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morganali-writes · 5 months ago

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Wedding WIP

Filling out a character meme had me thinking about this WIP that I've had sitting unfinished for over a year now apparently. I will come back to it, but this is where it's at so far ✌️😴

“And we definitely can’t just elope?”

Artoirel dragged his hands down his face and sighed, otherwise not moving from where he lay on the chaise lounge.

“As terribly tempting as the notion is, I can think of at least three to four individuals that would be furious should you run off and wed without their knowledge or involvement – to say nothing of my own family and the expectations therein.” Cessalie slumped further into her wooden desk chair with a groan.

Tataru would have my head, tis true – and Alisaie might never forgive me. Gods, what a nuisance.” Long moments passed, with naught but the ticking of the mantle chronometer to fill the space.

‘I have… a suggestion,” began Artoirel, only moving to raise a finger to emphasise his statement. “Chapel wedding, witnesses and small wedding party only, reception for family and close friends at the house afterwards.”

Cessalie looked at him with a thoughtful frown on her face, then rose from the bureau to sit by his head on the chaise. He opened his eyes to look at her as she began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“That sounds… that might be tolerable.” Artoirel huffed a laugh.

“Tolerable is a good start. I daresay we have the beginnings of a plan.” Cessalie looked down at him with a wistful smile.

“Yes… Yes alright. Let’s make it happen.” She paused a moment and grimaced. “Just as soon as I drag everyone back from the First.”

-----

It had been one thing after another without ceasing. Getting everyone safely home had been an ordeal to begin with, but gladly they had all awoken back in the Source with relatively little incident, all things considered. Hardly had the scions recovered before they were making their separate ways across Eorzea – treating with diplomats and developing cures for tempering, which turned into treating with pirates and kobolds for a united La Noscea.

Not literal moments had passed as that whole business concluded when the towers began to appear across the land – and with them, the Ascian and his pet primal. This heretofore unknown Ascian – Fandaniel – arrived at the palace in Ala Mhigo, announcing his plan to trigger an end to all life on the Star.

After that, of course, things had begun to happen very fast. They treated a millennia-old dragon for tempering. Immediately they were then flung into another conflict to protect the Amalj’aa, and to strike down Fandaniel’s primal pet – Lunar Bahamut. They had won the day, but Arenvald had been gravely injured on his mission with Fordola, and Alphinaud was quietly in a state about it.

And now, at the last, Krile was off on a voyage to treat with Sharlayan directly. For a moment at least, there was naught else to do but await their answer to her petition for aid.

Cessalie was feeling impatient. Perhaps a little selfish. Just for once in her life she wanted something for herself and every moment waiting felt like seconds lost before the next crisis overtook them.

“My, what a dark cloud that is hanging over your head! I’ve never seen such a frown.” Flinching at the sound, Cessalie looked up from where she sat at one of the tables in the Rising Stones – suddenly very conscious of how cross she must have looked, and how far she had slid down in her chair.

“Oh, Tataru. Pay me no mind, I was just thinking…” The scions’ ever diligent secretary hopped up onto the seat adjacent to her. “How long do you suppose it will be until we hear from Krile?” Tataru crossed her arms and her expression turned thoughtful.

“That’s a good question. Krile said it could be a few days for her to get back to Sharlayan, and Gods only know how long it might take her to get an audience with the Forum.” Slowly Cessalie nodded to herself.

“So perhaps there’s time then…” she murmured. Tataru tilted her head quizzically.

“Time?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, now that everyone is back home –” Cessalie stopped, and her eyes slowly widened as a thought occurred to her. “… And now I think of it, you may be just who I need to help me achieve it.” Looking around furtively to make sure there were none to overhear, Cessalie leaned in.

“Tataru – I need your organisational expertise. Can you keep a secret?” The lalafellan secretary nodded eagerly, her interest piqued.

“How do you feel about planning a wedding?”

-----

It had been a near thing, corralling Tataru’s excitement before she aroused the suspicions of others – quiet though the Rising Stones was at the present. Expectations now tempered, the two sat in the otherwise unoccupied Dawn’s Respite. There was a decidedly mischievous glint in the secretary’s eye as she began preparing an itemised action list.

“I cannot overstate this enough Tataru, but we do not want a big event. If we could run off and elope without censure, we probably would have done so already.”

“Right, right, not to worry, Cessalie!” she grinned. “I’m sure I can wrangle a chapel and a priest at short notice… Now, have you given any thought to who you want to attend?”

