❧ open post

[revolutionne]

◖ private prompts, carryover, and what-have-you! ◗

Comments

for proteusmoon

[revolutionne]

[ It had been less difficult than one might believe to finally extract himself from the festivities. Though it was not often that Aymeric would turn down such an invitation, knowing full well what was expected of his station. It was not so much that he intended to stay in the good graces of the High Houses, trying to keep that professional distance is a delicate balance that he is coming to master, but that both his duties as Lord Speaker and Lord Commander require him to keep his finger on the pulse of their doings.

Of course, not all events are of grave importance. Often times it is merely lip-service and making a show of appearance that is enough to foster new acquaintances or reaffirm old alliances. He can safely consider that completed to an adequate level, having shaken enough hands and laughed and the right moments, Aymeric excuses himself for more welcoming company.

After receiving his coat from the manservant by the door, he slips out into the evening. There is yet enough merriment still going on that his presence, or lack thereof, will go unnoticed for a while.

When he sees aforementioned welcoming company standing not far from the steps that lead up to the mansion, he offers a light smile and wave. ]

Pardon my tardiness, I hope I did not keep you waiting long.

[proteusmoon]

[ Upon hearing someone exiting from the mansion, even before she sees who it is, Cecil springs up immediately from her seat on the edge of the stone raised garden bed at the bottom of the steps, looking much like a child caught doing something she was definitely not supposed to be doing. She’s quite certain that an Ishgardian noble from any house would hardly find it appropriate behavior for a woman to just be roosting anywhere outside, let alone a young queen dressed still in all her finery, and though Cecil still finds it difficult to reconcile her status as a royalty now with the knight she’s always been, the last thing she wants to do is embarrass her people. Nobles talk. Word would get around quickly and the nobles on her council would not take it lightly that their queen was behaving uncouth (again) in a foreign land.

Imagine her relief then when she sees it’s Aymeric and not someone who honestly deeply cares about those sorts of things. She sighs a little with relief, a wispy cloud of white rising into the frigid night air from her breath, and she returns his smile and wave easily, immediately set at ease by his presence. She and Aymeric have a lot in common, it would seem, right down to both having a prickly dragon knight for a best friend from what she’s heard. It’s comforting to know that here, at least, if not in Baron, there’s someone else besides her who feels all this decorum and formality is a bit unnecessary. ]

Not at all.

[ She assured him with a quiet little chuckle, pulling her cloak more tightly around her neck to keep the chill out. Her normally pale cheeks are red enough from this weather. ]

Assuring my knights I can look after myself perfectly well for a few hours is always a challenge, even if I trained some of them myself. They only just took their leave a few moments ago.

for coerthantorment

[revolutionne]

An unending war is hardly a cause for celebration, but so embedded into Ishgard's way of life that there were few comings that would impede nobility from enjoying the wealth they had acquired. Galas were commonplace and their guestlist varied greatly on the House that was hosting, the Higher Houses often garnering a number of uninvited guests who hoped to brush elbows with the upper echelons of society. House Borel was hardly noteworthy, save for the reputation of their adopted son, by Aymeric has been to many events of the years of varying import. At least according to those in attendance.

In many ways they were a front for networking under the guise of merriment (and usually some level of intoxication)--a different sort of battlefield. Aymeric had become used to the pomp and circumstance required to play this game and as such, has been slowly climbing the rungs towards something of favor with a few circles despite the rumors surrounding his origins. Such favor led to Ser Aymeric de Borel (and a guest) to be cordially invited to a party held at House Fortemps.

Said guest does not have the same understanding of that pomp and circumstance that he does.

That Estinien agreed to accompany Aymeric at all had been something of as surprise. He has learned much of his friend over the past year and Estinien's dislike for large social gatherings (or social gatherings in general) and the haughtiness of upper class society made it seem that Aymeric's offer would be turned down outright. Still, he is glad to have the company, knowing that his acceptance into the Knights Dragoon with such esteem has earned Estinien no small amount of notoriety as well.

Of course he had been confused, but amused to see that Estinien showed up at the Borel Manor in full armor. Because of course he had.

Which leaves them where they are now--notably in Aymeric's room, the party having already started over the las bell, as Aymeric smooths out one of his own tunics over Estinien's shoulders.

"And it fits well, as I had suspected." He drops his hands, stepping back with a smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling at the edges. "I would say that you look much less threatening this way, but with that glare I am not sure that is the case."

