finalfantasyxivfanworks | Ficlet: Exile

Title: Exile
Characters: Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel, Lucia goe Junius, Artoriel de Fortemps
Rating: T
Warnings: AU - canon divergent

“By majority vote,” Artoirel said in a quietly apologetic tone, “You have been nominated as Ishgard’s official ambassador to Kugane. You are expected to report to your new posting by the end of this month, sailing schedules permitting.”

Lucia drew in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth. Aymeric ignored it. He did not flinch, kept his expression one of cool neutrality as he quietly absorbed the blow Artoirel had delivered him. He should be grateful that this had been done in the privacy of his office, and not in the very public space of the House of Lords session he was meant to be attending in the next hour. Artoirel himself looked rumpled, as if he had ran here the moment he heard Aymeric had returned from his inspection of Dzaemel Darkhold.

He shouldn’t be surprised. There had been many debates on who to send as part of the contribution to diplomatic mission in Kugane. The Eorzean Alliance had established an embassy there, eager to try and secure a foothold there to allow better communication and diplomacy with their new Doman ally, and sent the call for each City State to contribute. Various names had been drawn up in both Houses, but Aymeric’s had been bandied about the most.

Logically, it made sense: he was charismatic and well known for his political acumen. He also had a genuine interest in expanding Ishgard’s foreign ties, was friendly and culturally sensitive to foreigners, and was one of the loudest supporters for the Eorzean Alliance – and had several enemies in both Houses that would enjoy neutralising him by sending him as far away as physically possible without launching him into space. He had already proven himself too troublesome to cleanly assassinate.

Aymeric folded his hands on his desk, very carefully compartmentalising his personal feelings on the matter and forced himself to regard it with cold calculation. In all honesty he was impressed at the cunning of this plan – he had been aware there was a voting session whilst he was on inspection, but as it didn’t pertain to any high-profile proposals or legislation, hadn’t paid much mind to it. If he had known…

Well, what could he have done? From the sounds of it this had been a plan long in the making and the votes already decided before the debate had even begun. The majority of Ishgard’s MPs wanted him out of Ishgard and causing trouble for other people. He should, in fact, look at this as an opportunity. He was already coming to the end of his term as Speaker – he had been elected twice, already, and their constitution stated that one could only do two consecutive terms at a time – and he had been considering whether to revert to being mainly the Lord Commander or becoming a full-time politician.

It was a prestigious position, on paper. He should be honoured that he was chosen to represent Ishgard and strengthen their ties with their allies.

He should be.

(he wasn’t)

“I see,” Aymeric finally said, when three full minutes of silence stretched between them, “Thank you for informing me, Lord Artoirel. Should I assume that my presence is therefore not needed in the upcoming session?”

Artoirel dipped his head, “Correct. It has been decided that I will carry out the remainder of your duties until the next Speaker is chosen in the upcoming month.”

Aymeric relaxed a fraction at that. At least his exile hadn’t wrenched a hole open for the likes of Lord Dounon to slither into, “Am I able to nominate a successor for Lord Commander, or has that too been decided without me?”

Artoirel winced slightly at that, “If you are able to nominate a successor that meets the Houses’ approval in the next week-”

“Lucia,” Aymeric said instantly.

“Sir,” Lucia protested, “I am-”

“More than acceptable,” Aymeric said shortly, “Lord Artoirel, if the Houses’ have a complaint on my successor, feel free to direct them to myself. Notwithstanding her origins, she has proven herself time and again as a loyal soldier of Ishgard, unflinching in her service and diligent in her duties. I will accept none other as my successor, if only because she has been carrying out the Lord Commander duties on my behalf for the past few years so I know she can do it. She has proven herself.”

A grim kind of humour flickered across Artoirel’s face as Lucia stood in stunned silence, “I am sure no one will protest, sir.”

“I will protest,” Lucia said immediately, “Sir, my place is at your side.”

“You would be better served here, Lucia,” Aymeric said, “I refuse to relinquish this seat to someone who would abuse it. I know I can trust you with Ishgard and the Temple Knight’s best interests.”

Lucia wavered, but after a pause where Aymeric met her gaze evenly, her shoulders slumped and she inclined her head with a soft, unhappy, “Understood, sir.”

“I shall leave you to your preparations, Lord Commander,” Artoirel said, rising from his seat, “I wish you luck in your new position.”

The door that clicked shut behind the departing Artoirel sounded damningly final. Silence reigned again, until slowly, Aymeric pushed his seat back and stood up.

Lucia watched him with wary eyes, “Sir?”

“Pardon me, Lucia,” he said with a strange, unsteady sort of calm, “I need a moment to collect my thoughts. Please take over my duties until I return.”

“… yes, sir.”

