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022 » baby pull me closer in the backseat of your rover

[francel's seven years old, this week. he's counting off the days until he'll be eight. his nameday is next week — and he's not certain that anyone will remember, not really, but it's fun all the same.

it's definitely more fun than accompanying his father to fortemps manor, anyway. francel likes sneaking into fortemps manor so that he can see haurchefant — but he doesn't like going with his father, because count haillenarte always insists that haurchefant has better things to do, that countess fortemps is making him run errands, and that francel should just be a good boy and play games with the servants in the parlor.

except there aren't any servants in the parlor. instead, there's a boy about twice his age sitting on a couch, and he isn't haurchefant — he's haurchefant's older brother (half-brother? father always tells him not to say that out loud, and it's very confusing).]

...H-Hello, Lord Artoirel.

[francel bows, but he's still not very good at it, and he wobbles a little when he shifts his weight to one leg. his boyish voice trembles like a sparrow's when he talks.]

F-Fair weather today, is it not?

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Oh! Ah... yes, my lord.

[he almost says i can go by myself! but at seven years old that's kind of... a given. it'd be more of a question if he were three or four.]

At the very least, I should dine with clean hands. Er... should I ask a servant to escort me to a separate washroom, or...?

[If he were a toddler, Artoirel would have taken him without asking his opinion. Children that age cannot be trusted to know when they need to relieve themselves or to clean up properly. Thankfully for Francel he won't be insisting on accompanying him to make sure he wipes his rear.]

There's no need; we have two side by side.

[It was more convenient to put in the plumbing that way, not to mention it's simpler when they have guests. He offers his hand again — Francel can be trusted to follow along with him, but it's far easier for him to gauge the pace he should be walking at to allow those little legs to keep up if they're holding hands.]

[yay, they get to hold hands again! francel is enjoying this a little more than he should. his father never holds his hand — come to think of it, neither does stephanivien, or aurvael. even chlodebaimt seems to prefer patting his head and ruffling his hair over holding his hand.]

...Um... I wanted to thank you, Lord Artoirel. You have been most attentive. It is more than I deserve.

[It's a little sad that he considers this much to be more than he deserves. From other people that phrase simply comes across as false humility, but Francel sounds like he believes it. He feels slightly at a loss for a response — to assert that he's simply behaving as a host should might hurt the boy, and he would like for him to feel like he can seek him out rather than Haurchefant...]

Think nothing of it. Your company is most pleasing.

[Flattery perhaps, but it is true.]

[francel's sweet little smile could light up a room, but all he does is squeeze artoirel's hand gently and bow very slightly from the shoulders in response.]

And yours as well, my lord! And yours as well.

[francel becomes a bit of a fixture in fortemps manor after that. if he's not in his own room in haillenarte manor, he's in the servants' quarters of fortemps manor, playing with haurchefant — or, failing that, in the gardens or the kitchens or the study, keeping company with young lord artoirel.

of course, this newfound friendship has attracted more than a fair bit of attention. the servant-girls like to titter about it sometimes, talking about how absolutely darling little lord francel is around lord artoirel; emmanellain scowls at them, from time to time, but he hasn't done anything yet, and he keeps to his friendship with laniaitte. haurchefant doesn't seem to have heard about it — or he pretends not to have heard about it, and francel's not sure which is worse.

but today he's in the fortemps manor library with artoirel, and he's being a very good boy. artoirel said he was looking for a certain book, and francel found it! he's so small that he almost seems to totter under the weight of it, but he brings the leather-bound book over right away, placing it carefully on a nearby table so that artoirel can see it.]

Is this the tome you wanted, my lord?

[Though Artoirel has many duties to attend to, he makes time for Francel often — it's not difficult to do since his father approves the friendship. Despite the fact that this honestly doesn't reduce the time he spends looking after his own brother, Emmanellain seems somewhat jealous of their association. It's absolutely ridiculous as far as Artoirel is concerned; Emmanellain never wanted to sit still and study with him anyway! He is a rather spoiled boy though and he's used to being doted on, so seeing someone else get attention that he thinks rightfully belongs to him doesn't sit well with him. It surely doesn't help that Artoirel becomes even more stern in the face of what he views as a childish emotion... even if his somewhat harsh treatment of his brother is born of genuine care and concern for his well being, it doesn't look like anything of the sort to a young boy.

