middaeg | (open) & i may not see the future,

Entry tags:

(open) & i may not see the future,

Who: Aymeric and Francel and Solas in closed prompts; whoever wants an elf goodboy who likes ethics discussions and long walks on the beach in the open prompt!
When: mid to late May.
Where: the Coven, the Haven.
What: magic, ruminating on politics, rich boys probably putting mattresses on the floor, etc.
Warnings: gore, actually, but it's fine, everything's fine,

♞ practical magic. (the coven, open.)

[ Every day, without fail, Aymeric can be found at the Coven, diligently working on his magic. He's progressing slowly, in part because he's chosen no straightforward discipline: often he has an object in front of him on which he'll cast a spell; then he'll wait a little and touch it lightly with his fingertips. Many times he'll only purse his lips or frown, but other times, he'll yank his hand back as if burned (and he might be).

He also practices shielding magic, as best he can — he may turn, sometimes, and ask the nearest obvious newcomer if they wouldn't mind throwing something at him, yes really, harmless or otherwise. He's wearing armor; it's fine. ]

♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)

[ The house, the witches assured them, is perfectly safe. Yes, it did once belong to a family who succumbed to the Cwyld, but that's no reason for alarm, of course, they said; get a tea table and some chairs; get a fire started in the hearth, and it'll feel just like home.

It feels nothing like home, though, even after he and Francel have dusted all the rooms and carried in a few pieces of inexpensive but solidly-built furniture. Aefenglom is much too warm, for one thing.

By the time night falls, and there's nothing else to bring in or to clean, Aymeric has shed his armor in the house somewhere, poured two glasses of water, and coaxed Francel out to the covered front steps with them as a remedy for the house's stale air.

No one, at this hour, will see Francel's emerging scales.

The twin moons are bright overhead. Aymeric settles on the top step, allowing Francel space, and stretches out his dusty legs, looking pensively up at the sky. He takes a long, cool sip before he speaks. ]

I've wondered, I must confess, how much they truly know of that lesser moon. Folly, I suppose.

♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)

[ It still hasn't occurred to Aymeric to use his watch more often — or almost ever — so he's delighted when he runs into Solas by pure chance a day after they've moved into the Haven. They can't offer much in the way of hospitality, but they do have tea, and a table, and chairs, just as the witches suggested, and Aymeric extends a prompt invitation.

The house is too large for two people, though not as luxurious as some of those nearer the center of the city. The yard is a tangled mess of weeds, and thick ivy has smothered all but the windows on one side of the house. Part of the quaint carved wood detail above the covered porch has a sizable splintered hole in it, as if it was struck by something heavy, and a massive scrape mars the faded paint on the front door. The towering pale wall that separates the inner city from the outer is starkly visible, here, through the other homes.

Aymeric slows as they approach the door. ]

Francel has been reclusive, of late. I've no doubt he'll be glad of your company, but if he appears reluctant, pray forgive him.

[ He pushes it open, stepping into a clean but empty narrow foyer split by a staircase, and raises his voice: ]

Francel?

(note/the wildcard option: prose is always okay. for any other ideas/whatever, feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk at elegiae ♡

unrelated note that a reference to the parliamentary records building is now undermael college because I didn't see a question on the faq until right now,,,)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You have the right of it, I think...

[in all honesty, francel did not mean to criticize aymeric when he spoke, and so he continues fussing over aymeric's tea, serenely unperturbed, fixing it with a generous amount of milk and a mildly distressing amount of sugar. when the liquid is properly mixed, he sets it upon its saucer, gently, before the lord commander. all the while, he watches solas oddly, wondering if the man perhaps does not like tea. too late, perhaps, to offer him another beverage, and he has already done the kindness of accepting it if he dislikes it.]

Then do you suppose the Coven and Parliament are at odds? Or else, that each party does not know the other's intentions?

[ Aymeric likewise murmurs his thanks to Francel, though he doesn't try his tea immediately. That was a lot of sugar. ]

The Coven—

[ He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin, gaze drifting. Solas's observation about the Bright Wall is correct: he'd assumed himself that a walled city was only sensible, like an outpost in potentially hostile country — but the problem, like the Pillars thriving above the ravaging storms of the Brume, was who benefited from those protections. ]

The Coven and Parliament serve disparate purposes. If the Coven is made up of those with some skill for magic, we can surmise that its population, and perhaps its perspective, is largely egalitarian. Conversely, Parliament is the seat of power, and skill is not a requirement for entry. What, then, are the requirements? This is plainly not a land accustomed to war; therefore, distinguished service should make no difference. The wealthiest homes are closest to Parliament.

[ He makes a vague gesture with a tilt of his head: therefore, ]

I much doubt the two work closely together in all things, and I further suspect that Parliament's position on our sudden appearance will be far more practical, and far less invested in our ability to return home. They will, I believe, principally seek to make use of us.

