(no subject)

[suitsahero]

In some ways, nothing has changed at all.

Haurchefant gets up in the morning, puts on his armor, has breakfast, makes his way through the day as the commander of a garrison. There is paperwork to do and things to inspect and drills to both conduct and participate in. Most days there are no dragons to fight. Some days, there are, and then there are more duties, the ones he likes the least, seeing to the wounded and writing letters back to Foundation for the dead. But overall, one day here is very much like the others, a routine that he mostly sees as stability, rather than boredom, but it does always make him extra interested in anything that breaks that, that keeps things from becoming a monotony. It's part of the reason he's always been so welcoming to adventurers here.

There are... other reasons.

Not that he's really indulged much in any of those other reasons recently. He wouldn't necessarily say that he's suddenly saving himself for one adventurer in particular, exactly, but it's more that, ever since he offered to play host to the remaining Scions, it's not as though he's wanted for distractions. And Y'tajha's room is right across the hall from his own and he wouldn't want to offend her or make her feel uncomfortable. That's all. (That making Alphinaud, who actually shares a wall with him, uncomfortable doesn't even enter into his thoughts also doesn't enter into his thoughts.) He's just being... polite.

Whatever his denial about that may or may not be, he absolutely wouldn't deny that he enjoys having them here. Or that running into Y'tajha at various points in both of their days doesn't brighten his considerably. Today, it's at breakfast. He's gone for a brief morning tour of Camp Dragonhead, always preferring to let the cold wake him up before he eats and his stomping the snow off his boots at the door when he sees her sitting down with a few of the other soldiers for her own breakfast. He waves with a smile and comes to join them,

"I hope you were able to sleep well last night," he opens with as he gets seated, "the wind always howls a bit up in the tower." It's kind of pointless speech, really, it's not like she hasn't been here a while with time to get used to such things. But he just rather enjoys talking to her and the morning is young enough that he's still working on his wit.

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[astera]

It's a strange time indeed when a woman previously dubbed the Warrior of Light is little more than a fugitive, relying on the kindness of a friend and his standing in order to keep herself (and the two other friends she has remaining in this land) from being thrown unceremoniously into the depths of Halatali. Accused of a crime she could never have even dreamed of committing, her first few days as a guest in Camp Dragonhead were lost in a strange whirlwind of grief and denial.

But in a turn of events she could never have predicted, it was the friendly ease of Lord Haurchefant as he went about with hot drinks, insisting on letting them call the camp "Falling Snows", that helped to jostle her out of her dark mood. Her days are easier now; there's an impatience as she waits for their host to get word from Ishgard, of course, but in other ways, she's come to enjoy helping out around the camp.

Or perhaps it's really just the company of Lord Haurchefant himself that she enjoys.

Tataru's made a few comments here and there, and there are even pointed looks from some of the soldiers when their paths cross. (Pointed looks much like the ones she's getting now, as the lord of the camp joins them at the table.) She hasn't really paid them a lot of attention.

Haurchefant is a dear friend, that is all.

Or perhaps she simply has some denial of a different sort to deal with. After all, there have already been a great many sleepless nights when the miqo'te has thought quite seriously about crossing the hall to the chambers across from her own and rousing him from his slumber. The only thing that's ever really stopped her is that she's had no good reason for doing so. (In her eyes, being unable to sleep hardly counts as something worthwhile to interrupt his sleep when he has already done so much for her and hers. And besides, what would she expect of him upon waking him?)

Absent-minded fingers come up to the hair worn loose around her shoulders - Y'tajha's morning ritual of late consists of breakfast, then putting herself together for the day's work - as she offers the newcomer to the table a warm smile.

"Like a babe in arms, my lord." Despite the formality of her words, there's an air of familiarity in her voice, a warmth only reserved for friends. The words themselves though are entirely untrue, a lie told to prevent him from worrying. When he is already risking so much to help them, why trouble him with the fact that her nights are spent restless and awake, that any sleep she does get is plagued by nightmares of her flight from Ul'dah? "You needn't apologize for the wind."

