Frankly, I was so upset by this part of the HW story that I had to take a break and write this just to make myself feel better. Because Haurchefant is one of my favourite characters, and I highly doubt he'll come back the way the Sultana did. Seriously, not even the deaths of the Scions upset me this much.

This is a oneshot for now because I wanted to get this part out there. Eventually I hope to continue it and turn it into a full romance for HaurchefantxWoL, femWoL, a bit of AymericxWoL too. But I am nowhere near done the main quest in FFXIV and my writing pace is very slow, so that won't be for a while yet.

(I am also obviously assuming that the player has a White Mage. The WoL has multiple classes available to him/her and I work off the assumption that all are trained to the same level, or will be eventually, and that the WoL can switch between them.)

Chapter 1: Rising Hope

I've gotten careless.

The thought crossed her mind as she watched him fall.

That should have been me.

Not for any reason related to her being vaunted as a hero, or anything. The fact of the matter was she had charged away, leaving her back to an enemy who naturally attacked it. She had known Zephirin was present; she should have been more cautious after noting his absence from the side of the Archbishop. She had turned on time to see the attack, but not to move away, and resigned herself to being hit; even steeling herself as best she could for it (although a Protect barrier and a fading Stoneskin would only do so much, and likely not enough at that).

Why did he do this?

Haurchefant was falling, but he had a triumphant little smile on his face; likely due to his thwarting the attack on her. The sound of his body striking the stone beneath them was loud and heavy, and not just due to the armour he wore. She dropped to her knees at Haurchefant's side. Aymeric cried out, she wasn't sure what he was saying; her ears had a strange ringing sound in them as the world seemed to fade around her. Her entire focus was on the person lying in the snow in front of her, blood turning the stones beneath them red.

The fallen lord gazed up at her, a relieved smile on lips stained with blood. "You…you are unharmed? F-forgive me…I could not bear the thought of…of…" Haurchefant raised his hand feebly, as if to stroke her face.

She clasped the hand desperately within her own, white magic healing spells pouring from her hands to the elven lord. Even she knew that with the gaping hole in his chest, still dancing with the foreign ether that damaged it, he was too injured for it to work. She tried anyways, with desperate helplessness that she loathed because she only felt that when she knew, but didn't want to accept, that there was nothing she could do.

"Oh, do not look at me so…A smile better suits a hero…" Haurchefant was struggling to draw breath despite his injuries; the wet sound as he drew in both air and blood to his lungs just spurred her on further, even as those attempts to take in air weakened and slowed.

She used her white magic to rip into the lingering energies from the attack with all the ferocity of a feral croc, and likely just as much grace, tearing it away and letting it slowly dissipate into the air. Maybe now he could heal, she thought, and hoped, but deep down she knew that it was a fool's hope.

Aymeric finally limped his way over to their side; the minute he noticed what she was trying to do he made to stop her. His hand reached over to lightly touch hers, gently, like he was soothing a wounded animal and wasn't sure if it would attack him for his efforts. "Even I know that this cannot be healed." He said tightly, and although he tried to reign in his emotions he wasn't quite successful.

It was just as well he wasn't. If he had succeeded, she probably would have felt like hitting something. Repeatedly. Maybe herself for her carelessness, not watching for enemies at her back as she chased the one at her front.

This was Haurchefant, the elven lord who welcomed adventurers, didn't ever abandon his friends even in the face of accusations of treason, the one who always smiled and charmed and blindsided with his flights of fancy (which she hadn't been aware of until she spent more time at Camp Dragonhead). A steadfast knight, one who truly embodied the word as he sheltered and protected even herself when it was needed, and tried even when it wasn't. She had lost so many companions already, to lose another when they had come so far…

Yet, for all her healing artes she only managed to close the wound a tad. The light, that spark of life that glittered like stars in the night sky, had faded from Haurchefant's eyes. She had seen eyes like that in the Sultana, the eyes of one caught in the claws of death and unable to muster any strength to struggle against its merciless grip. That time she had been in too much shock to do much, before she could even finish casting an Esuna the Sultana had been gone—well, not truly, she knew that now, but still...This time…

She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips, moving her hands away from the lord and immediately began rummaging through her pouches. Just because she couldn't save the Sultana didn't mean she'd fail if she tried to save another doing the same. She was never good at quitting, and she never would be either.

In her single-minded state, though, his body may well be cold and stiff before she ever admitted her second failure.

