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myreia · 2 months

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DIVERGENCE OF THE HEART

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HEART OF STONE

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 2,851 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

They leave the Borel Manor in silence.

Hilda sets an easy pace, striding with purpose, head held high. She huffs when her long ponytail catches on her jacket collar and pulls it out, flipping it behind her. Her carbine rests heavily on her back, the metal looking all the more worn in the bright sunlight. It is uncommonly bright today, not a cloud to be seen. Aureia can’t remember a sky so clear since the day Haurchefant died.

“I suppose thanks are in order,” Aureia says. She isn’t sure what she wants to say to her friend, but something is better than nothing.

Hilda flashes her a sympathetic smile. “Any time.” They walk a little further, their pace slowing as they turn onto the Pillars’ main thoroughfare. The Vault dominates the skyline, its soaring spires reaching up to the heavens. “You know, Aur, I’m not going to pry into personal matters, but you all right? You seem a little…”

She gestures empathetically, leaving the word unsaid.

“I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow, but does not press. “So, I understand dinner went well,” she continues, flashing her a grin.

“Dinner? I—” Aureia blushes. The dinner feels like an age ago. “It was nice.”

“Mhm.”

“It was! What’s that smile for?”

Hilda’s grin widens. “Can’t I be happy for you?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I’m teasing you because I’m happy for you.”

They round the corner and patter down the stone steps into the Jeweled Crozier. The marketplace is bustling, the midday sun drawing out the crowds. Highborn and lowborn both stand shoulder-to-shoulder, pursuing merchants’ wares with flushed faces and bright eyes. Considering the stringent Ishgardian social divide, it is heartwarming to see them gathered here. Perhaps Aymeric’s reforms are finally making change.

Hilda catches the eye of a large, beefy Elezen loitering in a corner. She gives him a cheery wave and his face breaks into a wide smile. Chortling to herself, she pulls Aureia through the street, weaving their way through the chattering crowd.

“So,” she says, her eyes dancing mischievously. “How was it?”

“How was what?”

Hilda clears her throat and shoots her a knowing look. “How was it?”

“Oh!” Aureia’s flush deepens. She may as well have lit herself on fire from the way she is burning. “Good.”

The dam breaks in her chest, relief rushing over her. Somehow confiding in someone other than Aymeric, someone normal without the concerns of the Ishgardian aristocracy, relieves the stress and worry she has been building in her head. There will always be politics involved in this relationship, she knows that, but Hilda brings a relieving sense of perspective. “It was good. Nice.”

She chortles. “See? I knew you needed someone to help take the edge off.”

Aureia smirks. “Yes, well… Aymeric is quite good at that.”

“Is he now? Fury, I’d hope so, considering he’s been pining after you for moons. I reckon I’ve never seen a man quite in love with anyone as he is with you. One would think a politician wouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.”

She pauses, a spike of annoyance stabbing her in the gut. Though the words are different, the point is familiar. Too familiar. “Been talking to Thancred?”

Hilda shrugs. “Saw him in brief last night.”

Her heart pangs, an open, heavy throb. She doesn’t want to think about what that means when who he spends his time with doesn’t matter to her. So why—after everything—does she still care? “At Saint Vaindreau’s Grace?” she asks.

“Aye,” she replies. “At Saint Vaindreau’s Grace. Alphinaud’s little sister is well, if you were wondering.”

Aureia makes a face. “Best not let Alisaie catch you calling her little or that might be the end of you and the Hounds.”

Hilda snorts. The crowd thins and they exit the market, passing below grand sweeping arches as they follow the curve of the street down, down, and down again. Aureia’s legs ache. Why this city was built into the slope of a mountain, she will never know.

“Right,” Hilda says after a moment, throwing her ponytail over her shoulder once more. “Reckon I should have told you sooner considering the two of you are friends and all, but here I was thinking it wouldn’t amount to much in the first place—”

“What would?”

“A bit of fun.” She shrugs again. “Getting a bit bored, if I’m honest.”

Aureia holds her tongue and stares dully ahead. Foundation’s tenements rise high around them, casting the road into shadow. The flagstones are slippery here, puddles clinging to the stone where the sun has not yet hit.

“I worry for you Scions, you know. So concerned with the fates of gods and men, do any of you give consideration to yourselves? It’s hard work, ain’t it? Championing the belief in a better world. Eorzea needs good folk like you, just as Ishgard needs the likes of Ser Aymeric and the Brume needs the likes of the Hounds.”

“Where’s this going, Hilda?”

“I’ve never seen a man quite as wretched as he was last night. Blamed it on guilt over the little sister’s injuries, but I reckon there was something else on his mind. Now this is none of my business, but did something happen with the pair of you?”

“You could say that.”

“Let me guess, he was a fucking fool, yeah?”

Aureia pauses, eyes wide.