[suitsahero]

"Perhaps not, but I think I might apologize for the tower, though it's been here far longer than I," he smiles back at her, warmly. "If I but had the power to command the wind, you'd need fear neither disturbing your sleep." Everything with him is always warm and sweet, slightly teasing, and while she's seen him act so around others, there seems to be a depth of warmth that is reserved for her.

Or maybe she's just imagining it.

"But I am glad to hear no such powers are necessary. You will tell me, though, if there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? I know the cold rather ill-suits your companions, but I've not yet heard you complain."

Somewhere in there, breakfast is served but he only splits his attention when he's through speaking, his table manners somewhere between the refinement of a lord's and the quick necessity of a soldier's.

[astera]

It's an apology that leaves her halfway amused and halfway flustered, teasing and playful as it is, although Y'tajha thinks she does an okay job with the look she gives him in return, something measured, the hint of her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She should scold him, tell him that there's no need to apologize for anything--

--but she's interrupted in her plans to do so by his question, and it's all she can do not to grimace. Instead, she takes a bite or two of her own breakfast, thinking carefully over her words before she allows them to form on her lips, emphasized by her smile:

"Please, Lord Haurchefant, do not worry about my comfort. It is enough that you have offered us a place to rest our heads. I couldn't dare ask for more."

It's the proper answer, and one steeped in truth. She already knows that if she does dare, there's a far larger chance of her giving in to that want to knock on his chamber door in the middle of the night.

[suitsahero]

"You could 'dare' ask for much more and I would give it to you gladly," it's always a strange dance, with him, how sometimes he can say something relatively innocent and laden it with enough innuendo just from his tone to make it scandalous, but he can say something like that not coldly, of course, but lightly, as though it were of little consequence.

"I would be a poor host, indeed, if it were beyond my ability to see you had an extra blanket or two or some additional firewood," the corner of his eyes crinkle more than he outright smiles, "You are my guest here, and a dear friend. Camp Dragonhead may not have the luxuries of Foundation, but I'll not have it said that House Fortemps doesn't know how to host a distinguished visitor, regardless."

It doesn't seem to bother him one bit that she's wanted for murder. If anything, it seems to be something he finds attractive, or at least amusing.

[astera]

Oh, Haurchefant. Too often he says things like that, things that make Y'tajha's stomach twist itself into knots despite the fact that they're just friends, things that give her an excuse to break every rule she's set for herself since coming here, things that make her smile in a way that has Tataru nudging some of the soldiers a few tables down, pointing and whispering and grinning.

At this table too, the soldiers are watching the exchange, but she barely notices them; her smile softens, and she shakes her head at the garrison's commander. "Far be it for my stubbornness in this matter to give your House an unfair reputation." There's a light tone in her words, too, the miqo'te matching Haurchefant's dance step for step. "Very well, my lord, I surrender; I swear that I will petition you if I am in need of anything at all."

With that said, she takes another bite from her breakfast, trying not to dwell too much on what exactly she means by that. When tonight is undoubtedly as sleepless as last night, will she approach his door?

[suitsahero]

There's just the barest flare of something in his gaze when she says she surrenders, impossible to put a word to, but the one soldier sitting nearest to her finds other places for his eyes to be when he catches it all the same, and there's going to be a fresh round of gossip starting from that side of the table as soon as they're gone.

"See that you do," he says in the Commander voice, but he's grinning ear to ear a moment later, "And your companions as well, of course," he glances over at Tataru, who happens to be looking back and squeaks and hides behind a soldier, "I think she's afraid of me." He's grinning slightly, still, because he knows she's not in the slightest.

[astera]

It's a flash of expression that she'll no doubt think about later, in the privacy of her own chambers. There's no single word for it, but whatever it is, it does something to her, another twist of feeling in her stomach, a dryness of her throat that has her pick up the tankard in front of her for a drink.

(It's hot, of course, something to fight off the bitter Coerthan cold, which means it does her absolutely no good in a moment where every part of her feels alight with warmth.)

She puts the mug down as she laughs at his next comment, her own gaze shifting over to where her lalafellin friend is sheltering behind the torso of a much taller soldier, shaking her head in amusement. The topic change is welcome, much more helpful to her than a warm drink. "Tataru Taru is afraid of no one, my lord. She simply wants you to believe that she is."

