(no subject)

[mostheavenly]

He wonders if this was inevitable, in the end.

In certain ways, he's always fought to be "above" politics, not in the sense of not using them, but in the sense of not being used by them. He's made his own name for himself, risen up in such a way that he's been beyond reproach. Certainly, the whispers have followed him, about who and what he is, about him receiving special favors for it. But if anything in his life has been given to him due to an accident of birth, he's done everything in his power to earn it, to be worthy of it, to be beyond the reproach that people so want to give. He's never been sure if he's wholly succeeded, but no one ever raises any objections as he rises higher and higher, until he's arguably the second most important person in the realm and certainly in the top few. There are whispers, of course, of him taking the Archbishop's seat eventually and most of them positive in nature.

Not bad for a bastard, he supposes. It's a position that has been hard won and a small bit hard kept in that he must keep one step ahead of the politics of the realm, but no hard kept than any other in Ishgard. He's never really considered it to be unassailable, by any means, but he's also rarely felt as though it were in danger.

And then comes the Empire, in numbers unexpected and on the heels of a surge of dragon activity. A war on two fronts, when they'd scarcely be able to handle a war on one with any chance of success and, in light of the oncoming dragons, a bit of negotiation was in order. And suddenly everyone who had previously been dismissive of who, exactly, could lay claim to Aymeric's parentage was now clamoring for the truth.

There are no princes in Ishgard. Truthfully, it should have been a son or daughter of one of the four houses. But once the seeds were sown, opinions swiftly turned, and despite some small protestations on the part of a few concerned parties, it had been decided all too quickly and the orders came from the Archbishop himself. Exile was an option, he supposed, and he couldn't lie and say he hadn't considered it. But ultimately, if this would even buy Ishgard some time, it was worth it, and if that time could be used to turn the tides of battle-- either against the dragons or the Empire-- even better.

And so here he was, standing on an observation deck on an airship, looking out into Garlemald. His... home, now, he supposes. The thought makes something turn over in his stomach, but he doesn't allow it to reach his face, though perhaps his hand tenses the slightest bit on the railing. They would be landing shortly, he knew, and the trial was just beginning.

Comments

[emet_sulk]

If it is any small comfort to the Ishgardian, the mountains of Ilsabard are no less frigid than the sweeping tundra Coerthas has become in the wake of the Seventh Calamity.

The airship touches down with little fanfare, a puny thing compared to the warships one would no doubt have seen coming in. Where Ishgard is hewn from austere spires of stone and mortar, Garlemald achieves the same with dark steel and rivets. Harsh, artificial lights illuminate the streets when night falls - a far cry from the soft aether lamps found in the city-states - whilst the stench of ceruluem hovers around its exposed engines. It gives a different sort of headache to that which is experienced by newcomers in the aether-rich land of Eorzea. In time however, as with all things, one quickly grows accustomed to the smell.

Garlemald is chilly during all but the warmest part of the year, yet its people are not all cold. That said, the military detail sent to receive Aymeric are certainly close-mouthed, but a good soldier does not rise through the ranks by having a loose tongue. It is mayhap a small insult that the emperor does not come in person to greet him.

"Aymeric de Borel, His Radiance awaits you at the imperial palace," one of the men informs him as he steps off the airship. The squad's commander, presumably. It is worth noting that whilst they have the third eye of a pureblood Garlean, their underlings are clearly a mix of other Eorzean races.

[mostheavenly]

If it is an insult, it's not one Aymeric particularly takes to heart. It has always seemed to him that powerful men rarely leave their seats of power, sending their armies to bring others into their domain. After all, if the Emperor had come to Ishgard, he has no doubt it would have been him receiving him at the docks, along with members of the Heaven's Ward, not the Archbishop himself.

He does have to admit, however, to a bit of disappointment, if only because his curiosity must wait that much longer. Neither of which he shows in any way, certainly, but it has never been his way to deny himself from feeling something, only to deny others access to those feelings.

It is a bit odd, to be addressed without any of his titles, something that does show in a very slight lift of his eyebrows, a tiny widening of his eyes. Oddly, he... can't say he wholly minds nor, he decides after that initial shock, is it unexpected. Still, it does catch him wholly off-guard.

