francel de haillenarte (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gurabad2020-11-01 12:04 am
haillenarte) wrote in gurabad2020-11-01 12:04 am
Entry tags:
094 » seventeen shots no thirty-eight
[ The party is the same sort of affair it always is: someone's nameday, someone's wedding, the birth of a child. All such fleeting moments of joy as they may cling to when their nation is caught in an eternal war and their lives are marked by endless tragedy. Francel has forgotten what the occasion of this one is supposed to be: he suspects that some niece or nephew of Count Durendaire's has gotten married, but it doesn't really matter. The banquets merely provide a sophisticated pretense for the nobility of Ishgard to make merry, and more importantly, to cut the sorts of deals that are best made when one or both parties are deep in their cups.
Francel has nothing to negotiate on behalf of his House tonight, though. He has come mostly at Haurchefant's behest, and also because it would be terribly dull for him to spend yet another evening in the simple comforts of his home at Skyfire Locks, drinking wine and tending to the fire. He is dressed in an alpine coat he borrowed from his brother Aurvael — a little too big in the shoulders, but not to an extent that others would notice — and he has done his best, as he promised, to be happy. He has drunk deeply of Count Charlemend's wine, and danced with various young maidens — but he isn't quite there, enjoying the moment. He looks through his dance partners to wherever Haurchefant is, and then looks away every time he manages to attract his friend's gaze.
Later, when the musicians are taking a break, Francel stops dancing. He slips out to a balcony to get some night air, feeling altogether too warm and uncomfortable, though some lady so-and-so has been trying to petition him for one more dance. He takes a bit of dessert with him — a quivering plateful of pudding, just the same as he liked to eat sixteen years ago — and then he sits beneath a gazebo, staring forlornly at the stars.
He isn't surprised when Haurchefant comes out to find him. This is, after all, not unlike how they first met. ]
...Haurchefant. [ A brief pause. ] Are you enjoying yourself?
Francel has nothing to negotiate on behalf of his House tonight, though. He has come mostly at Haurchefant's behest, and also because it would be terribly dull for him to spend yet another evening in the simple comforts of his home at Skyfire Locks, drinking wine and tending to the fire. He is dressed in an alpine coat he borrowed from his brother Aurvael — a little too big in the shoulders, but not to an extent that others would notice — and he has done his best, as he promised, to be happy. He has drunk deeply of Count Charlemend's wine, and danced with various young maidens — but he isn't quite there, enjoying the moment. He looks through his dance partners to wherever Haurchefant is, and then looks away every time he manages to attract his friend's gaze.
Later, when the musicians are taking a break, Francel stops dancing. He slips out to a balcony to get some night air, feeling altogether too warm and uncomfortable, though some lady so-and-so has been trying to petition him for one more dance. He takes a bit of dessert with him — a quivering plateful of pudding, just the same as he liked to eat sixteen years ago — and then he sits beneath a gazebo, staring forlornly at the stars.
He isn't surprised when Haurchefant comes out to find him. This is, after all, not unlike how they first met. ]
...Haurchefant. [ A brief pause. ] Are you enjoying yourself?
no subject
...How do you always manage to see right through me, Haurchefant?
[ He looks at his friend with tired eyes, a more genuine smile touching his lips as he takes in Haurchefant's familiar face. Even after all these years, having Haurchefant's undivided attention makes him happier than he can express, though he hates himself for feeling this way. So selfish. So pitiful. ]
I try to keep things to myself, but I only manage to burden you with my troubles all the same. It isn't fair.
no subject
A party is best enjoyed with friends, after all. ]
You speak of fairness in such odd ways, Francel.
