(no subject)

[mostheavenly]

It is, as such things go, an exceedingly boring party.

Republic though Ishgard may now be, the High Houses are still technically nobility and still afforded all the pomp and circumstance that entails, so when one of the more notable eligible ladies of House Dzemael gets married, it's the social event of the year and, of course, anyone who's anyone would be directly snubbing the house and all who live there to refuse to come. Even if that were not the case, certainly it would be foolish to miss it, considering how many deals are likely to be struck in side conversations, plans made out of the seat of government that will be carried into it in the coming days.

Aymeric feels like he's going to go hoarse if he has to talk much more than he already has and the combination of all of the politician nobles who want to speak with him and all of the unmarried ones who want to dance with him has him frankly looking for an escape route with a near desperate fervor despite the placid, attentive disposition he gives both categories. A slightly stumbling Francel de Haillenarte isn't the best of excuses, but any port in a storm.

"Excuse me, my lords," he ducks out of the conversation, dodges three requests to dance and makes it to Francel's side just in time to catch his elbow with a steadying hand before he can run into a server with a drink tray.

"Ah, just who I was looking for," he turns the young noble easily out towards the back gardens and starts to lead him away, "I have a few questions about the restoration project I've not been able to quite catch up with you to ask." It's an absolute lie, but it keeps the circling social coeurls away, hopefully for long enough to get them both outside, if the young man will cooperate.

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[mostheavenly]

There's an unmistakable jolt of shock that runs through Aymeric as Francel buries himself against his shoulder, but after a moment, he wraps his arms around him, pulling him there more firmly. It's not in any bid to keep him there, but just a weight, a security,

"It's alright. There's nothing to be sorry for. Shh," he reaches up and brushes back some of Francel's hair, almost petting him, and if the motion seems to do more good than harm, he'll repeat it, the motion clearly one intending to soothe.

This is not the first grieving comrade he has done this for, but it has been years since anyone has come to him for this sort of comfort aside for, once (and only once) the Warrior of Light, for the same man. He has no tears for Haurchefant, not anymore, but he has buried his friends before and will do so again, he has no doubt. He still mourns, but it is a different kind of mourning, between soldiers. This is still a comfort for him, though, to be able to offer something visceral, real, for someone left behind, instead of more empty words. He can't think of a better way to honor a man's legacy than to take care of his dearest friend.

[haillenarte]

[that gentle stroking of francel's hair seems to do him a great more good than even he expects it to. he reacts almost like a little animal, a timid rabbit perhaps; as he's petted, tension eases out of his body with another shuddering sob, and then he squeezes aymeric a little closer, with all the desperation of a man who truly believes he has no one else to turn to.

it does take some time, but after a while, francel's sniffles and sobs turn to silence, and he grows still in aymeric's hold. heaving a sigh, one that quivers in the air but otherwise sounds quite calm, he at last manages to speak.]

...Thank you, Aymeric. I think I feel better now.

[he draws back, a little, though not quite enough that he's let go of aymeric. as might be expected, his eyelids are a little reddened, but otherwise, he seems a little happier than when he began.]

I apologize again for putting you through all this trouble. Are... are you all right?

[mostheavenly]

Since it seems to more than help, Aymeric keeps up the soothing nonsense and the petting until Francel stills. Even then, he keeps his hand on the back of his head, letting him just curl there for as long as he needs. He really does wonder if there's been anyone else Francel could turn to in all of this. Has he been holding this in since Haurchefant died, or does it come and go still for him with this ferocity? With things as delicate between them as they are, still, on the heels of everything else, he doesn't ask, but he does mark the entire matter for more attention and observation in the future.

"It is no trouble, so you need not apologize," his voice is a little lower than normal, softer too, "I offered," he reminds him, "And I will be fine." There's a moment of consideration, "However, if you'll indulge me, I don't think it's a good hour to be sending a young nobleman home by himself through the darkened streets and I am very much not looking forward to going back out in the cold. Might you allow my man to make you a bed here? I will send word to your house that I kept you up too late with talk of the Restoration project and you fell asleep at my dining table."