“One or two witnesses. Artoirel’s family of course. Laniaette. Perhaps the twins… I daresay they could both use some levity.” Tataru nodded absently as she jotted down notes.

“Mhmmm. And for a reception afterwards?”

“Ugh. I barely know where to begin. Artoirel suggested something small at the Manor for family and close friends, perhaps?” The lalafell nodded.

“I can work with that. I’ll speak to the Count and get his thoughts. What about a dress?” Cessalie groaned and dropped her head to the table with a light bump.

“I don’t suppose I can get away with my Holy Day best, on this occasion.”

“What Holy Day best clothes do you own? And no, the one dress that you wore to dinner with Aymeric does not count.” Cessalie moaned petulantly.

“Oh, Cessalie, you haven’t thought this through at all.” Otherwise not moving, she raised her index finger in a point.

“No, no, I have – at length.” She grumbled into the table. “And while I do yearn to tie hands with my, ah, lover in an official sense – the rigmarole around doing so drives me well and truly up the wall.” Tataru smiled and gave Cessalie’s hand a sympathetic pat. She turned her head to the side on the table to face the secretary.

“You know as well as I that Ishgard’s stock in propriety and public perception are as ingrained in the nobility and the Halonic Orthodoxy specifically as they are in Ul’dah. For every good man in the city, there is another looking to advance his own station at the expense of someone else’s misfortune.” Tataru nodded in agreement.

“Ishgard is certainly just like home in that regard.”

“I’d just as soon as say hang the lot of them, but I’ve had the dreadful misfortune to fall in love with a Count – so there are at least some token matters of ceremony that needs must be performed to satisfy the powers that be. The old order might be changing, but it is a slow and onerous process.”

“Misfortune? I know you don’t mean that,” Tataru said with a wry smile, and Cessalie huffed a laugh, sitting back in her chair.

“No, you’re right… I’m very lucky, I know it. Bless you for humouring this fit of childishness.”

“On the contrary – I should thank you for opening up and asking for help for once!” she said, a pointed look on her face. Cessalie laughed as she placed a hand over her heart in feigned woe.

“Oh! You wound me, Tataru – but I cannot say that you’re wrong.” Tataru grinned a wicked grin.

“And as you said, you’ve come to the right person – leave everything to me!” All of a sudden, Tataru leapt to her feet, standing on her chair with her hands on her hips. “Just you watch – by day’s end I’ll have everything in place to see you wedded before the week is out – on my honour as the best secretary in Eorzea – No, on the Star itself!” Cessalie chuckled helplessly and Tataru levelled a determined look at her.

“Ready your things, and meet me at the Bonanza,” she ordered, before jumping from her seat and making for the door with haste. “We’re going to Ishgard!”

-----

“Cessalie? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Alphinaud’s anxious queries began the moment she came into earshot. Alisaie stood beside him, arms folded.

“Tataru bustled us out here without a word of explanation, only that you needed our help,” she said with a shrug. “Obviously we’d be glad to give it, but I should like to know what grave and terrible business you’ve roped us into now.” A look of disbelief crossing her face, Cessalie looked to Tataru – who waved back cheerfully from the deck of the Bonanza. Sighing, she turned to the twins with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry, it is hardly as world shattering as what she might have led you to believe – but I am glad you’re both here.” Taking a deep breath, she looked to both of them and took their hands in hers.

“I am… getting married,” she said, with all the weight of someone bearing a most dire missive.

“What? To whom? This all seems rather sudden.” Alisaie’s eyes were round with disbelief – and while her brother was no less surprised, the delight that lit up his face was unmistakable.

“Oh, my friend! But this is wonderful news!” he said, clasping her hand in both of his.

“But who is she marrying?” Alisaie said, gripping his arm.

“Why, the Count de Fortemps, of course.” She squinted at him, confused.

“Lord Edmont? He’s rather old, isn’t he?”

“Oh gods.” Cessalie’s mind raced as she stared into the middle distance.

“No, no, Lord Edmont has retired – Lord Artoirel is the Count now,” Alphinaud affirmed with a knowing air. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, the pretty one. You’ll forgive me if I can’t quite recall clearly – I was recovering from being poisoned for most of my brief stay in Ishgard,” she retorted with a dry huff.

“If we can focus, please,” Cessalie said weakly. The twins startled to attention.