He looks back at the ship behind them. There's a frankly ridiculous amount of luggage he's been pressed into taking with him, a barely unspoken desire of the state to showcase both Ishgardian wealth and culture, as though he would doggedly continue to dress in a manner befitting a noble in his homeland. He has a similar curiosity about whether or not he will be allowed to keep it, but beyond practical concerns, such as making certain he has a good coat, he doesn't particularly care if he never sees any of it again.

He decides not to ask about it's fate, at any rate, and turns back to the commander with an incline of his head,

"Of course. I look forward to our meeting." It's an easy matter to fall into step with whatever security detail has been sent to deliver him, but he does permit himself to look around as they walk, taking in the streets, the alien nature of the place. Seeing the other, mostly familiar, races conscripted into the army but not allowed to rise is more discomforting than he'd like. Still, he's also not ignorant to the fact that Ishgard is really no different.

[emet_sulk]

Seeing the Ishgardian's glance towards the ship's cargo, the man reassures him, "Your possessions will be transported directly to your quarters." A sharp snap of the fingers spurs the workers hovering in the background. The quickness with which they leap to action almost suggests they had been waiting for permission to begin. Again, there is not a single pureblood Garlean to be seen amongst them.

Aymeric gets little time to stare at them though, as he is directed to fall in amongst the soldiers. The officer assumes their position at the head of the formation and so begins their brisk march to the imperial palace.

This part, at least, must have been planned, for the walk to the palace affords Aymeric the chance to take in the city from the street-level. Besides the regular patrols of magitek units along the steel roads, the citizens of Garlemald go about their daily business as any other people would. There are shops, communal areas, and entertainment venues closer to the heart of the capital, with domiciles no doubt sprawling further out. But as they move away from the centre and up towards the palace, the buildings because more uniform and severe: various institutes dedicated to military use, whether for research or simply to house the men and women which comprise the impressive Garlean army. Foot patrols become more frequent, all highly disciplined through long routine.

At long last, they reach their destination. It only takes a little while longer to pass by the various security checkpoints before Aymeric and his escort detail are allowed inside.

The interior of the palace, whilst grand and imposing in design, is not ostentatious. The hallways are lined with a deep red carpet and banners bearing the empire's motif hang all throughout. In keeping with the city's militaristic leanings, adornments are few and far between. A painting here, a trophy there - all taken from various conquests and all in dedication to Garlemald's first emperor: Solus zos Galvus.

Before they reach the imperial throne room, they are met by another officer. One with higher authority, if their unique armour is anything to go by. A woman as well, judging by the voice issuing from her helmet.

"Ser Aymeric de Borel?" she asks sharply.

[mostheavenly]

Oddly, the decorations do more to set him ever so slightly at ease than they are discomforting. He's at home with the military and the austere-- for all that Ishgard attempts to gild all of her imposing stonework, it is still a nation built entirely on and for war and he has been a soldier since he could hold a sword. Not that he's ever felt out of place in the more ostentatious as well, but he can't help but feel that, perhaps, he's actually oddly suited to this role. Just imagining what one of the sons or daughters of House Dzemael, for example, might be feeling right now and how they might express that only gives more weight to the feeling.

He watches the security proceedings with interest. He has no plans nor current desires to put any of the security here to the test (that they have let him keep his sword surprised him until he realized that it was pointed, a reminder that everyone expects him to be on his best behavior and any sort of assault is clearly futile, besides) but it's always good to have information, regardless of whether he finds a use for it.

He can't stop himself from coming a little bit to attention when the woman speaks in that tone, still a soldier to the core, even though he's been the issuer of that kind of speech more than the receiver as of late. Still...

I don't know who else I could possibly be. Were you expecting some other Ishgardian bastard?

He thinks it, but only bows his head slightly into a nod. There's a whole speech he's been instructed to give by the Archbishop, about how he's an envoy of Ishgard, who sends her regards and hopes to stay in the Empire's good graces through this gesture of ultimate peace, etc etc, which has been dutifully memorized and which he now throws completely out the window. What are they going to do to him now, anyway? It's very clear that the words are wasted here and would only serve to make this entire farce even more ridiculous. He's little more than a political prisoner at this point.

"Indeed," he says, simply, with the nod. It's a perfunctory answer to a perfunctory question.

[emet_sulk]

"Hmph." The helmet prevents the woman's facial expression from being read but one can almost hear the sneer. Her gaze shifts to the squad which had escorted Aymeric here and gestures. "You may return to your duties."

