071 » all the hope they sold me

[haillenarte]

[among the many holy days of ishgard, there is one in particular which is frequently criticized by foreign scholars: st. liseiaux's banquet.

the banquet is not a banquet, not in the strictest sense of the word. though the vault's archbishops are fond of fine fare and even finer drink, there are no feasting-tables laid out for saint liseiaux's banquet. the proper way to observe the banquet is this: a week before the eve of the banquet, one youth is selected among those most pious in the populace to serve as the fury's guide. then, once his name is announced, ishgard's finest warriors among those unwed and unsullied are to participate in a grand tourney, but not one where the prize is admission to the ranks of the temple knights, or glory for any high house. no, the winner of saint liseiaux's cup enjoys a different kind of spoils: one night with the fury's guide, promised bliss and visions of halone's hall.

it is an offer too tempting for many to resist.

critics from eorzea oft protest that st. liseiaux's banquet is naught but rank hypocrisy coming from the see — that it amounts to little more than "a chance for that most repressed nation to indulge in a spectacle of lust," or in one pamphlet that particularly outraged the populace, "saint-sanctioned sex." outsiders do not understand. this is a sacred rite. it is pure. it is holy. it is just.

there is something of a nervous fluttering of excitement when lord francel de haillenarte volunteers to be the fury's guide one year.]

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[haillenarte]

[they are not barbarians. in times past, the fury's guide was chosen by vault priests, but that system was done away with on account of the fact that some pioneering nuns and priestesses deemed it inappropriate — the priests most often chose acolytes to serve, and those acolytes were oft too powerless to refuse the honor. no, nowadays, the fury's guide comes forward to volunteer his own body as tribute. last year's guide was a youth from the brume with striking lavender eyes.

(there are many reasons a young man might feel compelled to offer himself for the banquet. one is that it is an honor to serve, particularly for those who are faithful to the fury. another is that many guides are retained for their services after the tournament, and it can be a way for brume boys to secure highborn patrons where they otherwise may have had to content themselves with ale-sodden temple knights who might toss them coins on occasion.)

it has been many years since a man of noble birth offered to be the fury's guide. that lord francel is the youngest son of a high house is even more startling. truly, many whisper, the young lord's piety is without flaw. some believe he will go on to secure a seat on the synod. others are — behind closed doors and covered mouths — unsurprised.

francel, for his part, has watched the tournament with bated breath. would the winner be ser solellaux — a man with warm skin, sharp golden eyes, and an even sharper axe? perhaps ser aucheforne, whose hair and sword oft looked silver in the right light? or else ser vairevert, last year's handsome runner-up?

but when all blades have crossed and all wounds are healed, when all the blood spilled in the name of st. liseiaux is cleaned off the sand of the proving grounds, there is in the end only one victor crowned: ser zephirin de valhourdin, oft called the just.]

[valhourdin]

[ Piety, it seems, has brought together the Fury's Guide and his companion this day. Even those who walk away from the tournament with envy in their hearts cannot deny it: Lord Francel and Ser Zephirin make for a perfect match. After all, the knight's reputation is one of unfaltering service in Halone's name, valiant and virtuous, and had he not earned his spurs ere he came of age, he might have made a worthy guide himself, once. Small wonder that Halone judges him the most deserving of Her favor, rewarding him with so coveted a prize.

Still, some give vent to their displeasure, scoffing that a man such as Ser Zephirin lacks any concept of enjoyment, that he is ill-equipped to properly appreciate the blessing bestowed upon him. Lord Francel has the misfortune of spending the night with a mammet.

But the so-called mammet is warm to the touch, flesh and blood beneath the traditional robes lent him for the evening, shed once the doors are shut. Led to the bedchamber prepared for their use, Zephirin and Francel are left alone under the Fury's gaze; here, St. Liseiaux's banquet begins with a bath, and guide and chosen companion will assist each other in anointing themselves. Waiting vials of scented oil sit arranged in a row upon a shelf near the bed.

