francel de haillenarte (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gurabad2020-02-09 03:23 pm
haillenarte) wrote in gurabad2020-02-09 03:23 pm
Entry tags:
073 » all my life i just wanted to be free
[his dinner invitation to ser aymeric de borel is printed in the finest hand that he can muster, written on a leaf of vellum parchment sourced from one of ishgard's finest bookbinders. it cost him 150 gil for a page, which was 150 gil he did not actually have, but stephanivien keeps loose books over at the skysteel manufactory, and the bag of gil was sitting there, and, well — no one in francel's family knows what he is planning yet, and he isn't about to tell them until he has it in his hand.
francel secures the best of everything, at least for one night. stephanivien will be at the manufactory; aurvael will be at camp cloudtop with laniaitte; his father is on a trip to inspect monument tower and speak with the house durendaire guardsmen at whitebrim front; his mother has undergone a kind of monastic retreat with some of her friends, during which they will do little but sew and gossip and weave religious tapestries for the holy see. this leaves haillenarte manor in francel's hands. the servants have all been briefed.
he is anxious, for a time. ser aymeric receives a great many invitations to dinner — why should he assume that the lord speaker will agree to dine with him? he may be the son of a high house, but he is only the youngest thereof, and perhaps he isn't important enough, perhaps...]
francel secures the best of everything, at least for one night. stephanivien will be at the manufactory; aurvael will be at camp cloudtop with laniaitte; his father is on a trip to inspect monument tower and speak with the house durendaire guardsmen at whitebrim front; his mother has undergone a kind of monastic retreat with some of her friends, during which they will do little but sew and gossip and weave religious tapestries for the holy see. this leaves haillenarte manor in francel's hands. the servants have all been briefed.
he is anxious, for a time. ser aymeric receives a great many invitations to dinner — why should he assume that the lord speaker will agree to dine with him? he may be the son of a high house, but he is only the youngest thereof, and perhaps he isn't important enough, perhaps...]
no subject
immediately, he has to scramble. the young lord assists the maidservants in dusting off corners of the manor that have not seen dusting in several years; he helps set the table linens, wipes off some of their best crystal glasses. he forgets to take lunch. the upside of this is that he will have plenty to eat over dinner, and the manor chef will make his favorites — because ser aymeric is coming, and will hear what he has to say.
it makes for a frantic morning, a hectic afternoon — but, in the end, francel gets dressed in his best furs (chlodebaimt's hand-me-downs, given fresh life by a maidservant with past experience as a tailor) and heads downstairs to welcome his guest, with all the courtesy expected between ishgardian counts.
he allows bartelot, the house haillenarte guardsman, to swing wide the manor doors, of course — but beyond them, francel stands, smiling briefly before the doors close. he does not quite look aymeric in the eyes.]
Ser Aymeric. You do us much honor with your presence.
have you heard of Minecraft?
Ever desperate on either side to maintain legitimacy, Aymeric oft finds himself embroiled in the all too personal matters of his colleagues' ideologies. It would be objectively callous of him to say but Aymeric’s investment lies with Ishgard proper rather than the men and women who passionately plead their cases. Too often it devolves into embittered souls who know not what they want, less so what they want for Ishgard.
Aymeric truly laments for a second, wishing that Estinien had remained in Ishgard a bit longer. A man like that had no desire to consider the individual action of his opponent, but rather the battle as a whole. Of course calling the House of Lords a battlefield was excessive, but it is hard to remove oneself from the mindset of war after so many years - even for a man who staked his very life on ending it.
The melancholy is short lived, however, when amongst the daily readings of his missives Aymeric hears a most peculiar name. Francel de Haillenarte. The Haillenarte family were one of the high houses, though they had all but collapsed in recent years. The eldest son had become a symbol for the lowborns with his manufactory - and whose name only reached his ears as of late from those of the House of Commons -, whereas the eldest sister took great pride in her role at Camp Cloudtop. Francel, however, was enigmatic.