The officer salutes, as does the rest of his squad a second later. The woman jerks her head towards the towering doors leading to the main throne room after the squad are well on their way.

"Draw steel against His Radiance and I will not hesitate to put mine through your ribs," she warns harshly. "We do not bow or scrape to our superiors here but you will afford him respect."

After a pause to see that he understands, she turns to push the doors. They swing open slowly and with nary a creak, something which seems to annoy the woman for she turns to one of the two guards standing at attention by the doors and snaps, "Find whoever oiled the hinges."

The guard salutes and starts speaking quickly but quietly into an earpiece. The woman then marches inward, clearly expecting Aymeric to follow.

The room is, as expected, cavernous. A long rug leads straight to a dais, on either side of which stand a platoon of soldiers. A far grander welcome than the one at the airship landing. Up the short flight of steps, the imperial throne sits, and on the throne itself...

"Ser Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, Your Radiance!" the woman announces once they pass the soldiers and halt at the foot of the stairs. She pitches her voice to reach the throne above them.

The man seated on the throne leans forward slightly, golden eyes piercing and sharp. An elaborate helm sits on his crown - the only difference between the portraits seen on the way here and the man present now.

[mostheavenly]

"It had not crossed my mind to do otherwise," his tone is very mild, matter of fact, more a reassurance than a rebuttal. He wonders what kind of idiot this woman takes him for, but then, wasn't he himself just counting Ishgard lucky that she had sent him rather than one of the brash and haughty children who might also have been forfeit in this way.

Or, he thinks, with a bit of wryness, one of her more noble ones.

He knows he doesn't seem ill at ease as he falls into step with her, but it's not for lack of nerves, merely that he's long since learned how to not betray them. It's second nature to hold himself upright but not tense, posture perfect and gait even without looking like it's something he's doing on purpose. It gives him time to look around and, eventually, to look at the Emperor himself.

There's something sharper about him in person, something more predatory, perhaps? He seems, for a moment, almost wholly alien and it's only years of practice that keeps a creeping feeling of dread at bay. He knows why he's here, of course. If the man is always this off-putting, he's simply going to have to get used to it, and quickly. A bit on auto-pilot, he presses one hand to his heart and bows slightly at the waist,

"The Archbishop sends his warmest regards," there's another speech here. He discards it as well, but this much is a formality expected on both sides, "And prays that you will continue to regard Ishgard and all of her children with fondness." It is said by way of introduction and he falls silent again afterwards. Composed though he is, it's impossible to keep a hint of curiosity from showing in his eyes. Everything up until this point has been all but scripted. From here on out, though, he truly has little idea what to expect. Indifference? Humiliation? Death? They only have the word of the Empire that this isn't a futile gesture to begin with.

[emet_sulk]

Oh, formalities, formalities. So tedious, yet they must be performed or else powerful personages will whinge. Solus zos Galvus' lips hook ever so slightly at the corners as he stares down at Ishgard's 'peace offering'. The ridiculous helm does not allow him to do more than offer a small, seemingly aloof nod in acknowledgement. His verbal response, however, is far more warm.

"Garlemald welcomes you, ser knight. As a symbol of the newly forged friendship between our two peoples, your arrival has been highly anticipated."

The words are chosen with care, his voice strong and commanding yet with none of the weight which more elderly statesmen carry. He's young for someone whose military accomplishments include laying claim to the entire region of Ilsabard. In fact, he's not much older than Aymeric himself. There's no doubt that he's rehearsed this speech, but what ruler doesn't when it comes to these delicate things?

The emperor continues, "We are truly fortunate to have one of Ishgard's finest leaders in our great capital. The Temple Knights will no doubt be feeling your loss most keenly." The smile he gives Aymeric this time is more like a smirk - as though he understands the political back-biting which had gone into the decision to send Aymeric to him over all the other noble sons and daughters of Ishgard's high houses. "I trust your journey here was uneventful?"

[mostheavenly]

It takes everything in him to not express surprise at the warmth of the welcome compared to everything else he's experienced. It certainly doesn't lower his guard, but with people treating him more coldly the closer he got to the Emperor, to suddenly find that he will, it seems, at least be afforded some amount of public courtesy is honestly more than he expected. It's not precisely that he thought he was marching off to his death, merely that he's acknowledged from the beginning that there is nothing to stop the Empire from either killing or imprisoning him and that they are choosing not to speaks to a wider, larger game.

