Chapter Text
When Ser Aymeric arrived at the edge of the mysterious forest of legend and his horse neighed at the sight of the trees, he could not help but recall the words of the soothsayer he had come across in the previous village. The ancient, tiny, and bent Hyuran woman had had a hat as tall and wide as herself, and she had been leaning on a staff at the end of which, or so Aymeric could have sworn, had been a hand which had been flipping onlookers off. The staff, as well as her general air, had told everyone that she did not give a damn about what they thought of her.
“Heed my words, shiny ser knight, and steer clear of that forest,” the old woman had croaked at Aymeric. “Naught but trouble awaits you there.”
“I thank you for your well-meaning counsel, madam, but I will not be easily cowed. I must needs carry onwards with my journey which takes me into those woods,” Aymeric had replied. “My mission is of utmost importance to the citizens of Ishgard who I have sworn to protect.”
She had huffed at him in – he reckoned – a most undignified fashion not becoming of a person of her advanced years. “Fine, do what you wish, boy, what do I care? The young fools nowadays have no manners and no appreciation for the people trying to save their sorry lives and tight tushies,” she had muttered, making him blush at the comment concerning his… firm behind. He had spent a moment pondering what might be the correct way to respond when one complimented your rear but decided that there likely existed no widely accepted etiquette about such matters – he certainly had not encountered one during his studies on chivalry. Mayhap none of the churchly authors had considered that such a situation would ever arise. Or maybe, and Aymeric had suspected this to be the case, most knights just knew things like that without being told. He had made a mental note to consult Estinien upon his return.
Aymeric returned to the present and touched his heels to the sides of his steed and made it step along the forest path. The scenery surrounding him was not what he would have imagined a cursed forest to be. Instead of the gloomy, ghastly, and ghostly shapes of disformed, lightning-struck conifers, he was surrounded by deciduous trees in full, lush greenery. Sunlight passed through the leaves in varying degrees, creating a veritable artwork between him and the heavens as well as on the ground upon which his horse was treading. Birds sang their arias deep in the forest and something small and furry rustled happily about its business in the plush undergrowth. A gentle breeze played with the branches, leaves, and Aymeric’s hair and clothes. He felt as if the wind was taking shape around him, grazing his arms like an embrace, tickling his neck, and whispering in his ears.
“Hear,” the wind said.
Aymeric gasped and pulled his horse to a sudden stop, making it prance anxiously in place. He looked frantically around but saw no one – no human, no animal, no will-o’-whisp. He must needs have imagined it because of all the naysayers’ warnings. He told his horse to move on and chided himself for allowing such fanciful tales to affect him, a Temple Knight of Ishgard. He knew better than to be taken in by folk tales and fairy stories. Should he indeed encounter something that would threaten the success of his mission, he had the skills and the weapons to oppose it and Halone would be his shield, should his talents prove lacking. Breath by breath, his heartbeat settled down to its normal rate and he closed his eyes to breathe in the marvelous scent of the fresh forest.
“Feel,” the wind moaned into his ear, and he felt as if someone had licked his neck right under his ear.
His eyes shot wide open, and he swatted his neck out of reflex, only to find naught there to explain the unusual feeling, not even an insect. Shivers ran up and down his spine and he again looked around. Surely there had to be someone out there somewhere, mayhap a corrupt mage, a wicked wizard, or a cursed voidsent who had made this picturesque forest into their lair and was now defending it against an unwanted intruder? Aymeric knew better than to think that he had imagined this. The first one he might have but two similar occurrences needed a better explanation than simply “a case of nerves.” With what was he dealing? What was touching him and whispering to him? Was it a person, a spirit, a beast, or an entity of a different kind entirely? They clearly wanted to be heard and felt by him but for what purpose? What was he supposed to feel besides tense?
“Think,” the wind answered his inner query and blew suggestively into his ear, making him shudder.
Aymeric nodded to himself. He must needs think things through with a clear mind to figure out what was going on. What was it that people had told him about this forest…? Some had spoken of curses, others of legends. The old soothsayer had mentioned trouble. But that was only the locals. He had heard of this forest before, long ago, as a child. His nurse had told him stories of the ‘Woods Where Hope Lived,’ as he recalled it.
“’Tis a place where bad men vanish but from which good men return with heavy hearts,” she had told him.
“Why are their hearts heavy? Do they return with treasure?” little Aymeric had inquired with stars in his eyes.
The woman had been pensive for a minute. “Mayhap a kind of treasure but not one you can sell, wee Aymeric. Hope doesn’t give you gil – it gives you something to look forward to: a future. And that is much more valuable than any treasure chest, no matter how bountiful.”
Aymeric returned from his revery and sighed. He could use a future, as well as hope. The war between man and dragon was in an unusually bloody stage; walls and roofs were being reinforced, sparring no more felt like playing at being warriors, and fresh widows, widowers, and orphans were learning to live with gaping holes in their hearts. The citizens of Ishgard were quickly forgetting how to smile and be merry amongst the tragedies surrounding them. Such was the despair that was taking hold of his beloved home, and which had spurred him to embark on this journey.