He really probably should be more understanding, though. The way he handles Francel is gentle and sweet, anyone would feel that he's being favored. And on some level he is, particularly when Artoirel catches wind of Francel's adventures with Haurchefant. Francel quickly becomes yet another matter in which he quietly resents his half brother.

Today, though, Haurchefant is far from his mind. Francel has managed to get his hands on an old, rare tome that was sitting in the library of Haillenarte manor — a surprisingly thorough book on dragon behavior and how their anatomy works when in motion. Artoirel can't imagine how the author ever managed to observe live dragons closely enough to write it, but he's not going to complain. It could potentially be a very valuable resource for any young knight. Why it hasn't been reprinted is yet another mystery. His face lights up when Francel places it before him as he reaches out to stroke his hair fondly.]

Aye, this is it! Excellent work, Francel.

Mm! Heheheh.

[francel's still oblivious to the tension between artoirel and haurchefant, and it's really a good thing that he doesn't know — he would never smile and giggle so sweetly if he thought that he might be hurting haurchefant by spending time with artoirel, or offending artoirel by spending time with haurchefant.

artoirel, he's learned, has his stern moments... which is why it feels so fulfilling to make him smile like this. francel makes his way around the table to join artoirel on the couch, half-crawling closer in the way that children must when furniture is a little too big for them.]

There are so many illustrations of dragons in its pages that I feared an inquisitor might think me strange for carrying it! 'Tis most fortunate that Haillenarte Manor and Fortemps Manor are so close to one another. What did you want to see in it, Lord Artoirel?

[He can't blame Francel for worrying. The inquisitors are most overzealous, and he wouldn't relish an encounter with them. At least he and Francel are both good and proper highborn children that likely won't ever have to fear them...

Artoirel pulls the table and the tome in, draping an arm about Francel's shoulders so that he can scoot in closer and get a better look.]

Knowing where to strike is crucial in swordplay. In but a few scant years I shall be fighting dragons, so I would do well to learn as much of their anatomy as I can before then.

[it's a mark of francel's knack for vocabulary that he doesn't have to ask artoirel to define anatomy. the arm around his shoulder takes him by surprise, but it doesn't make him hesitate; immediately, he snuggles close so that he's comfortably nestled against artoirel's ribcage.]

And... and you will return safely, will you not? Sometimes I hear that Chlodebaimt has been injured — Father and the rest of the House always try to keep it from me, but I know — and I worry so...

[Worrying for one's loved ones is just a reality of war. There's really nothing that can be done for it, and though he wishes he could promise he'll be safe he knows he can't. Still, he can offer a little comfort:]

I have no intention of allowing one of those foul beasts to take my life. I will be well prepared ere I take to the battlefield.

[He carefully opens the tome and starts to turn the pages, skipping over the text for the moment in favor of pausing when he comes to a diagram of a wyvern's wing and the associated back muscles.]

Hnnn.

[francel hums a sulky and plaintive note — though it doesn't really mean anything besides i don't want you to get hurt! — and he buries his face into artoirel's shirt for a second. still, from what he's observed, artoirel doesn't like overly clingy behavior, and francel stops after he's gotten his fill of pouting.

he's still nestled beneath artoirel's arm when he points at the diagram.]

Would it be very easy to sever a wyvern's wing at the joint, I wonder?

[He's quite right, though not for the reason he might expect. If that sulking had continued for even a few seconds more he would have lightly scolded him, but not for the physical contact (which he actually enjoys somewhat) — instead he would scold him for the unseemly pouting. Francel is not a toddler, he should know better! He can't say he's entirely displeased to know that he cares, though...]

Aye, in a young wyvern that is quite effective. The tendons toughen up as they age though, making it a difficult task for all but those with immense strength. However...

[He drags his gloved finger down the page, pausing at a particularly large blood vessel.]

This blood vessel here doesn't lie too deeply beneath their hide and looks to be the main supply for these muscles. A strategic stroke might cause them to bleed out when they beat their wings.

[It's not unlike slicing at a man's legs if he guards his head and torso too closely.]