(The irony that he is a pawn in such a scheme, combined with the reward for tactical survival, does not escape him.)

"They are in good hands," he addresses, first, as a bit of a reminder that there is military might in Ishgard, yet. Whether the Emperor knows that the next in line for that role may well be a Garlean matters little. "It was the decision of the Archbishop that someone with more direct military experience might be a more pleasing choice of envoy." It's a bit impersonal, considering the original proposal but he allows a very, very slight curve of his own mouth in return, "And those within the High Houses who might fit that description are known to be... impulsive." Would likely ruin this by attempting assassination, is what he means. He can't imagine any of the young lord or ladies suffering the indignity.

For himself, he just dips his head into something between a nod and a bow at the next question,

"It was quite pleasant. And much faster than I was expecting," a little flattery never goes amiss in such things. He has never seen such wonders as those of the Empire and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise, "It was intriguing, to see the land from the air. One hears stories about the vastness of the Garlean Empire, but the truth beggars belief." More flattery, but also simply the truth and under the surface a quiet admission that he knows very well how isolated he is, how alone.

[emet_sulk]

"Hah! Not only does he possess military experience but a silver tongue as well." Solus drums his fingers against the throne's arm, considering his next words. "Indeed, this would be altogether far more unpleasant were Ishgard's chosen...envoy an inexperienced lordling or heiress." Unpleasant for both parties.

Somewhat impulsively, he rises to his feet and descends the stairs. The aim, of course, is to take a closer look at the one who will be their political prisoner for an indefinite span of time. More than that: he approaches to admire the fine specimen of a man that they have chosen to send him. It's quickly obvious that Aymeric has the slight advantage of height over him (discounting the helm).

The female commanding officer by Aymeric's side seems to become more alert as the emperor draws close. The man himself does not appear to have a visible weapon, although sharp eyes may now make out a holster hanging half-hidden at his back - something he clearly expects to be good enough to defend himself with.

"Hmm..." The emperor's eyes roam up then down then back up again the once. "Whilst I've no doubt you took the opportunity to view our city on your way here, a proper tour might be in order. After all, how often is it that an outsider has the chance to become intimately familiar with our fair city?"

[mostheavenly]

Of all of the reactions he thought he might have to work to conceal within the first minute of meeting the Emperor, a blush was not one he had expected. But then, while he was committed wholly to comporting himself without any cause for reproach, whatever form that had to take, to be acknowledged and praised for it was not something he might ever have suspected as an outcome.

Combined with the other man's sudden approach and both the inspection and tone, he's suddenly quite aware of all of the other implications of him being here. It's not that he had ever forgotten, of course, but it had just been another fact, another facet of all of this, another point where he was unsure of how things would go. Another duty.

Here, it suddenly seems a lot more real.

Not that he allows any of that to change anything, of course. They didn't send him here to blush and stammer like a schoolgirl and he's not going to. The only indication is perhaps the slightest of pauses, barely noticeable, before he dips his head in another one of those bows,

"Of course. I would be most honored." It's surprisingly genuine. It's highly likely that this is another test-- dragging him from one bit of travel to the next, to see if he might protest at best and a way to show off a captured oddity at worst. He's aware that the other races are generally regarded as barbaric, little more than animals, here. But regardless of any of that, he is genuinely interested in seeing more of the city. All he's ever known is Ishgard, but the unknown has always had it's allure. And, if a place is to be his home, he cannot imagine remaining ignorant of it. He has no idea if he will be allowed to wander, or if it will be safe to even if he is, but he's never been one to stay cooped up inside the walls of state if he can help it.

[emet_sulk]

The little smile on the emperor's face widens a fraction, apparently finding humour in the response - or mayhap just the situation in general. His gaze slips to the officer beside Aymeric.

"Show our guest where his quarters are. I'm sure he would like a moment to himself before setting out again." Returning his focus to Aymeric, he continues, "Shall we say...in half a bell?"

It's not really a question.

[mostheavenly]

It's not a question, but he appreciates the courtesy of making it seem so. He dips his head again in a slight nod,

"As you wish," there's nothing at all snide about the way he says it, but it's another quiet acknowledgement of the situation, a show of acceptance without being entirely obsequious. He'll fall into step with the officer as soon as she moves to show him, but if there are other parting courtesies, he certainly won't ignore them.