“Yes of course – my apologies, my friend.” said Alphinaud.

“And mine,” followed Alisaie, sheepishly. “I admit I am a little shocked, but you deserve all the happiness in this world. I am glad for you, truly.” Alisaie squeezed her hand and stared back at her with solemn eyes. “What would you have us do?” Cessalie looked at them both in turn with a wistful smile.

“Truly, I’m just glad you’re both here – you’re so young, and we’ve been through such horrors together. For once, I thought it might be nice if you joined me for a joyful occasion.” Both twins looked up at her with baby coeurl eyes, speechless.

“That being said,” she said as she clasped their shoulders and gently urged them towards the Bonanza before any one of the three of them started weeping in earnest, “I am sure that Tataru has all manner of important tasks for you both – Our chief of organisation is in charge today.” Alphinaud laughed heartily.

“Of that I have no doubt – let us be about it then!” he said, and Alisaie nodded, punching her fist into her hand in emphasis.

“Come on then, you lot!” Tataru called to them, motioning them to board the airship. “We’ll talk about plans on the way!”

-----

Pausing mid-quill stroke, Artoirel tilted his head curiously, wondering at the sound that had broken his concentration. Some sort of commotion on the street perhaps? He shook his head and resolved to pay it no mind, turning his attention back to the missive he had been penning.

Before he could put ink to paper once more, he found himself out of his seat – the sound of quiet footsteps tapping their way ever closer down the hall. He was halfway to his office door before her gentle knock came.

“Cissy?” he breathed as he pulled open the door. Miracle of all miracles, there she was – smiling brightly at the nickname.

“I thought I— ough,” he said as she all but launched herself at him, catching him tightly about the waist. He laughed and brought his arms around her. “And I am very glad to see you also, my dearest. What occasion brings you home so suddenly?”

“Ah, well,” she said, casting about for words to say as her face flushed a rosy hue. “The occasion is you and I, I suppose. Let me explain—” she put her hands on his arms as if to steady him, before he could even begin to process her words. “Have you kept abreast of the latest regarding the towers?” His brow creased in a frown, and he nodded.

“Yes – I was relieved to hear of your victory at Paglth’an, though I admit I have not had a chance to read the report in full.”

“No matter, let me catch you up,” she said, ushering him back across the threshold of his office.

Some minutes later, Cessalie stood before the armchair he occupied (the one she usually favoured when she was home) and regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

“The Sharlayans have ever been isolationists, do you think they will respond favourably to your suit?” She sighed and hung her head.

“It would be a lie if I said I believed they’d lend us their considerable knowledge willingly, but for the moment, there is nothing for it but to wait until Krile sends word.” She stepped into the space between his knees and reached to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

“It might be a few days, perhaps a week or two before the next crisis is upon us – which,” she gestured quietly for emphasis, “brings us back to the purpose of my visit.”

“I’ve been thinking about your suggestion,” she glanced away, bashful once more. Puzzled, Artoirel reached for her, tracing his fingers along her jaw.

“My suggestion?”

“Of a chapel wedding,” she clarified in a rush.

“Oh.” Artoirel nodded in recognition, then stopped as understanding dawned on him. Oh.

“Every time some new crisis happens I’ve been thinking on it, actually – thinking about when we’ll finally have the time to plan in earnest.”

“Cessalie,” he said, though she did not seem to hear him.

“I know it’s rather short notice, but if the Star should be engulfed in fire on the morrow, I… I should rather like to face it at your side, so to speak.” Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle tug.

“Cessalie, come here.” She blinked and focused on his face, before smiling sheepishly and letting him pull her into his lap.

“You wish us to wed in only a few days?” he asked, a little incredulously, though the corner of his mouth twitched. She looked back at him with those solemn, dark eyes.

“If you would consent to do so,” she replied gravely.

“Dearest Cissy,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I believe—yes. Yes I would.” She huffed a relieved laugh, then pulled him in for a kiss.

“Good. I’m glad. Thank you, Artie,” she said, tucking her head under his chin like a contented cat. Helplessly he shook his head and laughed.

“I can think of nothing I would like to do more, although – the logistics arranging things at such short notice may prove tiresome indeed.”

Cessalie quickly sat up, a mischievous smile upon her face.

“Ah, but I have enlisted help, you see.”

“Have you, now,” he said with a chuckle.