Wreathed in steam, Zephirin offers Francel his hand. A subtle smile accompanies the gesture — ahead of them lie the steps of a sacred rite, but he promises the young lord himself his undivided attention. ]

[haillenarte]

[lord francel, at least, does not believe that ser zephirin is a mammet. in truth, by the end of the tourney, he had been hoping zephirin would win, though it is frowned upon for guides to express support for one victor or another, and he could not publicly announce his desire. but ser zephirin's virtuous reputation precedes him, and as francel watched him defeat opponent after opponent with his formidable greatsword, always deceptively effortless — gaunt and intimidating in the setting sun, youthful and handsome in the morning light — he began to think that it would be a dream come true if zephirin won the tourney and claimed a highborn guide.

still, there are always concerns, even for the most experienced of guides. suppose ser zephirin is truly terrible in bed? or worse, that he will be abusive, rough — even cruel?

taut with anticipation, the young lord has been lying in bed, dressed in the traditional semitransparent robe expected of the fury's guides; as a vessel meant to serve as the path to halone, he has been cleansed and blessed by vault acolytes twice over. every ilm of the young man's pure, unblemished body is visible past his revealing, gold-trimmed attire, but he greets zephirin without shame as he sits up, reaching out for the knight's warm, promising hands.]

Ser Zephirin.

[he gives the customary greeting: a kiss for the back of zephirin's right hand, another for the palm of his left.]

Was the bath to your liking?

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin responds wordlessly first, returning Francel's greeting: head bowed, he touches his lips to the back of the young lord's left hand, the palm of his right. For a moment, then, he merely stands aligned with Francel, gazing down at him. Their hands remain connected, Francel's resting atop Zephirin's palms.

As he considers Francel's question, the knight's smile turns faintly amused. ]

I feel most thoroughly cleansed.

[ The bath has washed away the tournament's grime, leaving Zephirin's skin and hair subtly fragrant from the soap, presentable in his guide's company. He might proceed without further ado, claiming his space on the bed, but to his eye, Lord Francel seemed visibly tense but moments prior, though no trace of that tension lingers in his expression or his posture now. Searching, Zephirin's gaze scrutinizes the boy's fair features.

Lord Francel chose this of his own accord, he reminds himself. Lord Francel may, however, harbor certain wishes and wants at odds with the tournament's outcome. Perhaps he prayed that someone not a stranger would win the Fury's reward.

Bending slightly, releasing Francel's left hand, Zephirin moves to brush his fingertips against the laces at the collar of the young lord's thin robe. That hand asks an unspoken question; Zephirin himself asks another aloud: ]

May I join you?

[haillenarte]

Of course you may.

[francel can smell zephirin, this close: though the knight must have been covered in sand and sweat only moments prior, now he smells clean and fresh and woodsy, with perhaps the barest hint of incense from the prayer-chambers. his scent makes francel greedy, perhaps even covetous; he wants to bury his nose in the knight's flaxen hair.

though his eyes still betray a flicker of — not quite uncertainty — perhaps a fear of the unknown? — francel tips his head back ever so slightly, allowing zephirin access to the laces, permitting him to strip him of his thin raiment.

it was not necessary for him to return the guide's submissive greeting. that thought alone makes francel's heart quicken in its paces.]

You fought most bravely and valiantly. Small wonder that you earned the Fury's favor.

[valhourdin]

[ Deftly, given Francel's tacit consent, Zephirin's fingers loosen the young lord's laces, and the front of his robe slips open. The flimsy fabric glides over Francel's narrow shoulders, down his arms. Hanging draped from the crook of his elbows, the garment pools around the young lord's slender hips.

Zephirin pauses there, glancing up, his hands left laid upon Francel's forearms. The room's lamplight flickers, now and then; Francel's soft skin fully bared looks warmer, bathed in its glow, and his hair spun from threads of gold. ]

What of yours?

[ In this, Zephirin thinks, they cannot speak of faith and duty and honor alone. ]

[haillenarte]

You earned my favor most of all.

[francel's soft skin seems to glow in the lamplight, luscious and enticing — perhaps just to touch, perhaps even to nibble. his thighs are too plump to be that of a brume starveling's, providing pleasant contrast with his slender waist; his sides and arms appear buttery-smooth, inviting exploration. he seems suffused by that divinity with which the fury has imbued him — and yet there is a godly humility to the way he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to zephirin's jaw.

traditionally, the fury's guide waits to accept his victor's touch — the privilege of sullying him must be given to the champion — but zephirin has been a most unconventional champion thus far, and no one is watching save the fury herself.]

I shall confess to you alone that I wanted you to win. Perhaps not from the tournament's start... but by its end, I longed for your company in this chamber.

[valhourdin]

[ Though chaste, a saint's benevolence, Lord Francel's kiss rouses Zephirin's senses, sparking a jolt of anticipation that travels the length of his body. The knight breathes of Francel's sweet scent, and feels tantalizing warm skin against his own, all of it foreign, pleasurably novel. The young lord's confession silences his concerns.