Edited 2016-12-10 04:18 (UTC)

[francel nods in understanding.]

You are so learned, my lord. Are all knights so scholarly? Haurchefant wants very badly to be a knight, but he does not read books with me like this.

["That is because Haurchefant is just a bastard who knows not his place"... he wants to say, but he knows better than to speak ill of a family member no matter how much he believes it. He hopes Haurchefant does become a knight — then he can be assigned to some far away outpost and never darken the halls of the manor again.]

A knight is expected to study various topics. Methods of battling dragons are certainly one of them. We cannot be expected to win this war if we simply go in swinging our swords, after all.

[Which is probably what Haurchefant would do.]

[francel smiles and leans in a bit heavier as he tries to squint at the small text describing the wyvern's diet, lifespan, and development.]

I like studying...

[after a moment of silence, he points to another diagram on the page depicting a baby dragonet.]

Am I one of these, my lord?

[With any other animal that would be a cute question, but with a dragon... Artoirel's brows pull down. Clearly, he disapproves.]

You would do well to not compare yourself to a dragon, even in jest.

[However, he does understand what Francel is getting at. He exhales slowly.]

I would say that you are at a similar stage in your development, yes. You could yet become any manner of man.

[francel just laughs his disapproval off. of course he probably knew he'd get in trouble for that...]

I think I want to be like you.

[He does strive to be exemplary in every way — shouldn't every first born son? — so hearing that Francel wishes to become like him is surprisingly touching. Artoirel glances away briefly to conceal a smile.]

I see no reason you cannot if you continue to apply yourself to your studies.

[Francel does have some physical limitations, but the measure of a man is not only defined by the strength of his sword arm. Artoirel would consider that to be only a small part of his own identity.]

Associate with those who can properly guide and teach you and you'll grow up to be a fine man.

[the little lordling just smiles adoringly, leaning heavier still against artoirel — this must be his full body weight now, as he's completely relaxed and he's tucked his knees in toward himself on the couch. he doesn't say anything further in response to artoirel's comments. apparently, he's content just to have the older boy's approval.

he stays like that for a long time, snuggled up against the eldest son of house fortemps. and unless artoirel turns to a particularly interesting page, pretty soon young francel's eyelids will droop and he'll doze off for a little bit.]

[Having Francel curled up next to him is soothing in the same way as petting a small, soft animal is. He's able to fully immerse himself in his study of the book the younger boy brought for him. As such, he doesn't notice when he drifts off. It's not until he turns his head slightly to strike up a conversation on a shockingly detailed illustration of Hraesvelgr that he notices Francel is asleep. The image is just so sweet that he doesn't dare wake him. Instead he opts to continue his studies in silence while moving as little as possible so as not to disturb his company.

Over the next few years their friendly relationship only grows stronger despite the ever-increasing amount of duties Artoirel is expected to attend to. So as not to cause any discomfort when Francel visits, the older of the pair manages to (mostly) successfully conceal his disdain for the young Haillenarte lord’s incredibly tight bond with Haurchefant. Even so, the coldness in his expression whenever Francel talks about the things he gets up to with his half-brother will likely be obvious to the younger boy in retrospect. As for how he feels about Emmanellain extending his teasing to Francel when Laniatte stops putting up with it, he makes his feelings very clear — not that it stops the behavior when Artoirel’s back is turned. Issues with jealousy aside, most days really are quite enjoyable. It may not be perfect, but it’s about as idyllic a childhood as one could want for in the midst of a war.

But for Artoirel, that childhood is coming to an end. He’s passed his eighteenth name day recently and his somewhat early growth spurt has made him into a young man rather than an older boy. Any day now he knows he could be called on to do his part in the war, and while the thought does give him some pause he also knows that he’s as prepared as anyone could be. It simply means he must make the most of the time he has now, and that includes ensuring he spends adequate time with those close to him. Today he’s invited Francel to come along on a ride just outside the city — on a draught chocobo of course, the thought of Francel having a riding accent while in his care is unbearable. He’ll be dressed for combat when the young lord arrives at the Fortemps manor. Even though they’re unlikely to encounter anything more dangerous than a huffy karakul, it always pays to be prepared. When the steward informs him of Francel’s arrival he heads out to greet him. They’ll be going to the stables anyway, so there’s no need to wait to receive him formally inside.]

