#the head of the ala mhigan chapter of the adventurer's guild

[seaseren]

I just. I really need to know if Yda was as dumb as Lyse pretended she was. I want to know if that whole act was like. a sick dunk on her dead sister for no reason. Lyse why do you make the choices you do rest of the Scions why do you enable her

[geirskogull]

Important - Chapter 1 - Loss

a Colab fic between myself and @momomomodi ft. something we short hand call DRK Haurchefant AU 

Danica Voss and Aveline de Bontensont are two very different Warriors of light, but also two very good friends. Even now, five years down the line when loss has colored them so different than they use to be. They mourn the loss of one so important to both their lives, only to have that ritual practice interrupted by their own minds and ascian fuckery.

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Words: 2.6 K

Rating: M

It was a slow day at the Quicksand. The people of Ul’dah bustled in and out as they always did, going about their business, making deals, living their lives. Two individuals seated at a corner table mourned the loss of one. It was the anniversary of Haurchefant’s death, the day when the spear of light pierced through the metal of his shield and speared him. The day when they had held his hands as the light faded from his eyes. The day when his life blood seeped into the stones of the Vault. Danica Voss sat, mourning the loss of her first love. A man so kind and loving, who cherished her as though she were the most valuable thing on Hydaelyn. Who craved to protect those he loved. Who died fulfilling his life’s wish. Aveline de Bontensont sat, mourning the loss of her best friend. A man she had known since the tender age of 11, who she helped to rescue when the stress of his family became too much to bear. A boy who only wished to serve as a Knight of Ishgard. Who took an arrow unarmoured for his best friend. A boy so courageous, he gave his life for those dearest to him. A man who would never know the truth behind the Dragonsong War but died with love in his heart and a smile on his lips.

Voss inhaled, closing her eyes as she raised her glass. Words swirling through her head, muddled by the echo of Ul’dah behind her. to paint the monument to a man who deserved one far more permanent. Light danced through the pale liquid, reflecting off of it, sparkling. Gentle whispers of memory floated through her mind as she remembered some of his most gentle words towards her. “Like gold”  he whispered “Rare and brilliant and beautiful, your eyes are the pinnacle of you.”  She said nothing, finding any toast lackluster, and gave Aveline a sad smile. 

Francel was right, it never did get any easier.

Though this ritual they had made probably didn’t help its chances. A yearly remembrance, somber and fueled by booze, far far from where he laid.  She downed her drink, shook her head, and gave a sad smile. “I know by this time I’m normally sobbing into my twelfth glass, but count it as a record that I’m not. So what do we now? Trade stories?” She asked, shrugging and pouring herself another glass

Aveline sipped her drink, shrugging, “I suppose. Five years now, it still hurts to think of him.” It burned harshly in her chest every time her mind recalled him, scalding and painful. She couldn’t help but think of him as a young boy, angry and sad at the world. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. She took a long drink, letting the liquor fuel her. “Would… would you like to hear of how he earned his knighthood?” The story was a fond one though it reminded her too much of his death for her liking. He took the exact same stance as when he protected Francel that day. Tears burned in her eyes. Damn it, how could his death still have such hold over her? She buried her face in her hands for a long moment before looking back up at Danica and taking another long drink.

“No he told me that one.” The Half Elezen woman responded, tracing her eyes across the crowd, trying to find anything to occupy her mind instead of visages of cold stone. And the Dead. You’d think she’d be use to the dead by now, “about Francel and you and all that...” She smiled, thinking fondly of Haurchefant, sitting in front of the hearth in his room in Camp Dragonhead, speaking of his own adventures that “are not nearly as grand as yours, love”  all the while she sat there rapt, fascinated beyond reason, simply joyful she was getting to know, to see someone as more than just this warrior the world had decided to paint her.

To paint the both of them. 

She dug her fingers into the tablecloth, looking back at her glass and at Aveline. She knew her mourning was obvious, even now, especially to Aveline, but cracked a facsimile of a smile anyway. “Why not tell me something that makes you happy?”

