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
When we get into a really tough spot and I advocate for some kinda response that's more severe than you'll allow, Meric, you'll wonder,
[ He leaned away just a little and put on his mimicry of Aymeric's voice, soft, and wondering. ]
'What? Who's this butcher I married? Who endorses being efficient at THIS high cost? I'll need to distract him ere he compromises our souls... Food, likely, something with food, I've never seen a grown man cry so much over so simple a thing. His mind will be in another place for days.'
no subject
Ere he compromises our souls.
[ One of his hands dropped to Cain's back, the ridge of his nails tracing his spine, slowly. ]
The mimicry is convincing, but I do hope you never lose the natural way you speak. It has a kind of perfect, unassuming honesty — I don't know that I can pretend at it half as well. What was it that you said?
[ He paused.
Unlike Cain's skillful imitation, nothing in his voice changed, and the words were too languid, carefully pronounced: ]
"That'd be fucking vile."
[ It had made him question himself the moment Cain had said it. ]
no subject
And then he laughed, easy and warm; not because the imitation was a good one, but because Aymeric's attention was so sweetly complete. It was... cute. He couldn'y help but remark on it, beaming up. ]
Shit, you're cute.
I'm surprised you like it. Most people find it... caustic. Low-brow. Off-putting, at first, until they realize it's kind've a relief to not wonder what somebody thinks or means, to not wonder if they're just saying polite nonsense or how they feel. Straight, trustworthy, un... unambiguous honesty is fuckin' rare. And I don't think you need to worry about it goin' anywhere.
no subject
The friends I have got are like you — honest — but some are gone, away from the city, or they were, and the others report to me. I can hardly say how glad I would be to have some honesty after debating policy, or meeting with the bishops, or...
[ He paused, raised his head a little, squinting at the road, where the tiny gate in the wall crawled open. ]
Horse and cart.
[ His hand resumed stroking Cain's back. ]
no subject
And fuck, it just felt so good, so fucking good, the layers of touch and conversation and understanding, hazy and peaceful and enfolding. He could have leaned in, closed his eyes, and fallen asleep just like that. And a part of him wanted to press in; to tuck up under Aymeric's arm like one bird half-hid under the wing of another.
He just closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on Aymeric's chest, hummed a thoughtful noise. ]
How can you even see that far.
[ Cain himself hadn't even been trying to look. Eyes closed, he focused instead on the salt-scent of sweat, the sweet of grass, the musk of wood smoke, the tang of blood. ]
And honestly, Meric, sounds like after those kinds of run ins that you need some honesty and a drink, how did you not tear out all your hair.
Most men in your position would be bald by now. Guaranteed fact.
no subject
[ He looped his arms around Cain's shoulders, finally, like he'd wanted to the minute he'd put his armor down, and was quiet for a long moment.
When he spoke again his voice was thoughtful, half-muffled against Cain's hair. ]
No answer you might give could injure me, and I don't intend to change your mind through arguments — nor am I certain I could — but I...you have a better grasp of my shortcomings than I have, I fear. Tell me truly: do you still believe I would abandon you to your devices, if you returned with me?
no subject
[ Teasing, voice just as muffled, mumble-soft against skin. He turning his face just a little, the high point of his cheek leaned against warm skin. ]
I'm coming, so you can put that worry away. And no, you wouldn't abandon me. But that was never... really a worry, just a practicality.
But just so we're clear, I'm not going for you. I'm going... for people I could do something to help. It's like... reaching back into the past, to help myself. But better, because I'm paying it forward into... not just one future, but hundreds. Who knows how many. I have that power, so I should... no, that's not right...
I've got to.
You're just a gorgeous, amazing, brilliant fucking perk. You're what I want, and what I'll fight to have at the same time.
no subject
It was good, he thought, that Cain understood it would be a fight. Not the kind he'd mentioned offhand earlier, a fight to drag Aymeric away from his duties (because Cain would be there with him, and he was grateful for that) — but a fight, all the same. There were men, Aymeric knew, who thought of him as no more than an easily-led pawn, and they would naturally want to know whether Cain was the same, something to be used, or a danger.