“I have – only the finest receptionist on this very Star, amongst other capable sorts,” she said as she scrambled back off his lap and pulled him to his feet. “Come along, I left my guests at the mercy of your father in order to fetch you – we ought to see to them before they send out a search party.” Artoirel let her pull him out of his office with a wry smile.

“Very well – let it not be said that the Count de Fortemps is a poor host.”

-----

In seemingly no time at all, Tataru had outlined a plan and allocated tasks for everyone – presumably there had been heated discussions with the former Count while she had gone to fetch Artoirel. Had she more time to ponder it, Cessalie might have felt a sudden unease as to Tataru’s own grand schemes – but for the moment, there were a laundry list of things to be achieved.

Artoirel, Alphinaud and Tataru had stayed behind at the house – with their combined organisational and diplomacy skills, as well as a wealth of institutional knowledge, they were committed to arranging the logistical side of things. Cessalie had been given blessedly little to do, comparatively – though, Tataru had insisted, no less important.

As she and Alisaie bustled out the door, she thanked the Gods it was clear day – customarily chilly as Ishgard always was, but otherwise as pleasant a day as was otherwise possible.

“Where are we headed?” Alisaie inquired as they made their way across the promenade.

“The Jewelled Crozier may be the best place to start, though I’ve a mind to enlist another for our excursion.” Cessalie stopped then at the entrance to the Haillenarte manor and addressed the steward there.

“Good morning, may I enquire if the Lady Laniaette is at home today?” The steward smiled at her.

“Ah, Mistress Sombreterre – you are in luck, she has just recently returned from Cloudtop to visit with the family, shall I announce you?”

“Wonderful! If you would be so kind,” she said, face lit up in a smile.

“This way, if you please,” he said with a bow, before ushering them inside.

Minutes later, Laniette came bounding down the stairs in a fashion some might have called unladylike.

“Cessalie!” she exclaimed as she strode across the parlour to wrap her up in a friendly embrace. “Gods, what luck – I feel as if we are always missing each other.” Standing back, she then noticed Alisaie at her side.

“Oh, forgive me, welcome to our home – You have the look of young Alphinaud, but I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”

“You have the right of it,” Cessalie said, putting a hand on Alisaie’s shoulder. “Laniaette, I’d like you to meet Alisaie Leveilleur – Alphinaud’s twin sister, and dear friend and associate both.” Alisaie flushed red, then made to bow politely.

“Alisaie, this is Laniaette – she became a dear friend to me during our lengthy stay in Ishgard.” Laniaette smiled brightly.

“Delighted. Now that we’re all properly introduced, what brings you to visit this day?”

“I was hoping to beg a favour, actually,” Cessalie began with a sheepish look. “I’ve been tasked to find a nice dress to wear, and I’d rather hoped you’d join us.”

“Ah, dress shopping, my old enemy,” Laniaette sighed, then looked to her with a wry smile. “Of course I shall – I may not relish the task, but I know a good few tailors, and there is the Crozier besides. Dare I ask, what is the occasion?” This time it was Cessalie’s turn to blush. She tilted her head to the side, considering her words.

“Well…” Alisaie sighed impatiently, rolling her eyes.

“She is to be wed,” she said with a huff. Laniaette blinked in surprise, her mouth parting wordlessly.

“I beg your pardon? When?” Cessalie grimaced.

“Within the week, Gods willing.” Laniaette raised her brows at that. “Which reminds me of another favour I had yet to ask – It is to be a small affair, with very few guests – I was hoping you would consent to be one of my witnesses.”

“Hardly a favour at all, it would be an honour my dear—wait. Oh, no.” Cessalie nodded gravely, as Alisaie regarded them both with a puzzled mien.

“We do have to invite Artoirel’s family, Lani.” Resigned, she hung her head.

“A favour it is then. But you still need a dress – let me fetch a warm coat and we shall be off at once.”

#cessalie sombreterre #artoirel de fortemps #ffxiv #wolartoirel #wol x artoirel #WIP

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sezja · 5 months ago

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Artoirel, your fiancee needs a stepladder.

#ffxiv #screencaps #lytora envers #artoirel de fortemps #wol x artoirel

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juweldom · 6 months ago

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Ch. 20: A Grand Tour

The Heart of the Song - Chapter 20 - Juwelz - Final Fantasy XIV [Archive of Our Own]

Vallerin finally arrives in Ishgard. Also, a dinner with the family.