Hilda grins at her, eyes shining with mirth and understanding. Linking her arm with hers, she resumes her purposeful stride. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have your back, Aur?” she says. “Listen. If you want my advice? Fuck him—”

Aureia chokes, laughter bubbling out of her. Her shoulders shake and she leans into Hilda for support. This is not where she thought this conversation would go.

“Maybe not literally,” Hilda continues, her lips twitching with amusement. “Definitely not literally, the man is a mess.”

“I know.”

They exit out of the shadows and turn down another street, heading for the Forgotten Knight. Aureia’s stomach is growling. It will be good to return home, take whatever food Gibrillont has on offer, and touch base with Tataru. She will no doubt know the logistics Alphinaud and Count Edmont have planned.

Guilt twinges in her gut. Though some tiny part of her is proud of putting her personal life first for once, she chose the wrong night to do it. In a way, she has let them both down. She hates to imagine Alphinaud, pale with worry about Alisaie and with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, taking command of the situation and formulating the plan. Too often logistics have come down to him, and while she trusts him with her life, he shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden alone. Edmont, too, has stepped up in her absence, playing his role as the responsible and generous noble benefactor.

She’s being too harsh, she knows she is. Edmont is a good man. House Fortemps will always stand by the Scions. She should be grateful for that. If he hadn’t offered, Alphinaud or Aymeric would have asked for his aid regardless. No airship can make its way to Xelphatol. The only way up the mountain is to fight their way through hordes of Ixali and the Fortemps knights are well-trained in that regard.

“Aur.” Hilda’s voice interrupts her thoughts, gentle but firm. They have reached the foot of a bridge, its span arching across the twisting city streets. “I should take my leave. Take care, yeah?”

Aureia smiles.

Hilda unlinks her arm and pulls her into an embrace. “Me and the Hounds will be waiting for you when you get back. Drinks on us this time, the whole crew. Don’t keep us waiting for long, you hear?”

She chuckles affectionately. “I hear.”

“Good. Say, you should stop by the Skysteel Manufactory sometime. I think Stephanivien would be pleased to me you, give you a lesson or two in how our firearms work. I reckon you’d make a fine machinist.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“If you ever feel the need to shoot something, say the word.”

Hilda releases her and draws back, a mischievous smirk on her face. She raises a hand in farewell and departs, disappearing across the grand thoroughfare. Smiling to herself, Aureia sets a foot on the bridge and climbs. There are few people about, and those who are pay her no heed. The sun shines brightly, the wind all but calm. If she didn’t know better, one could say it is as close to a spring day as Ishgard can get.

A shadow waits for her at the apex.

Her heart plummets. Thancred’s figure is unmistakable as he leans against the thick stone railing, arms folded across his chest. He watches the thin foot traffic with a narrowed eye, his eyepatch returned to its customary place. The hilts of his dual daggers glint in the harsh light. She doesn’t need to ask what that means—he is prepared to escort her to Camp Dragonhead and beyond, if needed.

A creeping sense of déjà vu settles over her as she crests the bridge. She brushes it aside and squints, shielding her face with a hand. A day ago, she would be annoyed—angry, even. Now she feels nothing. Anger would be better than nothing.

“Thancred.”

“Aureia.”

The faint breeze tugs at her hair. She slows to a stop a foot away, arms folded and hands tucked into her armpits. She must keep things civil. Treat him normally. Perhaps if they pretend nothing happened, they can keep their working relationship intact. “How is Alisaie?” she asks.

“She dances on the edge of consciousness, straying in and out,” he replies curtly. “But the chirurgeons report that she has taken to the antidote well. She will recover. It is only a matter of time before she is on her feet once more.”

“I see. Is someone with her now?”

“Tataru has relieved us of infirmary duty, if that is what you ask.”

Her jaw clenches. “I only wanted to know if someone she knew was nearby. I would hate to be in her shoes, awaking in a strange city, no friends in sight. Or worse, a Fortemps brother.”

A measly, half-hearted joke. One made at the expense of Artoirel and Emmanellain. Haurchefant would chastise her gently for it. Gods, what is wrong with her?

He snorts. There’s no retort. No witty repartee. Instead, he stares intently at the bridge and the tenements beyond and the mountains beyond that. There’s a terrible yearning in his face, desire turned desperate. He may be here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. Ishgard is no place for him, not after his year in the wilds. Then again, perhaps there has never been a place for him. They both once called Ul’dah home, but it rang true for her in a way it did not to him. A city of import, yes, but he was only ever a passerby. He is a wanderer, always on the move. If he could up and disappear now, where would he go? He vanished and found Alisaie. Perhaps he will do something of the like again. Yda and Papalymo are still missing after all.

Her heart pangs with grief. It has been so long since they were all together, gathered in Minfilia’s solar at the Rising Stones. A different age. A different life. Even should those who remain be reunited, it will never be the same.

“You were not at the meeting,” Thancred says.

