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Seventh Astral Era. Eighth year. Twenty-fourth sun of the third astral moon.
Today I returned to Camp Dragonhead. I did not remember that the cold felt so bad on me. When I appeared there, my fingers froze. If I wanted to go to my appointment, I would have to ask for more appropriate attire. Spending all this time in Ala Mhigo has made me to like the heat more. That's why I went to talk to Emmanellain. He was glad to see me, and we ended up talking in the heat of the fire. Behind his desk is a copy of the portrait I have in my own apartment. It was the first thing I saw when I entered. Emma, whom I consider my brother, knew it instantly. Of course, I did not expect Haurchefant’s face so suddenly. That's why I appreciated the conversation.
Later Emma lent me a coat that was in a closet, the only one of my size, and appropriate to my status quo. Only by smelling it I did know who it had belonged to. Now, as I write it down, I'm wearing it. It's amazing how the smell is so intense, even inside his room.
When I went to the place of my appointment, I did it in my black chocobo. He is accustomed to the cold. The chocobo approached me to mount it and guided me to where his first owner lies.
As a bard, words are my art, but right now I find it hard to pick up my feather quill and write those words. But a promise is a promise, and all my memories must be written here, with truths, sorrows, and happiness.
When I reached the highest point, the sky seemed to clear and Ishgard, as beautiful as it is, appeared in front of me, reminding me of my warm childhood between the city and Dravania, and my return to Ishgard, with all the things that happened there. As if the Twelve were laughing at me, something seemed to shine near The Vault where everything happened. My legs were weakening, and they had only done it when they mentioned Nidhogg again a few months ago.
A few steps away I found Francel coming back, with his little face red. I can’t tell if it was because the cold or the sadness of being back in that grave a year later. Without being able to avoid it, we throw ourselves into each other's arms and we stay there, sharing heat and pain. He told me “It never gets easier, does it?”, and I replied that if it hurts, it is because it is important. We both knew what that hero meant to us. And no, a year later his death is still not easy to overcome.
Summer did not warmer Coerthas, and my heart, who stayed alone a summer day like today a year ago, will not find that warmth it had when I was seeing him smile. I knelt before his grave. “Haurchefant Greystone. Until then, my friend”, says the ice-covered grave. Those were his last words, or those that I said they were. His true last words I keep for myself, because after what I've been through, I've become selfish. Being a Warrior of Light only entails losses and pain. Little by little my heart freezes, like Ishgard. I kill in cold blood, I liberate cities, I save people, I defeat gods. And yet, I only lose my loved ones. I do not mean by this that I don’t like my work, but...
I miss you, Haurchefant. I miss your contextless comments. I miss those glances that went through rooms in boring meetings where Aymeric stayed talking to himself. I miss sharing sleepless nights with you because you want to listen to my adventures. I miss you when you showed me excited the city where I had been raised as if you were the one who lived there since you were born. I miss that conversations under the sheets where I told you my tragic past and you listened to me meanwhile you caressed my hair. But above all, I miss you saying you're a bastard as if it were a prize. Because you, Haurchefant Greystone, Hero of Ishgard, savior of the Warrior of Light, you, you are the greatest prize I have ever had.
His broken frozen shield is set to the stone of the grave. When I laid my hand on the tombstone, the palm of my hand stuck, and feeling the burning pain of the ice made me realize that I was crying. The tears did not take long to freeze, it got colder and colder, or so it seemed to me. I ended up hugging the tombstone. I, Cedric De Tyr, Warrior of Light, ended up trembling like a baby to a cold stone, on the frozen ground where the body of my beloved rests. I am aware now, that I don’t want to be remembered as Cedric the Liberator or Cedric the Savior of Eorzea neither Cedric of the True Autumn. At that moment I want to be Cedric of the Silver Fuller. I want us to be remembered together. You, who gave your life for me, you should be the one who endure in the following ages, you, my dear Haurchefant.
It was thanks to the horn announcing that the doors of the camp were going to close when I regained consciousness and separated from the grave. Completely frozen I came back, and nobody questioned my appearance. I went back to the room where I’m writing this, where you received me when I had to flee from Ul'dah, and you were the first to believe me when I confessed that I had nothing to do with the Sultana's murder. You, who offered me shelter, chocolate, and smiles. Now this shelter is empty, the chocolate is not so sweet and your smiles... Your smiles have gone away forever, although, as a good friend told me, a smile better suits a hero.
And that's how I will remembering you. Smiling at me as you begin one of your explorations in Ishgard, and I smiling you back because I'm not the only hero here that anyone should remember.
Cedric D'Tyr