The Elezen thought for a long moment, drumming her fingers on her glass. After a long moment, she smiled, “Our birthdays. We always spent them together. We had a small wooden cabin in the middle of Coerthas where someone would always bring a cake. We wouldn’t have to deal with families or politics or other people. It… it was just the three of us.” She looked down at her dress, fiddling absent-mindedly. Those days had passed. Now Haurchefant’s birthday had returned to only being a day like any other. She and Francel rarely had the time now to see one another, even when she was in Coerthas. Long had it been since laughter echoed in that cabin, now a vestige of their childhoods. She looked off into the distance, her eyes going glassy for a moment as she remembered the nights they had spent simply having fun with one another. The silver haired Elezen giving her piggybacks around the snow-covered hills, Francel laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, moments spent in quiet acknowledgement of where their futures would lead them. “Hey, I know you’ll come back soon enough, Ace. Couldn’t bear to be away from our handsome faces for too long!” He had pulled Francel close to his side that day, the two of them beaming at her. Part of her wished that she had never left. Part of her wished she were there as a bystander the first time Danica, Alphinaud, and Tataru walked into Ishgard, murmuring about the newcomers who had passed through the gates. Not knowing anything of primals or the Empire or anything outside of the quiet isolation of Ishgard. She took another long drink, poured herself another glass, and downed that one as well.

Danica looked to her glass, envisioning simply days she had never seen - and thankfully the echo did not change that this time. A small smile dancing at the edge of her lips, imagining her friends, young and carefree. She emptied her glass in a fell swoop, liquid courage for questions and statements alike. Strange she still needed it after all these years. Aveline was a friend, probably one of her closest. Knew more about her than anyone else living, save maybe Estinien. And Haurchefant  her mind reminded her, she grimaced, hoping that she could play it off as the booze. The dead may know, but they do not speak. 

She inhaled, reaching for the bottle, but stopping herself. If she continued at this rate she’d be back to her usual “crying incoherently into her glass” phase before the hour was up. She swallowed hard, and reached into the collar of her shirt, fishing out a necklace holding a simple ring. She twisted it in her hand, flicking her eyes back up to Aveline. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” She inquired, hoping to pry thoughts away from her strange display of restraint in her consumption. 

Danica’s voice snapped Aveline from her thoughts. Her eyes flickered to the ring, to the glass, to Danica, “Of course.” Her eyes flicked down to her own ring on her left hand. She watched Danica carefully, sipping her own drink while she waited for the question to come.

“Why did you leave Ishgard, initially?” the Ala Mhigan tilted her head not unlike a curious dog. She couldn’t think of any reason she would want to willingly leave her home, at least not as young as she met Aveline. Hells, she would have sold her left kidney to be back in Bittermill, with her parents, and the inn. She shivered, trying to force her mind's eye away from that burning wreck of a town. Even with Orlaux back and Maerwynn buried, the ache that ate at her chest was too much, especially today.

Aveline took a deep breath, “My brother, partially. My parents loved him, far more than my sister or I. The “Knight of Ishgard”.” She shook her head slowly, “I had wanted to learn, to see other parts of Eorzea. It didn’t help that I didn’t care for Ishgard’s rules. So, I left, made arrangements to stay somewhere in Thanalan, and left. It wasn’t easy,” She fidgeted with her glass, the liquid inside swirling slightly. “Quite honestly, I was terrified, but it scared me more to think of what my life might’ve been like if I had stayed. Would I have been married off to some distant noble who had some semblance of money or power?” She shook her head again. “What made you decide to join the Thaumaturges?” Let her shift the subject onto something she regretted less. Her mind continued to bombard her with the ‘what ifs’ of that decision, tormenting her with what might’ve been.

Danica cringed physically at the idea of an arranged marriage. That never made sense to her, why marry if not for love? Perhaps her perception was colored by her own creation. The Ishgardian noble who ran off with the Ala Mhigan sellsword, with all the good that did them. Nald’thal still took his due when decided, far too early for her liking. She also couldn’t understand the idea of loving some of your family more than others. Another relic of her shattered childhood, she never had the chance to meet her little brother. 

Her eyes snapped up, thankful to be reminded of something better? Perhaps? She was never really sure when it came to that life event. She downed her glass, and left it empty this time.

“I didn’t choose. It was the Thaumaturges guild, or they’d take off my hands for theft and throw me into blood sands for illegal usage of magics.” She replied, blunt and matter of fact. Chuckling after a moment of silence.

