To her, true justice was swift, unforgiving, a sharpened blade that could slice through wrongdoing with ease. Even now, she yearned to bring it upon the vipers within U’ldah, cleave through their defenses and exact upon them twinfold the suffering they had so flippantly thrust upon her and her comrades. Just as Eithne had exacted upon the Ishgardian knights, Fray’s encouragement allowing her to swing the blade decisively, despite her inexperience.

Though Hydaelyn may be merciful, Eithne knew her justice was anything but.

What Eithne didn’t know, was that justice could quiet a man who’s boisterous laughter reverberated to her very bones, could bring him to her quarters, sharp blue eyes pleading, gloved hands pressing a missive into her own, holding them together.

"My friend, the Lord Commander has summoned you...!" His voice is intense, furtive, his usual confident posture wilted, shoulders slumped. It had been her fault for not expecting Haurchefant to seek her out first, and naive of her to think that it would have been anyone but Aymeric who would exact it. Her stalwart allies, they would denounce evildoing within their walls in the same way they had denounced Lolorito’s misdeeds.

She should have known.

Eithne is silent, her eyes searching deep within Haurchefant’s own, trying to find the accusation, the question that must have brought him here— but she finds none of it. Only concern, endless and warm, for her. She sees when he takes in the greatsword leaning against her quarters, solid and inelegant steel standing out all the more against the ornate Fortemps wallpaper, and still she finds none of it. He only moves closer to her as he opens the Lord Commander’s missive, and reads it quietly, so that none other may hear.

—————

As she heads to the Temple Knights Headquarters, Haurchefant follows. Once he had read the missive, Eithne had stormed off with nary a word, the feeling of steel against bone reverberating in her hands, the crrrack and snap of them after applying more pressure. The Lord Commander would not suffer such injustice in his halls, Fray’s words were true, but Eithne realized he would likely not tolerate it within his city proper either, as loud and reckless as she had been in her pursuit.

Eithne is eager to get the matter over with.

The only thing of concern to her right now is that Alphinaud may be implicated in the scandal. Still, Eithne knows that Aymeric’s justice was true, and he would not blame a child for the sins of their caretaker.

“I can go in with you, if you’d like.” Haurchefant says to her, once they cross the headquarters’ threshold.

The knights stare daggers into her, into them both, and Eithne can scarcely look into his eyes, her voice stuck in her throat, the fear of causing him more undue ire due to their connection enough to silence her completely.

Instead, she walks on.

She hopes the face he makes is not nearly so tragic as the one she imagines.

In his office, the Lord Commander’s expression is severe, Lucia standing alert beside him. It’s only once she is excused, the door closing behind her, that Aymeric’s eyes soften, that he allows himself to exhale in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I have received word of Temple Knights being attacked within the Tribunal.” He says gravely, in his hand yet another missive, the scrawl on it what Alphinaud had described as scribal script, its neat and tidy letters more legible to Eithne’s unpracticed eyes than Aymeric’s cursive would likely ever be. “Their attacker— A white haired woman, young, wielding a greatsword.”

Eithne doesn’t speak.

“At the end, the witnesses recalled she had two tall leoporid ears. A Viera, though they could scarcely recall the term, so rare is the sight of them.”

There is nothing to say.

“My friend—” His eyes are pleading, and for a moment she sees Haurchefant again, his shoulder slumped in the same way. “Tell me, why—”

“The Brume.” She speaks quietly, but firmly. “Did your men question the witnesses from the Brume?”

“None would come forward...” She knows what he’s about to say, and Fray seems to whisper it in her ear at the same time, her tone dripping with derision and anger. “My men, they’re not so trusted there, I had meant to—”

“So your witnesses saw a Viera running to the Tribunal, is that all? Did they speak aught of the moments before? Are their ears only open to the screams of those they deem equal?!”

“Eithne, what do you mean—”

“Those beasts, dragging a girl kicking and screaming from the Brume, and all your witnesses decry is the woman who chased after?!” She doesn’t mean for it to come out so venomously, for her anger to spill forth and scorch the space between them. She knows it is not his fault, knows he can only relay what he was told, that his ignorance is fostered, carefully constructed, by this frigid country’s barren heart.

There is silence.

She sees Aymeric’s eyes darken, and suddenly she feels as if she’s said too much.

“The Temple Knights were grievously injured.” He continues reading the missive, but Eithne can see the paper crumpling under his fingers, the sorrowful tone of his voice as he lists the men currently under the chirurgeons’ care. “Although they will all live, by Halone’s grace, they may never again wield a weapon, and will require an immediate, honorable discharge from the Lord Commander.”

She says nothing, biting down on her bottom lip, praying that Fray would not doom them both.

“My friend, we are blessed that tragedy did not befall us this time.” Aymeric sets down the papers, walks around his desk and towards her. “That no one lost their lives.”

“A blessing would imply divine intervention.” She sees him coming closer, and looks down onto the carpet to avoid his gaze. “I daresay the intercessor was—”

“Eithne.” he interrupts, as armored feet come into view, and she feels the weight of his care as his hands come to rest on her shoulders. “We shall speak no more of this. I—”

“I simply implore you— Please, should you ever find yourself in that situation again, come find me, and all shall be made right.” She hears the desperation in his voice, and knows that he is waiting for their eyes to meet, for her to see the earnestness writ plain upon his face. It is the least she can do for him. “I know your heart is true, my friend, but justice cannot—”

His voice cracks, and it is enough incentive for her to suffocate Fray’s anger until nightfall.

“I understand.” Her voice is quiet still, though its edge was worn down, softened by her friend’s sadness.

He lets his hands fall back to his side, walks himself back to the desk slowly, his shoulders burdened by something Eithne could not quite place. Was it disappointment? Did he regret bringing her in to Ishgard, did he fear that the one he’d thought a hero had been a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

“Forgive me, my friend.” His back is to her, a hand on his desk, another on his face. She can feel her eyes widening in surprise, disbelief coursing through her veins like adrenaline. “It was I who allowed such poor excuses for men into our ranks. I who vested upon them the power to oppress.”

Eithne doesn’t speak.

“Pray leave your concerns with me. I shall explain the situation, and—” He looks back at her, his lips curled into a pained smile. “I will see to it that such rabble does not continue to taint the Temple Knights’ honor.”

She can’t find the words.

Even Fray could not find it in her to laugh at his words, to mock his sincerity, even as she would chatter on throughout the night to come.