[suitsahero]

"She's certainly good at hiding for someone who isn't afraid. She skitters away and finds reason to be in every room but the one I'm in. If I didn't trust you so explicitly, and therefore your friends besides, I would suspect her of spreading rumors." Truthfully, she's more likely gathering rumors than spreading them, something he is not so much well aware of as simply strongly suspects.

He thinks he might know what some of those rumors are. He's not unaware of his own reputation. But as flirtatious as he can be, he's genuine about just wanting Y'tajha to be comfortable, to provide a place where the noble hero can set down her arms and be a person for a time. (That he finds both the hero and the person unbearably attractive is of no consequence to the truth of that statement.)

He realizes, however, that perhaps he has made that sound entirely too unkind and he doesn't really mind, so he grins,

"I find it delightfully charming. Do you think she intends to make a game of it?" he teases, trying to peer around the soldier in an overt manner, more to get Y'tajha to laugh than to actually catch Tataru at anything.

[astera]

In response to that comment of his, Y'tajha is forced to hide her laugh behind her hand. He might suspect her? Why, if there is anyone to blame for the rumors circling the garrison about the two of them - not that the miqo'te has paid them any mind, of course - it is most likely Tataru Taru, who since their arrival here seems to have been discovering new talents in the field of gossipmongering.

(Tataru herself would probably argue that it should be called sleuthing, or information gathering, but when there's a certain amount of joy involved - and there is - then it's gossiping, in Y'tajha's eyes.)

"Delightfully charming though it may be, you're too easy to spot when you're peering around your soldiers like a hungry lion, my lord." The laughter still hasn't died from her lips, the words said in a lilting tone, tripping over giggles. "If she's going to play games, then stealth is the answer." Her eyes twinkle as she grins up at him. "Do you know how to hide, Lord Haurchefant?"

[suitsahero]

"Nay, I do not, my lady," he quips back, "Stealth has never been my strong suit, a fact I am quite aware of. The chase is far more appealing than to play than a waiting game," he's not thinking about other meanings for that. Or if he is thinking of other meanings for that, he's mostly meaning catching Tataru at her own game. He's fairly sure he can hear giggles from the other table as well. He turns more fully back to Y'tajha after a moment, though,

"I have not the patience for the rumormonger's arts," he's still laughing, making light of it, though he mock huffs a moment later, a bit over-acted, "So I fear she may continue to sully my good name among my men, unchecked," he cannot maintain the seriousness longer than a moment though and the grin he gives is lopsided, boyish, a little wicked, "Though, Fury knows, it's likely she does nothing more than repeat what everyone already knows."

[astera]

She can tell he's acting, but for a moment, the urge is still there to defend Tataru. The lalafellin woman has nothing but adoration for Haurchefant; Y'tajha knows that she would never dream of saying anything against him. But the grin replaces his serious look before she can say anything, something boyish and playful, enough to stop her in her tracks. Another thing filed away to consider later.

What everyone already knows.

She can't help herself; she leans across the table to raise her eyebrows at him in a question, smile broad on her lips as she comments, "If a curious guest of the garrison may ask: of what common knowledge might you be speaking, my lord? If there are stories of our host, I simply must hear them."

The words are innocent enough, but there's a timbre to her voice that makes even Alphinaud, stewing to himself at the other end of the table, look up in her direction. It's not a tone he's ever heard from the Mothercrystal's chosen before.

[suitsahero]

"You'd make a man list his faults at breakfast?" it's very clear he's still jesting, hand over his heart as though she's mortally wounded him, "You are as cruel as you are beautiful."

He sets his elbow on the table a moment later, arm up so his chin can rest in his palm, head tilted to the side as he looks at her,

"That I'm too loud by half for a proper Ishgardian elezen. That I lack the propriety I ought to have as a member of one of the High Houses," there's a shift in his tone, something warmer, "That I'm overfond of hiring the services of foreign adventurers," another shift, "That I show one in particular a scandalous amount of favor. Things such as that."

