francel de haillenarte (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gurabad2019-12-08 08:51 pm
haillenarte) wrote in gurabad2019-12-08 08:51 pm
Entry tags:
068 » said your sorry ways would disappear
[the commander of skyfire locks lives in a little cabin on a hill just south of haldrath's march.
the cabin is his house, but not his home. it is not a home to anyone in any real sense. it is sparsely furnished — its walls decorated not with portraits, or paintings, but with announcements for the knights that pass back and forth between their young lord's office and their barracks — and it is cozy only because the fireplace works and its hearth is always stoked.
lord francel de haillenarte toils at his desk, even now, this early in the morning. he has a stack of paperwork to his left, a bottle of wine to his right, and a bouquet of white lilies at the far end of his table. the documents are things he must read and sign by the end of the day, the bottle of wine is for the guest he is receiving, and the bouquet of lilies is because haurchefant is dead, and nothing will ever change that, and no one will ever bring him back.
francel signs another contract, then sets his quill against his table, and stares, unseeing, at the flowers.
the lord commander is coming, he knows, to discuss — something; he doesn't know; it doesn't matter. the lord commander will ask him for some favor, no doubt, and the lord commander will probably get whatever it is that he wants. after the meeting, francel will take his bouquet and go up to the monument stone at providence point — the only place he will ever be able to mourn the death of his best and only friend — and then, when he comes back down the road, he will think about throwing himself into witchdrop, as he often does these days.
and haurchefant never loved him the way that he loved haurchefant — but francel knew that. he knew that.
when at last ser aymeric walks into francel's home, he will find the young lord working as if in a state of fugue — blue eyes downcast and empty, sight unseeing. he nods, a little distractedly. he does not give the lord commander the respect he is due.]
...Ser Aymeric. What a pleasure it is to have you here at Skyfire Locks.
the cabin is his house, but not his home. it is not a home to anyone in any real sense. it is sparsely furnished — its walls decorated not with portraits, or paintings, but with announcements for the knights that pass back and forth between their young lord's office and their barracks — and it is cozy only because the fireplace works and its hearth is always stoked.
lord francel de haillenarte toils at his desk, even now, this early in the morning. he has a stack of paperwork to his left, a bottle of wine to his right, and a bouquet of white lilies at the far end of his table. the documents are things he must read and sign by the end of the day, the bottle of wine is for the guest he is receiving, and the bouquet of lilies is because haurchefant is dead, and nothing will ever change that, and no one will ever bring him back.
francel signs another contract, then sets his quill against his table, and stares, unseeing, at the flowers.
the lord commander is coming, he knows, to discuss — something; he doesn't know; it doesn't matter. the lord commander will ask him for some favor, no doubt, and the lord commander will probably get whatever it is that he wants. after the meeting, francel will take his bouquet and go up to the monument stone at providence point — the only place he will ever be able to mourn the death of his best and only friend — and then, when he comes back down the road, he will think about throwing himself into witchdrop, as he often does these days.
and haurchefant never loved him the way that he loved haurchefant — but francel knew that. he knew that.
when at last ser aymeric walks into francel's home, he will find the young lord working as if in a state of fugue — blue eyes downcast and empty, sight unseeing. he nods, a little distractedly. he does not give the lord commander the respect he is due.]
...Ser Aymeric. What a pleasure it is to have you here at Skyfire Locks.
no subject
His careful, precise steps crunched through the snow as he walked the last few yalms to the door. He didn't know Lord Francel well, so didn't quite know what to expect.
As he enters, the warmth glorious after the biting chill of outside, his eyes narrow sharply for a moment as he takes in the worn out state of the young man in front of him; the mountains of paperwork a feeling he knows only too well with his seemingly never-ending duties these days, but by the time Francel looks up, his expression was schooled into one more welcoming and befitting of a man who was about to ask a favour - though what he was about to ask could never truly be seen as a favour. It was an order couched as one. Necessary.]
Lord Francel. It has been too long.
no subject
[lord francel speaks as if through a haze — were it not for the fact that the bottle of wine in front of him is firmly corked with seal intact, one might wonder if the young lord had turned to drink to solve his problems. he sets his pen upon his desk.]
If ever we have spoken before, then forgive me — I cannot now recall it. After all that has come to pass, it seems almost as if... as if everything happened an age ago, and every distant memory is now shattered...
[his voice is slow and low and hoarse, as if it has been rusted over with disuse, and he moves as if through a dream. with a subtle motion of his arm, he gestures to the plain and simple chair across from his own.]
Are you well? Pray, be seated.
no subject
It is of no matter. A great deal has happened of late, and who can keep track of it all?
[He gave a small smile as he took the offered seat, settling down in it.]
Tolerably well. Truly glad to be away from Ishgard for a time. And yourself? [Polite small talk. It was something he hated, but was tolerably good at it.]
no subject
it would be inaccurate to say that he is well, and he has never been good at lying.]
...I am what I have always been.
[the bouquet of lilies haunts him out of the corner of his eye.]
To what do I owe the honor of your audience?
