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Save for Minfilia on occasion, Moro’a had never seen someone quite so happy to see him. The very air seemed to sparkle from the force of Lord Haurchefant’s enthusiasm as the garrison commander abruptly rose from his chair to greet him. “Moro’a! ‘Tis been far too long, my friend! Whatever have you come here for?”
Moro’a blinked, astonished by the man’s exuberance. He was practically leaning over his desk; a second more passed between them before Lord Haurchefant caught himself. “But ah, my manners…please, tell me the reason for your visit, that you might sooner make yourself comfortable. The winds have been unforgiving of late, even more so than usual,” he adjusted, favouring Moro’a with an effusive smile.
Glad as he was to see the friendly Ishgardian again, Moro’a found it difficult to meet Lord Haurchefant’s intense energy – it was like staring into the sun. “I’m fine, thank you,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound cold by comparison. “Actually, I came here to ask about the shipment bound for Revenant’s Toll….”
He began to explain the incident with the frontier hands, at which Lord Haurchefant immediately grew more serious. The commander was aware of what had transpired, yes, and eagerly shared whatever information he could with him, including that of the heretics’ mysterious leader, “Iceheart”. Furthermore, scouts had spotted more heretics than usual to the west from Dragonhead. “A visit to Whitebrim Front may bring you the answers you seek,” Lord Haurchefant suggested thoughtfully, looking once more at Moro’a. “Will you brave the snows, knowing what implacable foes may lie in wait?”
The commander’s words had an avid tone, as though he were issuing a challenge. Moro’a wasn’t one to back down from a bit of danger, and so he nodded. The simplicity of his response only seemed to stoke the flames of Lord Haurchefant’s enthusiasm further. “Splendid!” he cried, raising both of his arms as he spoke before bringing back his right arm into a fist. “Truly, I could not wish for a finer ally. You have done much for House Fortemps in the past, and I have no doubt but that I shall have cause to celebrate your deeds again ere long.”
Before Moro’a could respond, the commander tilted his head to the side, and his expression shifted to something…playful. Sly even. His eyes drifted downward, and then back up again. “Should you learn aught of value, pray return to me forthwith to share the news. And if you find yourself set upon by the cold…perhaps afterwards, we might move to someplace warmer?”
“I…beg your pardon?” Moro’a was surprised he could speak, given the ringing in his ears as he processed the commander’s words. Was he flirting with him? Right now, in front of his subordinates? More astonishing, however, was how no one else in the room seemed to bat an eyelid at their leader’s forwardness – on either side of them, Corentiaux absentmindedly picked at a spot on his glove, while Yaelle politely looked away, pretending she hadn’t heard a thing. Does he do this with every adventurer he likes?
But Lord Haurchefant seemed to pick up on his lack of interest at that moment. “Worry not, Moro’a. T’was merely a suggestion, and one you have every right to refuse,” he assured him. Though that meant he wasn’t denying what he had suggested, either. “Go, my friend. May Halone bless your steps.”
Moro’a thanked him as calmly as he could, before turning around and exiting through the doors in measured, mechanical steps. The immediate, freezing bite of Coerthas’s cold on his cheeks told him they were burning, unmistakably so, and as the doors closed shut, his face found its way into the palm of his hand.
“Lover be kind,” he murmured to himself.