[astera]

It's hardly the first time he's called her beautiful, and she's sure it won't be the last. But it is the first time he's done so in such a public setting, where eyebrows can raise, where whispers can immediately be heard on the other side of the room, and the Warrior of Light finds her gaze lowering slightly in an attempt to hide what wants to be a flush of heat on her cheeks, out of place in the biting cold of Coerthas.

Her recovery is quick enough, though, her brows raising as she considers the list he provides of his faults, and at that last shift in his voice, her own expression shifts, something she hopes is even a little unreadable, because if it's not, then...

She tilts her head. "And these are supposedly faults, my lord? None of them sound particularly bad, you know." It's an effort, but she manages to steer herself back onto a more correct course of conversation as she continues: "Without your apparent lack of propriety, my friends and I would not have anywhere safe to shelter. So anyone who would wish to call that a fault may take it up with me."

[suitsahero]

"Mm, not to you, I would imagine but, as you say, you are their beneficiary," he grins at her, boyish and open.

"Truthfully, it's nothing," he says, still light, but at least a bit more serious now, returning to his breakfast, "From the moment I was born, it was inevitable that rumors would follow me," he shrugs slightly, "One learns not to listen, regardless of their nature. I'll not feel guilty for my kindnesses, nor for my social transgressions-- so long as they do not prevent me from doing my duty to my family and to Ishgard. Everything else is between myself and Halone," his lips quirk slightly,

"And apparently also between me and that table in the far corner," it's said just loud enough to carry to at least one group of whispering soldiers, all of whom don't quite snap to attention, but it's a near thing. He just grins at her as they do, without even having to look to confirm.

[astera]

Y'tajha has to hide a laugh behind her hand at the way the soldiers straighten in their seats, the nearest to "at attention" that she's ever seen them at a meal. Still, Haurchefant will see the amused twinkle in her mismatched eyes, the hint of the curve of her lips behind the edges of her hand.

It has to be hard for him, she thinks; he has not talked to her much of his childhood, but the fact that he speaks for House Fortemps without sharing the name himself is telling enough. Having recently become a name of significance among the peoples of Eorzea, she knows how it feels to have the muttered rumors following everywhere she goes. She's not quite as good at ignoring them, though; nor can she imagine how it must have been to have them following him throughout his entire life.

She draws her hand away from her mouth, her smile turning thoughtful as she considers him. "You said anything at all, did you not?" she queries with a tilt of her head. "Mayhap I could trouble you then to teach me how one can deafen herself to the whispers."

It's a rare moment of weakness for her, and the words are kept deliberately low enough so that only he will hear among the din in the hall. She'd rather not broadcast it to the others around them, the soldiers whom she doesn't know as well, with whom she trains and works away the days away while she waits for results from Ishgard. But to Haurchefant, her friend (just her friend) and ally, it's a side of herself that she doesn't mind showing quite so much.

[suitsahero]

He blinks in surprise, both that she would admit to such a fault and that she would admit it to him and there is, perhaps equally surprisingly, an answering slight flush on the tops of his cheeks, like such a thing has flustered him more than all of the innuendo and over the top flirting he seems to be fond of.

"Perhaps not a conversation for breakfast in the main hall, but I'd be honored if you'd join me after dinner tonight?" he doesn't say in private, but the tone seems to imply it. For once, he seems perfectly serious and not the jovial flirt she's used to, which does more than anything he could say to both show that he means what he said about anything at all and that he takes such a request seriously.

[astera]

Y'tajha's brows lift in response to the hint of red splashed across his cheeks, and not for the first time there's a question there, something wondering that gets pushed aside in favor of yet another stern internal reminder of their camaraderie. More than that too is the gratitude for his understanding that even amid their flirtatious breakfast-time banter, her words come from a place of sincerity. "The honor would be mine," she responds, and the words still come from a place of propriety, but the smile she offers him is one that speaks of something past that.

And so it's like this that, after dinner, Y'tajha finds herself alone with Haurchefant in the warmth of the intercessory, the thought of his chambers rejected on account of the idea being too close to the one she's had many times before. Her hands are cupped around another hot mug, and the mild expression on her face doesn't betray how strange it feels for her, the room being emptied of all others save the two of them.