Aymeric barely remembered the walk back to his home. His mind was too busy spinning over how he had been exiled from a home he had shed sweat, blood and tears over for all his life. Should he be surprised, though? From the moment Lord Borel had raised him up from one of the many unwanted, faceless orphans that clogged up the Brume, Aymeric had always had to viciously fight and defend his place in a world that was determined to shut him out, had always had to dig his heels in so he wasn’t tossed aside. No one had believed he would amount to anything more than a low-rank knight – and even then, that had been considered too good for a bastard like him. But he had proven them wrong – had forced them to look at him and admit he was better than his peers who came from good stock.

That did not come from being passive and earnest. Aymeric had to be more ruthless, more calculating and smarter and stronger and more skilled to achieve his goals. He had crushed more than a few noble hopefuls under his heel to claw his way into the position of Lord Commander, and while he was eventually, grudgingly, acknowledged… he was never accepted.

He’d gotten complacent, he realised. He thought things had changed enough that he could relax into a position he made himself and not worry about having to continuously prove his worth to remain there. He was elected! They wanted him there! They wanted him there!

Hah. What a lie he told himself.

When he reached home, he stood in the front hallway for a long while, feeling adrift. He should start getting his affairs in order. He needed to see if he could transfer his funds from the Ishgardian bank to whatever the equivalent was in Kugane, he needed to find which ports directly travelled to Kugane, he needed to pack and what was he going to do with this house? Should he place everything in storage? Last he heard the diplomatic mission in Kugane was a three year posting, but what if they just continuously renewed his place there? He’d never come home and then what? There was so much to consider in so short a time – transporting his belongings would have to be done the slow way, by ship, even if he possessed just enough anima and aetherical control to teleport to Kugane. Though it took a lot out of him and he had to take a day to sleep it off and-

Aymeric closed his eyes and stopped his thoughts, taking a deep, long breath.

…

He couldn’t believe he had been exiled.

Realising he wasn’t going to get anything done, Aymeric sat down on the bottom step of his stairwell and stared at his hands. If this had happened differently, if this had been a choice of his, he knew he would be excited and eager to carry out a diplomatic mission in a foreign country. But it wasn’t his choice. It was a thinly veiled rejection, of the Houses coming together and saying ‘thanks for everything but we don’t want you here anymore so go be someone else’s problem’, and that…

That really hurt.

Aymeric gently prodded that hurt for a moment and sighed. It sounded childish even to him. No doubt there were more than a few who genuinely thought he was the best man for the job, who probably thought he’d be overjoyed at such a posting, but emotions rarely took logic into consideration, so he was left with a throat-clenching, chest-tightening ache that he had to breathe through slowly.

He’d get over it, he told himself as he rubbed roughly at his face. He always got over it. He just needed to think how this would be a delightful change of pace, and how it opened so many new opportunities and experiences for him. He would enjoy it, the initial pain of sorting his admin out aside, and it might, potentially, mean more time with Aza-

-shit. Aza. Aza hated Kugane.

It felt like a stone had dropped hard into the bottom of his stomach. Aza refused to go to Kugane unless it was absolutely vital for work or to fulfil a favour for a friend. If Aymeric was trapped there full time, would Aza go against his understandable and visceral hatred of the place to visit him? Even if he did, would Aymeric even ask him of that? It seemed cruel, and he couldn’t force Aza to be somewhere he hated. He would hate it, Aza would hate it, and they’d be equally miserable.

For a very brief, desperate moment, Aymeric was actually tempted to do something drastic like commit political suicide and force the Houses to elect someone more ‘proper’… only to realise that they’d probably send him anyways as punishment for whatever he did. He anxiously stood up, paced the width of his front hallway, and sat down again, feeling a caged animal.

He should call Aza.

Forcing himself to push away his unsettled emotions and focus, he tapped at his linkpearl, reaching for his partner’s frequency. He was at Camp Dragonhead today, helping Lord Emmanellain with some task or other, so the connection should be stable enough without enduring static-

“Hello?”

“Aza,” Aymeric murmured, feeling his stomach do something very weird and potentially medically unhealthy, like it couldn’t decide whether to twist or sink, “Hello, love.”

“Aym?” Aza’s surprise was understandable. Aymeric only tended to call his linkpearl for long absences or emergencies, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he found himself incapable of finishing. He was fine, but also not. He also felt inexplicably foolish. Aza was supposed to be back by dusk, and it seemed ridiculous to call him in the middle of work simply because Aymeric’s feelings were hurt over a reassignment. It wasn’t pressing, or an emergency, and could very easily wait for that evening when Aymeric didn’t feel so raw about it.

“It’s nothing,” he said instead, “I’m sorry if I distracted you. I’ll speak to you to-”

“Bullshit,” Aza interrupted sharply, “Aym, you sound really fucking upset. What happened? Do I have to kill someone?”

“I- do not sound upset,” Aymeric said unconvincingly, because he sounded strained even to his own ears, “No one needs to be killed either.” Unless Aza was willing to eliminate the entirety of Ishgard’s government, that is.