Throughout the rest of the day, Aymeric kept hearing the same whispers. ‘Twas always one of those three words, naught else. Those words and the – dare he say “caressing” – touch of the breeze. Little by little, he got used to it and even began to look forward to it and expect it. He felt as if he was accompanied by a caring, touchy-feely comrade who was keen on murmuring their secrets into his eagerly waiting ears. The forest did not feel cursed to him but as though it contained an unsolved mystery or mayhap a puzzle waiting to be solved in order to lead him to an invaluable treasure.
Night fell in its inevitable way, forcing Aymeric to find a spot in which he could camp. He heard the babbling of a brook and followed the sound to a small clearing next to a small pool in a thin stream. He dismounted and stretched his aching limbs before dressing his horse down, giving it some treats, and leaving it to feed itself from the forest’s plentiful offerings. He made sure the water from the brook was clean and drank some as an accompaniment to the dried pieces of meat he still had with him. Soon they would run out and he would either need to hunt or live out of what he could gather from the forest.
Aymeric sat on the soft grass and leaned against a sturdy tree trunk to look at the starry sky which was visible through a hollow in the branches. The crescent moon was surrounded by innumerable stars and the sky was without a single cloud to cover its awe-inspiring beauty. Such a firmament made a man feel small and insignificant and his squabbles petty and childish. What was the point of war and bloodshed when you could instead be looking at the natural marvels that existed all around you without your slightest input? Naught indeed…
“Hear. Feel. Think,” the wind whispered, as if to agree with him, and he felt the gust circle him, play with his hair and clothes, and lay the slightest of kisses on his cheek. He blushed and raised a hand to the cheek on which he had felt the touch. The breeze rose again, this time brushing his hair off his forehead and then diving into his shirt through its loose collar. It made the light fabric dance on him, caressing his body in an almost titillating way before he felt the cool air sweep his nipples. The feeling made them stand up and small charges of warmth and electricity took flight under his skin and ran all over him, making him shiver, but not from cold. Aymeric’s blush deepened, and his breathing turned shallow. Had he truly been without the touch of a woman for so long that he was being turned on by the wind?! Halone forgive him for his lecherous mind!
“Hear, feel, think,” the wind repeated, but this time it sounded different. It sounded like the voice of a woman, one with a deep and inspiring color to her speech.
Aymeric saw movement from the corner of his eye and looked towards it. He could barely believe what his eyes were telling him and rubbed them just to be sure that he was neither asleep nor hallucinating because of his libidinous state of mind. But no – the view remained the same even after such procedures.
A woman was walking slowly towards him. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, so beautiful in fact that her appearance made her seem ethereal, divine, out of this world. Her large eyes were shining the luminous blue of crystal or sky on a perfect summer day. Her face was strikingly oval and without wrinkle or blemish. Her slightly smiling, red lips were full and inviting. Her hair was thick, wavy, white, and long; so long that ‘twas covering her bounteous bosom and pleasantly round hips. To be more precise, her hair was the only thing covering her body for, as far as Aymeric could tell, she was wearing naught but that smile. Aether was swirling about her in a visible form, giving her a light-blue, whole-body halo.
Aymeric knew without a doubt that he was in the presence of divinity. He scampered to kneel in front of this vision who stopped moving when she reached him.
“I am yours to command, Halone,” he said while staring at her bare feet. They, too, were without imperfection.
“How unfortunate for me then that I am not Halone,” she replied, her remarkable voice hinting of no small amount of amusement.
“I beg your pardon if I have given offence by assuming erroneously,” Aymeric answered without raising his gaze. He knew his place – the priests had made certain of that.
“I am not offended,” she stated to his relief. “Not unless thou keep declining to look upon me with thy exquisite eyes. Am I truly as hideous as that to thy discerning gaze, Aymeric de Borel?”
Aymeric gasped in surprise when he learned that she knew his name, although he ought not have. One should expect a divine being to know one’s name, no? He raised his gaze slowly along her stimulating form, pausing – to his shame – for a second or two at her generous chest before moving onwards until he met her eyes. The expression in them was genial if a little mischievous and allowed him to breathe a tad easier.
She smiled at him. “Much better, my pet.”
Aymeric shivered. He knew he should have been troubled and afraid to hear her call him that, but he was not. Instead… he was indisputably aroused.
“I know why thou hast come to my forest, ser knight,” she said in a low voice and reached her hand to caress Aymeric’s face. He did not dare to move a muscle, but he could not help the tingling sensation of excitement her slight touch gave him, the hardening of his nipples, or the blood rushing… down south. He wondered what she would think of the widening of his pupils into which she was fixedly staring with that enigmatic smile adorning her stunning visage.
“Your forest, your grace?” he croaked, discovering how dry his throat had turned all of a sudden.
“Aye, my forest, valiant knight of Ishgard,” she confirmed. He felt as if her smooth voice was stroking him, and he fought down the urge to tremble with yearning. “Thou may call me… Hydaelyn.”