[ Haurchefant shakes his head before cocking it to the side as he rests one arm on his knee. ]
'Tis not fair that you should feel that your troubles are a burden! Have I given you that impression? For the truth is far from it. I would not force your secrets should you wish otherwise, but I would also be glad to share the weight of your woe. There is no need to bear that burden alone.
no subject
[ Drawing out another long breath, Francel takes another bite of pudding, one that seems to melt on his tongue as he closes his eyes and savors it. It does make him feel better. It always has. Haurchefant, the night sky, and a plateful of pudding. Nothing could be more perfect — save for what they are discussing. ]
I am fearful, I must admit. I have been fearful for a very long time. It does not behoove a son of House Haillenarte to be so meager, so meek... but I am fearful all the same.
[ He laughs a little bitterly, blinking too quickly to hide the sting of tears that have leapt to the corners of his eyes. ]
I am afraid that you will see me for the sinner that I truly am. And then where would our friendship be?
no subject
Some worries are old, it seems, and time itself will only serve to assuage Francel of them. Haurchefant ever lives in the moment or looks to the future, almost stalwartly refusing to dwell more than one would need to. His dear friend, of course, is so prone to it he worries enough for the both of them. More than enough. ]
Then what a pair of sinners we would be.
[ He says with surprising calm. ]
Speak to me not as a son of House Haillenarte, but as Francel. That is surely enough, is it not? It always has been for me. There is naught to fear between the two of us. I am hardly the person to pass judgment! And only the Fury Herself will have that final say.
no subject
...The truth is, I —
[ He falters. He tells himself he should not falter, but it isn't an easy thing to find courage, even if only to speak to one's best friend. He blinks down into his lap, shakes his head, tries again. He can't say it. He tells himself he shouldn't say it aloud. ]
I dislike this — this cavorting — these dalliances, these flirtations. I... I hate seeing you with others. It has naught to do with piety or purity... Naught to do with sin. I am only —
[ Suddenly frustrated, both with the world and with himself, Francel heaves a soft sigh and tangles a hand through his blond hair. ]
...I've no right to say these things. You can do as you wish. You belong to no one. I know this, I've told myself as much a thousand times, and still, still, it hurts so much to see you and know...
no subject
What he hears, though, is not exactly what he expected. Haurchefant raises his brows but does not interrupt. He is fairly accustomed to being on the receiving end of disapproval for how openly he conducts himself, but knowing that his existence in and of itself is one of sin, he has never let it bother him. If anything, it has been extremely freeing knowing that the only expectations he wishes to live up to are his own and of those close to him. It keeps spirits high.
But for the headaches it sometimes causes those loved ones, he hadn't imagined it would cause such undo stress on his closest friend.
Though...mayhaps for reasons he had not considered. ]
My dearest friend...
[ Haurchefant begins, voice low as he places a hand over his own heart. ]
I fear my head has been so oft in the clouds that I have neglected that which is before me. You have my sincerest apologies.
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If he were only not quite so dear, then perhaps Francel wouldn't have to feel like this. If the young lord himself were not so full of sin, then perhaps — ]
No, Haurchefant — you needn't apologize. There is nothing for which you must apologize.
[ He lowers his gaze, though there's a note in his voice that shakes. ]
I am the one who should not feel thusly. My faults must needs be corrected, not yours.
no subject
Nay, all I have ever wanted is your confidence--and that I do believe I still hold, do I not?
[ Moving his hand from his heart, instead he holds it out to Francel. ]
There is ever a weight about you, my friend, and I am all too often left guessing as to what harries you so. And yet...this is something I have the ability to address.
no subject
[Francel's voice sounds hollow, even to himself. He tries to put more life into it; he teases another spoonful of pudding out of the plate he is still holding. He doesn't lift the thing to his lips, however. It's just a thought, something to occupy his hands while his heart is hammering with shame and desperation in his chest.]
...If I love you — as a man and not as a brother, not as the friends we ought to be — and you do not love me in the same way, then there is naught that can be done for it. I've thought about this far too many times...
[It is almost funny, how he speaks as though everything is decided, how he seems resigned to this end. It always seemed so difficult to tell Haurchefant that he loved him; now it feels like nothing because of the way he's convinced himself that it is impossible to love and be loved in turn.
But is it really so impossible? Truly?]