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

Shit!

[ He slammed a boot down on the flat of the blade, knowing that he was fucking diminuitive compared to Aymeric; it might not be all the resistance he hoped it'd be. He snapped his elbow up, trying to catch Aymeric in the face to forestall him getting control of the weapon. ]

[ Cain was temptingly close, and the sword was under his boot — and a messy victory was better than none. Aymeric seized the opportunity and lunged, circling an arm around Cain's leg with a sharp tug forward. ]

[ The sharp tug threw him off balance, half-toppling over Aymeric, banging a knee on his chest. But the fall also caught the edge of the elf's absurd fucking shoulder armor right between his legs, and he crumpled like wadded paper, teeth bared and clenched together, eyes shut tight and squeezing out enough tears to make his lashes dark and damp.

He used his free hand to tap out, wheezing a quick, ]

Out! I'm out!

Lemme...

lemme go, fucking shitting goddamn whorecuntfuckingshitassfuck shit shit shit shit...

[ He just lay limply on his side, curled in, hissing and panting and sweating as the pain ebbed, trying not to think how close he'd been to hurling or how he'd probably be limping the whole goddamn way back. ]

[ Aymeric had to laugh, braced on his forearms, head hanging — a sympathetic laugh, but still. ]

Cain! I'm so terribly sorry, I hardly thought—

[ But Cain was bleeding, and the stripe of bright red that ran down to his chin was about to be joined by another across his brow, and Aymeric could, if nothing else, fix that.

He shuffled closer, on his knees. One of his hands hovered over Cain's brow. ]

Shall I carry you to the forest and back?

[ Ha ha. He worked the spell without much visible effort; magic poured into the gash and diffused, knitting the skin. ]

Don't... hah, laugh, you jerk!

[ A reprimand that meant nothing, given his pants were peppered with laughs, now, just at the fucking... shit luck of it, and Aymeric's own laugh pulled it out of him. He barely noticed the hand on his brow, but shivered when he felt the magic, and licked his teeth, trying to shift himself up onto an elbow. ]

I... fuck we're both lucky I... wasn't sick, oh, god.... just... just gimme a second... I'll be fine, it's... hah, I'm already sterile, at least, fuck...

[ He tried to wave Aymeric off enough to sit up, head slumped between his knees, both hands in his own hair, still sucking in air in deep breaths. ]

If that's not a... tactic you use... already, consider it... I mean, you should consider it.

It was by no means my intention, I assure you. I'd have surrendered first.

[ He sat back only a little, legs tucked under him — which was reasonably uncomfortable in plate armor, but staying there was commiseration — and rubbed Cain's back companionably, and brushed the dirt from his side. They were both going to look like they belonged in the outer city, by the time they went back. ]

Your ill fortune aside, I suppose I underestimated you at my peril, after all. You have the strength of a man twice your size.

[ Cain pushed his hair back from his face with spread fingers, face sweat damp and flushed, but... grinned. Shook his head and made a flicking motion with his fingers. ]

It's... gene mods. Mars is... a harsh place, right, and... so that we can survive it, a little after conception, right, kids are... changed. Denser bones, and a couple other... weird things that would take a long time to explain.

But also... Back home, I fought into the morning. Every day. Only way I could sleep. I'm kinda just...

[ He gestured at his face, and tried gingerly to clean the blood off his face with the edge of his sleeve. ]

Fucked up in the head. Too tense. Did I get most of it?

[ Aymeric's lips twitched. ]

Not quite. Do you still mean to go into the forest?

[ He reached out to wipe the blood from Cain's cheek with this thumb, but it only smeared a copper-red tinge across his darker skin. Aymeric tried once more before he withdrew, giving up, and propped his bloodied hand on his knee. ]

We can return on the morrow, if you'd like. Bring your bits of glass.

[ It was half-teasing — they were both a mess, now, both pathetically sitting in the middle of a muddy road until Cain felt like getting up. ]

Are you kidding? Look at me, I've got... the cut magicked away and the blood practically gone, and... if we walk slow I won't limp.

I'm pretty much ready for the ball.

[ He laughed again, shook his head. Rolled his eyes, and gripped the back of Aymeric's messy hand, rubbed the blood off on his sleeve. Used his sleeve to to a better job with his own face, too. ]

As long as you're still ready to rumble, I'll just... actually, seriously, maybe, uh... stick behind you.

Good.