She smiles, an attempt to disperse whatever strange tension floats between them, a playful tilt to her head. "Is this where you swear me to secrecy on the method of your trade?"

Not that ignoring whispered rumors can really be considered a trade, but...

[suitsahero]

He laughs at that, softer and less boisterous than his more public laugh, though it's still boyish and open. He's opted to more lean against the table than sit properly, at least at the moment, mug of chocolate in his hands. He's not got the political airs of his countrymen, but at times like these, she can see that there is something of an act he puts on, not so much hiding who he is so much as showing a slightly different facet of it in public than in private. He seems softer here, younger, for all that it seems such a thing might might him seem older-- to be more calm and serious. Instead, the soldier's edges fall away and he's just a young elezen and not a leader of men.

"Truthfully, I am not sure how much help I will be. My lessons were learned early, earlier than make it practical to teach. But I would be a poor friend if I didn't at least try. If naught else, I can offer a spot of commiseration, not all are so lucky as to lead lives worthy of rumors," the tone makes it unclear if he is being serious or wry. He takes a sip of his chocolate and considers her for a moment,

"It occurs to me that, not being from anywhere near Ishgard, and her keeping to herself for years before, that you might not recognize the name 'Greystone'. It's fairly common within Foundation, if nothing else, but I'm not sure how well it fares in other lands. Certainly, I'm not the first and I'll not be the last," there's definitely something wry about that, a bit of dark humor.

[astera]

It's nice, she thinks, the sound of his laugh when it's just the two of them. She's always thought of him as a sincere sort of person, but without that loud, boisterous edge, he seems even more genuine. Younger, too - a man more than a soldier. And isn't it dangerous for her to make such an observation, that like this he's somehow even more attractive to her, a gentle sort of something about him that draws her—

His words break - thankfully - the train of her thoughts, and Y'tajha looks at him in silence for a moment. He's her friend and ally, and all of their joking aside, he is opening up to her. Now hardly seems an appropriate time to let her imagination take hold. She focuses instead on his words, a smirk twisting her lips in response to his offer of commiseration, and like him it's something between amused and annoyed.

But still there is more for her to hear. She nods her acknowledgement to his statement.

"No, I cannot say that I do. To be honest, I was surprised - it is not a typical name for an Elezen." Not to mention that he is of House Fortemps, and named Greystone... She probably has a good idea already. Maybe she would have asked earlier, too, if not for the concern there for his pride. But if he's the one bringing the matter to her attention... "What does it mean?"

[suitsahero]

"It's not," he acknowledges, "And that's rather on purpose." He doesn't say anything for another long moment, takes a sip of his drink. He's not sure why he's hesitating now when he's the one who brought it up to tell her. Or rather, he does know, and it's not exactly becoming of him, but even so...

He chuckles softly, shakes his head,

"I would make you promise not to think differently of me, but I genuinely can't bring myself to believe you would. Perhaps it is I who make it seem something larger than it is, to tell you," another sip, but less for any reasons of stalling this time, just to prepare, "It is the surname given to bastards-- and in particular bastards whom might otherwise stand to inherit. The whole of Ishgard knows that I am the Count's son, breathing proof of his... indiscretions." Haurchefant shrugs just slightly, not as though it means nothing, but more just in that there is little he can do about that fact.

"I have earned the respect of every man and woman here at Camp Dragonhead. Soldiers all, and on the battlefield, it is one's deeds that make them worthy of praise, not their birth. In Foundation itself... it is not so simple," he looks up at Y'tajha and smiles. It's soft, but there's a little hint of a boyish sort of wickedness there, "And so I make my friends where I can and offer what warmth is mine to give," he raises the glass in a bit of a toast. "The world is too cold, else."

[astera]

On purpose? Y'tajha's eyes widen a touch at the comment, although she doesn't question it further, sitting in silence as she waits for him to continue. For a moment, she wonders if perhaps he's hesitant to share, if he's stalling to give himself more time to mull over a story he's offered to tell, and she's just about to give him an out when he continues, tells her the whole of it as her expression falls into something troubled. Though she has no right to the feeling, it angers her that his society would choose to give him a name that marks him forever as different.

