Ishgard was known for many things; the best chocobos in all of Eorzea, being at war with dragons, and a notable dislike of outsiders to name a few. So why Haurchefant Fortemps had thought it a good idea to bring a suspiciously scaled and dragonlike person here, as an honoured guest, to Ishgard, was difficult to fathom. While most Ishgardian could identify you as having too much in common with a dragon to be trustworthy, no one had apparently shared this concern with your host.
It had been a simpler matter in camp dragonhead. Kill some menacingly fluffy karakul, save someone from being wrongly executed and out some imposters posing as important authoritarian figures and the trust had come easily. Here, in the capital, however, there was a noticeable lack of karakul for this purpose. If you had thought you had felt out of place when you had first ventured into Coerthan land, it was a pale shadow of the present. Here, their stares did not merely suggest displeasure at your presence. Sometimes, they burned with the strength of the anger behind them.
But not everyone shared this sentiment; indeed, not everyone had back at camp dragonhead either. Nay, from the very moment you had met him, the silver fuller had treated you with kindness. Sometimes it had been difficult to make out through his eccentricities, but over time, you had come to become accustomed to those. Even the strange comments about cascadier uniforms, that you're sure he knows you have, come this point, and his enthusiasm to see you work and sweat. If he were to suddenly stop, you might have believed he had been tempered.
Another outburst he was fond of was the promise of a warm bed and an even warmer welcome upon your return, from whatever your adventure of the day entailed. While the warm welcome had always been a given, it was not until you had been forced to take refuge in his home, on Ishgard, that you had been able to accept the offer of a bed. And being from one of the noble houses, the bed was an absolutely luxurious specimen, one ill-afforded to a lowly adventurer. But in the bitterness of an Coerthan night, it had not been as warm as you might have been hoping. When the light from the fire dimmed, and the embers fought to remain alight, you were reminded of just how harsh the eternal winter the calamity wrought on the land really is. But sleep came, regardless, as it oft does from exhaustion.
The warrior of light is known for being a woman of few words, a slayer of gods. She cannot complain of something so simple as the cold, or of exhaustion. And perhaps he knows this, without the need for it to be said. For in the morning, the room is warmer, the fire rekindled and burning bright. The blankets are wrapped more securely around you than you could have ever managed alone, and the early wakeup call you had expected had not come. Instead, you wake naturally, and to a smile warmer than the fire.
You have journeyed the realm, helped countless souls, and achieved fame through your deeds. But to most, you are a means to an end. To him, you are not just the fabled warrior of light. Of all those you have met, there are none who regard you as he.
"Pray forgive me, friend, but I had thought it best to let you sleep," Haurchefant apologises, as expected. Wrapped up tightly, and infinitely more comfortable than you would be if you were to rise, you look to the window instead. He reads this action perfectly. "The time is encroaching towards the afternoon. Your companions had wanted to wake you sooner, but I reasoned with them that fatigue is not a foe to be estimated on the battlefield. Needless to say, they soon agreed."
You're not entirely sure what his argument was, but you can guess it was probably not so straightforward as that. You also wouldn't be entirely surprised if he simply wanted to see you in your nightgown. So thinking, you burrow down deeper into the blankets, hiding the lower half of your face, a burrito of warmth. This act, he misreads as an attempt to further escape the cold.
"Perhaps the fire has not warmed the room enough for you? Pray, allow me to assist you". Assistance comes in the form of a man climbing onto the bed, lying himself down beside your swaddled form. Escape could not be an option, even if it occurred to you, wrapped up in blankets and stuck between the man himself and a wall. The next step of his assistance involves closing the space between you, him holding your bundled self to his chest. Not skipping a beat, he offers you his usual smile.
"I had not thought you to be so susceptible to the cold. Perhaps the altitude here means the chill is harsher than in the camp?" He muses aloud. You could argue that it's merely that the bed is warmer than the room, or that you're not actually cold at all, but you don't. And so, he continues; "Perhaps you would benefit from the same endurance training as those who are stationed there? I could oversee your training personally. What say you, friend?". You know what this training he speaks of entails; being stripped down to your small clothes and subjected to the bitter elements is not likely to become your favourite past-time. You gaze questioningly at him, and he takes this as your response. "Why, I could even join you, if you would prefer. If there anything more splendid than two warriors braving adversity, side by side? With my encouragement, you'll wonder why you had ever shied away from the cold at all!"
As much fun as you're sure Haurchefant thinks prancing around mostly naked in the snow with you would be, you have dragons, heretics and primals to deal with, and people waiting for you to rise and deal with them. You don't have the time to be sidetracked. But you're not entirely sure why the ideally isn't wholly unappealing either. It's certainly not because you're eager to go out in the cold. Something else, then.
"No good?" Haurchefant interrupts your thoughts. "A shame. Perhaps it is to be expected. The offer shall remain, should you ever change your mind".
You don't. But sometimes, you'll wish you had. Instead, you allow him to speak, saying very little in return, until the inevitable point comes where you must rise, and resume your title as the warrior of light once more, and part with the man whose smile burns brighter than the Thanalan desert sun.
I wrote this on my phone for 'Skysedge' while on a plane journey to Germany, since she was suffering after the Heavensward content. She told me to upload it. D: I have no idea what I'm doing I'm so sorry.