[coerthantorment]

It's a shame that Aymeric and he are approximately the same height and girth, because otherwise he might have had an excuse to return to the Congregation, the night being preemptively ruled a failure. He'd thought it would be like the other nebulous 'events' he'd been forced to attend, where wearing armor had been acceptable for those in the military. This, apparently, is meant to be a lot more festive.

As such, he's been starting to have second thoughts. Given what he'd heard from Aymeric of such gatherings, a small part of him had been genuinely curious - and another part felt that something like this could be considered a big deal in the noble circles. It seemed like the supportive thing to do, and a chance to use his new status as a Dragoon to Aymeric's benefit.

And he's so fond of Aymeric - a fact that has become more and more transparent over the last year of them having known each other. From tentative beginnings, his esteem for him has become less guarded, and their friendship stronger for it. To say that he values Aymeric, or even that he admires him, is no longer a secret held close to his chest. He's allowed himself that much.

What he was less willing to allow for was wearing Aymeric clothes, which he ruminates on as he casts his Drachen Armor a longing gaze, where it's been set aside for the evening. In reality, he'd been imagining himself attending more like a mysterious looming bodyguard and less like an actual guest.

His arms are crossed around his chest. He feels like he's been suddenly forced to wear a new skin.

"Are you finished?" he asks curtly, torn between wanting for this part to be over and being equally reluctant to move on to the next part. His hair is still largely uncombed, ruffled from having been in his helmet, which looks to be an increasingly sharp contrast with the rest of his outfit.

TFLN Overflow

[revolutionne]

@valhourdin

[revolutionne]

[ Continued from... ]

I would imagine that the presence of any member of the Heavens' Ward would be considered an esteemed guest at any ball or banquet. Pray forgive me if it overly familiar, but I would request your presence as Ser Zephirin himself.

@thelofty

[revolutionne]

[ Continued from... ]

[ That's a terrible pun.

...

...... ]

Do you not mean "purrhaps"?

[ But not as bad as that one, Halone save them. ]

I shall take your suggestion to heart and see if this yet bears fruit. You have my gratitude, Lord Emmanellain. I hope that I can repay this favor in kind.

[proteusmoon]

( ooc ; cont. from here! )

Always. Never a dull day running all around Castle Baron, of course.

I cannot quite blame Ser Croquembouche for dozing off after a steady monologue. You do have quite the soothing timbre for a man of such esteem. I wager the petting also has something to do with his penchant for falling asleep eventually though.

@valhourdin

[revolutionne]

Ser Janlenoux? I would have never guessed, though that highlights how seldom I speak with the Ward on a personal level.

Tell me, Ser Zephirin, would you be opposed to suggestions outside of the Pillars?

[ From what he is getting to know of his man, he thinks not. ]

I have happened upon a few gems that are oft overlooked by the aristocracy.

@proteusmoon

[revolutionne]

For it to be truly considered retribution I may need a few more glasses to inspire me.

Hello! We talked on EMP. Let me know if anything needs changed!

[poisontippedcure]

[Even past the end of the Dragonsong War, the Warrior of Light still sees a fair number of requests from the areas surrounding Ishgard. Usually, these requests are nothing major, and hardly dangerous, but it’s work that needs done.]

[But when a request comes in from Dravania, Rose is struck with an idea. The Lord Commander had recently talked about wanting to go on an adventure, but not being able to do so. An outing to somewhere like Limsa or Ul’Dah would likely be out of the question, but surely a day trip wouldn’t be a problem?]

[With this in mind, the Warrior of Light enters Ser Aymeric’s office, a smile on her face.]

Would you happen to be free today?

it's great!

[revolutionne]

[ A part of him had foreseen that accepting the additional position as the Lord Speaker would allow Aymeric less and less time out of the city's walls, yet he is ever one to heed the call of duty. Duty itself is not oft as glorious as the end goals may seem, but by the nature of the beast it must be done, sometimes dry missive by dry missive.

That he has found the fortitude to still greet visitors with a smile is a testament to his work ethic more than anyone else.

Yet that practiced, placid smile instantly brightens several degrees into something genuine when he sees who it is that is paying him a visit. ]

Rose!