She didn't even glance at Aymeric, although she could feel his aura of solemn grief peripherally.

There had to be something she could use; she steadfastly (and with the stubbornness that saw her best primals) ignored the thought that in all her travels she had never heard of such a miracle cure…Mega-potions wouldn't work, the ethers were even less useful, she had a few elixirs but at this stage they wouldn't do more than her healing spells had and…

Her fingers brushed against a small silky pouch that was slightly warm to the touch, and a burst of hope pierced the cloud of desperation that was growing her mind.

She forgot she had this; she carried it with her in the event of an emergency, but she fully expected it to be herself that required it. Just because it wasn't, didn't mean this was any less of an emergency and so without hesitation she pulled out the object. The small pouch's drawstrings were opened and she delicately lifted out its contents between two fingers.

Aymeric drew in a startled breath. "Is that…?"

There was a plume of phoenix down in her hand: a small, luminous orange feather that had a soft heat beneath her fingers. She had heard from reliable sources that it could be used to awaken those unconscious and in comas alike, and had healed serious wounds. It failed in cases involving potent poisons (it didn't cleanse, only healed, and the poisons would just continue to do damage after its use). This wasn't quite the same as those cases, and serious wounds were notably different from fatal wounds; but the legends said it was able to revive the fallen as well…

At this point, she would try anything. What did she have to lose that was worth more than the one responsible for the support and protection of herself and her remaining friends when they were betrayed and on the run, the one who gave them not only shelter but a purpose while they recovered? Certainly not this plume.

She placed the feather reverently down on Haurchefant's still chest, before she decided that she wasn't going to take any chances. Despite how she could no longer feel any aether within the fallen lord, or perhaps in spite of that, she placed her hands over the phoenix down and channelled as much healing magic as she could make into it and Haurchefant's body. There was enough energy pouring into it that it could no longer be called a Cure spell. It was beyond even the Raise spells that revived the unconscious; it could have fuelled multiple Holy spells. She didn't care that it depleted her own energy reserves to dangerously low levels.

Please work, she pleaded in her mind.

She prayed that she was not too late with her timing.

She hoped that what she had was the genuine article.

She wished that the rare item was able to do all that the tales claimed and more.

The feather glowed brighter, and a shining light enveloped Haurchefant. She and Aymeric had to avert their eyes so as not to be blinded and she reluctantly released the white magicks she had been controlling, knowing that to give any more would see her fall to the ground right alongside the lord.

When the brilliant flare receded, they immediately turned back to their fallen comrade only to see that his body, at least, was whole and unharmed.

The feather turned black and crumbled into ash which was rather quickly swept away by the frigid winds. She held her breath in equal parts anticipation and dread. Did that mean it worked? Or failed?

His chest rose. Was that just a trick of her mind and its wishful thinking? She stared, willing it to move again.

It fell and rose again.

She let out her own breath that she wasn't aware she was still holding. It didn't help much though. When dazed blue eyes fluttered open and looked at her, the shine of life once more within them, her breath caught as it felt like her heart had risen up to block her throat.

"My Lady…?" The question was breathless, as if Haurchefant couldn't quite believe his eyes. The flash of fear and guilt in his gaze was confusing, but such emotions quickly faded as he looked around to see himself lying on solid stone.

The realization hit her like a sledgehammer; he thought he had failed to save her and that they had both died. It was probably the cold of air and stone, a far cry from any imagined paradise the afterlife may be (at least, the one that Haurchefant surely deserved) that convinced him otherwise.

She was too relieved to answer him verbally, so she gave him the most reassuring smile she could instead—much better than the one she had given to him as he closed his eyes, preparing to succumb to death's embrace—and she nodded firmly. No, he wasn't imagining this; she was real and she was here, and they were both alive. The motion served to bring those facts home to herself, as well, and there was a stinging in her eyes that she tried to ignore.

She hadn't failed to save the person right in front of her, this time.

"Fortunately for you, my friend, she carried a Phoenix Down." Aymeric said, mostly happily but still a touch incredulous at what had just occurred; the Elezen lord had more or less risen from the dead, after all.

That disbelief was quickly mirrored on Haurchefant's face. "Do you not know how rare such an item is?" He looked truly baffled.

She simply nodded; of course she knew. Since no one knew how the Phoenix Downs were produced or by what, those that somehow got their hands on the genuine article usually guarded it rather zealously. She received hers after completing a quest; she had not come across them on her own.