Lord Francel's heart does not yearn for someone among the champion's opponents bested this day; his company is wholly Zephirin's for the night. Content with the answer entrusted to him, the knight continues, sliding one hand upward along Francel's arm, and then a few ilms over to his chest, where it stops, fingers splayed. ]

Full glad am I, then, to have the whole of you, my lord.

[ He accepts his prize with a kiss for Francel's inviting mouth in turn, gently pressing his guide backward and onto the mattress until Francel rests atop the sheets, his half-removed robe beneath him. Allowing his hands to roam then, Zephirin traces the contours of the young lord's body with a sort of reverence, following its curves down Francel's sides, past his waist to his thighs.

Kneeling between Francel's legs, head bowed once more as he takes in every ilm of his guide's form, the knight wears a look of calm, unwavering focus, belying his inexperience. He might have been at prayer. ]

[haillenarte]

Did you desire my heart, Ser Zephirin, and not the journey?

[it seems like a loaded question to ask, but francel means it as he falls back against the mattress, squirming in a pleasantly responsive way as he allows the knight to explore his body. skin glides smoothly over skin, and zephirin's curious touches soon elicit a sigh from his guide; obediently, lord francel spreads his legs some ilms apart, allowing zephirin access to anything he might desire.

his temptations are infinite. he wants to kiss zephirin again, but — being too far away for that — he settles instead for reaching lower to stroke the fine, flat blade of the knight's left ear. his voice lowers to a husky whisper.]

Does it please you to see me thus bared?

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's questions give Zephirin pause; fingers stilling upon the young lord's thighs, he looks up. Perhaps they say things that they should not, speaking as lovers would, not as pilgrims walking a hallowed path hand in hand. Quiet a moment longer, chasing the caress for his ear, the knight turns his head until his nose brushes Francel's palm. He moves again, laying his hand atop Francel's, twining their fingers together.

A full night side by side awaits. They needn't hasten towards their journey's end; the road to take ought reward the favored champion's giving guide as well, so Zephirin believes. ]

No part of you is aught but pleasant to behold, Lord Francel.

[ Even Zephirin sees it: fresh-faced and delicately built, the young lord is comely, from the arresting deep blue of his eyes to his untouched skin. Francel seems the ideal guide in body and soul, and it is pleasing, heady, to partake of him. ]

As for your heart...

[ Zephirin's unoccupied hand reaches out, thumb crossing the center of Francel's chest in a small arc. ]

Were it set on another, the journey would not be mine to take, in truth — but I might lay to rest such considerations, knowing that you welcome my company tonight.

[haillenarte]

[francel cannot help but smile, watching and feeling his champion touch him with the slow and loving reverence one might afford some sacrament. was he so concerned? the young lord would not have volunteered for such a duty if he was hoping for one man or another to emerge victorious from the fray. becoming the fury's guide is not something to undertake with a heavy or conflicted heart...

but such a considerate nature must be rewarded — and francel is only too glad to be the one responsible for recompense.]

You are without flaw, Ser Zephirin. Both in body and in spirit.

[he rests his fingers delicately upon zephirin's knuckles as they rest atop his chest, moving up and down with his steady breaths.]

Fury, guard my trembling hands... I would guide you gladly to Her heaven five or six times over if need be, but it seems to me you take more pleasure in the path than in its destination. Am I wrong? You'd prefer to take your sweet time with this.

[valhourdin]

[ The smile gracing the young lord's lips is itself rewarding, generous like his readiness to lead his champion to paradise. He may be the one without flaw, selflessly a guiding light, radiant.

Zephirin's mouth curves, too, seconds before he leans closer and over Francel. Leaving the hand beneath Francel's where it lies, he places its counterpart against the mattress just beside the young lord's head, near the ends of Francel's golden hair fanned out upon the pillow. ]

I would.

[ For all that he has no past moments of intimacy to draw upon, he answers with conviction. Arriving at their destination together, he perceives, will be sweeter for their patience, the care taken along the way. ]

Mayhap the night will afford us the time to savor both.