#ffxiv #elezen #ffxiv wol #haurchefant x wol #slash fanfiction #edmont de fortemps #emmanellain de fortemps #artoirel de fortemps #haurchefant greystone #heavensward

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agent-yolk-writes · 23 days ago

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FFXIVWrite (Day 14) - Telling

honestly this one was one of my favorite ones to write, mostly cause I made up two elezen maids on the spot.

(anyways, mentions of haurchewol but nothing onscreen)

Elsewhere, two young manservants of House Fortemps converse in a hushed tone.

“I’m telling you that’s what I saw!” One proclaimed.

The other shook their head in disbelief. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You have to believe me!” The first maid is struggling to keep her voice down. “I knew there was something afoot when Ser Greystone came to visit, and I was right! He’s betrothed to the outsider, he’s gotta be!”

The latter maid gave her an unimpressed look. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Unless you see a ring of eternal devotion on them, you better not have put any gil on it.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way they look at each other. The yearning looks when the other isn’t looking, the way they light up when the other approaches them, and the fact that they try to get so physically close to each other makes my teeth hurt. You’d have to be blind not to see the way that tail goes crazy. It looks like it got possessed!”

The listening maid had partially tuned her out, instead putting her focus on folding the mountain of sheets before them. Her eyes occasionally flick towards her yapping coworker to show that she’s still here, even if she got lost on the current subject. She let Obrenne fill in the silence until she halted herself with a dramatic gasp.

“By the Fury! I think I know what’s going on!” She declared. “Of course! It was right under our noses the entire time!”

Violette sighed. “What could it possibly be?”

With a proud look, Orbenne proudly declared, “Isn’t it obvious? The outsider is with child! And Ser Greystone is trying to make amends so his future kid could have the Fortemps title. It all makes sense!”

“If it made sense, then why are you allowing yourself to get distracted from your current duty?”

The sudden appearance of a new voice, one they immediately recognized, made the girls shriek.

“L-Lord Artoirel!”

“Forgive our nosiness, milord!”

#my writing #ffxiv writing #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #final fantasy xiv #warrior of light #ffxiv #haurchefant x wol #artoirel de fortemps

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constellariums · 2 months ago

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FFXIVWrite Day #4: Reticent & Wolchefant Week Day #4: Nameday

Rating: T

Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light & Artoirel de Fortemps

Description: The Warrior of Light looks for Haurchefant in all the places he isn't.

Notes: Major character death, 3.0 spoilers. This one hurts, just putting that out there.

Read on AO3

She doesn't know why, but she's found herself at the cathedral again, nestled in an otherwise empty back-row pew, hoping no one notices she's there.

The priest, tall and eloquent and dressed in the usual proper Halonic frippery, is speaking typical words of how the Fury's Gaze, benevolent and just, is always cast upon them all, or something. Frankly, she's only half-listening. Her eyes are on the shards of golden yellow in the stained glass windowpanes behind him, the spear in the Fury's hand, the altar where at one time there lay a long wooden box with a gentle face in it that looked as if he were simply resting--

She sucks in a sudden breath, her chest tightening. She shouldn't have come here. Did she draw attention to herself? She looks around, eyes darting to and fro to scan the churchgoers in front of her -- no, they are all listening to the sermon, finding comfort in the priest's words, or bowing their heads in silent, solitary prayer. True believers, real Ishgardians. Unlike her.

He'd believed in Halone until his dying breath, hadn't he? Known that his soul, offered up in noble defense, would come to rest in Her hallowed halls. If it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else, wouldn't it have been -- a knight lives to serve, to aid those in need...

But if the Fury were real, were a true deity worth believing in -- would She not have let one of her faithful die at the hands of a weapon that so keenly imitated Her power and glory? Would She not have intervened?

She clenches the fabric of her long coat, struggling to remain calm until the sermon is over. But it is-- is difficult. She has not felt calm in months.

By the time the first half of the sermon ends and the congregants begin to rise from their seats for a shared prayer, she is nearly shaking. She makes her way out of the cathedral as orderly as possible but finds herself unable to prevent herself from dashing out the door, her body trying to flee the clenching in her chest -- the desperate, futile grasping of her heart for a piece of itself that still belongs but is now gone, not here, not anywhere --

She isn't looking where she is going, apparently, for suddenly she finds herself crashing into a broad chest, then stumbling backwards in embarrassment, stammering apologies.