[ Aymeric immediately sets his quill back into the inkwell. ]

'Tis good to see you, my friend. I--

[ A pause as he glances at the large stack of parchment to his left. ]

--am without pressing obligations. Though you are always welcome, to what do I owe the occasion?

two sides of a coin }{ on a personal note

[probablyamermaid]

[ ooc: if you prefer brackets, lmk and i'll adjust! also, if anything in here doesn't work for you, i'm happy to change things/timing/whatever. ]

Azumi never truly had much in the way of time to herself. Honestly, the last of that she'd had the pleasure of experiencing had been interrupted by a crisis and while she could hardly blame anyone for it — Thancred for sending the messenger to interrupt, the messenger himself, or Alisaie for being the literal injured party — she wanted to all the same. The night with Aymeric had been one of the most relaxing in recent memory and Azumi treasured the feeling, even as she finally made her way out of La Noscea. With so many people currently occupied, she found herself with some time on her hands, a rare feat indeed.

Naturally, her attention turned north, as ever it did when she had a moment to herself. North was where her family was. North was home. Alisaie was taking care of Ga Bu and had no further need of her... Perhaps...

So she left a note for the Scions with Maelstrom Command and slipped off in the middle of the night. They could find her when they needed her next. She wouldn't be all that far from the Rising Stones, after all. Not that it was ever any question of where she had disappeared off to if no one could find her. "Ishgard" was a good general guess; "Fortemps Manor" was the best assumption. This time was no different and soon enough she had arrived in Coerthas. After a quick stop to visit Haurchefant — she had promised him long ago that she would visit every time she was in the vicinity of Camp Dragonhead and she had never yet broken that promise — she made her way back to Ishgard proper.

Once there, she stopped, breathing deeply of the cold air. Despite her scales soaking the cold a little too easily sometimes, the chilly snow of Ishgard would forever feel like home to her. And home meant people to see. Family. And, of course, certain friends.

Her feet, traitorous as they often were, immediately turned and began moving her in the direction of the Congregation. They had been interrupted last time and, honestly, he could use the break just as much as she could. If she could convince him to even simply take a walk around Ishgard with her, wouldn't that be a success? Her feet seemed to think so and soon enough she was making her way through the Congregation. Lucia took one look at her and motioned her through, sending her straight down to Aymeric's offices. Azumi knocked once on the great door before pushing it slowly open and peering inside. Why her nerves had chosen this moment to send butterflies into her belly, she would never know; Lucia would not have pointed her towards him if he was occupied with someone else.

"Ser Aymeric? Do you have a moment?"

Her smile was pleasant, interested, her eyes soft as she gazed through the chamber towards him, hoping that she might be able to extricate him from his work, if only for a few minutes.

[revolutionne]

[ ooc; I am good with any formatting, so this works just fine for me! ]

Though he was more than thankful for the ebb in martial excitement at Ishgard's gates, the days that followed all began to bleed together. The restoration efforts were in full swing and both Houses had approved opening up the venture to volunteers from across the realm, after some healthy debate, of course. Progress is apace and as proud as Aymeric is of the steps take, there always seems to be more to do, never moving quite fast enough for him. Yet patience is a virtue he trained and honed despite his inherent inclinations to rush forward.

For as much as he throws all of himself into that pursuit of progress, it has come with a substantial amount of...paperwork.

He pours over the words with the care and detail they demand, no matter how his eyes begin to cross or how he fears that his chair may becoming a little too closely formed to his shape. Respite at this bell would be most welcome.

When he hears the door open, he does glance at the Chronometer, noting that it is not too late, and therefore several bells before Lucia (and likely Handeloup) gently pester him to take his leave for the day. He did vow to return properly to the Manor sometime this week...

Yet the sound of Azumi's voice immediately grabs his attention. Aymeric blinks, sitting up straight in his eat as his gaze snaps over to the esteemed Warrior of Light and he cannot help but feel his day has gotten a little brighter.

"A moment and more," he says smoothly. A smile forms on his lips as he gestures for her to step further inside. "'Tis good to see you, my friend, though I had not imagined I would be privileged to so soon."

[gibbet]

[ Ishgard is cold.

It’s the one thing at the front of her mind as she snakes her way through the shadows, how she can see her breath on the air, the chill around her so still that even the stars above her look frozen in place. She pulls her scarf up over her mouth to mitigate it, but it doesn’t help, not in this cold.

Ishgard is much larger than she’d supposed, all stone and iron, shades of grey and blue. It twists and turns around her; it’d be easy to get lost here, if she didn’t pay attention to her surroundings, and even then, she still might. Each spire looks the same as the last, towering upward towards the sky — in defiance, perhaps, of their chosen enemy. It certainly has the look of a people who tried to build a fortress to keep them safe from aerial threats. And, Yachiyo supposes, it’s done it’s job over the millennia. At the very least, the towering heights and ostentatious architecture do wonders for giving her hiding places. Though the streets may be crowded with nobility (most, if she’s hearing correctly, her Eorzean still not quite up to par, heading the same direction she is), none of them give her notice. But then, that may also be because they are too entwined with their own sense of self to really notice anything around them at all. Certainly her employer had that air about him.