[haillenarte]

[at this, francel has the grace to smile a little through his tears. he laughs, too — it is a little toneless, but only because his voice has grown stuffy after all his sobbing.]

They'll know I didn't fall asleep at the dining table...! But I understand. I would be most honored to avail myself of your guest room here.

[hesitating, the young lord lowers his gaze a little, almost as if half-caught in a bow, not unlike hanging his head in shame. the wry smile on his lips is contrite, however, and there is something apologetic in the way that he at last disentangles himself from aymeric's shoulders, hesitant, as if he isn't certain that they should be touching any longer.]

I am terribly, terribly embarrassed at how I have conducted myself tonight, Ser Aymeric. Truly. Nevertheless, I... was serious when I said that I was willing to be your solace. Pray forgive me for demonstrating it so poorly.

[shaking his head, however, francel moves swiftly on — perhaps too embarrassed by his conduct to linger on the subject.]

If it isn't too much to ask, might I also trouble your manor staff to draw up a bath? I am — [he gestures vaguely, apologetically, at what he feels must surely be a blotchy face, but which is little more than a slight reddening around his lashes and nose] — out of sorts, as you might imagine, and I think it would help me... pull myself together, so to speak.

[mostheavenly]

"Mm. I'd merely thought to save you the embarrassment of an admission you were too drunk to make it home yourself. I can tell them whatever story you'd like," he offers, then shakes his head again,

"Really, there is nothing to apologize for. We have both been drinking and no one in all of Ishgard has made it through the war with their hearts intact. We merely do what we can, while we can." The look on his face might be a little bit more tilted towards the expression when a puppy does something adorable than Francel would like, when he asks about the bath, but even so, it's probably the softest he's ever seen Aymeric look, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes just a bit more than he's ever seen from the man before, even though the smile itself is still the same mostly placid one he wears for everything, it seems.

"Of course," he sits back slightly and then rises, "Let me see to it and then I'll be back before I take my leave. You can stay here near the fire, if you'd like."

[haillenarte]

Yes... Thank you. I will be here.

[falling silent, francel sinks into a different chair closer to the fire, a little grateful that his mug of cider is still warm. it does not bother him that aymeric might think him no more interesting than a kitten toddling on short, unsteady legs — it continues to surprise francel that aymeric is willing to speak with him at all. ishgard does not turn on the whims of young lordlings with more family honor than coin, and francel is — in the end, francel is no one particularly important at all.

that soft look in aymeric's eyes hurts to think about, when contrasted against his earlier confessions.

it is only natural, in francel's mind, that he should find himself friendless — but aymeric?

quiet and pensive, his palms warmer than the rest of him, francel stares out of a blue-curtained window at the cold grey moon above, waiting for aymeric to return.]

[mostheavenly]

Aymeric is not without allies certainly, nor without people who admire him. But he's also so intensely political. In some ways, he's not allowed to have friends. When you're more an office or a symbol than a man and people rely on you to be that office or symbol to hold a nation together, it's difficult to just sit around and drink hot cider with someone.

Also, no one's ever just... offered before. What use does someone like Aymeric have for someone's solace? And even if he wanted to seek it, who could he trust. Truthfully, the only person he's really felt that connection to has been either Lucia, who isn't the sort to share cider and idle chats, herself, or the Warrior of Light, who, even when they lived in Ishgard, was gone more than they were there. There's nothing in this house to really suggest loneliness, it's warm and cozy and well-kept, but there's everything to suggest solitude.

"Everything should be ready for you shortly. Here, let me show you where your room will be," Aymeric's voice cuts through Francel's thoughts, pitched even softer than normal to not startle him.

The bedroom he'll be shown to is small, but cozy and the servant(s? He's still only seen the one) have laid out a robe for him at the foot of the bed.

"Someone will come and get you when the bath is ready and if you've need of anything else, you can ring," he points to a bell pull.