A soft, familiar voice speaks her name, laced with concern, and for a moment she holds her breath... but then she looks up and finds that, no, it is only Artoirel, dressed in some of his finer attire, looking at her with open worry.

Is she truly that much of a mess today?

"Oh... Artoirel, my apologies," she sighs, bringing a hand to her temple, as if what she felt were simply a headache she could sleep off or soothe away. "I thought to attend a service, but... I'm afraid I'm not feeling well," she mumbles, offering an appeasing grimace.

The new Count de Fortemps frowns, looking at her with stern consideration. "If that is the case," he offers carefully, "might I accompany you back to the manor?"

There's no need, she opens her mouth to say, but then as he adds softly, "I have not forgotten today's date either," she finds herself curling her lips inward and nodding, taking the arm he offers her though her eyes point down at her feet.

It was a decently long walk across the Hoplon from Saint Reymanaud's to Fortemps Manor, and today is a rare sunny day, though the wind blows cold as ever. He escorts her across the deserted walkways, and for a few long moments she finds herself lost for words, though this is nothing new -- she knows she's been quiet for months.

"I was going to the cathedral as well," Artoirel says, breaking the silence; she nods, feeling somewhat guilty for changing his plans. "But by the look of you, I suppose he isn't there, is he," he murmurs listlessly.

She feels the bile rise in her chest -- the acrid pressure of grief that won't seem to leave her no matter what she does. Blinking back tears that would refuse to come anyway, she shakes her head.

"No," she says, though her voice comes out raw. He briefly squeezes her hand which is holding his arm, but says nothing, and they walk on in shared silence.

They arrive outside the doors of Fortemps Manor, the posted guards standing at attention, greeting them both. They untangle their arms and Artoirel opens the door and she follows, though she isn't sure this is where she wants to be either -- but it's the closest thing she has to a home right now. It's empty at the moment, save for the two of them; Lord Edmont left early to advise Lord Aymeric on some matter of governance, and Emmanellain is sitting in the seat his brother left him, trying his best to fill shoes that no one rightly can.

"I... do not claim to be good at these sorts of things," Artoirel concedes, bowing his head as he says her name, "but I do not think he would wish you to spend this occasion alone."

Artoirel is right, she knows -- he would want her to spend this day like he'd want her to spend all of her days if she could; greeting them with a smile. Remembering him fondly, perhaps, drawing strength and purpose from having known him, believing his kind, loving heart is still with her.

But it's so much, and he didn't know -- couldn't possibly have known how much he was asking her for. Could he have gone on smiling in a world where she'd died for him?

It is her turn to bow her head, trying to find the appropriate words, to get them to balance on her tangled tongue. "...He wouldn't," she finds herself agreeing, giving the man before her a meaningful look. He nods, and leads her into the drawing room, dismissing the steward inside and, after a moment's consideration, pulling out a bottle of spirits from behind the bar.

"It was his favorite," he says quietly. She knows; recognizes the bottle of Daniffen's Joy immediately. She'd brought him one once, though she had simply delivered it on another's behalf -- several months later, he'd shared a toast to celebrate clearing her name with the Ul'dahn Syndicate from the same bottle, he'd rationed and cherished it so much. "Mayhap we could give him an offering," Artoirel suggests, looking her over, trying to read her clearly complicated expression.

"He would like that very much," she answers quietly, walking over to join him. She picks out a glass from the rack behind the bar -- the kind he'd drank from with her before, one she thinks he will like. Would like.

His brother seems to let out a held breath at this, and breaks the seal on the bottle, going to pour a measure into the glass. He stops almost as soon as he does, reconsidering. "You should do the honors, I think," he says, offering her the bottle. She nods, gathering herself, and all but fills the glass with the strong spirits, giving him enough for a full night of the kind of revelry he would deserve.

"Ha," Artoirel laughs, though there's only a hint of mirth in it, "you know, this stuff is worth a veritable fortune. I can only imagine the look on his face if you handed him that much."

"He deserves it," she says, "he can drink the whole damn bottle himself if he wants."

Artoirel nods, his eyes reflecting clear emotion, and she looks at him rather seriously, not wavering. "...Aye, that he does," he agrees finally, then pulls out a couple of short glasses, takes the bottle from where she's left it on the bartop and pours them each a more reasonable amount. "To keep him company," he says, offering her a glass.