"It's not fair," is the commentary given when he finishes talking, and while she raises her mug to toast him in return, her words do not follow their celebratory actions. "You were burdened by the choices of others before you even knew what that meant. Such a thing would never make me think less of anyone, much less the man who has shown himself to be such a steadfast ally and friend. You have opened your hearth to me and mine when the rest of the world is seeking to have us thrown to the wolves."

Without thinking, she reaches out, across the table, laying a hand against his wrist. Only once their skin contacts does she realize she's done it. (But it's okay, surely? She is only offering comfort and gratitude alike to a dear friend, after all.)

"I suppose what I am saying is that the battlefield is far from the only place you have proven yourself, Lord Haurchefant."

[suitsahero]

He startles a little bit as she touches him and there's that blush again, a soft pink high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, sweet and unexpected with as boisterous and flirty as he can be. But then, he's used to putting out that kind of energy, not used to receiving it, and he's not used to receiving this kind of gentle kindness on top of that.

"All I have offered is what I would offer to anyone, much less to someone who went out of their way to assist a dear friend of mine when mine own hands were tied," the smile he gives her is warm and soft and perhaps just the tiniest touch of shy, "But if giving even that much is enough to win your regard, perhaps it is you that has something to teach me about keeping a brave front in the face of obstacles." He shifts his hand slightly until his fingers can curl back around her wrist in turn. It is somehow both less intimate than holding hands properly and moreso, links to one another forged with their fingers.

"If the world has not been fair to me, it has been far less so to you. That anyone could believe such dastardly lies about you is both incomprehensible and shocking. You have done so much. It is a privilege, to be a place where you might find refuge, not a burden, and if the rest of the world doesn't see that, then they are fools." And there's the shift in his smile again, warmer still, "Though perhaps it is to my good fortune that they are."

[astera]

Maybe physically touching him was a bad move. Not because the startle, the flush in his cheeks, is a bad thing to see, but more because of how his fingers move to curl around her wrist in response, bringing the same soft pink to her own face. This was meant to be comfort and gratitude, and yet something about it feels strangely intimate, makes the act of being here in his quarters with him - alone - feel like something more than it is.

Because what it is, she reminds herself - a cool thought to dash the heat from her cheeks - is two friends enjoying each other's company and offering support as they discuss the difficult times. That's all.

(Or is it?)

She is ready to protest, to insist that her regard is not so easily won, that he has done far more for them than he gives himself credit for, when he continues, offering such praise as to make her breath catch, her cheeks darken ever more in color. And when she speaks, the words come out rough, hardly as well prepared as she usually likes to be:

"My friend, you're far too generous with what you... with your words. I..." Y'tajha pauses, closing her eyes as she shakes her head, trying to clear a path through the thoughts and the emotions and the too-quick beating of her heart. "You are far too kind. Mayhap you do not see what you have offered us as anything more than a privilege, but there are others who would, and..."

Her expression falters, as if unsure where to go, until she manages to school it back into a smile; despite the (hopefully unapparent?) internal struggle, her fingers stay in place at his wrist.

"What I am trying to say is that the good fortune is mine. I— We are lucky to have a friend as steadfast as you are."

No, she was right the first time.

"I am lucky."

[suitsahero]

The look he gives her is so soft that it's maybe even a little ridiculous, but there's no one here to see it but them, so he doesn't particularly care. He is soft for her, moreso than he's even aware he's expressing, but any reluctance to simply state his feelings is entirely for her sake rather than his own-- he would wither away in silence before he'd allow her to think for one moment that he was anything less than sincere in all attentions for her, including those of a dear friend.

"Perhaps then we both can count ourselves lucky," he says with the same smile, "And doubly so, that such luck can be found in the midst of hardships." He also doesn't remove his hand from hers, though he does finally take another sip of his drink with the other.

"And," he adds, with a bit of a sheepish smile, "since I believe I brought you here to talk about how to avoid having rumors tear you to pieces, I think that easily is one of the first lessons: to know both who your allies are and where your strength lies. And your luck, as well."

It is difficult, to stop his thumb from tracing over her wrist like this, but he weathers it in the name of the conversation.

