a possibility the Holy See will allow. But I believe we can begin to take the steps necessary to forge a lasting bond, even if it must be done in secrecy. The Archbishop sees much, but he does not see all. Change is coming for us, Ishgardian, Eorzean, and Dravanian alike. I am certain of it.”

She nods. “That’s something we can agreed on.”

Aymeric smiles. Bowing slightly, he extends a hand and gestures for her to take it. She grips it and he sweeps her off the parapet. For a brief moment she is weightless, her hair flying about her as she sails through the air and into his arms. The next, she is back on solid ground, her boots connecting with the stone walkway as he gently sets her down. She swallows hard, uncertain whether to laugh or not, and draws back.

“Well, then,” she says awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I should say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mistress Malathar.”

Turning her back on him, she walks stiffly to the end of the battlements and vanishes through the door, the memory of his hand on her shoulder and his fingers guiding hers across the heavens bringing a flush to her cheeks. Round and round she goes, her thoughts tumbling over each other as she descends the turret’s circular staircase. It was nothing. A kind gesture from a future ally. She doesn’t know him and he doesn’t know her, he has no reason to find her so…

Never mind.

Besides, she doesn’t have time for such distractions.

Grumbling to herself and cursing Haurchefant for meddling in her private affairs, she storms through the door at the base of the turret and stalks back to her bedroom in a huff, keen to put Aymeric de Borel out of her mind.

#final fantasy xiv #a realm reborn #fic rec

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