She remembers the heated disdain once he’d seen her form.

‘A Dravanian,’ he’d said, face turned into a sneer, ‘is not what I expected.’

‘She’s no Dravanian,’ Sibold had replied, his tone unimpressed. ‘And she’ll do what ye like, quick as a whit, no fuss. Ye gonna hire her or can I move on to th’ next client?’ He was met with a scoff and the sound of a bag of gil landing on Sibold’s desk, the details of her job coming next. It seems this Lord de Marcechamp was going to be a guest at an upcoming nuptial celebration between a Lord and a Lady of two rival houses. A particular Lord who’d wronged him once in the past was to be there, and now Lord de Marcechamp wanted him dead. Honestly, for Yachiyo, the reason wasn’t important. She’d do her job, and do it well, as Sibold promised, collect the rest of her pay and move on the next one. Her life, now.

But why did it have to be so damned cold!?

She huffs a sigh and slips into a nearby nook, pulling the map from her pockets and peering around the corner. In the distance, her target: St Raymanaud Cathedral. It was here the wedding and subsequent reception were to take place, and it was here she was to quickly, and quietly, dispose of Lord Darceloix de Fortemps, a minor Lord within his family, but someone with enough power over Lord de Marcechamp for him to need him out of the picture. De Fortemps, it seemed, was cousin to the bride, but no matter.

Yachiyo stuffs the map back into her pocket and slips back out into the shadows, taking a running jump at the wall of the Cathedral. And she begins to climb. Her hands are stiff with cold by the time she reaches her target window, and she pulls herself inside to the relative warmth with a small grunt, laying on the floor for a moment to catch her breath. The chill steals it away as quick as any rogue.

‘When this is all over,’ she thinks, closing her eyes, ‘I’m going to kill that cursed noble.’

In the distance, even through the stone floor, she can hear the wedding proceeding apace, and she heaves a sigh of relief. Good, she’s still on schedule. She’d rather not lose her head for being late for this, although now, she thinks next time Lord de Marechamp can do this himself. Bloody fool.

She’s so preoccupied, as she leaves the room she’s in, with flexing her fingers to get some feeling back into them that she doesn’t notice the 6’5” of armored wall that she’s about to run into.

Oh dear. ]

Ow! —Oh, shite.

[ She’s been spotted. She takes one step back, preparing to flee— ]

[revolutionne]

[ Being invited to a wedding was not uncommon. Even as lesser nobility, Aymeric (and at the time, his parents) had made appearances at several as a show of support but also to be seen, which was the real reason that most if all attended these events in the first place. The sad state of affairs in upper class society, that so many occasions were framed as an opportunity for oneself to move forward rather than the supposed celebration they were originally orchestrated. But Aymeric de Borel was not above such intents--it has been through a mixture of patience, poise, and concerted effort that he has worked his own way up through some level of recognition.

Even more now that he holds the title of "Lord Commander". Though he had a surprising amount of support given his origins, he has yet to prove himself truly worth of the title in the eyes of many. The Calamity and subsequent shift in Coerthas has given more than a few new challenges, with many and more looking towards the military for support as the Holy See and the High Houses debate what to do with the outer settlements freezing over entirely. Resources must be allocated, entire populations of people moved--if they yet exist at all. Trying times this past year and in the years ahead...not to mention the fact that the Dravanian assault has not been assuaged, climate be damned.

Even still, life within Ishgard carries on. He is never one to bemoan someone of the little joys they can find and love can bloom in conflict. He takes his invitation to his particular engagement as Viscount but more as the Lord Commander, finding his footing but still "young and eligible" by many accounts. At the very least he hopes to foster a few new alliances that may help his dealings in the Western Highlands. Working the Temple Knights alongside the private companies of the High Houses is ever a balance.

And it is...exhausting. As used to he is as forced pleasantries, even Aymeric needs a break. The ceremony itself is lovely and for a moment he can bask in the fact that these two individuals, while likely bonded out of obligation and opportunity, may actually hold a level of affection for one another. It's a nice thing to see. Life continues on.

Yet as the social hour begins, Aymeric's attention is constantly being shifted from one person or another. Scheduled dancing is to begin soon and he decides he needs a moment or two of peace and quiet before entertaining however many surprisingly single young (and occasionally older) women are conveniently introduced to him.