He makes no move to incite conversation along the way-- the officer likely wouldn't appreciate it and he needs a moment to also steel himself to show as little reaction to whatever quarter's he's been appointed as possible, knowing that he's still being observed. He has no idea what to expect, be it overly lavish, cold and militaristic, barely more than a prison or more befitting a courtesan than a commander. It's a chance to show off the wealth of the Empire, certainly, but also a chance for him to be "put in his place", as though he weren't already aware, and though the warmer welcome has him liking his chances that at least it won't be cold beyond that there's no way to predict.

[emet_sulk]

The room they've set aside for their 'guest' is tucked away into what is clearly intended to be the more private wing of the palace, reserved for future family or consorts. They are vacant now of course - Emperor Solus had yet to choose a wife - but Aymeric's room is at the end of the corridor. It is not clear which of the unmarked doors may be the emperor's own.

Stepping inside, Aymeric will find that all of his belongings have indeed been brought to the room and left in a neat stack for him to later sort. The furnishings are minimal, in keeping with the rest of the building's decor, but what furnishings are there are lavish enough to be in keeping with its intended occupant's status. In other words: a proper, comfortable room rather than a bare cell. It even has a bathroom.

The officer does not enter with him. She merely offers a curt reminder that she will be back to collect Aymeric at the appointed time before she departs. The door shuts but does not lock - it is on the inside - finally leaving Aymeric alone.

[mostheavenly]

"Of course. Thank you," undoubtably she doesn't care if he's grateful or not, but he expresses gratitude anyway. Once he's alone, he spares a slight moment to roll his eyes over the pile of belongings and everything they represent. He's aware that it's not a given that these chambers are actually private and he's still somewhat guarded in how he looks around, what he says and does, but the silence is relaxing.

He takes some time to shed out of the outer layer of robes and armor, if only for a few short minutes, and explore his suite of rooms, but the small couch placed so that one might look out the windows draws his attention before long and he sinks down onto it. It's more of a battlefield instinct than anything else, the ability to take rest where it's offered. The heavy curtains are closed now and he makes no move to open them, but he can imagine that this would likely be nice during whatever hours there might actually be sunlight at an angle to come through them.

This is all... nice. Comfortable. He's not entirely sure what to make of that, though he's not without gratitude for it. It isn't as though he was really expecting to be thrown in a dungeon or brought immediately in for some kind of torture and death. If they had really intended something like that, after all, he feels as though they would not have even waited so much as to remove him from his borders, one he was on the ship. It's simply that he's had no idea what to expect. Being ordered about, albeit in kinder terms, was hardly something he wasn't used to at home, after all, so he sees little reason to take offense to it here. And aside from that and the one officer, they do seem inclined to treat him at worst as a foreign dignitary and he suspects much better than they tend to treat those.

It leaves a different kind of foul taste in his mouth, a reminder that the Empire has assimilated populations before, an awareness that, while Aymeric himself might have been afforded every luxury, back home, there were those in his own city who would count a lesser version of this same room he finds himself in a paradise compared to conditions in the Brume. He is beginning to understand how they do it and he doesn't like what it says about Ishgard, in return.

The thoughts do not stop him from closing his eyes, taking a moment of rest, but he's back in his light armor a few minutes before the officer comes to collect him. After a moment of consideration, he elects to not re-arm himself, leaves the weapon with his other belongings. Dignitaries in Ishgard ever traveled with their arms at the ready, but it seems rude, here, particularly presuming that it would be the Emperor himself leading their tour from the way he'd spoken.

[emet_sulk]

The officer takes him back to the throne room. It's empty now, for the platoons which had been standing at attention for Aymeric's coming have departed. Instead there is only the First Emperor himself and another officer, dressed in almost the same style of armour as the one escorting Aymeric. However, where his escort's armour is red, the one speaking with the emperor wears blue.

At the base of the dais, Solus is in quiet discussion with the second officer. He breaks off once he hears Aymeric approach however, turning with a smile on his face.

"Ahh, there you are. Hmm?" The man's eyes drop to Aymeric's waist and notes the absence of their sword. He laughs. "No weapon? I'm flattered at your trust in my men, ser."

The emperor, for his part, has added a gunblade to his personal arsenal. It is an immaculately wrought thing, sleek and deadly, and matches the elaborate attire he wears. Wearing it openly serves as a cold reminder to his enemies that he did not become emperor by being anything less than a capable and ruthless leader. Let them challenge him if they dare.

