#my lala dragoon has a need and that need is to be written about

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

FFXIV - The Fall

@urdnotgrunt​ has been my very patient partner in crime for the last few months (crime being my newfound addiction to ffxiv and all of the insanity that comes with that) and the last few weeks have been objectively terrible, so I thought it was high time I did something about it. And since Gabby made the mistake of telling me about their lovely WoL Ile, and the exact moment that he fell hard for Haurchefant, I decided to take a very non-canon stab at it. <3 Thank you for inadvertently letting me borrow your boy Gabby, ilu!!

~2000, set during the Heavensward main story quest “Divine Intervention,” so spoilers for the Heavensward main story quest “Divine Intervention,” lmao.

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Ile had two rules, when he stepped onto the floor of the Tribunal as Tataru’s champion. 

The first was, ‘don’t get hit.’ That one was easy enough; he had spent the last year and a half learning how to follow that particular guideline, which in this case had the neat little added bonus of keeping him from having to fish two full inches of Ishgardian steel out of whatever superfluous hole it made in him. That alone made it worth paying it a little extra mind.

The second rule was, ‘don’t look at Haurchefant.’

This one was, admittedly, much harder, especially because his usual rule regarding a certain Knight Commander was, ‘look as much as possible without coming across as crass, and sometimes even then, too.’ The fact that Haurchefant had encouraged it not five minutes earlier didn’t help matters, nor did the fact that Ile could still feel the strange, squirming aftereffects of what his innards had done when he had. “Look to me in the stands,” Haurchefant had said, “and I shall cheer so loud, you will wonder how you could ever have contrived to doubt yourself!”

Which was sweet and lovely and grand, except that it had turned Ile’s heart into a convincing imitation of a sledgehammer that had yet to stop swinging.

Thus, the rules. Standing under the blinding lights of the Tribunal floor, he tried to put every ounce of his focus on the first, listening with half an ear as the rules of engagement were read out. There was some very Ishgardian prattery about judgment in the eyes of the Fury, which he tried to pay attention to, and then an announcement of their opponents, which he didn't. He had already seen them, loitering like two grinning street toughs on the corner of the room. That alone had told him just about everything he needed to know about what he would be facing. They would be cocky and self-important, the way every coin-bloated bandit that wore a guardsman’s colors was, and they would think themselves well above a common bowman and a waifish teenager with a spellbook. They wouldn’t lower themselves to an honest fight.

And they would lose, just so long as Ile remembered the godsdamned rules.

That proved easier when the adjudicator’s hand finally came down. Cocky or not, their opposition were still two high knights of Ishgard, and even their laziest fight was still worth paying some attention to. He and Alphinaud opened with a sweeping hailstorm of fire and arrows that forced their opposition back to the other side of the floor, taking shifts so that they couldn’t get close enough to bring their weapons to bear. It was a simple strategy, well-tested and derived wordlessly from a long history of having each other’s backs. It should have been easy. It should have been perfect.

Except, of course, that it let Ile remember the subject of rule number two.

From their place crowded against the far wall, he had a good view of the entire stage, which spread out in a low plane of polished marble between two long rows of theater seats that flanked either side. Presumably, those seats were meant to lord over the combatants so that onlookers could watch Halone’s judgment without fear for their own safety, but Ile’s current position meant that the faces of his audience occasionally drifted into the backdrop of his opponents, who were capturing less and less of his attention as they struggled to gain ground. And while he didn’t quite look for — and didn’t quite see — a certain Knight Commander, he felt his gaze inexorably called back to the stands anyway, back towards the crowd, searching without really searching, as the still-swinging hammer of his heart made a concerted effort to get past his ribs. 

He had just made his third pass at the onlookers when his cheating finally caught up with him. His eyes caught on a flash of snow-weathered chainmail as a cheer went up through the crowd, and the arrow that he had been fumbling onto its string suddenly leapt from his fingers, skidding out of reach across the polished stone. He swore and dove for it, but the damage was already done; suddenly, the delicate back-and-forth dance that he and Alphinaud had been sharing gave ground, and the knight with the lance balanced in his hands burst forward with a wordless shout of triumph.

Hissing, Ile abandoned his arrow and threw himself sideways instead, narrowly avoiding the man’s spear as it whizzed just past his shoulder. He rebounded painfully off of the wall beneath a couple of gasping women’s skirt hems and came upright again with a fresh arrow already in his fingers, already set to his bow — only to find the knight staggering away, swearing and kicking at the glittering yellow creature nipping imperiously at his heels. Alphinaud. Ile huffed and put his new arrow at the bastard’s retreating feet to hurry him along, then turned aside to offer the boy a nod of thanks.

Instead, he found Haurchefant.

The Knight Commander was pressed right up against the rail beside them, both hands gripped so tightly to the edge that Ile swore he could see the whites of his knuckles. Whatever pretense Haurchefant had been keeping about being excited for the fight was gone now; at twenty paces, he was ashen-faced, standing tall and rigid as stone, a thin tremor of readiness rattling through his shoulders like he was one bad turn away from leaping the barrier to take up arms himself. He turned in the same moment Ile did, like a beacon, like a mirror, and as their eyes met, Ile felt the world slow to a crawl.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, wide-eyed with surprise. Ile’s heart finally gave up its efforts to fling itself from his chest and went bounding off like a dog freed of its lead instead, dropping down into his stomach, to the turn of his wrists, up into the hollow of his throat. Of course Haurchefant was close, he thought hazily; where else would he have been? Only ever on their side, only ever right at hand. Why hadn’t Ile thought to consider that he would be within shouting distance? Within arm’s reach?