Edited (dont look at me) 2019-05-21 21:31 (UTC)

[By virtue of his experiences, Solas has an empathy towards Parliament. He is not sorry on a personal level towards the former residents of Haven for what is – in the grand scheme of things – a trivial inconvenience. Necessity begs that leaders be able to act decisively in a moment of crisis. The Bright Wall might be a testament to that –

but his empathy dies the moment he remembers the miserable slum-dwellers hidden away behind it, and he finds he cannot forget them. Nor can he forgive. There are hard, necessary sacrifices. Then there is the step beyond, a step into the monstrous: profiting at the expense of the ones you’ve sacrificed.

He takes up his teacup.] Parliament could easily demand that help. We are strangers at their mercy – yet their handling of us has been nothing less than open-handed. That is remarkable. I will not soon forget they might have placed us in the Outer City. Likely, they considered it. They certainly would have avoided provoking the Inner City by doing so, and what better way to impress upon us the threat of the Cwyld?

It suggests idealism. And it suggests desperation – the hope that strangers will find answers they cannot, and that the strangers will do so if they are only encouraged.

[He sips, and makes a disgusted expression. Blech.]

[at once, francel sets the pot down, fortunately before he has had cause to pour liquid into his own cup; his brow creases in concern.]

Solas, could it be that you dislike tea? You might have spoken. We've not much else on hand, but I could have served you water...

[Entirely direct, as though tea being disgusting really goes without saying:]

It is tea. I detest it. [His brows are furrowed not at Francel but at the teacup and of having to entertain discussion of the unpleasant drink he’s submitting himself to.] I would not drink it if I did not need to: but I have had want of its bitter taste of late, to clear my mind of lingering sleep.

We must all find ways to focus on finding solutions to our present difficulties.

[He sips again, brow creasing as he does, waiting for the continuation of their discussion. Evidently, he thinks he’s said all that needs to be said on the matter.]

[ Aymeric sips his own tea, partly to conceal a smile, and looks down at it in pleasant surprise. Evidently, he has no idea how to compare sugar to birch syrup. (This, among other reasons, is why Francel cooks). ]

It is true that they have treated us quite well at the expense of their own, which...does suggest idealism.

[ He frowns at dark grain of their little tea table, thinking. What had Cain called it? The necessary hard thing— ]

Indeed, I can think of no credible reason that they should place such faith in us, and I doubt all of them would. There must be a prevailing faction, or factions, within Parliament that favor our intervention.

[He inclines his head in accord.]

Fortunately, it seems they are the dominant faction – for now. Whatever their reasoning, they have invested in us. We must take every care to be seen as worthy of that investment. [He sets down his teacup, wanting to impress this point. He fears how quickly the winds can change, and he fears that small riot was an omen of what is to come.]

If it is concluded we are unworthy, or ungrateful, of what we have been given – that blame will be turned on us. The resentment of Parliament and of this city could grow until it strangles us.

[francel's mind whirls, trying to catch up to the more important aspects of the conversation, but in truth, he is still hung up on solas's opinions of tea. what could be so awful or so bitter about tea?!

somewhat sheepishly, he decides against fetching solas a glass of water, and instead self-consciously pours himself his own cup of... tea...]

...I have grown to mistrust idealism and desperation, joined in union.

[now his thoughts truly turn toward aymeric — but francel moves on.]

And as love can turn to hatred, exaltation turns swiftly to abasement... Yes, framed in this way, I can see how we may be in a precarious position. But what have they asked of us? Have they encouraged the two of you to study their magic? They most assuredly expect nothing of me.

[ Aymeric pretends not to notice the jab, whether it's Francel's first or second — this one, at least, is unmistakable. ]

Not so: you have the ability to strengthen a witch's magic, and they mean for us to defend them against the Cwyld with that very magic, no? You yourself have said they have encouraged you to enter into a Bond — reasonable for you, but certainly ideal for them. In any case, Solas is quite right, I believe: if we fail to convince Parliament and the Coven that we are worthy of their aid, we may well lose everything. We must anticipate their expectations; we cannot assume they will be clearly defined.

[He’s glad they have not dismissed his suspicions. He has already calculated the Ishgardians as subtle minds, and critical thinkers, so it should not be surprising – but he has learned to expect to be misunderstood, and it always comes as an unexpected relief when he isn’t.]

Our fellow newcomers will comport themselves as they will. [His tone of voice suggest he anticipates badly.] We have no compelling leverage over our multitude to insist otherwise. We can only watch for a turn in the winds, and expect that any judgement of the group will fall on us as well, fair or not.

As we are not humans, we are doubly vulnerable to the populace's hate and fear. In the course of my travels, I have watched strange outsiders such as we make fitting scapegoats for unjust rulership and bad harvests.