"Those who have yet to attain citizenship are barred from carrying weapons in the capital," Solus informs Aymeric as he sets off towards the main doors, beckoning for the other man to follow. The officer dressed in blue takes point whilst the red falls in behind Aymeric. Not to keep an eye on him so much as to watch the emperor's back. "You are not a citizen, but seeing as Ishgard has sent you to us in good faith, well..." A lazy flap of his hand. "You are an exceptional case."

[mostheavenly]

"I wasn't aware such trust would be necessary," he says, and his tone is even but his eyebrows raise slightly, turning the comment slightly more pointed than he has previously been. He would not have thought to need to be armed to walk through Ishgard unless the call of dragons had been heard and he knows the Archbishop never is. But, then again, there is no faith here to place in one's leader. If the Emperor is to be revered, it is not for the power something else has vested in him.

"Should I have need to go somewhere without an escort, I will be sure to take the recommendation," and then, perhaps a bit impulsively though not without tactical thought, he adds, "I would worry our escort might be more watching me for treachery than threats from without, were I to wear it." It will gain him no favor from her, he knows, but that was immediately a lost cause to begin with. She already doesn't trust him and he doesn't blame her for it, but he would put test to the Emperor's humor.

It also lays a different groundwork, subtle and quiet, like everything in politics like this, that Aymeric isn't without a wry sense of humor. If this goes badly, he might be less likely to show it in the future, but he would at least certainly like to believe they didn't send him to be a dull companion, quietly grateful and calm and nothing else whatsoever. He'd personally find someone like that an insult.

[emet_sulk]

The woman in red certainly does glower at him. The weight of her glare can almost be felt whilst Solus laughs again. It's abundantly clear that while the emperor does possess a reasonable sense of humour, his laughter is that of one who is forced to find it where they can.

"Hah! They take my safety quite personally. Ours is a harsh land and kindness does not feed the hungering masses." His stride does not pause. Firm, purposeful, back straight: the very image of a leader who must rule a nation with an iron fist. It almost looks natural. "We do not believe there are gods to save us here. None lifted a hand to give us succor in our time of need, and so we take it for ourselves." Solus slides a sidelong look towards Aymeric, still wearing a faint smile but his eyes - pale, cold - weighing the other man. "Even the lowest soldier may raise themselves to that of an officer with enough merit. Birth matters not here."

[mostheavenly]

There is something here, subtle cues that he's been picking up on, that suggest there is more happening at the highest level of the Empire than one might expect. He wonders if it will be a mystery he will be allowed to unravel or not, but regardless, he knows better than to pursue it here, right now, when they barely know one another. He also has to use most of his mind to pay attention to the conversation itself, the entire thing a delicate dance that he cannot stumble in.

He isn't sure what the Emperor is insinuating there-- whether he knows about his birth or whether he is disgusted at Ishgardian politics or if it is a reminder that he, himself, is being allowed to have the potential to rise here. Perhaps it is none of those things. He can't begin to fathom a correct response to that and so he leaves it in favor of the first part.

"As you know, Ishgard is a theocracy. It is hard for me to imagine what a government looks like merely with a casual supplication to the gods as the norm, much less a truly atheistic one. I dare say it will take some getting used to. I can't remember the last time I woke in my bed to anything other than the bells of early morning worship." It's said mildly enough, clear that he is more interested in seeing how this is different than debating theology.

Truthfully, he leaves that to men like his father. Not that the Temple Knights were ill-named, but while his devotion to Halone was never in doubt, he has never had any issue leaving it to better men than him to determine Her will. He can take his faith completely alone and in silence and still count himself among the faithful, he thinks. It has ever been a private matter for him anyway, the services a duty he participates in gladly as an external show of his devotion, but hardly necessary.

[emet_sulk]

The smile widens a fraction and Solus looks ahead once more. "I hope we shan't need bells to rouse you from your slumber. I'm quite fond of sleep."

He leaves the conversation at that for the nonce until they're out of the palace. The guards they pass along the way all stand swiftly at attention as their emperor passes by, only relaxing once they are well past - and even then, merely by a fraction. Outside, the sun is beginning to sink past its zenith, casting a warmer light across Garlemald. The chill in the air, however, feels the same.

