aymeric de borel, certified 0 flaws except f (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
civicbooty) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-05-18 09:48 pm
civicbooty) wrote in middaeg2019-05-18 09:48 pm
(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.)
♞ walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. (moving in, for francel.)
♞ a strategy discussion. (tea, for francel & solas.)
(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,,,)
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,,,)
no subject
[ For how shaken he'd seemed, it was a more measured response than Aymeric expected. He relaxed a little, almost intangibly; allowed his hand over Cain's to settle lightly on it. Even after casting two good barriers in quick succession, the healing spell came stronger and more easily than ever, seamlessly diffusing across the clean edges of the cuts Cain had made, knitting his damaged skin. ]
Yet that web is much like public life, I think — like statecraft: the moment you question your right to be a part of it, and do as you must, you risk some hungrier thing taking your place.
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And then looked up, shaking his head. ]
Are you kidding? They're... only alike a little. An animal like this one, right, it's never been... I dunno, taught fucking morals, or good and evil. It doesn't know sin, or appreciate beauty. It just... is. Like a storm. Eats when its hungry, has young, learns and suffers and sleeps and dies.
People, though, people know the difference. People, tons of them, all the fucking time, choose to be... cruel, or evil, or assholes. And that's part of what makes being a person hard, right? Is that we've got a duty to, um.... be more than a beast, but the instincts to be even worse than one. Not just to get justice but to get revenge, shit like that.
And that's why... I don't know. It's one thing to be cruel to another person, right? A man in the world expects other people to be fucks, knows the rules of being in a society. But being cruel to an animal is... something worse, kinda. Like like being cruel to children. They don't get the rules, don't understand the stakes or the way things are. They're... innocent, I guess?
In a way.
[ He dug in his pocket for the weird communicator they'd been given, flipped it open and started to laboriously type a message. ]
I'm gonna see if that magic shop pays a bounty for any parts of this animal. And while I wait to hear back, we're gonna talk about this bond shit.
no subject
Cain had never lived in the highlands, Aymeric reminded himself. He didn't understand, couldn't understand the reality of it. There was no frightening away a thing the size of five men that knew it would eat reliably for the foreseeable future if it stole a few loggers from their shelters in the night and tucked their bodies away in a cool den. If slaying those creatures along the road was cruelty, his people had learned it to protect themselves. It was necessary.
But it wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong about everything all along, and it wouldn't be the first time it took an outsider to bring it to light.
He was frowning absently at Cain's palm, running his thumb over scars and bones like rosary beads. He realized belatedly that he hadn't answered, looked up. ]
Yes — apologies for relying upon it; I...suppose you would have liked your first to be more than necessity, the temporary sort or no.
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Don't apologize, I knew what I was doing. And I'm a romantic, not an idiot.
When I learned what... what the risks are, I got on a regimen of... These one-day Bonds. I've got a calendar, been measuring my symptoms, have... an arrangement, I guess. With a few different people, so nothing gets... too intimate, too... easy to make a habit.
[ He spoke while watching the little locket thing, and then, for something to do, stuffed it in his pocket, and fished out his palm-sized notebook, plucked up the pencil nub stuffed on its inside. ]
I'm still serious, about how I feel about a real Bond. And unless it's an emergency or something, don't offer it to me again. It... feels too right. And warm.
[ He was scrawling notes about the magic done, the time of day, a short few words about the circumstances of the need... ]
I'd get my dumb hopes up, you'd pragmatically break my heart, I'd resent the hell out of you for being unwilling to marry me, it'd be a real stupid mess. And I'm less risk-averse than you are, which reminds me of something else.
I'm leaving in like two weeks on a secret mission to Dewaint. There's a huge node of Cwyld there, and I'm gonna go test a... a solution on it.
I started writing a book for you, useful shit I know, for you to take with you when you go home. Just... in case, right. Should I give it to you before I go, or just tell you where to find it if I don't come back?
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None of it was could be refuted. Marriage was a world apart from him; he would always be the outsider looking in on it. It was meant for people who put their families above the city, and he, of all people, could not do that. Perhaps, now that there was relative peace, he would never need to make that choice — or perhaps he would. Perfection would be someone who never asked it of him, never expected him to put aside his duties, who would go with him when the knights marched, if they liked, but would have the grace not to try and persuade him to stay behind. ]
Tell me nothing.