[He feels obligated to warned them of that. How could they guess how things could turn, if they have lived all their lives in lands where elves have always ruled as the majority?]

That —

[for a moment, francel's youthful pride bristles, not quite at solas but at the mere thought of elezen being overtaken by hyur. the young lord holds few prejudices, for an ishgardian; it does not mean that he has none. francel has always been fond of the hyur. it is easy for him to be, when, deep down, he believes himself inherently superior to them.

but he cannot deny that solas speaks only the truth. it was not long ago that the commonfolk chafed beneath the leadership of house maintigny, and stormed the manor, killing their cruel lord and his sons. that the father was corrupt, francel could understand — but that the sons deserved the same treatment...

his expression hardens.]

...I am foolish and reckless, and have oft been chastised for it — [he shakes his head] — but know, that if it comes to that, I will gladly fight for the both of you, in whatever way I can.

Edited 2019-05-23 02:19 (UTC)

[ Aymeric raises his eyebrows mildly at the declaration. Francel is often earnest and well-meaning, he's learned, but this is that in the extreme: he's arrived at the most dismal possible conclusion, and then set himself to the most dramatic end he could derive from it. ]

I...am certain it will not come to that.

[ He glances at Solas, openly looking for agreement. ]

For a mercy, we can be of great use to them — not now, perhaps, but if we are diligent. It may be wise, as well, to seek out those who are like-minded: then, in the event that any significant number of our fellows should decide to scorn the Coven and Parliament's arrangement, we might posit ourselves beneficially as a friendly faction. 'Twould doubtless invite scrutiny, but that, too, might benefit us — supposing we are aiding either the Coven or the city in some way.

[ A potentially massive organizational undertaking, but he proposes it with a breezy optimism for which he's possibly in the wrong company. ]

[Francel’s declaration is... surprising. A little amusing, and deeply moving. He fears precisely such a grim conflict, though his inclination bends more to flight than fight. Though they were only brave words, it is more than he had expected to hear in dark and cynical times, and he is not one to spurn such kindness. He turns in place, gratitude shining towards Francel. With an earnestness uncommon to him (and implicitly contradicting Aymeric):]

Yours is a noble spirit, Francel de Haillenarte.

[He recomposes himself – takes up his teacup and drinks, desiring at once a bitter counterbalance to idealism – and listens to Aymeric’s proposal with seriousness. He frowns, ambiguously either at the tea, or at the concept.]

Then you are proposing a plan of action? [He furrows his brows, though voicing approval.] There is advantage in it. As there is when any unheard, disparate group bands together as a fraternity, amplifying their voices by way of unison.

[More succinctly: it’s more than they will achieve by doing nothing.]

Edited 2019-05-23 12:39 (UTC)

[francel smiles briefly at solas’s approval; he raises a brow at aymeric’s optimism, but does not seek to crush or correct it. instead, he asks as neutrally as he can manage:]

Do you intend to build a coalition like the Temple Knights here, Ser Aymeric? Or something less organized — the Convictors, mayhap?

[...some skepticism may bleed through despite his best efforts.]

Edited 2019-05-23 13:55 (UTC)

[ He looks at Francel blandly for a moment, refusing to entertain the suggestion that he might be hoping to create an army with himself at the head. ]

Nothing formal, unless or until formality is needed. For the nonce, an undeclared association without a leader may be wisest. My primary concern is that we maintain our access to the Coven, and to the inner city generally. If we should find ourselves relegated to the outer city, all hope of self-reliance in research might be lost — or else we may be forced to earn our rights again, thereby wasting time while risking infection.

[He nods his firm accord with the goal.]

Well-considered. In its early stage, your group will not have power as might necessitate formal strictures. Premature consolidation can handicap growth. Better if you may restructure with flexibility, as strategy or need will dictate.

[Aymeric’s spirit is purposed for command, Solas thinks. Though they suggest nothing formal, he hopes that Aymeric is not a man as to be swayed by false modesty, and that his de facto leadership will from the start be assured.

Though the specific Ishgardian concepts give him pause – if he’s to assist, he would know more of the experience and reference that may be guiding the pair.]

Indulge my curiosity – what are the Temple Knights?

Ah...

[francel is no leader, though he is one in name. instinctively, caught off-guard, he looks to aymeric for approval — this in spite of the fact that he has subtly been at odds with aymeric throughout this entire conversation.

whatever he seeks in the lord commander's limpid blue eyes, he must find it, because he nods, then explains for solas's benefit.]

The Temple Knights are Ishgard's leading military force, and they operate under the direct authority of the Holy See. They are responsible for the defense of national interests, as well as maintaining public order. It is a large and complex company; as an example, under the banner of the Temple Knights are such subdivisions as the Order of the Friars Templar and the Order of the Knights Dragoon.