He had heard about the young lord whilst he had waited for the fated Warrior of Light. Hosted by Haurchefant Greystone in Camp Dragonhead, the bastard lord had spoken of the kindness the hero had shown to the gentlest of souls. That soul - of course- belonging to Francel. He was described as a man of Ishgard: a true visionary. Suffice to say his interest was piqued, though he had all but forgotten when this “visionary” had never deigned Ishgard with any plans.
Perhaps it was due to Aymeric’s desire to see what a man of Ishgard had to say, or it might have been his own way of declaring that incessant pestering was not the way to garner his attention, but whatever the case was Aymeric sent a response to the young lord.
It was sent on short notice - the way a child who tells their mother their friend is coming over just hours before - and so Aymeric arrived with little expectation or preperation. Were he a kinder man Aymeric might have made a gesture to the young lord to acknowledge his own rudeness for such little preamble, but the thought did not cross his mind.]
‘Tis an honour in itself to be invited to House Haillenarte, Lord Francel. One of which I am very grateful to receive.
[Aymeric can feel his cheeks rise as a smile sets upon his lips, the way they always do in a formal meeting. He certainly was intrigued by the odd request the young lord had sent him, but Aymeric also knew that any invitation was a request for his ear. He dare not consider Francel close due to Haurchefant’s own sentimentality. Aymeric shared not the same warmth.
With the confidence befitting of a leader, Aymeric enters the house without further invite, but stops short after he clears the doorway. His eyes fail to capture the young lord, but it does not deter him. Instead he turns his attention to the manor, which has been immaculately cleaned and has been made up. Despite the beauty and care, Aymeric can tell that the Haillenarte house still suffers from their fall in status. The ravages of war seem to cling to the very wallpaper; even the glue that keeps it in place could be mixed with the tears that stained the faces of many men and women of Ishgard.]
This is my first time being granted entry into such a magnificent home. Would it be too bold of me to ask for a tour?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aCusosjfHs
[the request takes francel by surprise, and plainly so: he has done his best to clean up haillenarte manor, but there can be no denying that he thinks of it as a dreary old place, filled with more unpleasant memories than happy ones. still, he bears his childhood home no ill will — he thinks fondly of the evenings he spent in chlodebaimt's chambers instead of his own, watching his older brother work on missives late through the night — and, after a moment's hesitation, he relents. perhaps haillenarte manor has some grandiosity that borel manor does not.]
I — well, certainly, if that is your heart's desire. I fear this old home holds no candle to Fortemps Manor just across the way, but I would be happy to show you through the manor. Where shall we begin?
[this is less a true question aimed at aymeric and more a rhetorical thought — the layout of haillenarte manor is effectively a square with a garden at its center, and francel frowns as he ponders where to take the lord speaker first.]
We could start with the parlor, I suppose. How did you find the walk here? Regretfully, we are not so close to your home as House Dzemael.
[this is all, francel thinks, pointless small talk — but it must be done. they will get to the contents of his invitation later.]
ccnfw
Aymeric makes a hum of recognition to let the other man know he is listening, however he does not deign the deprecation worthy of comment. Far from it for him to verbally comment on the difference. The Lord Speaker knew when he was outclassed, and even this manor boasted far more nobility and status than Aymeric had ever known in his childhood. The Borel’s were not lowborns in any sense - even when depraved Thordan would not have stooped so low - but they were not one of the four High Houses.
His idle thoughts were interrupted by the blonde’s banal chitchat. Falsely, Aymeric had assumed that Francel would not have the mind for tactical pleasantries.
With practiced familiarity Aymeric attempts to assuage the young man.]
Be that as it may, I spend a great deal of my time sitting. Were I able to move around more I would, so the walk was most welcome. The tour, I admit, is more of an excuse to keep my body moving.