[haillenarte]

[how strange all of this is, francel thinks to himself — and how oddly thrilling, too. with a sort of boyish nostalgia, the young lord suddenly realizes that this is his first time staying at someone else's home in any capacity; his friendship with haurchefant never won him much purchase in fortemps manor for obvious reasons, and though he stayed the night at camp dragonhead from time to time whenever the snows out in coerthas were too heavy for him to ride back to skyfire locks, it was never quite the same as being invited to stay over.

shyly, francel walks into the guest room, looking around with some wonderment — then he turns and looks over his shoulder at aymeric, smiling faintly.]

Thank you, Aymeric. I shall endeavor not to impose on you overmuch. And... have a good night. I will see you in the morning.



[the bath is warm and luxurious in the way that unfamiliar soaps always seem somehow luxurious. when francel returns to his room in his borrowed robe, he discovers that someone — the borel manor manservant, no doubt — has taken his attire from the banquet, likely to be washed and laundered, but he isn't especially concerned. he draws the curtains enough to let in only a little moonlight, he blows out his bedside candle, and then he goes to sleep.

when francel wakes from dreamless slumber, he feels so comfortable in his bed that he almost forgets that he is in aymeric's manor — at least until he opens his eyes and sees his bed curtained in borel blue.

what is the appropriate etiquette for staying the night in another lord's manor? francel had greetings and bows and farewells drilled into him as a child; he doesn't ever recall being schooled in how he should act or dress in the morning. he wonders if he should get dressed, but his clothing from the night before has yet to be returned to him, so he supposes he must merely wait to be summoned for breakfast in his borrowed dressing-gown...

mercifully, the manservant's knock at the door soon saves him from his thoughts.

when aymeric comes out to his dining room for breakfast, he will quite naturally find francel there, staring pensively at his plate — but the young lord soon looks up and smiles.]

Good morning, Aymeric. Did you sleep well? I fear your sheets were so comfortable, I almost did not wish to leave them.

[mostheavenly]

Aymeric takes his leave quietly and leaves Francel in the silence of this side of the house, though it's unclear if the master bedroom is on the other side of the house or if there is more work to be done somewhere else. Either way, he doesn't see or hear Aymeric again for the evening.

The bath is surprisingly luxurious. A lot of the rest of the house seems more designed for comfort than to impress and though it's clear that no small amount of money has gone into the presentation and items within the house, it doesn't have the over-the-top ostentatiousness that a lot of the Ishgardian elite seem to prefer. The bathroom isn't actually ostentatious, exactly, either, but the bath itself is wonderful, large and deep, and whatever is in it smells wonderful, relaxing and nuanced.

It makes sense, if Francel thinks for very long about it. Aymeric has an office elsewhere and he's not throwing parties here. If there was a place to spend money, wouldn't it be to soothe a soldier's aching muscles or unknot a politician's tension? Still, it's probably a little bit odd to see it, like he's being let in on a secret.

Aymeric shows up for breakfast looking... well, not exactly like he's still asleep, but definitely entirely less put together than Francel has ever seen him. He's in his own dressing gown, which looks like a partially quilted, slightly more ornate version of the one Francel is in. His hair's a little tousled, as though he'd tamed if from being every which way after sleep but hadn't attempted anything else yet and he's just got that ever so slightly slower processing time that comes with not being fully awake yet, a lack of his normal, laser-like focus.

"Good morning," his lips curve just a bit into a smile, "I did, and I'm glad you did as well," he chuckles softly, "If you think so, you should see mine. It is only my duty to Ishgard that causes me to get out of bed in the morning." He claims what is clearly his usual seat and his breakfast is served shortly after.

[haillenarte]

[francel returns that same faint smile, helping himself to a serving of heavenseggs, a slice of toast.]

Your duty to your country is nonpareil, Aymeric. But few would begrudge you the occasional late morning, given that Ishgard is no longer at siege. Does not First Commander Lucia exhort you often to rest? You might listen to her words...