In addition to the Temple Knights, however, the four High Houses have their own knightly orders. My sister, as an example, commands the Rose Knights of House Haillenarte. But all that is irrelevant....

[as if his house does not matter — or, slyly, keeping high house business to himself, even in this strange new world — francel breezes over the matter of his knightly order, moving on.]

I contrasted the Temple Knights with the Convictors — the Convictors, if one is to be generous, might rightly be described as aspiring knights. They are, as a general rule, a group of commoners, rogues, and the noble sons of dishonored families, all of whom seek the singular goal of acquiring knighthood by means of slaying named and notorious dragons. They are amateurs. Most die in their attempts.

...With brevity, I suppose I might have asked Aymeric whether he planned to lead an army or a loose band of mercenaries.

Edited 2019-05-24 04:07 (UTC)

And the answer is neither. Against the Cwyld we may be soldiers, but in our dealings with Parliament, we must be ambassadors. For that matter — I thought to dispense with titles, here, as most of Aefenglom's people are like to suppose us mummers and charlatans, but there is a possibility that the city's highborn will be usefully amused by them.

[ He looks to Solas, for that, awaiting his (perhaps bluntly) honest assessment. ]

[He listens with careful appreciation, making some further private deductions about Ishgard from the new information. At the end, he only smiles at Francel’s artless finishing line. How amusing the social gatherings of the ruling classes invariably are. So much sophisticated veneer for the elaborate word games that allow old grudges and rivalries to be aired and played out anew. The players only vary in their deftness.

He still has a trace of that smile when he replies to Aymeric.]

That depends on how amusing you wish to be.

[More seriously:] I believe such affectations are simple and useful – to the same degree wearing a hat can be useful. If the title is customary to Aefenglom, for example, it could be a posture of compliance. The local observer will see what is alike to them, and perceive us as willing and eager to assimilate: we cease to be uncomplicatedly alien, exotic strangers.

[francel nods his assent, more or less; he sips gratefully at his tea, slaking his throat after his long explicative spiel.]

...The highborn and the privileged enjoy the company of the highborn and the privileged.

[it occurs to francel, suddenly, that he and aymeric must have had very different receptions in the extravagant halls of ishgardian high society. he sets his cup upon his saucer, staring thoughtfully at the lord commander. it would be easy to lie about his origins, to recast the man as a foreign prince from a distant land, although he thinks that aymeric would be annoyed to hear it said aloud.]

And if a thing can be of use, I would use it.

[ Aymeric tilts his head in acquiescence, mirroring Solas's little smile. ]

Then I suppose I shall be commander of the Temple Knights, after all, and viscount of House Borel, if the title is known to the city. And you— [ he peers at Francel, lips twitching— ] certainly the lord of Skyfire Locks, but we might credibly call you a count. You must know how to play the part, and there are no other men of House Haillenarte here.

Edited 2019-05-25 01:19 (UTC)

I — I, the count? I mean — I can play at being my father, but — Aurvael was ever positioned as the heir —

[the young lord grows agitated, though in a charming sort of way; plainly, he is embarrassed, but his lips seem drawn in the kind of flustered curl that suggests a suppressed smile, and he seems more bashful than angry. at some point in time, perhaps house haillenarte's fourthborn son once dreamt of being count.]

In the first place, who would believe that I outrank you?!

[though technically, he does, after a fashion, but...]

Edited 2019-05-25 02:58 (UTC)

[ He shrugs lightly. ]

A title is not earned. [ This may or may not be a burn, but if it is, it's a gentle burn. ] Your house is more esteemed than mine; if Aefenglom has nobility in a similar manner to Ishgard, they will certainly understand. Perhaps your father merely stepped down to enjoy a life of leisure.

[ He waves vaguely, leaving it to Francel. ]

Think on it. If it discomfits you, we'll not use it.

[ He turns— ]

Master Solas, you must bear some title — of accomplishment, if not nobility.

Edited (SORRy) 2019-05-25 03:17 (UTC)

[Solas thinks, watching them with a benign smile, that their quick turn to aristocratic titles is also both funny and characteristic.]

I must decline. My professional title was Fade expert. [Also elven manservant, on more than one occasion.] As we are in a world absent of the Fade, I am without my area of expertise. Any claim I could make to accomplishment here would be pure pretension.

Likewise, I am no noble: and I do not wish to be taken for one.

[He does not seem modest or self-effacing, but rather proud. (He himself certainly is not so myopic he would take up a bogus title of Marquis and thus hamstring his society with the lower classes. They remain in his opinion the more interesting and fruitful prospect for organisation.)]

[francel runs a hand through his hair, frustrated and flustered, but trying to compose himself.]

You mentioned, last we spoke, that magic from your world was drawn from the Fade, no? May I inquire as to what it is?

[he gave his own explanation on aether, but it sounds as if the fade is... different.]

(open) & i may not see the future,

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)