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It shouldn’t have surprised Aymeric at all that the Warrior of Light came to tend to him, but it did.
On the one hand, the Warrior of Light was known to be nothing if not selfless. Though she’d protest otherwise, she sought very little for herself, and constantly put her life on the line to help build Ishgard. She’d done so less than twenty-four bells ago at the Vault.
On the other, the Vault had cost her—had cost everyone—greatly. They’d rescued Aymeric, but the cost had been Haurchefant. One of his oldest and dearest friends.
If the Warrior of Light had never spoken to him again, he would have understood. Instead, she was here to see to his wounds. Rose took little time before rushing the chirurgeons out, leaving her to be the only caretaker.
“Here you are, I was worried I wouldn’t find you,” she put down her bag on the floor. It landed with a thud. Whatever she brought with her, it was heavy.
“Surely, there’s no need to see to me personally, is there?” Aymeric tried his best to keep his voice even. Everything was still fresh on his mind, and now that she was here, he realized he probably wasn't ready to see the Warrior of Light yet. Unfortunately, she’d made that decision for him.
”There’s plenty of need. I’m sure Ishgard’s chirurgeons are quite talented, but my mother specialized in this type of treatment. Now take your shirt off.”
“I beg your pardon?” Aymeric responded without thinking. Rose held up a jar in response.
“It’s an ointment. I need you to take your shirt off so I can apply it to your wounds.”
Aymeric sighed and did as she directed. The moment he did, he heard the Warrior of Light gasp behind him. Among other things, that was something he’d been afraid of. The wounds from his lashings were still somewhat fresh. While he knew there were many who would argue, they were still new enough to be a mark of shame.
The ointment was cool to the touch. He could feel Rose’s fingers along his back, working what magic she could. Her touch was light and gentle, the opposite of what he’d experienced in the Vault.
Aymeric wasn’t sure when the feelings started. When he first met the Warrior of Light, she’d left a poor impression on him. Their subsequent meetings hadn’t been much better and had done little but sour his impression of the Miqo’te.
But somewhere, something had shifted. His irritation had soon turned into endearment, and eventually he found himself falling for the Warrior of Light. The very same person who was now treating him, even though he had cost everyone dearly with his selfishness.
A heavy silence hung in the air as Rose continued her work.
Aymeric wondered what she thought. Did she hate him now? He wouldn’t be surprised. Was she doing this out of pity? Did she think these wounds were some kind of karma? He doubted it, but he wouldn’t blame her.
There was a lot he wanted to say. He wanted to apologize, to proliferate himself on the ground to show Rose just how sorry he was at what his foolishness had cost him. He wanted to tell her to go back to House Fortemps, so that he’d be alone nursing his pain by himself.
He couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. Instead, Rose broke the silence.
“Thank the Twelve we found you when we did. Any later, and—“ she cut herself off, but Aymeric knew what she meant.
“It would have been too late.”
Her fingers traced gentle lines on his back as she continued her work. Aymeric had seldom experienced touch in his life, but this was still something else altogether. After his time with the Heavensward, it was like an oasis in a desert.
“I have no one to blame but myself,” was his eventual response. He felt Rose stop cold behind him.
“You know that’s not true,” she snapped. It was a sudden turn from how gentle she was a moment before.
She sighed before she began working again, “That the Archbishop could order this done to anyone, much less his own son, just proves that he’s a monster. Even if he didn’t capture you then, he’d find a way to get you eventually.”
Aymeric could hear the doubt underlying her words, even though he was sure she was trying to be sincere. He couldn’t imagine how hard she was trying to hold it together now.
“Perhaps, but I was a fool to go there on my own. I all but signed my own death warrant,” he said, and immediately it hit him that it wasn’t his life that had been used to pay the price.
“I should chide you for that,” Rose had moved onto his arms, “but it would be hypocritical of me. I’d have gone after you alone if Haurchefant hadn’t stopped me.”
“Come again?”
“I—we were all quite worried when you didn’t come back. I was afraid that if we didn’t rush there, we wouldn’t make it on time,” Aymeric was turned away from Rose, but he could still hear the tears creeping into her voice, “Haurchefant insisted that I wait until we could gather reinforcements.”
Aymeric didn’t say anything. It was bad enough that he’d had to go through such torture, but his worst fear would was someone else taking the beatings in his place.
The Heavensward knew that, and they often used it against him. Aymeric would tell himself—time and time again—that they wouldn’t come after him. At least not alone. That would keep his friends and family safe. He’d pray to Halone that if someone had to suffer, it would be him and him alone.
It turned out it wasn’t Halone who’d been acting as a guard at all, it was Haurchefant. The one who’d given his life to see the Warrior of Light safe.
“Okay, it looks like we’re done,” moments later, Aymeric found his tunic back in his hands.
He thought about turning around and thanking Rose, but he stopped himself. She’d been on the verge of crying earlier, and Aymeric wanted to give her some measure of privacy.
“I have to go tomorrow, but,” he could hear Rose’s voice start to quiver, “it will need to be touched up. If—when—I return, I’ll see to it. So take care not to exacerbate any of your wounds further. And—-“
Rose touched her forehead to his back, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re okay, Aymeric. I’m glad you’re alive.”