She grimaces. “I wasn’t aware there was a meeting.”

“Perhaps you would have had you not disappeared.”

“Perhaps I should be free to go where I please and not where I’m expected. I’m not bound hand and foot to the Fortemps Manor.”

“Quite. Though you are not above aristocratic hospitality when another manor has caught your eye. Or so I hear.”

How the hells…? Not even day. Not one day and already he knows. Not one day and already he is judging her. Does his envy truly go that far? Did he expect her to chase him down at the infirmary after what happened in that alleyway? He gave her leave not to. He told her that if she did not come, that would be the end of it—

There it is. The anger, surging up out of her like a burst of mana.

She bites her tongue, desperate to keep her temper in check. How easy it is to simmer in her fury. Anger is powerful. Addictive. It is satisfying to ride the waves of her righteous anger, to give into it utterly. But behind the pleasure lies exhaustion.

Why is she angry? What does she blame him for? Fucking her friend behind her back? What happened between him and Hilda isn’t any of her business. The misguided kiss the night before? She fell for it as much as he did, it would be hypocritical to fault him for it without blaming herself. The cold shoulders and bitter remarks? Natural responses to the way she needles him. If he knows exactly where to press to make it hurt the most, she knows, too. Perhaps even better.

To try to unravel who wronged who first is impossible now.

Her heart seizes. It is as if a hand has reached directly into her chest and wrapped its fingers around it, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry,” she manages, the words rasped and raw. It isn’t good enough.

“Thank you, Aureia darling—”

She scowls at the epithet, but says nothing. Either he forgot her request or he has ignored it on purpose.

“—I am certainly not the one who merits an apology. That would be Alphinaud. From what I hear the poor boy almost made himself ill with worry. For someone who fancies himself quite the leader, he was certainly discomforted with the notion of planning this endeavour without your gracious input.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for making Alphinaud uncomfortable.”

“He wished to stay at his sister’s side this morning. But a Scion’s presence was necessary, and so a Scion attended.”

“And you could not have attended? Your presence is as valuable as mine. If anything, you have a far more tactical mind than I.”

He glances sharply at her, brows drawn together. “A tactician? Hardly. Not after the mistakes I’ve made.”

“Give yourself more credit. You have a plan. I’m the person they send in to execute it.”

A pained look crosses his face and he turns away, dropping his gaze to the ground. He stares determinedly at the flagstones, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. She half expects him to shove off and abandon her then and there.

But he remains. Restless and fretting, deep concern plain on his face, but he stays all the same. For her.

“I know,” he says after a moment. “And I know how heavily the burden weighs on you.”

She pauses, hand brushing the hilt of her rapier. “I’ll stop them. I promise. I haven’t forgiven them for kicking your ass in Dravania—”

“Hey now.” He makes a face and runs a hand sheepishly through his hair. “I seem to recall events quite differently. I dealt them a blow that time, not the other way around.”

His fingers catch on the knotted tail at the nape of his neck. She remembers all too well what it felt like to rake her fingers through his hair, the elated feeling of tugging that tie free. A memory she should set aside along with that blasted kiss.

Her feelings for him are a dead end. Unwanted and unjustified. Why should she chase the fleeting remains of their broken friendship when Aymeric—good, kind Aymeric—is in love with her? He offers her something that Thancred is incapable of giving. She cannot relinquish her one chance at happiness. Not when she is with someone who has shown her so much grace and compassion. She can’t imagine anyone doing for her what Aymeric did last night.

She is lucky to have found such fervent love in this bitter, wretched world. It may never come again.

There is nothing Thancred can give her. No desperate touch can mend their relationship, no fervent kiss can restore them to who they were that night in the waterways. If he wanted her then—if he loved her then—he should have said it.

It is too late now.

She exhales a long breath. “If you say so.”

Aureia and Thancred fall silent, neither one keen to look the other in the face. The bright sun beats down on them, happy and hopeful, oblivious to the tension between them. To the outside observer they may be no more than passing acquaintances engaging in idle small talk, awkwardly waiting for an opportunity to exit the conversation. But to someone with a keen eye and an ironshod heart, they are no more than two sides of the same coin bent on moving in divergent directions.

This is an ending.

It will be a long time before either of them understands the truth of it.

Notes: I’ve had this fic spinning in my head off and on since January 2023 and I’m really happy that I’ve finally been able to bring it to fruition. Aureia and Aymeric near and dear to me—even though they have their issues and it’s not going to be an easy ride since the fundamental problem with their relationship is that he loves her more than she can love him in return. I’m excited to explore more of their dynamic in the future; they have a whole saga throughout the rest of Heavensward and all of Stormblood and I’m ready to dig my teeth into it. As for Aureia and Thancred... there will be a few more bumps in their journey before they get there. Thank you so much for reading! This is my favourite fic I’ve written in a long time, I’m very happy with it. I hope you enjoyed. 💖

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