[As the two walk Aymeric’s eyes drift around the parlor. They focus on nothing; they take in nothing. The surroundings are as dull as their small talk. Pleasant but vapid. As his gaze returns to the young lord, Aymeric refocuses himself. Even the most innocuous of conversations can be productive. It would be a waste to use this time before dinner - and the inevitable discussion of whatever the young lord was planning - without establishing some context around this mysterious “visionary”.
The former commander prompts the young man with a leading statement.]
If I am not mistaken you traveled much farther than I have; Skyfire Locks is a journey I have not made before.
no subject
It is not so far from the city, in truth. You have visited Camp Dragonhead before, have you not? You need only walk a malm south from there, down Haldrath's March, to reach Skyfire Locks.
[once it seems sufficiently plump, he tosses the cushion carelessly upon the arm of the sofa.]
I confess, I was there that day you visited Camp Dragonhead. On other business, mind, but even so, all the sentries could talk about was that the Lord Commander would be holding audience with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in the intercessory chambers. Everyone was so excited...
[including haurchefant. francel shakes his head. and it might — it might be political suicide to speak his next thought aloud, but francel weighs the risks, and thinks that they are not being honest enough; he has to break this ice.]
...Yet when I saw you from the parapets, I thought that only a fool would trust any word from your lips.
no subject
[Backbiting and bickering occurs regularly within the Lord Speaker’s presence, yet it was certainly a bit of a jolt to be appraised so openly. Most would only murmur of their disdain for the man: white noise amongst blackened hearts. His existence has been refuted since birth, and Aymeric is not one to mind the verdict. Truly he had thought himself impervious, or at least impartial, to comments.
With the hapless manner in which Francel tossed the pillow, it felt as if the gesture is a blatant call to Aymeric on the young lord’s own disinterest in him. Coddled, prepped, but not worth caring for.
Well, ‘tis the first time in a long time since someone has been so brazen.
The observation quickly passes over Aymeric. It is processed swiftly and stored away. If anything it was exciting - like when one first discovers that you may light a fire with a magnifying glass - to have someone so overt within his presence once more. And if not overt then woefully, but thankfully, tactless.]
I am afraid you were not the only one with that impression, [he chuckles, looking away from Francel to scrutinize the mantle just beyond,] or else I would not have had such diplomatic interference dealing with our champion. Not to be the sower of my own reputation, lest I reap its harvest, but there are many who would still say the same.
[A harvest that might never come, given the barren and permafrost soil of Ishgard.
Clearly, the former commander is complacent with the nature of his position. The assertion of his own duplicity does not phase him. Were he interested in the preservation of his image on a deeper level, perhaps he would take more active measures; but the gossip does no harm to him, for he sets himself in a position where it cannot harm him.
Rolling his shoulder’s back, Aymeric moves to pass the young lord, motioning for the tour to continue. He is not one to stand still.]
If my words are untrustworthy, I hope my deeds have set a precedent stating otherwise. But, oh, the intercessory chamber brings back memories, and I am prone to waxing nostalgic as many of our countrymen do. To think the genesis of peace would be from such a simple hold -- well I am most glad it did.
no subject
It is not that your words were untrustworthy, Ser Aymeric.
[he was aware, however, that his remarks would prompt a certain brand of consternation, so he waits for them both to settle into the same walking pace before he continues.]
It was merely that you were — forgive me my boldness — too attractive. Less a man and more a flattering illustration thereof — except in your case, the handbills featuring your portrait were not near flattering enough. And if there is anything I have learned about high society, you see, it is that the handsome and beautiful and enchanting are often the least trustworthy.
[the young lord laughs a little. the remark is self-deprecating; plainly, he does not count himself among ishgard’s most beautiful or handsome.]
I would like to believe that my initial presumptions of you were untrue.
no subject
The cruelty of others only served to plunge one deeper into that self-doubt and the Fury herself had dealt Francel a raw hand. No wonder the visionary had never sought to leave the Skyfire Locks. For years he must have felt as if he could not.]
Oh you are too modest. I’m a gamer who doesn’t know what to say. We WIP in this home