[ To that end, Zephirin ventures onward, pressing kisses to the side of Francel's throat, no less reverent than the touches that came before them. The flutter of Francel's pulse against his lips makes him linger there, breathing warmth that mingles with the heat of Francel's skin. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin's efforts are rewarded with a pleased sigh, the bare expanse of francel's thigh shifting against his side. this is all already far sweeter a journey than he was prepared for, but it seems an easy thing to lose himself in it, to indulge in the pleasure ser zephirin so generously offers him. for the evening, they are engaged in a sacred rite. none shall bear witness, and none can condemn them for any lack of piety.

the fury desires more pleasure on her champion's behalf, however — or so francel believes. the young lord is guided into running his nails up and down zephirin's back — not too roughly, or too hard, but gently, sending sparks of sensation tingling down his spine. francel's hands linger around his lower back; his arms are wrapped around his slender waist.

this is lovely. zephirin's lips are soft against francel's softer skin.]

Tonight, indeed... and any night after this one, if you so wish it.

[valhourdin]

[ St. Liseiaux's banquet grants the tournament's victor one night with his guide — tonight, and no other night. Lord Francel offers Zephirin far more, as if he truly gifts his heart to his champion. He does so unabashedly, though their meetings would become illicit then, stolen moments kept secret.

More besides piety and permissible interest would link them. They would come to know each other.

For now, they ought think only of this night together, however tempting it is to exchange the private vows that Francel invites. ]

Lord Francel...

[ Zephirin's lips move against delicate skin, shaping his guide's name, and in the knight's mouth, the syllables are a spoken prayer ending in a soft, appreciative sigh of his own as Francel's touch warms his skin, his very core. ]

Your generosity is boundless, it seems.

[ And it is indeed an easy thing to follow that generosity's light, to welcome it with kiss after kiss. While Zephirin's mouth lavishes his attention upon the ilms of tender skin between Francel's jaw and the boy's left ear, his hands resume their worshipful exploration, fingertips grazing Francel's front from chest to navel. ]

[haillenarte]

[lord francel’s eyes lid slightly over zephirin’s imprecise answer. he supposed he should not be disappointed: not everyone who is guided by the fury’s chosen youths find eternity in the embrace, and he did not volunteer himself, either, to find anything so nebulous as true love. he meant to serve the fury in earnest — but still, there was a part of him that hoped...

lord francel is listless for only a moment, however. when zephirin’s diligent mouth finds the long blade of his left ear, the young lord shivers, full-bodied, his lashes fluttering as his spine quivers beneath his knight’s. the tingling sensation that follows the warmth of zephirin’s lips is so potent that it makes francel’s belly flex beneath the knight’s sturdy hands.]

Mm — it — is no such thing, I promise you...

[valhourdin]

[ Something in Francel's voice gives Zephirin pause anew. He lifts his gaze, leans back to study his lovely guide, watching closely as the young lord trembles upon the sheets. Cradling Francel's cheek in one palm, he smooths his other hand across the plane of the boy's belly.

His mind turns back toward Francel's invitation. ]

You wish it yourself?

[ An eternity of nights to come, even, despite his station, the son of a High House. Lord Francel has no need of a patron, and in Zephirin, he gains no powerful ally, nor an inheritance of riches — but he would have the knight's loyalty, companionship. ]

I confess, I should like to see you again.

[haillenarte]

[francel nods, his cheek plush as it moves against zephirin's palm. like this, he is openly, deliciously honest, in a way that most guides either cannot or would not be. hopeful again, he runs his hands up and down zephirin's shoulder blades once more.]

Would you? Might you at least try? I know this is sudden, that we have yet to get to know one another... but there is time aplenty for us to be better acquainted, and I... I do not want our time together to be only a memory.

[he is blushing; he is making a fool of himself. this night will be very awkward indeed if ser zephirin has no intention whatsoever of forging any kind of lasting relationship with his sweet-faced prize. but if francel does not speak his piece now, then it will have to be after they have finished, and he would rather feel awkward now than feel used when all is said and done —]

Watching you on the proving grounds, I... I began to feel that I knew your thoughts, could see them in your stance and the movements of your blade. I realize I must sound like a delusional fool — but if the Fury brought us together, why then surely I could fall in love with you for true...

[valhourdin]

[ The rosy hue coloring Francel's skin bespeaks his self-consciousness as he bares his vulnerable heart, a risk taken in ways that baring his body is not. Zephirin listens in silence until he has heard the young lord's hopes in their entirety, hands still. In his gaze, attentively fastened to Francel's, there is nothing to discourage his guide.

It was an interest in Francel himself that led Zephirin to take part in this year's tournament — beside his predecessors, the young lord seemed an outlier. Now, the more they speak, the greater is the appeal of becoming better acquainted, of memories that do not end at daybreak. ]

I do not think you delusional, my lord, nor a fool.