“You see, when I left little Ala Mhigo” When The Echo forced out, too much pain, too much suffering and what had she decided to do? Go to the big city? Where yet more awaited her? “I came here, I wasn’t alone, of course I had Coyote and Zara but we were 12 and didn’t have any money. One day when were rifling through a fruit merchants trash for our breakfast the merchant caught us and sent us running. His guards after us.” Brutish fellows, not averse to cleaning  up the streets of some street rat refuges. “They caught Zara by the tail, and I wasn’t about to let anything bad happen to my fa- my friend that I panicked and somehow lit the man on fire”

“They grabbed me, shoved me in a little metal cell while Zara and Coyote ran, and told me to await my sentencing.” She continued, confined areas still bothered her. She had a hard time breathing in them. She needed to see the sky. Or at least have a very tall ceiling. “Then Cocobusi came in and asked me where I learned my magic and I said I didn’t know any. Then he asked me if I wanted to learn. I said anything was better than the Bloodsands, and he agreed. Thus, Thaumaturges Guild.”

It was almost funny now, the first domino on her path to “Warrior of Light”-dom. “What about you? Why not the pugilist guild or the Arcanists guild of Limsa?” She asked, reflecting back the question to her friend.

Aveline looked over at Momodi for a moment, “In all honesty? I wanted to rebel. My brother had always been the perfect White Knight. I wanted to learn the so called “Black Magic”.” She looked down at her skirt. Would Haurchefant have been disappointed in her for that decision? She shuddered, playing with her glass. She sat in silence for a moment. “Do you think he would be proud of who we are now?” She spoke softly, looking up at Danica.

Danica paused, going as still as a statue as the words wreaked havoc on her thoughts and her heart. Would he be proud of who they were now? No. Her mind said at first. She was brutal, violent, and cared less and less for the world as a whole as the days went on. She cared only about the survival of those closest to her, those she considered her people. She smiled still, but it was never real. Only Feral. And those parting words, nothing but a twisted mockery of their intention, repeated like a mantra now, to keep her going even when all things told her to rest. 

Yes. Her mind also shouted, was it Fray? Was it Odin? Was it some other part of her that she didn’t have a name for? He’d be proud because they kept going. They didn’t wallow in their sadness, even as it threatened to overcome them. It clung to them, yes, but life did that. But they kept going. Kept doing good. Moved forward towards grand horizons that he never got to see. 

“I don’t know.” she voiced those words cautiously. Thinking of all the things stolen from him, all the moments in time stolen from them. Was it worth making his hypothetical ghost proud, if his actual form wasn’t there to see it? “I don’t know, I will not and cannot speak for him. But... I’d like to think so.” I don’t know if I could handle otherwise. She thought, but did not say.

“What about you? You knew him much longer than me, what say you?” She asked, a heavy question for a heavy question weighing strong upon her neck much akin to the golden band that hung there. Remembering his words. Making her promise that she’d wait to tell people till after he told his father. Never getting the chance. 

She still had a hard time looking Count Fortemp in the eyes sometimes.

The Elezen woman sat for a long while in silence. Would he be proud of who she had become? A silent protagonist in a story filled with so many voices. She had changed so much since she had first known him. No longer was she a young girl, full of life and cheer. No. Now she was a woman filled with responsibilities and obligations. “A Knight lives to serve.” Was serving the people of Eorzea worth giving up everything she used to be? She was cold, calculating. The ice to Danica’s flame. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly smiled. She twisted her ring on her finger, absentminded, distracted. “I think he would have been proud of us for continuing on. For not letting his… his death stop us.” She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. She looked back at the ring Danica wore around her neck, silently acknowledging it. Taking a deep breath, she poured herself another drink, downing it quickly. Haurchefant wouldn’t be proud of her for drinking her pain away. For trying to forget. Forget the look in his eyes as the life faded from them. She flinched as through she had been slapped. Halone help her.

Danica sat up, determined and inspired by her friends dour confirmation. Raising her glass, she began. “Well then, To us.” She started, extending arm in a toast. “May we keep making him proud.” The clink of glasses that followed rang hollow in their hearts, devoid of such an integral piece for so long.