(Terrifyingly, Aymeric knew Aza would do that, for him, but it was best not to dwell on those things)

“You sure?” Aza’s tone gentled, “C’mon, tell me what’s wrong. I’m just sitting here watching people fail at mining, so I can talk. You won’t be bothering me.”

Fail at mining? “How can you fail at mining?”

“Easily, if you’re a Camp Dragonhead knight, apparently. They keep fucking up the extraction of darksteel,” Aza sighed, “Amateurs, honestly. I’m gonna wait for a few hours before putting them out of their misery.”

Aymeric was half-tempted to ask about how one exactly ‘fucked up the extraction of darksteel’, but that would be procrastinating and both of them knew it. Aza would indulge him, but Aymeric really shouldn’t try talking circles about this. He took a moment.

Aza patiently waited. On his end he could hear the soft crackle of the aether connection, distant, muffled shouts and the howl of a strong wind.

“… I’m… I’m no longer the Speaker of the House of Lords,” Aymeric finally said, surprised at how much it hurt to say that aloud. It was more real when he actually said and acknowledged it.

“You’re… how?” Aza gasped, “I thought you had another two months!”

“It seems,” Aymeric muttered, his voice brittle, “That the Houses unanimously agreed that I would be better served in Kugane as Ishgard’s representative in the Eorzean Alliance’s embassy.”

“They’re kicking you out of Ishgard!?” Aza hissed, understanding immediately, “They can’t do that! You’re the reason their government isn’t a steaming pile of shit right now! You single-handedly-”

“I cannot claim all the credit for Ishgard’s recent successes,” Aymeric said tiredly, “I’m not that arrogant to think the government revolves around me. No, I…” he paused and then continued with a conviction he didn’t feel, “I have fulfilled my purpose here, and can… do more in Kugane. It’s fine. It’s a prestigious position to have and they clearly think I can do well in it. It… it will go well.”

“…” Aza sighed, “Aym, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Aymeric felt awful. He wanted this conversation face-to-face. He should have waited, “I’m not lying.”

“You are,” Aza said firmly, “You’re upset, so be upset. Why else did you call me? C’mon.”

“To give you the good news?” Aymeric croaked out.

“You didn’t even try to sound sincere then,” Aza said, unimpressed, “Look, I’ll come home right now-”

“You hate Kugane,” Aymeric blurted.

“What?”

“You hate Kugane,” Aymeric repeated, “So, if I’m there… you-”

“Gods, Aym,” Aza sounded like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell at him, “Yeah, I hate it, but… shit. I won’t let that stop me from visiting you or hogging your blankets. You’ll have to pry me out of your bed almost every morning, same as usual.”

“But,” Aymeric began and… faltered, because that part of Aza’s past was always a taboo subject, “Your history…”

“Was over twenty years ago,” Aza murmured so quietly Aymeric almost didn’t hear him, “I… I’ll be okay. For you, I’ll be okay. I mean, try to have your living quarters as Eorzean as possible and don’t start dressing like a Doman, but… yeah, it’ll be fine.”

Aymeric wavered, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Aza sounded like he was smiling, “You’re totally worth a bit of discomfort, handsome. You just gotta be extra distracting whenever I visit, okay?”

“Easily done,” Aymeric said with unspeakable relief. That was one burden eased from his shoulders, at least.

“Was that the only thing that was upsetting you?”

Aymeric hesitated, but confessed, “No. I’m… there is more.”

“Okay,” Aza’s voice was gentle, “Let me show these guys how to mine, and I’ll be home within the hour so we can talk properly, alright?”

“Alright,” Aymeric almost whispered, “Don’t needlessly rush. I can wait.”

“Pfft. No, you can’t. You’re more important to me than a bunch of stupid rocks. Go make your birch tea shit and go relax. I’ll be with you soon.”

“It’s not ‘birch tea shit’,” Aymeric grumbled, “It’s-”

“Love you, handsome!” Aza cut over him cheerily, and made a noisy kissing noise down the line, “Talk to you soon!”

“Aza-”

‘Click!’

Aymeric lowered his fingers from the linkpearl at that rather rude hang up and sat there for a moment. He felt, surprisingly, a little better. The hurt was beginning to slowly give way to simmering, ugly resentment and indignation, but Aymeric put a lid on that for when Aza came home and stood up.

He still felt adrift. He still felt as stunned as if he’d just taken a knife to the back, but… at least he knew Aza would still be with him, every step of the way. And he’d recover from this. He always bounced back from shit like this, from people determined to declaw him and render him harmless. He just needed to brush the dust off his more… ruthless tendencies.

Deep breath. Exhale.

Good.

With his head lifted high, Aymeric made for the kitchens to make his ‘birch tea shit’, to prepare for his new political battlefield.