[ His voice was calm, almost light, false. He took off the heavy burnished clasp that kept his mud-caked coat in place, shrugged out of both, dropped them with the rest. ]
I trust you to return — and more than likely to find some success. You are — [ he shrugged out of his tabard, leaving himself absurdly half-dressed in a plain fitted shirt, breeches studded with mail where his greaves left a gap over his thighs, and his sollerets, gleaming in the light. ] —brilliant, capable, determined, pragmatic yourself—
[ He sank down, then, in the shadow of the dead bird's wing where it had buckled and lay still, with his legs askew and his arms propped on his knees. The breeze stirred bright feathers over him as he looked back at Cain. ]
And I admire you terribly.
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[ He breathed it like a sigh, and made one last note in his book. Shoved it once again into a back pocket. Moved his dark hands along the bend of the wing sheltering the other man, feeling out the smooth feathers, finding the joint of its bend. Death hadn't stiffened it yet. ]
You make me want to be... a better man. Try to be, I guess. And I will come back, with information, if not success, and show up at your door. Like an alley-cat you fed once and who won't ever leave you alone after, hah!
[ He moved the muscle at either side of the joint with a tight pull, making it bend and cast a more complete shadow over Aymeric where he sat. ]
Poor guy, you look red as a tomato. Want me to check around and see if there's water?
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Having seen what I have in this forest, my friend, I would not drink the water here for love, coin, or country—
[ —and he tugged loose the laces of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and dropped it carelessly next to him, falling back into the shade. He was less scarred than
his title might have suggested; the most notable one was much more recent than the rest, a smooth dark line a little above his hipbone. ]
I shall be indecent while you await your answer, instead.
[ He eyed Cain as best he could from his vantage point, honeyed persuasion slipping into his voice. ]
Come to my door in Ishgard. I shall be so impressed that I shall marry you then and there.
no subject
Oooh, my personal hero and savior, casually removing his shirt. I'm blushing, seriously. You don't stop soon I'll swoon. And then—
[ He was interrupted by that sweet invitation, and though he was half-hidden by the head of the bird, the sound of him tripping over his own feet and then catching himself on the other wing was unmistakeable. The stopwatch, which he'd been checking, fell to the dirt, and he had to scoop it back up.
Aymeric was definitely teasing; so... time to up the ante. He made his voice smaller, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked firmly away. ]
... What size ring do you wear?
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I've no idea. If you mean to bring one to me, I shall find out the moment I return to the city.
[ And he meant that, at least, was already thinking of jewelers along the main road who might help a man who'd brought no coin and was covered in dirt, ash, and blood. ]
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No, you're going to go home, get cleaned up, and eat something. It'll probably be past dark by the time we get back.
Just let me know before two weeks are up.
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[ Terms of affection were fair game in a running joke about marriage, and Aymeric was well prepared to let it run, now that he'd started, and Cain was so gamely throwing it back to him. He stretched out his legs, finally, crossing them at the ankles with a clank. ]
I shall have it for you several days ahead of your most brave adventure, at the least. I'll not say I shall pray for your success, as you have no need of my prayers — but which do you prefer: expectations, or praise?
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Ugh, Aymeric... ]
C'mon, sweetheart,
[ He still hadn't thought of anything better, fucking lame, ]
Don't I deserve the whole trifecta? Prayers, expectations, and praise? Sure I have no technical need of prayers, but I don't need a soft bed or hot food or all of life's comforts, either. They're just nice to have.
But if I had to pick one, if you'll really make me choose... Expectations, totally. We're not gonna be a power couple without pushing each other, and I'll work harder knowing I've really gotta knock it outta the park to impress you.
no subject
(He would never look like this, in the seat of the lord commander; he'd be the picture of a knight, and Cain would come to him in a scholar's robes, no ash, no blood — but he might circle the desk this way, and look across it that way, and there would be no interruptions.) ]
Then I shall expect you to return in reasonably good health with your findings, and I shall pray for your success — and if you succeed, you shall have your trifecta.
no subject
[ He happily tossed the watch from one hand to the other, facing Aymeric fully for a second, looking for all the world like he'd won something, somehow, features alight with victory. ]
Just you fuckin' wait, I'll come back with enough good news it'll give you a headache to listen to the list. And I'll get that trifecta, and be sooo smug about it you'll regret it for a week.