Greetings, Francel. Halone smiles on us today, we couldn’t ask for fairer weather.

[by the time artoirel is eighteen, francel is eleven — and only weeks have passed since the incident in eastern coerthas with the kidnappers and the kidnapping and haurchefant's recent knighthood.

it's something of a relief to francel that artoirel is taking him outside of the city. as terrifying as it was to be almost-ransomed, he's tired of his family acting as if he's something frail that needs to be protected lest he get snatched up into the claws of danger again. haurchefant may have gained some respect in the eyes of the upper class after killing two men, but francel has been expressly forbidden from leaving his room even for an adventure with his silver-haired savior; lord artoirel (first and most responsible of house fortemps's sons) is still more trustworthy than any new ser haurchefant, and count haillenarte will grudgingly agree to let francel go out only so long as it is under artoirel's constant supervision.

so it comes to pass that francel comes running up to the steps of fortemps manor in a young noble's riding suit: his bliaud less frilly than usual, with long leather boots that will protect his thighs from the rigors of a chocobo's saddle. emmanellain's recent bullying and teasing seems to have done nothing to dampen the blond boy's spirits; he grins the daring grin of a boy who was not clubbed over the head and dragged to a shack a fortnight ago, and the only thing that stops him from throwing his arms around artoirel is the young man's armor.

well, that and the fact that haurchefant is watching from his post just outside fortemps manor.

in three years, francel has learned some things about bastards and firstborns.]

It is lovely weather, is it not? Where are we headed today, my lord?

[outings with artoirel, francel has found, are never quite as grand as adventures with haurchefant, but francel loves the older man's company all the same. it frightens him to think that he might one day have to choose between the two.]

[For Haurchefant Artoirel spares not even a glance. He wouldn't make special note of any other guard at his post, so why should it be any different in this circumstance? His behavior is slightly altered as a result of having his half brother nearby, though — he lightly drapes an arm about Francel's shoulders to start leading him away where usually he would not (especially not in armor). It's definitely his way of mocking Haurchefant for the fact that the younger man is not seen as trustworthy enough to take his best friend anywhere, but Artoirel is.

He takes quite a bit of joy out of that sort of pettiness, it's really unseemly.]

Down to the central highlands. The wildflowers are in full bloom this time of year, and since I planned to do a brief survey of the area anyway I thought you might like to see them.

[as much as he's trying to maintain a certain amount of lordly poise (in front of haurchefant, anyway), the promise of going to the central highlands makes francel almost wiggle with visible joy. his ears almost seem to rise with excitement when artoirel drapes one arm around him; as much as he tries not to think about it, his cheeks turn a little pink from embarrassment.

even francel isn't immune to what an incredibly handsome man artoirel has become.]

Oh! I... w-wildflowers would be lovely. I do so hope I can take some pretty blossoms home for Mother to see. You... you always remember so well my love for flowers, Lord Artoirel.

[While Francel's smiles always lift his spirits, having him smile so brightly right in front of Haurchefant when he's secretly trying to rankle him really is a special gift. He chuckles lightly as he escorts Francel out into the streets proper.]

It is quite simple to remember. That a rose should enjoy being amongst other flowers is only natural.

[It's hard to tell if he's teasing Francel for his pink cheeks or referring to his house emblem — likely a bit of both. Artoirel is not blind to Francel's admiration, though at this stage he thinks that it is more childish hero worship than anything else. He doesn't yet suspect that they share similar proclivities or he might watch his words more carefully. After all, Francel is still but a child — he wouldn't dream of doing anything untoward with a boy his age.]

[a rose, francel whispers to himself. he called me a rose.

it's awful, and childish, and girlish, but francel just can't help the little thrill that runs down his spine in response to that. a rose... how nice it would be to have a sweetheart call him that. my rose, my angel, my little songbird. terrible romantic nicknames like out of some bad romance novel, and yet so incredibly satisfying all the same!]

I... I like that... you never tell me that flowers are unmanly, my lord. Father says a great deal of my habits are unmanly, and my love of flowers chief amongst them. But they are harmless, are they not? Flowers... flowers are not why I have no skill for swordplay.

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