He isn't here, she knows this -- but she takes the glass anyway, looking his brother in the eyes. They're the same color, and almost the same shape, and if anything about Artoirel's affect was at all like his she might have a harder time looking at him; but instead it just feels strange, seeing faint hints of the man she still loves in these kind, difficult people who took her in, who she now calls family. Like fragments and reflections of him are still around.

He isn't here, but they both sit at the bar and take their sips as if he were -- and the moment the familiar taste of the liquor hits her tongue she feels heat flood her face, and suddenly her vision is blurring. Artoirel swims above her, taking the glass from her hand and placing a hand on her shoulder, peering in to see if she's alright; but she's not, of course she's not, and all the tears she's pent up for gods know how long it's been since the last time she let herself cry over him are flooding out of her in a sudden torrent.

"It's his nameday, Artoirel," she chokes out between sobs, her chest raw and empty where he should be, "he should be here with-- with the happiest godsdamned smile on his face when he sees the surprise party I've planned-- the presents I've made sure you stubborn fools of a family have brought him for once--"

"I know," he says, his ever-measured voice breaking. "If I could-- could only have a chance to make things up to him somehow, I--"

It's too late for any of this from either of them, she knows -- but it's all they can do, crying and lamenting over what could have been, what rightly should have been. It's none of their fault he's gone; he made this decision, would have given his life for any number of people he loved and perhaps even some he didn't -- but even though she's moved past blaming herself or anyone she gives a damn about for his death, even him, she can't help but feel in her bones that this is wrong, that something surely could have been done differently, could have kept him here by her side.

She hasn't seen Artoirel cry before, though she knows he has, she's seen him composing himself, seen the telltale redness around his eyes. And well, she can't exactly see much through her tears like this, but she can hear the quiet sounds coming from him, and suddenly needing more than anything someone to share in her pain, she reaches out between them and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

A whimper comes from the man beside her as he grips her hand in return, and now they are both sobbing, Artoirel's head in his hand against the bartop, hers much the same. She mourns for the man she still loves, and the future he deserved to live with her -- he mourns for the brother he should have loved far more, not realizing what he'd lost until it was too late.

The glass they'd set out for Haurchefant overflows on the counter between them, unnoticed for now but never forgotten.

#ffxivwrite 2024 #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxiv fanfiction #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #wolchefant #wolchefantweek #wolchefantweek2024 #ffxiv writing #haurchefant #artoirel de fortemps

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starrysnowdrop · 2 years ago

Text

Misunderstandings

Between 3.4 and 3.5; When returning to Fortemps Manor, Hali overhears a private conversation between Artoirel and Aymeric that she shouldn’t have heard.

Reference to @meepsthemiqo’s fic and Meeps x Emmanellain ship HERE

1,280 Words

Content Warning: Description of a panic attack and its symptoms

Hali strolled down the long hallway of Fortemps Manor, hoping to visit Lord Edmont briefly before she had to return to the Rising Stones in the morning.

Just before she went to open the doors to the parlor, she heard the familiar voice of Lord Artoirel. From his particular tone, he was clearly not in the best of moods, and he had seemingly been venting to someone. Hali was about to turn around and head back towards her private suite, but curiosity got the best of her, so instead she stopped to listen in on the conversation. It would only be a few seconds, there’s no harm in that, right?

The lalafell then scooted close to the door, just close enough so that she could hear clearly, but not too close as to look suspicious in case one of the servants rounded the corner and spotted her.

“I still can’t believe Emmanellain quite literally threw himself at an airship, all for the woman who is carrying the child of Haurchefant’s murderer! He always was an embarrassment to the family name, but now he has made us the laughing stock of all Ishgard!”

Oh, Artoirel was just ranting about Emmanellain… again. What else was new?Hali sighing to herself, she was just about to turn around and head back to her private suite, but instead she froze in place when she heard the voice of the man who has haunted her ever since she laid eyes on him. A deep, seductive voice that made her heart flutter everytime he spoke.

The lalafell gasped as Aymeric laughed softly before he replied, “Now now my lord, I wouldn’t say that. Word is that many people were quite moved by Lord Emmanellain’s act of true love, myself included in fact. That must count for something.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous. The people are too prone to enjoy a spectacle, no matter how absurd it is,” Artoirel seethed.

Hali rolled her eyes at that statement, but she soon found herself stunned as Artoirel continued.

"What will come next?! I can see it now, Mistress Aloke standing in the center of the Hoplon to declare her love for you for all of Ishgard to see!”