[astera]

The look that he gives her, the smile, is enough to make something flutter in her chest, even if she's quick to push it down, to rationalize it as gratitude and relief both. "That we are both lucky? I think that's something I can drink to," she answers, her own free hand echoing his to pick up her cup, offering him a toast before she takes a draught.

As she places the cup back on the table, she listens to the rest of his words, expression serious, contemplative. (Although occasionally there's a shift of her mismatched eyes, a hint at her brief loss of focus whenever her gaze flits to the loose hold each of them has on the other's wrist.) And she finds, when he's done, that the words make perfect sense.

"For myself, at least, the connection between these is clear. My luck, several times over, has led me to allies who grant me strength." That's not to say that her friends are her only source of strength, but...

Just like that, the smile on her lips fades.

"I had not yet considered it in that way, but... it would explain why I have not felt terribly strong, lately. I am after all rather low on allies right now."

Which is why people like Haurchefant are all the more important. Right?

[suitsahero]

"Allies only grant you what strength you, yourself, are strong enough to accept. If your allies have made you strong, it is because you had that strength inside of yourself as well. It is not so simple, to do the things that you have done, to be who you have been to so many." There is a lot that Y'tajha hasn't fully explained in terms of what had happened to her, and he hasn't wanted to pry, but he can fill in a number of the blanks,

"It's harder to carry hope than scorn, I think. But I don't think it matters what hand fate deals you so much as what you do with it," he gives in to the urge to stroke his fingers against her skin, though it's meant more as a comforting gesture, "I do not think you will feel weak for long, in any case."

It's different, from what other people have said to her. There's no attempt to tell her to feel differently, just a reminder that she is strong, and that this, too, will pass.

[astera]

The words are different. No one else has essentially given her permission to feel the way she does - they've only sought for her to be strong. (And in her darkest moments, in the middle of the night when she's awake from another nightmare, she can't help but wonder if their seeking her strength comes only from selfishness, so that they no longer have to be strong themselves.) Yet, here is Haurchefant, doing exactly that: allowing her to feel the weakness, while reminding her that she has that strength inside her.

If she were less emotionally compromised, she'd probably recognize the stroke of his fingers across her skin, but as it is, the suddenly blurriness in her eyes mortifies her, distracts her enough that for a moment it's all she knows. The hand not tied up in his reaches up to her face as she turns her head to the side, trying to swallow back the sudden wash of tears.

"I..." Her voice cracks, and Y'tajha shakes her head, wetting her lips and trying again. "Thank you. I truly needed to hear those words."

[suitsahero]

Oh there's no hope for it, is there? He just has to hope that it's not misinterpreted, that it's not entirely unwanted, because he can no more stop himself from setting his drink completely aside and pulling her into a hug at that than he can stop the sun from rising.

The move is decisive, born of emotion and impulse, but even so, if there's any indication that it's upsetting to her, any tension, any push away, he'll let her go immediately. If not, though, he'll draw her closer after a moment, close enough that she could rest her head on his chest if she's so inclined,

"I'll be here for you for as long as you do," he adds, "You are a magnificent person and certainly no less so for a few tears after what you've been through. I will not say I will carry them with happiness, for I could never be happy that you need shed them, but I will carry them with pride all the same."

[astera]

Of the things Y'tajha is expecting in this moment, to be pulled into a sudden embrace is not high on the list— in fact, it is not truly on the list at all. And so, while he will sense no tension from her, there may be the slightest moment of hesitation as the Warrior of Light's eyes widen, as her heart skips a beat or two and her breath catches in her throat. It is all too easy however to allow herself to sink into his hold, her head falling with no prompting at all to rest against his chest, and as her eyes close, the tears slip from her cheeks; protected as her face is from his gaze, and comforted as she is by his hold, it feels safe to shed them. They have, after all, been building into a hard lump at the back of her throat for so long.

His words make her smile even through the saltwater in her eyes, and after a moment she allows her own arms to snake around his waist, not merely accepting the hug but returning it.

(And to hells if it's misinterpreted; she needs this right now.)

"Are you saying you are proud of me for crying, my lord?" A sniff, and then a soft, wet laugh. "Or that you are proud to have witnessed my tears?"