Why hadn’t he thought that Haruchefant had meant for him to hear his cheering, too?

Something about that thought must have rattled the aether between them, because a second later, Haurchefant’s face split into a smile as wide and brilliant as the sun, and he did exactly as he had threatened to; he leaned forward, nearly onto the Tribunal floor himself, and bellowed a wordless cheer that picked up Ile’s wayward heart and sent it spinning.

It also damn near got him killed, when a lance suddenly lunged into his periphery with a thrust that should have gutted him.

The fight after that was a blur, dancing across Ile’s senses in a rush of nerves and adrenaline that had nothing at all to do with fear. He barely even noticed when he slipped his opponent’s guard and bashed him hard with the grip of his bow, sending the poor sod sprawling to the ground in an impressive spray of blood. He barely noticed the adjudicator calling their victory, or the barriers coming down; he didn't even notice that he had walked down the short flight of stairs to the Tribunal floor, alive, miraculously unhurt, until Alphinaud’s hand touched his arm.

“Delivered from an untimely demise yet again,” the boy said when he glanced down, coaxing up a weary smile. “You have my thanks.”

“And mine!” Startled, Ile turned as Tataru bounded off of the platform sliding back into place beside them, grinning so broadly that it had turned her cheeks a brilliant shade of pink. She threw both arms around his thighs in the Lalafellin approximation of a hug, squeezing hard enough to buckle him. “Oh, I nearly cried when you stepped forward, I was so relieved! But then that Paulecrain fellow got so close to you, and I thought — well, but I should have known that you would be fine!”

“Although it was certainly a near thing,” Alphinaud said under his breath, with a little twist of a smile. Ile scowled, feeling a little more of his sense trickle back with the faint flush of heat across his neck.

“I have bad days,” he said defensively. “Sometimes often. Sometimes twice in a row! And I think if they’re ever going to be allowed, it should be when I’m fighting someone trained to kill dragons.”

"By the Fury!” said a voice behind them suddenly. “If that was one of your bad days, I should very much like to see a good one!”

Haurchefant had somehow managed to get across the Tribunal stage in record time despite the steady flood of muttering nobility, and was hastening down the stairs towards them. He nearly collided with a feeble-looking nobleman trying to navigate the descent alone and paused for a moment to steady him, offering a quiet apology that made the older man chuckle. The sight pitched Ile’s heart sharply down to his knees. Beside him, Tataru giggled.

“Lord Haurchefant,” said Alphinaud when he had finally nudged his way over, offering a shallow bow that favored one side. “A pleasure to see you on this side of the rail once again. I take it our accusers got the spectacle they wanted?”

“If the spectacle that they wanted was a defeat most handily served, I suppose they did,” said Haurchefant, laughing. “And what a splendid victory it was! I’m certain that neither I, nor anyone who chose to attend you today, were expecting to bear witness to such a rousing show. Nor have they seen any of its like before, I’m certain! You were magnificent.” 

He caught Ile’s eye on the last word, beaming so that it crinkled the corners of his eyes, and whatever bravery Ile’s heart had begun to muster slipped right back down to his feet again.

“You're not without due credit yourself, Lord Haurchefant," Tataru said, finally detaching herself from Ile’s knees. “Why, I think they heard your cheering in the Brume! That sort of encouragement must have done something for our friends here, don’t you agree?"

She snuck a glance up to Ile with a smile like a trap snapping shut, and for a moment, he considered letting his much-abused heart do exactly as it wanted and stop beating right then and there. Instead, he forced himself to turn to Haurchefant too, summoning a grin that was entirely reflex. 

“Can’t say it hurt,” he said, and was rewarded with another broad laugh.

“Would that I could have done more than cheer! Ah, but you certainly did not need it; I am pleased enough to have borne witness to the Warrior of Light at work. That, and to bear his friends safely away from the arms of Ishgardian law.” Alphinaud’s eyebrows shot upwards, alarmed, but Haurchefant just held up a hand. “Peace, Master Alphinaud. I speak only of the formalities of your release, which I intend to see to personally. Fear not; it shall not take overly long. But may I suggest you reconvene back at the Manor? Our illustrious hero is like to be swamped with curious well-wishers ere long, and I cannot abide so soon throwing him to the wolves before he has had a chance to rest.”

He glanced back to Ile, and the smile that he offered this time may as well have shook the whole world down. It wasn’t the broad, beaming grin that he had rushed over with, or even his usual exuberance, but something softer, gentler, touched at the corners with the same ashen look that he had worn during the fight — something almost like worry, like sun shaded-over. It was a smile for him, Ile realized with a start, as intimate a look as someone like Haurchefant could offer in a crowd. It said, very gently: you will find no more hardship while I am here.

Something deep in Ile’s chest turned over, and he felt himself fall hard.

He must have managed a nod, and an exceedingly normal one at that, because the lines around Haurchefant’s eyes crinkled again as he stepped forward and dropped a hand onto his shoulder.

“The Manor, then,” he said, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Rest, my friend. We shall be along soon.” 

And then he was gone, sweeping away with Tataru and Alphinaud in tow, like he hadn’t just taken a piece of Ile’s heart with him.