Chapter Text
"Strenuous effort" is your middle name and you fulfill it to pry the Lord Commander from his duties. Time was scant; especially when Aymeric was hounded with meetings with the Houses, the Alliance, on top of mountains of paperwork to do.
You wish you can at steal away some of his time. Even for a minute.
That brief moment of selfishness was granted by some miracle, so you *gently *persuade him to take a walk with you in The Pillars. A short tryst in the city would grant some satisfaction. There was no doubt in the smile shining in his eyes and laced in his words when he indulges in your request. The Coerthan winter was still a season you rarely fared with, but the cold biting your fingertips was immediately assuaged by the warmth when he takes your hand in his.
You're quite a distance away from his office in the Congregation, your conversation given way to casual banter and occasional, coy yet affectionate exchanges. Weaving through the darkened streets and around the lofty buildings in the late night slightly stirs your senses. Although with him at your side, you've got nothing to fear, you remind yourself. He matches his pace with yours, footsteps in unison. Your heartbeat seems drowns out the sound.
Spotting others in this time of night was uncommon, save for the guards and meandering civilians. The less prying eyes, the better.
Both of you agreed to take a moment on one of the benches surrounding the intricate fountain on the lower level. You slowly guide your eyes around your surroundings, the soft glow from streetlamps and The Vault in the distance subtly illuminating the architecture. The running water from the fountain behind you was not as harsh as you'd think it be; a pleasant hum amidst the quiet night and his words. New tidings were a rare commonplace Aymeric admits and he'd rather not bore you with the pleasantries of politics. You find yourself conceding with him–your journey in the First felt like a lifetime. Days had only passed in the Source. Finding courage to tell him what exactly had happened seems like an insurmountable task. Instead, you opt to recount a more introspective manner of your tale.
You take a deep inhale, the chilled air fighting against your lungs before you ask him if he wanted to know his father's last words to you. The archbishop's words haunted you since that fateful day. The question evidently took him by surprise as he turns his head towards the ground, eyes narrowed in deep consideration. Moments later, he exhales. And you do the same. He nods, citing that he trusts you and in your words. You settle on the wooden bench, pondering the words to convey what you want to lay before him. You repeat Thordan's last words to you before him.
What are you?
Aymeric blinks, stunned, with his eyebrows raised then a frown forms on his face. That look doesn't suit him, you think. He opens his mouth to answer, but promptly purses his lips in self-conflict; a sign for you to continue. You tell him that those words have been a stubborn phantom pain in your chest, lingering like a vulture circling its prey. Even the way the archbishop said it–with horror and fear–tightens the claw of doubt around your heart.
The raven-haired Elezen offers a few words of his own, correctly guessing that your reaction shows that it is not an easy answer. Closing your eyes, you continue, remarking that the most obvious answer is that you’re the Warrior of Light. The Champion of Eorzea. The Hero of the Source. Yet those titles are merely titles adorned with a soul-crushing weight to carry. Your encounter with Zenos did little to fend your doubts. He called you a beast to be hunted; as if your only goal was to kill, destroy, and annihilate those in your righteous path. It was Zenos who found camaraderie and common ground with you–in that you’re both battle-hardened weapons to be deployed in war, doing whatever is ordered of them. You then remember the civilians you’ve met and the friends you’ve made along your journey. Many of which were amazed that your powers are used to protect them. To save others. To pave a path towards a brighter future.
Why should such stark perspectives of your title exist?
Your heart lurches as you then recall those golden eyes that burned into your soul as Emet-Selch seethed at you, declaring that you were nothing but a broken husk. The denizens of the ancient city of Amaurot speaking to you as if you belonged there. Hythlodaeus calling you his new old friend. All while you nearly became the very thing you fought to save the First from. The answer to the archbishop’s question revealed itself.
You truly are capable of being a monster.
A hand delicately strokes your back, bringing you back to reality as you’re pulled out of your sea of words. Aymeric’s eyes are soft when you meet them with yours. You realize that he heard you call yourself a monster. With a mellow, assuring tone he tells you that yes, you are all those titles that the realm gives you, though not many know the person behind them. Nor have the opportunity to do so. Not many know you–the real you. Not many are aware of your own fears, doubts, and insecurities, for all they see is the Warrior of Light; the Hero from the tales lovingly written into the parchments of history. What you’ve gone through, Aymeric goes on, is far beyond what any ordinary soul can do. His hand stops and gently trails down your arm to rest over your hand, which you find is subconsciously clutching the bench.
You study his face. You’re at your most vulnerable state, pouring out the questions plaguing your mind for the longest. Yet he sits here before you, his eyes so full of love and understanding.
You swear that he is more of a blessing to you than the mark from Hydaelyn.
With a sigh, you tell him that you obviously intended to not have led this night into such a profound conversation. He shakes his head, replying that he is eternally grateful that you trust him enough for you to open up to him like this. You feel tears threatening to well up in your eyes. Aymeric doesn’t treat you only as a figure to be revered, to be worshiped for your deeds.
You regret it almost immediately as you ask him what you have done to deserve him. A smile graces upon his lips. He reminds of you the many good-natured and selfless deeds you’ve done.
The most noble deed you have done, he notes, is continuing to be yourself. To be you.