And, uhhhh,
[ he looked back at the messaging device, ]
Turns out most of the thing is useful, Jordy helped me get two bids in town. One for 500 cunes a pound, just trading hands when they get out here, and the other is for seven hundred a pound, but they'll deduct the cost of the butchering by the hour and we don't get paid 'till it's done.
You prefer either one of those?
[ He realized, in that instant, trying to plot out which would get more money but what their time was worth, that he was the wife.
He was the fucking wife. Aymeric probably couldn't cook a goddamn thing. How was he with money? Fucking shit, everything he wore looked expensive. And Cain was small and dainty by comparison. Shit. Shit, he was suddenly the smart one and the wife, what the fuck had happened.
Cain's hand flew to his forehead, raking back his bangs. ]
Huh. Shit. Maybe I'll... I dunno, buy nicer clothes or something...
no subject
You would be dashing in the sort favored by the merchant-princes in the desert.
[ Which had nothing, potentially, to do with here: it was a uselessly appreciative observation.
(He would have to introduce Cain as a foreign scholar, in any case, and it was the highborn who would need convincing, and they trusted in wealth where faith and lineage could not be found.)
He climbed to his feet, ducked under the wing of the bird, and turned his back to Cain, glancing over his shoulder for help with whatever dirt or dust or blades of grass he'd stretched out in. ]
I hardly think we need more than the lesser offer, no?
[ He absolutely didn't manage his own money. ]
no subject
[ He said it with a laugh, and slipped closer to help brush Aymeric's back off in long, sweeping passes of his fingertips. ]
You'll have to help me find what to wear, then. The only fashion I know is: black always matches everything. And that I need to get my hair cut, it's starting to go long.
And okay, okay. It's also the more efficient call, because it'll be faster and I still do wanna see if maybe I can find a good work site.
no subject
[ He turned and drifted around Cain as he spoke, returning the favor, brushing off his shirt. A tiny bright feather .clung to his back. Aymeric offered it to him over his shoulder, and rested his chin on the crown of Cain's head.
The Bond wasn't like what he had with Francel, where every flicker of emotion felt like an intrusion, something he should politely pretend he hadn't felt, though he was used to it, now. This was easy, guiltless, like an open hand. ]
I don't suppose you've been practicing divination in secret, as well?
no subject
[ He took the feather, turned it in his fingers with a boyish, soft 'wow' while he leaned back against Aymeric's chest. His fascination with the simple thing was warm and bright, and he didn't spare a single thought to how strange it was, for the sudden, enfolding comfort of Aymeric to envelop him. ]
It's really beautiful, isn't it? Look how it's paler near the beginning of the feather and goes gold, and then red toward the tip? Variegated, like a wolf's guard hairs. We could probably tell how old it is, with this...
And no, I haven't practiced any divination. My luck, all I'd learn is what meal I'd be eating a month from now at dinner or something stupid like that.
no subject
[ His voice was pleasantly surprised. He hooked an arm around Cain's middle and squeezed, briefly and for no reason, before he let go, pulling away. ]
In my homeland, they're a nuisance along the road, for the most part — a danger to traveling merchants unwilling to pay a sellsword or two — but now and again some noble child endeavors to raise one as a pet, and even the hardest heart would needs admit they're lovely creatures. Not friendly, I would say, but loyal enough, and less fearsome when they've not been half-starved.
[ He picked up his armor as he spoke, shaking off each piece before he tucked it in the crook of his arm. ]
Shall we meet your contact by the edge of the wood?
no subject
[ Except what he'd learned from a 50-cune veterinary textbook, over the last two months. Before walking through the mirror, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a dog, a wolf, and a bear.
The squeeze was settling, somehow, as much as a stroke through his hair. His fingers drifted along Aymeric's arm as it slipped away. Cain listened while he quickly tore a page out of his little notebook. ]
It's interesting, you know? How much hard conditions change what you are. Animals and people. Is it really true, that they sing? I mean, um... howl?
[ He reached down to extricate the elf's sword, and used the side of his boot to quickly cleave off the worst of the drying gore, and with two folds made a firm edge with the paper to take care of all but streaks of the blood, which he just smeared off on the straight of his sleeve. ]
Are you sure this isn't just... I dunno, an anvil magicked to look like a sword? I'm not even carrying it and I'm already sweating.