What did he say?!? Did Artoirel seriously just tell Aymeric how she feels about him?! Hali’s eyes widened as her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing became rapid and shallow. She feared what Aymeric’s response would be, but she didn’t have long to wait.

“My lord, you are quite mistaken. Hali would never draw so much attention to herself, as she is much too shy, despite her proclivity for candor. Besides, we are good friends, nothing more.”

Hali shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. Good friends? Nothing more? Did he truly mean that? Was it happening again? Did she yet again fall for someone who did not feel the same?

No, this time was worse. These feelings were not just the innocent jitters of a childhood crush. Try as she might, her heart yearned for him. She had soon realized not too long ago that she had indeed fallen in love with Aymeric.

As her head spun, Hali recalled all of those long nights at his bedside, laughing way into the night, when she poured her heart out to him. She had told him things she had never revealed to anyone else in her whole life. And her mind drifted to that night, when they laid in bed together, skin to skin, their bodies entwined, as two lovers would. There was also the recent invitation to his manor for a private dinner, just the two of them, when she could’ve sworn that there was something important that he wanted to tell her, but they were interrupted before more could be spoken.

Had it all been for naught? Did it all really mean nothing to him? Did he truly only think of her as a friend all this time? Had she misread everything?

Before she knew what was happening, Hali felt a wetness on her cheeks, and when she went to touch it, she realized that she was crying. She looked down at the tears that she had unknowingly wiped from her face, and began to feel flushed. Her hands started shaking, a feeling of tension took over her body. Hali clutched her chest, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself, but it wasn’t working.

Artoirel’s voice then floated to her ears, ”If you think so. She does seem to be occupying herself with her Scion duties as of late, while you are busy with your new position as Lord Speaker. Thank the Fury you had the sense to see reason and distance yourself from her.”

The tears flowed freely from her eyes, falling from her face onto her robes. Her world began to spin as she couldn’t catch her breath.

He wasn’t just busy, but he was purposely distancing himself from her?

She was such an idiot to ever think that someone as beautiful, noble, strong, dutiful, and kind as Aymeric would ever love someone like her.

No, she couldn’t hear any more. Her heart shattered as one prevailing thought echoed in her mind. She had to run.

Hali dashed back down the hallway and threw open the front doors to Fortemps Manor, running as fast as she possibly could.

~**~

Meanwhile, in the parlor…

“Lord Artoirel, are you implying that I ought to be ashamed of her? That she is as much of an embarrassment to me as your brother is to you?” Aymeric’s ice blue eyes narrowed at his fellow elezen, who shook his head in turn.

“No, that is not what I meant!”

Aymeric took a deep breath as he stepped forward, only a couple of fulms away from Artoirel before he spoke.

“My lord, let me make myself perfectly clear. I have taken your advice to heart, and will not attempt to court Hali any further, though not for my sake, but for hers.”

Artoirel’s face contorted with confusion, but Aymeric didn’t allow him to reply.

“Ishgard has made great strides as of late in bringing not only man and dragon together in harmony, but the highborn and the lowborn as well, and we have since rejoined with our brothers and sisters of the Eorzean Alliance. And yet, there is still much that must be overcome,” Aymeric said as he gripped a small object in his pocket, his mind drifting away momentarily before he resumed. “I am no fool. I still have many enemies. There are still those who would see me dead, and if they knew who I have given my heart to, she would have a target on her back at all times. I have already suffered an attempt on my life, and I will not see her come to harm on my behalf. I could never forgive myself.”

Aymeric closed his eyes as he gripped the object in his pocket tighter. When he opened his eyes once more, he looked to Artoirel with resolve.

“So you see? I must protect her no matter the cost. Even if I must endure living my life without her by my side.”

Artoirel nodded, his expression remaining relatively neutral. “… I see. In that case, are you going to accept one of the many offers of marriage that you have received thus far? In my opinion, a daughter of one of the High Houses would be most advantageous for you.”

Aymeric stared at Artoirel with a deep frown. “Absolutely not. My heart belongs only to Hali. Anyone else but her is out of the question.”

Artoirel merely shrugged in response. “Well, ‘tis your decision, my lord.”

#ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #artoirel de fortemps #aymeric x wol #wol x aymeric #hali aloke #oc: drops of jupiter #hali x aymeric #ship: hold me closer #cw: panic attack

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