[ He slipped an arm around the middle of Cain's back to help him up, quickly and somewhat unnecessarily, and dropped it before it could be remarked on — the height disparity made it untenable. He gathered both their swords, handing Cain's back to him, and kept his pace slower as he headed for the forest. ]

You've no need for it here, I suppose? The fighting each night.

[ He righted himself with Aymeric's help, and gingerly replaced sword to scabbard. Trailed after Aymeric with a hitched stride as he finished Aymeric's work of dusting himself off.

He rubbed the back of his neck. ]

No. Hard work is... enough, mostly. When it's not I can go dancing, fix up the tower. Do odd jobs.

That is well.

[ The men he'd known to rely on it were hiding other hurts — so Cain had left at least some of them behind. Saying as much would sound patronizing, so Aymeric left that where it was.

The huts and stalls dwindled to rotted boards and broken carts, and the forest spread out ahead of them in either direction, swallowing the horizon. No part of any one place they might enter distinguished it from any others, except the path — but there was a plume of pale smoke off in the distance, somewhere.

Aymeric studied it, head tilted, and started decisively toward it. ]

You keep being so damn sweet, tough guy, I'm gonna have to start callin' you sugar.

[ He grinned... until he saw the line of Aymeric's attention. Cussed, and lengthened his stride with a fluttering wince. ]

What's the plan?

An excellent question.

[ There was humor in it, like they were headed for nothing in particular. ]

We shall find who or what caused the fire, firstly, if we can. I presume the Cwyld cannot be burned away, or the Coven would have attempted it — though perhaps I ought not. We shall see.

[ He turned back to give Cain an appraising glance, lips twitching. ]

All right?

[ And he offered, mostly joking, his arm. ]

[ Cain swat at Aymeric's offered arm with a huff, face red.

And then took it, chin jut as if he were just daring Aymeric to laugh at him. He leaned a little on that support, so he could walk fast enough to keep up. ]

Don't be dumb, a fire making that much smoke? We won't even be able to get close! We should focus on putting it out first! You have any magic for that?

Edited 2019-07-05 01:44 (UTC)

[ Aymeric didn't so much as crack a smile. ]

Shielding spells. Whether they might be used to smother a fire I cannot say, but I certainly might try.

[ He thought for a moment as they passed through the first tall trees, the grass and brush around them dotted with old stumps. ]

This close to the city, I can think of no innocuous reason any man might have to build a fire. 'Tis like that it was a fool witch, a deliberate attempt, or a creature.

Are you kidding? There's a million reasons to start a fire! To burn the dead rather than bury them, clear out brush, heat up enough water for a lot of people to do laundry...

But if it's fire...

[ He looked down at the hand not on Aymeric's arm. ]

[ He was about to debate it, mildly, half-smiling — but he paused, following the path of Cain's gaze. ]

You believe you may have a natural affinity?

[ A neutral, interested question, and there was no reason not to try — Cain had to be approaching the point of needing an outlet for his magic, if the Coven hadn't misled them all.

At the first scent of smoke on the breeze, he turned back. The forest was innocent ahead of them: dense, dappled with less and less daylight, but deceptively tranquil. ]

I can only do real magic in the dreams. And... when I do, it's always fire.

And sparks, fire, they've been the only thing that could really work, until I followed some advice from Francel. He's.... y'know, pretty great. Cute, smart, really sweet. You're lucky.

[ He lifted a hand, trying to gauge the breeze. ]

Cant towards the left. We don't wanna be right in the... line of fire, where the wind might be pushing it.

[ Aymeric said nothing immediately, but shifted their path. ]

He is a worthier man than he knows, and perceptive. I’ve no doubt he liked you.

[ Another pause. He might have left it there, on that pleasant observation — with someone else, or if they’d never spoken frankly about weakness.

He looked pensively into the trees ahead, absently sucking in his lower lip. ]

He would prefer, I think, that I were another man — nor do I fault him for it. He is pleased when something intrigues him, and he’s pleased by affection, but when he has neither he seems to lack purpose, and I...am evidently quite incapable of bringing him more than a fleeting contentment.

If he likes me, I think it's against his... y'know. Better judgement. I'm a little much for most people.

[ He kept his eyes sharp for smoke. Tugged on Aymeric to get him to pause, plucked up a large, bright blue flower from a fuzzy stalk, some manner of weed, shoved it into his pocket, explaining, ]

This is a good one, pick these if you find 'em.

And... yeah, you two are almost exactly wrong for each other. He wants someone... expansive and big with his love, right? Wants to be the apple of somebody's eye. And you are so subtle, even when you're really happy.