Edge of the woods should be good. They'll be coming with horses and cart, so it might be... I dunno, twenty, thirty minutes?
no subject
I am accustomed to it. A famed dragonslayer was once its master; it was given to me for good fortune. [ He shot a dazzling smile over his shoulder: ] I don't suppose you could hold it a little longer, for me?
And they sing, aye. You can hear them, some nights, even from the city, if they're close enough.
[ You would like it, he didn't say, kneeling to pick up the last of his plate. You would want for nothing, and every snowfield and red plateau and misty ravine and fathomless cascade would be yours.
Cain knew, he trusted, and he had pushed enough. ]
no subject
And then smiled, and shook his head, reaching down to heft the heavy thing with a grunt, bracing the blade against his shoulder and keeping his free hand on the ornate faceplates where a fuller would normally be to keep it from sliding. Despite his exclamation, he did not seem unused to such heavy burdens. ]
Shit, keep looking at me like that and I'd move the moon. Does it have a name? I learned somewhere that most famous swords have names.
[ The smile became a grin, though, at the idea of hearing wolves from the city. He imagined a room like his own at the tower, with a vista not of the port but of mountains, and snow, and steep, dark forests like he'd imagined listening to his grandmother tell stories of Prince Ivan and the Wolf-lord.
He waited aside, for the other man to lead. ]
So... what does your city look like? Before this place, most I've ever seen were half-underground.
no subject
The city itself—
[ He tipped his head back, fondly reverent: ]
It sits atop a mountain, half above and half below the clouds; to reach it, you must go by bridge, or fly. Our stonemasons are the most brilliant of any nation — there are arches and bridges and pillars and great carved statues all around; wherever stone can be found, a stone-carver has left his love of the art, and the spires of the cathedrals were made to look as though they touch the heavens. The cold is too much for most things to grow, but the mountain flowers and evergreens that will are in every window-box, lining every street. If you look below over the edge of a path, the foundation of the city stretches down and down and down into mist, till you can see no more. The highlands outside the gates were green, once. Now it is winter, there, no matter the time of year — but beyond that, past the mountains, on a clear day, you can see the green hills to the south.
[ He looked back at Cain, a little abashed. ]
I am no poet, I fear. Still: I have been to every friendly city on the continent, and Ishgard, I would swear to anyone, is a jewel among them.
no subject
[ The name of a dragon. Had it been as blue as the sword? Had it been a man, or woman? Had a family? Most of his closest friends among the monsters of this city were dragons. He could no longer imagine them as anything but people. He made a thoughtful noise.
And watched Aymeric with a growing smile, as they walked. Risked flitting one hand down from the sword to dig out the communicator again, because there was no way he was gonna pass up a picture (even one sepia-toned and blurry) of Aymeric looking like that, radiantly describing home, arms full of armor. ]
You love it. That makes it better than poetry, you ask me. It sounds... beautiful.
But what happened? To make it... always winter?
no subject
That is...difficult for me to answer, being no scholar, but — there were once two moons. One of them fell, in short, some years past. We could see it coming down from the city, but we were mired in battle with the dragons at the time, and we had...the strictest orders not to seek outside aid, nor to lend our own. So we prayed, as foolish as it may sound, and we went on fighting.
The night it fell, unimaginable storms swept through our lands — the most fell blizzards we are ever like to see, I think. Rivers froze overnight. Whole villages were buried in snow. In the days after, outlying garrisons and settlements were overrun. Most remain the province of dragons and wild creatures; expeditions to retrieve supplies and administer funeral rites only ended in greater losses.
[ He shifted his armor, forced himself to focus. ]
The sun returned, after some time, but the cold remained. We have adjusted, of course — yet we still lack the means to grow much of what we could, and we must rely on trade for more of the necessaries than I would like. The trade routes are fraught with danger, and travel by airship is costly. Only the wealthiest can afford what merchants bring in, and the city is thus obligated to acquire the simplest supplies at great cost—
[ Aymeric caught himself, suddenly, with a visible start, and cast a quick smile at Cain. ]
I— apologies; you wanted to know about the winter.
(no subject)
cw lore bullshitting i don't know. send help
HAH oh god i feel you, just roll with what feels right
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