[inwardly, he is cursing himself for having put himself in this position. it is impossible not to notice how — how good aymeric looks, though he has no right to be, given the early hour! the lord commander's tousled bedhead merely seems wind-swept, and he fills out that dressing-gown well; by no means is it immodest, but his broad chest makes more skin peek out above his neckline than francel ought to be contemplating as an innocent houseguest.

for shame, he scolds himself inwardly. you are here as his guest; you promised to be his friend! and now here you are, looking at him with your common lusts and your carnal worship —

he tries to recollect his thoughts.his own borrowed nightgown fits well, if somewhat loosely at the shoulders; he pulls it more tightly across his chest in a slightly girlish attempt to stop himself from being so flustered, though it remains loose at the nape of his neck, almost like a hingan kimono.]

You do look... soft. You wear it well. 'Twould not be a crime to become better-acquainted with leisure on occasion.

[mostheavenly]

"Believe me, on my rare days where there is nowhere to be, I can easily sleep through lunch," it's hard to imagine. Or perhaps it's all too easy to imagine, right now, Aymeric curled up in quilts and pillows, sleeping through the sunlight slanting across his bed. "I do manage a break every now and then," he considers for a moment, "Ah... though mostly only when Lucia makes me, now that I think on it."

Seeing any expressions at all on Aymeric's face is something of a rarity, but Francel has the twin knowledge now that it is partially simply that his expressions themselves are quiet to go with the rest of him and partially a matter of controlling himself in public, as he doesn't seem to feel the need to, currently. The change is still mild, but the way Aymeric's eyes widen and his cheeks heat when Francel says he looks soft is definitely not a public sort of expression. He looks aside a moment later,

"I... ah... I suppose I should at that," it's very clear he's a bit flustered himself by the compliment, "I have had so precious little of it in my life, I worry I would not know what to do with myself."

[haillenarte]

[ Francel stares. He doesn't mean to stare, of course, and he hopes very much that he does not look as though he is gawping — but it's impossible not to be charmed by the slightly bashful expression Aymeric is wearing. The gentle touch of color to his face, as if some aesthetician's brush has taken the barest hint of powder to his handsome cheeks.

He has a sudden and somewhat violent urge to find out where this ends. Namely, this cannot be the Lord Speaker's first time being complimented in such a manner, so why is he reacting like this? What happens if Francel pushes still further? Is this a normal reaction for the Lord Speaker, or is something else afoot?

It can't possibly be that there's anything special about Francel in particular. Francel doesn't believe that. He believes, very strongly, that he is not particularly special in any way. ]

...Well, what do you like to do when you are not working toward the betterment of Ishgard?

[ Faintly, he perceives that one likely answer to that question is that Aymeric leaves himself little time for other pursuits; he blocks off that route with all the deft insight of a strategician. ]

Surely there must be something. Do you like to read novels, perchance? Listen to the music of an orchestrion? Play an instrument?

[mostheavenly]

In many ways, there is truthfully nothing at all special about Francel, at least in regards to where or how he fits into Aymeric's orbit. Perhaps, if there is anything, it is that there is something trustworthy about him, though whether that has spawned from some internal quality of Francel himself or just that his grief has left him vulnerable enough that Aymeric doesn't believe he has ulterior motives is anyone's guess. Regardless, what Francel is, is earnest, one of the first people who has ever sought Aymeric out for friendship that hasn't seemed motivated by political gain, but rather as a desire to get to know the man himself better.

Aymeric doesn't fully trust it yet, knows that it could all be a lie to get in his good graces, a different version of the fluttering, flirting women or the men and their false smiles. But he wants to believe it's genuine and so he is cautiously genuine in response.

It doesn't take Francel being special. It just takes Francel being real and there.

He considers the question for a moment, not overly long but long enough for it to be clear there's some real thought there,

"I do occasionally read or listen to music. But I usually just enjoy..." he seems to struggle for a word, "being, I suppose," he can't help but shrug slightly, give a little, helpless sort of laugh, "I know it sounds as dull as one might expect for a man who spends every waking hour in the fight for Ishgard's peace, whatever form that takes. I believe I'm rumored to have no hobbies or preferences at all. But... truly," if he looked soft before, he really seems to double down on it now, though he doesn't seem particularly aware of it, "I spend so much of my days in industry. I often find that, when I have a spare moment, it is an absolute delight to simply sit still for a time, to have a cup of tea and watch the snow fall outside or the people pass, and do nothing at all."