Leaving the bottom floors entirely, Aymeric ventures upstairs to find some sort of sitting room--or mayhaps a library where he can collect himself, maybe open a window and let the now frigid air rouse his energies once again. The search is, however, cut quickly short. ]

Oh--

[ As he bumps into a very...very slight woman in the hallway. He holds up both his hands, palms out, with an apologetic smile. ]

--my apologies, I should have better watched my step. Are you unharmed?

[revolutionne]

[ Continued from TFLN ]

[ This is certainly an unexpected but not unwelcome change of events. As the Warrior of Light and personal savior of Ishgard, Aymeric expects that Pahja would be in high demand any time she is in the city, but mayhaps he had been leaning too heavily on allowing others to cut in line before him. Painfully so, it seems, if she was driven to--

--does...that count as serenading? No, no that is definitely going too far.

Nevertheless, the night comes as planned and Aymeric is uncharacteristically nervous. Inviting her to his manor in a more private setting allowed him some room, so to speak. But as experienced as he is at mingling and entertaining the aristocracy of Ishgard, he knows all too well that it is not always easy for him to give his undivided attention when she is around. It is, decidedly, always divided between Pahja and something else.

Those worries congregate at the back of his mind, but quiet enough as the Knights stationed outside the Fortemps Manor welcome in the Lord Speaker with proper etiquette and he his shown in proper. Aymeric greets the stewards as old friends, even if it has been sometime since he visited.

And that is about when all the normalcies of the evening fly out the window to be caught by some wayward dragonet who hasn't deigned to announce their arrival and cause some concern and unintended alarm in the Pillars.

Aymeric barely has time to acknowledge Pahja when Emmanellain starts loudly proclaiming something and Edmont is knocking Aymeric's boots with the end of his cane to get him into position. ]

Good--

[ Uhhh. ]

--good evening to you too.

[acoldwind]

( continued from tfln )

[ Though initially a reluctant savior while playing her part in The Dragonsong War after being forced to the frozen mountains of Coerthas, Sarangerel looks back on her unplanned return home now with gratitude and satisfaction. The irony of it isn’t lost on her; that an estranged daughter of Ishgard, who once upon time had fled from the Holy See to Ul’dah, would be forced to seek refuge in the same place she had turned her back on not long ago with so much resolve is truly stranger than fiction. Surely no one would have thought that she who faced discrimination growing up in Ishgard as a child born with horns and scales would also play a leading role in bringing an end to the war that raged for thousands of years between man and dragon. Having been a part of that truly is what Saran considers her proudest accomplishment in her career as the Warrior of Light thus far, given how personal the entire affair was for her.

She never thought she would come to regard the gray towering spires of Ishgard and the white snowbanks of Coerthas as comforting sights again, but somehow she finds herself feeling just that as she enters the city— comforted. It does feel good to be home again, oddly. Locales from her childhood memories feel... grounding, in a way. Her life before she was the Warrior of Light or the Warrior of Darkness was real. She, Sarangerel, is real. No matter who she was a part of, she is her own person now— a true identity with agency, and not merely a shard of someone else or a pawn in some greater, ancient scheme. Her past as Sarangerel, both in Ishgard and all the places she has been since, is not meaningless. She must hold onto that and never waver.

And so, she does. Saran is not especially given to sudden flights of fancy, for were she the sort to take off on a whim, she imagines she wouldn’t be much of a reliable hero to the masses who depend on her. But here she is, all the same, having dropped everything, slipping into the Holy See a tad later at night than is really practical and all but sprinting her way to Manor de Borel. In her defense, she did leave a note for G’raha in Dawn’s Respite, knowing he would be quick to worry upon waking to find her gone, not quite yet aware as he is of all her usual haunts when she departs from Mor Dhona. It didn’t seem right to leave the task of assuaging his concern solely to Tataru, even if she was eager to take Aymeric up on his invitation. As assuredly as her place is among the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, spending time with Aymeric is just... different. Special. Distracting and she could use a good distraction from her ever-racing thoughts.

Sarangerel is careful to avoid others out on the streets, not really wanting to give Aymeric any trouble by letting someone catch the Warrior of Light sneaking off to his home. Even when she arrives at the manor, she’s still discreet, hood up to both defend against the falling snow and wind chill, and because even as progressive as Ishgard has become now, dark horns and scales on a pale woman still turn every head in close enough proximity. ]

[revolutionne]

[ That such a debauched attempt at gaining a moment of her time prove fruitful in the end is more of a reflection on her kindness than his said attempt, Aymeric believes. He ought not to have trusted such a personal correspondence, yet the acquisition of new reds and an excuse to reach out to her and gotten him a little ahead of himself. It should not matter given that she agreed to his company in the end, but little embarrassments like this are the sorts he will dwell on for some time.