Haurchefant shot up into a sitting position like the stone had turned into hot coals, startling her and Aymeric. The knight recovered quickly and moved his good arm to support the lord who really shouldn't be moving so suddenly after his ordeal. Haurchefant barely noticed the arm keeping him from swaying while he was upright and instead focused on her. "You should have saved it for if you are ever in need, especially considering your harrowing adventures!"

Yes, she recalled those, thank you very much. And yes, she probably should have, considering she was being rather revered as the Warrior of Light and that people all over Eorzea would probably fall into despair if she fell to a Primal. Frankly, it was a title she had never called herself, preferring ones like Archmage that defined an accomplishment all her own (instead of a blessing that was given as a gift but could be revoked). But she had always seen herself as a person first and foremost, not some icon for the people who was more important than they were, so…Her dismissive shrug was enough for Haurchefant to let out a slightly strangled noise from the back of his throat.

"Pray, tell me you have another for thy own use." He pleaded.

She marvelled how, even after being dead but a moment ago, Haurchefant was still not at a loss for words—and how even after just being revived, his first concern was for her. Even Aymeric had been taken aback upon seeing the Phoenix Down, although she could hardly blame the knight for that.

Phoenix Down was notorious for being very unstable when next to another plume. Having even two feathers in close proximity would be enough for a small explosion, or at least the destruction of both as they self-combusted. No one had really figured out why yet. It meant that they could not be carried en masse, thus could not be sold or transported save for one at a time, and only one could be carried on a person at any given moment. Even if she had another, it wouldn't be on her person. Haurchefant's wide, sky blue eyes with a shine of distress were almost enough for her to lie and say yes, but...She firmed her resolve and shook her head in the negative to Haurchefant's plea.

His face looked torn between awe and horror. "You mean to say you used your only Phoenix Down on me? You used your only Phoenix Down?" There was awe when he asked the first question and horror with the second. It was a rather emotional rollercoaster but considering what he had recently put her through (what with dying in front of her after taking a blow meant for her), she wasn't feeling much pity for his apparent turmoil.

So she nodded firmly again. Haurchefant swayed a bit at her reply, only Aymeric's steady hand on his back keeping him upright. She frowned at him in concern and also moved to help steady the lord so he was supported between them both.

Aymeric huffed slightly. "You are chastising her for saving your life?" His words held a hint of disbelief although his eyes had a glint of amusement in them now that their situation appeared a bit less bleak.

Haurchefant looked abashed at this and blushed a bit in embarrassment. "I was fully aware of the consequences of mine actions. I did not expect to survive such a blow, and if I could save the one who has saved us all several times now, I would be—and I was—grateful. I had no regrets. But it was her only Phoenix Down, she may never obtain another; the item is so rare!" He was still stuck on that, it seemed. "An item that very well may have saved her life one day was used on me instead."

There was clearly some detail or backstory she was missing, because the way he emphasized 'me' gave the impression that he seemed to believe he wasn't worth it—and it made her want to smack the one responsible so hard they'd think that Titan had struck them (and not because she used a Primal-Egi). Aymeric had a light of understanding in his eyes; she'd ask him about it later, maybe. At the moment, however, she had to get Haurchefant to…well, shut up and calm down, really. What was done was done and now she'd like to get back to a warm hearth, an equally warm meal and a comfortable bed, since they couldn't yet chase down the Archbishop.

Aymeric seemed to be of the same mind as he said dryly, "We cannot change what has occurred; however, before you continue questioning your savior, do you not think you should at least thank them?"

Haurchefant blinked, taken aback at the chastisement before he realized he had indeed forgotten to do so. Then he turned his head back towards her, gazing into her eyes with such sincerity that she was admittedly taken aback, but also searching…for what, she wasn't sure. It better not be due to the thought that he wasn't worth her caring for him. "Thank you, My Lady." Haurchefant murmured finally. "For using your only Phoenix Down on me."

She was not usually one for many words, and had found she usually didn't need many words to get the point across (actions always spoke louder, after all). However, clearly her silent responses were just further distressing the recently deceased lord. She didn't want to ruin this slightly calmed state Aymeric has managed to achieve with his words. Maybe she should try the same, and use her words to hopefully put an end to this conversation.

Solemnly, she met Haurchefont's gaze and finally spoke. "It was worth it."

Finally, Haurchefant was at a total loss for words, of protest or otherwise.