Solus pauses a moment on the threshold, looking down upon his city. All of this industry is due to him. He had lifted this squabbling republic into an empire feared and reviled by its neighbours - and he has the natural abundance of ceruleum to thank for it.

"A word of caution," he says as they descend towards the city. "Whilst I have no issue with what ever prayers you may wish to utter in the privacy of your own room, my people may not look so kindly upon you beseeching the Twelve in times of need. Many have seen or at least heard of the destruction wrought by your eikons and have no wish for them to be brought here."

[mostheavenly]

"Spoken as though you had nothing to do with that outcome or opinion," he lets slip, while he's marveling over some ceruleum something or other, and though it has the discipline to come out more teasing than censure while half his brain is elsewhere, he realizes that might have been a step to far immediately on it's heels. Still, to overly react to the potential misstep is to draw attention to it, so he just looks over, continues smoothly,

"It may take some time to curb all idiomatic expression from my speech, but I can assure you, my private faith was always precisely that, even as it aligned with Ishgard's. Any public displays were what was required of me by my office and, whilst I have never resented them, it would not have been my preference. T'would be the height of foolishness to become more openly devout here." He knows he should leave it at that, that this is supposed to be making up for his misstep, not making it worse, but he's also adept at reading the room, and something makes him feel like he maybe has just a little more rope to go before he's completely hanged himself.

"Besides," his voice drops quieter, though he knows the guards can still hear of course, it's a deliberate show that his words are meant only for the Emperor, "I've little need so far to petition the Fury to intercede on anything on my behalf." He's not in distress, he means. And while that obviously isn't wholly true, after all this entire situation is delicate, with the fate of his nation in the balance, not to mention his own head, it serves as a lighter, but more heartfelt expression of gratitude than a simple thanks might.

[emet_sulk]

He merely hums in response to the jab. It's true and he won't deny it. But look at how well this common purpose has united the people - much like how those of Ishgard are united against the dragons. A pitiful, futile war. One which he supposes Garlemald is now obliged to assist with since they have entered this tenuous alliance.

Lahabrea had best hurry up his plans, he thinks with an inward sigh. He would not like to have to lose good soldiers fighting the Ishgardians' endless war.

"I am glad to hear that," he eventually responds. "Let us hope that no ill befalls you here. The Empire is still young and there yet remain pockets of malcontent insurgents in the annexed territories." A thin, wry smile towards Aymeric. "'Tis why I recommend you carry a weapon on your person at all times. 'Twould reflect terribly on me if you were to perish so soon after finding your way here."

Whilst the military installations are worthy of awe, he can't imagine such sights being terribly interesting to a foreign guest. So he strides right past the hangars with their grand airships and warmachina and instead passes into the more urban section of the capital. Here, there are a mixture of Garleans and other races going about their daily lives. Most pull aside to let the Emperor and his entourage by, the pureblood Garleans bowing their heads respectfully, the other races doing the same but with more trepidation.

As they go, he provides a running commentary of the basic layout of the city, pointing out the marketplace, landmarks, entertainment venues ("There is a wonderful acting troupe which has been making a name for itself; mayhap you would like to see a performance?"), places to eat, and also public spaces such as parks and other open areas.

[mostheavenly]

Aymeric laughs at that, can't help it, brief but genuine,

"I will endeavor to not sully your reputation with my untimely demise, then."

He looks around with undisguised interest at everything, stores and lesser magitek and people alike. He doesn't ask for a tour of any of the military complexes, but that has more to do with understanding that the Emperor might not wish him to have that knowledge than any fear of boredom. He is, in many ways, much more comfortable with the military than civilian life at this point anyway, his own private life more quiet and austere even than what's been shown on offer, here, in some ways.

He wonders, mostly absently, if he would look at the Ishgardian population differently now, were he to walk among them. There is fear here, even among those who are more respectful, but then, has he ever looked for fear in Ishgard? He doesn't believe what the Empire is doing is right and a walk through their territory isn't going to convince him, but there are always shades of grey in any kingdom and he is appreciative of the fact that it's not difficult to find them here.