Those thoughts are tossing to-and-fro in his mind as he finishes up his work for the day--as much as one with an endless stream of requests can. That he leaves his post at his desk at a reasonable hour has enough to draw a curious, but approving glance from Lucia who is only too happy to see him retire for the evening for once. Apparently all it takes is a little incentive.

He makes good time. Having called ahead to let his manservant know he would be home and with an expected guest, Borel Manor springs to life. Though he had intended it to be somewhat informal, dinner is prepared without his request and Aymeric finds the staff eager to put on a good face. It only encourages them further when he admits they are expecting the Warrior of Light herself once again.

At the door, Alfred is the one to answer--the same manservent as had received her on her last visit. ]

"Welcome, Mistress Leblouissant. We are glad to have you once again."

[ He bows courteously and leads her inside, offering to take her cowl should she wish to hang it up. ]

"If you would follow me..."

[ He leads her further into the manor, past the dining hall that she may be familiar with and into the sitting room where Aymeric is, in fact, sitting--as is one very white and very fluffy cat. At sigh of her, Aymeric moves to stand, gently dislodging the cat from his lap, though Ser Croqmebouche takes it as an affront instantly and jumps to the ground with a growl. ]

Sarangerel! 'Tis wonderful to see you hale and whole.

[ Alfred bows once again to take his leave. ]

for unnecessaryflourishes

[revolutionne]

[ Continued from TFLN ]

Most would say it is best spent sleeping, as expected.

[unnecessaryflourishes]

A fact I would certainly not disagree with.

for admiralmaelstrom

[revolutionne]

[ Continued from TFLN ]

[ Now, Aymeric is ever eager to leap at the opportunity to travel abroad, difficult though it may be at times. Yet visiting an allied nation as a dignitary would fit in perfectly, wouldn't it? As he is oft the chosen representative. ]

I would be glad to see more of Eorzea outside the impetus of war.

[ Gridania is really a neighbor and while superstitions of the Black Shroud have long since lived in the children of Coerthas, it feels not so foreign in comparison. ]

Though the argument for drinks may sounds less virtuous to the House.

[admiralmaelstrom]

We'll call it an official ambassadorial invitation, granting you leave to visit Limsa without worry about the House protesting.

[ she gets it. in some respects she's bound by the pirate factions just as much as nanamo is the monetarists and aymeric now is the house. she can play that game when needed. ]

No one can argue that you haven't spent as much time in Vylbrand as you have the other locations in Eorzea.

[bringthepayne]

[When asked what plans she had going forward after the public disbandment of the Scions, Lysa just shrugged and figured she'd decide on her way out of Mor Dhona. Which she did, of course, and that's how one finds her in Ishgard, winding her way through Foundation. The place is still bitterly cold, though in her mind, Garlemarld is colder if only the desolate environment and destroyed buildings add to the depressive icy aura.

But she's not thinking sad right now. There's a pep in her step as she hops through the Aetherytes to get to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly. Lucia is not here, of course, but no one else is going to stop the Warrior of Light, the Savior of the Star, Hydaelyn's Champion, from rapping her knuckles on Aymeric's office door. She actually doesn't know if the man is in today, but considering how all knows how deep he gets himself in parchmentwork, Lysa is making a good bet that he is.]

[revolutionne]

[ And she would be right--when he isn't in session with the House, he is in his office in the Congregation. Lucia is out on important business and while Ser Handeloup has assisted much in her absence, Aymeric has been doing his utmost so that her duties don't simply fall to others who are already shouldering much. His own are broad enough to carry the responsibilities of two? Right. Of course.

When he hears a knock at his door, Aymeric looks up from his paperwork then over to the grandfather clock nearby. He is not late to an appointment, is he? Quickly going through his schedule for the day, he is...mostly certain he has not forgotten something.

Goodness, he hopes not. ]

Come in.

[ Dipping his quill into the inkwell, Aymeric deftly marks the bottom of one final document before setting it aside. He folds his hands together and begins to rest them on the desk as the door opens--

--and immediately straightens in his seat when he sees who it is. ]

Lysa!

[ Ahem. ]

Did you call? --I was not expecting you.

[ He would have remembered an appointment with the Warrior of Light. ]