[ He clicked his tongue. ]

But... there's all the rest too. Most people, him included, wanna marry other people. You're... like, married to your job. I dunno if anybody could make you as happy on their own as like... a really great, fantastic thing happening with your duties.

Which, y'know. I get it. But other people are gonna have a hard time wrapping their minds around that, especially when they like you.

[ He answered with a solemn hum of acknowledgement, mildly condemning himself, and he might have left that alone, too — but it felt like a very soft, very gentle attack, subtle and coaxing, not to be defeated by strong walls or sturdy shields.

Aymeric reached down into the brush, plucked a blossom, and examined it with idle curiosity before tucking it away. ]

There are things that make me happy apart from that, of course. Selfish wants, if you like. I have more duties to the city than ever before, but also far more power to allow convergences, when it is practical and will not betray the public trust.

What practical convergence is there for something of that nature? Love without heirs, without the alliance of a marriage between houses.

[ It wasn't rhetorical. In the short silence that followed it, something echoed off in the forest, difficult to place, though he knew it was ahead — some distorted sound, a low rumble that his basest animal senses interpreted as something wrong. He ignored it. ]

I suppose, done with care, it might be a bold assertion. An example. We need no longer produce warriors to fight an unending war, and the right house or the right name have no place in an enlightened nation.

Edited 2019-07-06 02:27 (UTC)

[ The sound drew Cain't attention, like a hound trained to hunt. ]

Building collapsing. Not big, one floor, no more. I didn't think there were places out this far... and in the woods...

[ He shifted away from Aymeric to lead, being shorter and better able to press through brambles and low branches and the overgrown weeds. He kept pulling up the flowerheads as he passed them, stuffing his pockets while he thought. ]

But... uh.

See, that's a great idea to be honest, and we need to kick your medieval society into gear and jumpstart the whole republic thing, but you're still... it's still in the context of your work, you know? Not just... what you want, what you feel. It's stuff like that that makes someone into you feel like second-best, right? Like there's no romance. Especially for somebody sensitive like your man.

[ He realized Aymeric would make a great robot. With some of that really slick humanised AI. Blinked over his shoulder at the other man. ]

But, I guess... what do you imagine for yourself, huh? Ten years from now, twenty? How long do your people live, anyway?

[ Aymeric shifted just as easily to follow, attentive to all of it. Cain's hearing was sharp, for his kind, not unlike his unexpected strength — strange things that would take too long to explain, he'd said. ]

The eldest of us live perhaps ten or twenty years beyond a hundred.

[ He paused, ducking under a branch Cain couldn't have reached. ]

For myself, I would...not presume to imagine aught at all. Much can change in ten years, and my position is by no means secure. I hope, naturally, that I will live, and that my people will go on allowing me to serve them.

[ But that was incidental here, a backdrop. ]

I suppose I shall be alone. Not because I prefer it, but because I agree with you. There are few who would accept the sort of life I am bound to lead. My people are accustomed to war; it has been our birthright, a part of our faith, for a thousand years. Now and again, we must have an enemy. For the nonce, it is the enemy of our sister nations, an empire that has long sought to grow its dominion — but we marched long to reach the front, a march that seemed interminable, and I would not be a fit commander if I lacked the courage to ride with the vanguard.

Edited 2019-07-07 19:54 (UTC)

A thousand years...

[ Shit, that was a fucking long time. Not, he guessed, that humans had ever really stopped warring on their own, so... it felt probable. When his pockets were full, he popped the last flower he'd gotten into his mouth, chewing it as he thought, and skirted to one side of a thicket of brambles through which he could see flashes of red and curls of smoke. ]

And, c'mon. So what if the chance is slim? Odds were probably slim as fuck you'd survive this long. If you prefer to be alone, that's one thing, but...

If fucking light can travel a million years to fall into your eye when you look up at the night sky, right...

If a tiny shaft of light can survive that long, in all that cold darkness... anything's possible. Miracles, even. And that's... kinda the fucking awesome thing about hope, right. No matter how shit things get, nothing can ever take it from you, unless you let it. Maybe you'll meet your star out in the wars, somebody who loves quiet talks and good wine and strategy and overworking themselves to death.

[ He covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm. The smoke was starting to make his eyes sting and water. Coughed, once. ]

I can see the shape of the... it looks like three buildings, two already collapsed, last one wanting to go! And something behind them, like a path or maybe a road?

Cover your face and try your magic!

i know that feeling all too well

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