And so he professes a fondness for fine dining and an ignorance of fine theatre, but an interest in learning all the same, and an appreciation for the somewhat brutal but ultimately extremely egalitarian public spaces. When they get to the marketplace, he decides to broach another potentially delicate subject, but one which he would like to know a resolution on,

"Perhaps, if it pleases you, this might be the first place I return to. The High Houses were all very insistent I bring what seems to me a full three wardrobes of clothes and nearly all of it in Ishgardian blue and emblazoned with her crest. While I am not ungrateful that I might have the opportunity to represent my homeland in any more official duties without having to worry where I might acquire suitable garments, it seems..." he thinks to choose a politic word, before realizing, for the first time in his life, he doesn't have to, for who here is going to report on him to any Ishgardian authorities, and what would any of those authorities do to him, "... idiotic to comport myself thus in my more private life. The other nobles would undoubtably prefer I make a show of ex-patriotism rather than assimilation... but they are not here."

[emet_sulk]

For the first time today, the Emperor's laughter sounds genuine. It's startled out of him and he quickly turns it into a small cough. Hearing that small break away from careful speech delights him. So there is some personality buried somewhere underneath that polite facade, he thinks in amusement. Mayhap the time they spend together will not be so dull after all.

He'd not been sure what to expect when Ishgard had chosen to send this one to him. Lahabrea tended not to care for trifling details such as the politics behind Thordan's bastard son's rise through the ranks of the Temple Knights, so that superficial information had been all he had on hand to greet them with. He had not even had a picture.

"You are free to roam wherever you please in the city," he says airily once he has control over his humour. "The news of your coming has already been disseminated to all officers so they ought not to question your presence. However, since some may not know your face..."

He holds out an expectant hand towards the officer in blue. They place a small, flat box with a hinged lid in his palm, and this he holds out to Aymeric.

"Keep this on your person at all times. Do not let anyone take it from you. Treat it with as much care as you would your blade," he says. His pale eyes bore into the other man's, deadly serious. "If it should be stolen or lost, you must inform either myself or one of these two immediately."

Inside the box, Aymeric will find a flat rectangle that is plainly derived from Allagan design. A 'key card' as it would have been known as back then. It does not do anything special when held but there are certain rooms in the imperial palace which can only be opened with this card and also identifies Aymeric himself.

[mostheavenly]

While it shows a certain amount of political infighting, that he might be sent instead of some candidates of better breeding, it certainly does seem to have been a shrewd choice in more ways than one. It's not hard to see the archbishop's game here, if nothing else. Send a military commander in, and one who has also proven themselves and able politician and smart enough to hold his tongue when needed. Who better to not immediately lose his head and potentially be able to report back on anything of military significance.

The thing that seems to have been overlooked is that Aymeric didn't rise to prominence solely through championing the causes of others with no eye to what could be done to secure things for himself. He would never have risen through the ranks at all without that instinct, not all the way to the top. A respectable position somewhere, certainly, but not Lord Commander. He's not about to forget his homeland or shirk the responsibilities he feels are necessary to her but, as he says, these other nobles don't have to live here. He is still in the careful game of figuring out what he is and is not allowed-- to do, to say, to be, here. But it is a game he intends to win, and winning does not look like merely standing around as a placid observer for the rest of his life.

He nods his acceptance of the key and takes it, securing it away in his clothing.

"I doubt I will have much need to use it out in the city, at least at first, beyond my previous request. I know little and less about societal norms here. I'd be as much like to embarrass myself as accomplish anything I might have set out to do."

[emet_sulk]

A small, careful nod of acknowledgement and Solus grows thoughtful. Mindful of how tempting a target he is when standing still overlong, he resumes walking at a leisurely pace. Having only recently, in the last few years, asserted his rule as emperor, there yet remain hostile elements who would see him dead.

"Well," he remarks, "I have talked your ear off for the better part of our stroll. 'Tis only meet that I allow you to speak. Tell me about Ishgard - I have only seen it from afar. Quite impressive wards you had upon the gates."

He is genuinely curious about the city-state, but the question serves another purpose: to see what Aymeric will speak on and what he will not. The man is clever and Solus is not a fool to believe Ishgard has truly rolled over and shown its belly to the Empire. Like as not they are biding their time, hoping Garlemald's strength will repel the dragons, before they turn upon their 'ally'.

Truthfully, he is somewhat surprised they hadn't attempted to send a noblewoman to him after the suit he'd made to them as part of his demands. Surely attempting to fix him down with a consort and child would have served them better...?

Or mayhap they suspected he would have slain them in a heartbeat if it served the empire's interests. His mouth twitches wryly at the corners. He cannot say they would have been wrong.