[ Slowly, his thumb caresses the curve of Francel's cheek. ]

Beyond this night, if you will have my company in the days to come, I am yours. If you gift me your love, I shall strive to be worthy of it.

[haillenarte]

[for a moment, the young lord looks as though his very breath has been stolen away.

then he breaks into a dazzling smile, rich and warm and rewarding — he throws his arms around zephirin's neck, far more confident than he was with his timid touches and caresses up and down the knight's spine. the curve of his cheek is plush and promising against the pad of zephirin's thumb.

this is the dream that zephirin's opponents were forced to cast aside when they were thrown from their feet and their weapons fell softly into the sand. this is what they wanted — the young lord, loving and radiant beneath them, his tension from only moments ago crumbling like melted snow.]

...A-And I of you, Ser Zephirin — I swear it! And I of you...!

[he looks as though he might pull zephirin to his chest and squeeze.]

[valhourdin]

[ Francel sows greed in Zephirin's heart. Knighthood became his purpose long ago, his aspirations at the end of the path that it would pave, and he devoted himself to serving his country as he believed a righteous man ought. Willingly, he fashioned himself into both shield and blade — but he is not unfeeling, not immune to human desires. His guide's joy strikes him as precious, another peerless prize. Acutely, he wants more of the same.

As if to encourage the young lord's eager embrace, luxuriating in it, Zephirin presses himself closer atop Francel, leaning in for another kiss. Again, his thumb strokes Francel's soft cheek. The ends of his long fingers meet the blade of Francel's ear. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel giggles softly, squirming when zephirin's touch sends sensation jolting through his skin, but a soft moan catches in his throat when the knight's fingers find the outer edge of his ear. that makes francel pull zephirin closer, close enough that the man will surely be able to feel the gentle twitch of francel's cock coming to attention against his knee, the delicious heat of francel's breath against his long, flat ear in turn.]

Mmm, I'm ticklish there...!

[his reaction suggests something a little more than ticklish...]

[valhourdin]

[ The kiss lands on Francel's jaw, and then Zephirin draws back slightly, gaze curious. Francel's there, he surmises, is found beneath his fingertips. Purposefully, he flexes his fingers so that they shift against the young lord's ear. ]

Here?

[ His forefinger wanders from Francel's earlobe to his ear's tip, exploring the dips and ridges in its path. Meanwhile, eyes trained upon his guide's face, Zephirin takes his other hand still lower to Francel's inner thighs, and angles his hips, Francel's cock and his own nestled in his palm. ]

[haillenarte]

Mmmnnnh, mercy, yes —

[this is far more than simply being ticklish. francel's back arches beneath zephirin's pleasant weight as he moans low and deep in his throat. he squirms, full-bodied, chasing the gentle high prompted by the rubbing of his ears, and — still more promising — the dull heat of zephirin's palm against his shaft. again, he twitches with anticipation, blossoming to full arousal now; a minute thrust of his hips clearly communicates what he really wants.

then zephirin's fingers dip into a groove along his ear again, and the young lord moans more loudly, biting his lip as his nails dig involuntarily into the knight's shoulders.]

F-Fury, but you learn so fast...

[valhourdin]

[ At that, gratified, Zephirin smiles even as he makes to try a kiss for Francel's other ear. ]

With your guidance, my lord.

[ His touches are experimental, still, for Francel's ears and the rest of him alike; the knight merely notes his guide's responses, adapting then to repeat motions that meet with Francel's unmistakable approval. Each moan is sweet, needy encouragement.

What began as unintentional tickling has become deliberate, markedly less innocent. With one hand, Zephirin diligently rubs the young lord's left ear, and with the other, he tends to Francel's hardening length. He feels himself stir, too, hot against Francel's cock encircled in his hold, all the more for his guide's welcoming closeness.

Easing off as they ache in unison soon enough, he raises his head, in search of the vials of oil nearby. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin has francel gasping by the time he pulls his hands away — not because he is under physical strain, but because the generous massage to his ears overloads him with such sensation that he swears he can taste his pleasure. it leaves him tingling and mewling even as zephirin locates the vials of oil that have been set aside for their evening together, and their glass bottles gleam in the firelight.

caught in the middle of putting himself together, francel takes his mind off the ache between his legs just long enough to squint at the vials meant for his anointment. then he looks somewhat embarrassed, sitting up slightly in the bed as he reaches faintly for the bottles.]

A-Ah — please, allow me. It is my duty as your guide to ready myself for your use.