I had a migraine yesterday, sorry
And what is that? [He shook himself a little.] Have you heard much about the situation on the Gyr Abanian front?
it's ok! i get them too :(
I am as familiar with it as one might reasonably expect a man of Ishgard to be.
[it is a modest proclamation. lord francel is well-educated, even in the affairs of lands thousands of malms away from his own, and he summarizes as much in his next few sentences.]
Ala Mhigo was doomed by its mad king even before the Garlean Empire raised its hand against it... and so it has remained under the heel of Imperial rule for the last twenty summers. Now the Eorzean Alliance makes overtures to bolster the Resistance forces there — which is far less simple than it sounds, given that the territory is governed by crown prince Zenos yae Galvus, and he is not like to take such an insult lying down. Do I have the right of it?
Sorry, life is busy sometimes
The situation has moved on from overtures. The Eorzean Alliance means to commit forces to the Gyr Abanian front, and all nations are to send forces in support. Ishgardian forces will join them with all due haste.
no worries!
[francel does not speak further, allowing aymeric room to speak in turn. there is a cold look to his eyes as he reaches for the bouquet of flowers, his fingers slow and deliberate as he wraps it more tightly in its paper sheath.]
Re: no worries!
So it seems. But events seem to overtake us and Ishgard has isolated itself for too long. Better to have allies when the Empire comes snapping at our heels than be left along and friendless.
[He watched Francel touch the flowers, a faint smile appearing.]
They are beautiful. The flowers.
no subject
he killed haurchefant, some irrational part of francel's heart whispers. haurchefant died for him and he sits there, smiling, not knowing, not even thinking —
his gloved fingers twist the bouquet's wrapping-paper between his hands; his eyes storm with some unspoken hurt.]
...I hate flowers. They only serve to remind me of all those I have failed.
[his grip loosens, though his mirthless demeanor does not.]
These are for Haurchefant...
no subject
Shouldn't have bloody well insisted on trying to stop his father. Should have stopped Haurchefant from running out. So many regrets, one of them being that he couldn't stop and mourn the loss of a good man.]
Lord Francel... [What could he say? The pain on the young lordling's face was obvious.]
no subject
Go on. Say whatever you will. It hardly matters now.
Sorry.... Christmas business and lack of pc =(
I am sorry.
all good, i've been busy too!
For what?
[he knows perfectly well, of course. but he means to hear it from aymeric's lips.]
Re: all good, i've been busy too!
no subject
[the young lord's voice is deadly quiet; regret and resentment mingle in his throat. he reaches out with one of his fingers, stroking a white petal on one of the lilies in his bouquet, still refusing to look at aymeric's face.]
You are the Lord Commander — nay, the Lord Speaker of Ishgard, Ser Aymeric. Men follow you into battle and die at your command. Why should it be a tragedy that one more man is dead, or that those who loved him still mourn him?
[francel's voice breaks, briefly, in a way that says far more than the stoic nothingness in the expression on his face. it wobbles in the cold air, barely concealing a sob.]
I would give anything to see him smile one last time. But that is only natural. And this is beyond tragedy.
no subject
'Tis true. Men have died under my command, because of the orders I have directly given. I have had to look grieving widows, husbands, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters in the eye, and tell them that their loved ones are not coming home. All in the name of a peace I believe in. I know only too well the face of those who still mourn.
I believed I could talk my father round. I never expected Haurchefant to help rescue me. [Naievity? Possibly.] Ser Zephirin should not have been there. [Nor should he have gone for Haurchefant. It was Aymeric who was the one leading the effort to try to stop his father, not his friend.
It should have been him.]
no subject
You don't understand.
[he shakes his head.]
Then again, I never expected you to understand.
[the young lord sets the bouquet on the table beside his hat, and then rises to his feet. he walks closer to the fire in the corner of his cabin, feeding fresh kindling into it; he watches the flames lick the logs.]
Listen to yourself, Ser Aymeric. You apologize; you set the scene; you justify your actions. You ask me to forgive you for a situation in which there is nothing to forgive. Haurchefant died protecting someone. Whether it was you or the Warrior of Light matters not. I know this because he did the same for me — and he would have done the same for anyone else. I knew long ago that this would be how he would someday die.
[when the dying flames have been stoked higher, francel turns, and looks out at the falling snows.]
This is not the sin for which I desired your apology. But at least you admit your complicity in his death.
Grrrr I pressed post but it didn't do it...
Pray tell me, Lord Francel. What is my sin for which you desire my apology?
nbd!
[francel stands with his back turned to aymeric for some time, his shoulders slumped, not only in sorrow but in disappointment. he is tired. he is weary. he is angry that he even has to explain, that a man like this professes to be a leader of men, much less the leader of his own country. he is disgusted.]
But that you never came calling? That it never occurred to you to pay tribute not only to his family but to the men and women under his command? Did you think it was not important enough — or that you had better things to do?
[he turns, but his expression is not angry — just pained. what future could ishgard possibly have in the hands of a man like this?]
You did not even know that he and I were friends before you came into my home and I told you. What worth is a man's life to you, Ser Aymeric? It seems to me it must not count for much.