Very few of the city's most powerful would think of him kindly, in either case. He would be an unknown, an outsider, and no one would overlook that he had Aymeric's ear, if nothing else.
He shifted, brought his hand around to the side of Cain's neck. Pressed his thumb up into the soft underside of his jaw, coaxing him to look up. ]
And what of this? This Bond.
[ He splayed his fingers as if it were located there, somewhere in Cain's throat, in the thrum of his heartbeat. ]
If you'd rather go on with your contacts, and the temporary sort, of course, I've no objections.
no subject
I've told you what I want.
[ He didn't hear the noise of horse and cart, yet. ]
Tell me what you want. What you feel.
no subject
[ The heel of his palm settled in the hollow of Cain's collarbone, close in a way that might have taken on a different meaning if they were alone, not standing in knee-deep grass within view of the city wall. ]
I like knowing that you are well; that you're...in good spirits. Even so, my wants must never infringe upon yours.
no subject
I want Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.
But also... Aymeric, the Actual Mortal Man Who Sometimes Wouldn't Refuse a Stiff Drink and Has His Own Wants and Desires and Probably Steals the Covers When He Sleeps.
[ Some trick of his voice capitalized every part of the second title, and he leaned in, just a little, against Aymeric's hand. ]
Life is too fuckin' messy to ever be perfectly even.
Think about it, hell. If I got sick, or injured, you'd put time aside to help me, and let at least a little of my wants and needs infringe on yours. The reverse is true, too.
no subject
I take your point. Allow me to be more clear, then: in this, my wants should be subservient to yours. Whether we have a Bond or no, you are half a city away, and if you go on with your regimen, you are not at risk. I am satisfied. You've asked me not to offer this without some emergency, and...it is selfish, entirely.
There is also the matter of Francel. He will not care for the notion, I suspect.
no subject
[ A tease at his own expense; and his lashes fluttered, closed, at the pleasant pass of Aymeric's thumb. His lips parted for a shaken breath to spill out of, and he trembled there, for a second. Cracked his eyes opem to smile up at Aymeric...
But that expression, and the acceptance on the tip of his tongue froze.
Francel. The name burned in his mind like a firebrand.
He was so delicate, so... fucking enamored of Aymeric, and also so fucking uncomfortable, in the middle of his change... he'd take it hard, and strongly. Might even consider it a betrayal of trust.
What to do? It was unthinkable for them to proceed without informing him, and ideally his permission; more, Cain could admit to himself, because he liked the other man than because he felt other parties were owed details on his... whirlwind romantic life.
He slipped his hands up Aymeric's arms, gentle. ]
No, he won't. We've got to talk to him, together. You made your commitment to him, first, and he's our friend.
If you want this, even knowing what it means to me, then I'm yours. And we can consider it our first test. Being a team, under pressure, with a lot on the line.
no subject
[ He'd gone back into practicality, the lines of his face hard and cool, and worry was ebbing back in where he'd been at peace with everything, minutes ago. ]
But Francel does not weather disappointment well, and there is much that I owe him. If he is set against it, at least he'll know my intent. I think he may see reason — another day, if not at once. I agree, in any case; we must speak with him together. He must understand that this is not a...rejection, or a replacement.
no subject
It wasn't the way to handle Francel. Aymeric's politician's face and focused demeanor weren't soft enough. The other man wasn't a puzzle of logic, but of feeling.
Smiling, he stepped back. Now he heard the distant plod of hooves, and harness, and the wooden rattle of the wagon. But his hands slid down Aymeric's forearms, hooked fondly under his hands, to grip them gently. And he tried to thread his optimism into their Bond, to coax what had tightened in the other man to relax, a little, once more. ]
We just need to go to it gently. And with... y'know, being affectionate. He's clever, he'll sense if we're tense, and it'll make him feel worse, he'll beat himself up.
We've gotta treat him.. like a vine rose we're trying to guide up a trellis. Soft hands, light touch, and thinkin'... of the longer-term, bigger gains, not the immediate ones. If we handle this perfect, perfect, we can win more than just him not being upset; we can make him feel trusted, cared for, and confirm that he is important.
Not just a win. But a win-win.