revolutionne | ❧ open post

"Doubtlessly your lance will have ample opportunity to prove her worth, Ser Dragoon."

Haurchefant pauses to pluck a glass for himself as another waiter passes by, and Aymeric finds himself switching out an empty glass for his second of the evening. Much, much too early to be on his second glass, but he is not the only one feeling on the defensive. Aymeric knows that Haurchefant means well--mostly...mostly.

"The Astrologians have been quite busy of late, have they not?"

Aymeric gives a hum of agreement, nursing his drink and reminding himself to take it slow.

"There has been more traffic than usual at the Athenaeum." The Borel Manor is, of course, just around the corner. When there are rumors of the horde moving en masse, Aymeric's suspicions are usually first raised by increased activity and lights late into the night in the days preceeding the announcement. Being in the Temple Knights offers further insight to that as well.

Aymeric, though, does not venture too further on the topic, offering an ample pause for both men to take a drink--Aymeric delicately so and Haurchefant with the enthusiasm one might expect. That does, unfortunately, set an opening for a topic Aymeric had hoped they steered away from.

He pauses, glass still tilting towards his face.

Haurchefant raises a brow, looking from Estinien, to Aymeric, then taps his chin with the lip of his own glass.

"You may have to be more specific, Ser Estinien. There have been multiple evenings with Lady Elsinne, if memory serves."

Aymeric lowers the glass and looks very pointedly at Haurchefant, while the other man only switches to raise his opposite brow instead.

"You need not work so diligently to try and paint my reputation in that particular light, Lord Haurchefant."

"Fury, forgive me!" Haurchefant places a hand over his heart. "What reputation is this you speak of, my lord? If anything, you seem to forget that it is only the Heavens' Ward that require an oath chastity to join their ranks."

The dark-haired man exhales slowly through his nose before turning an almost apologetic look towards Estinien.

"Lady Elsinne of House Nourorault is the daughter of Viscount Olfert de Nourorault--most notable for working closely with House Haillenarte at the Manufactory--" Information that would be well-known amongst other guests, but Aymeric knows that Estinien's knowledge of the Houses of Ishgard are limited to what is relevant in battle. "--and has been...increasingly friendly these past few moons."

Haurchefant seems to find this description amusing, but insufficient, taking a step forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Aymeric.

"She has naught but a few summers on on us--" Speaking mostly of Aymeric, being a little younger himself and assuming that Estinien is of similar age range. "--has an irresistible smile, and found herself completely taken when the two were paired at a ball late in the winter. She has seen it fit to seek out Ser Aymeric at every engagement since. Why, it was only a few weeks ago that you two were found alone in the Budaire Garden--"

"--I had stepped out for some fresh air. She must have--...convenient timing that we should cross paths again." Aymeric quickly interjects.

Haurchefant pauses. "Ah, was that it?"

"Your vivid imagination makes for an excellent story, but it seems that your own infatuation with Lady Elsinne may be discoloring your recollection of events." Blue eyes drop to the wine glass the other man holds. "Or perhaps your wine."

Haurchefant chuckles. "I only jest, my lord! Though you need not rebuke her overtures so. Lest you intend to earn the title 'Ser Aymeric the Chaste'?"

Halone help him.

Estinien regrets asking about this only shortly after the two men get into it, exchanging contrasting perspectives on the situation. It's the sort of gossip that would bore Estinien to tears under normal circumstances, that he would actively go out of his way to avoid hearing about, but here he is, trying to decode the truth of this absurd situation.

It seems like Aymeric is not as immune to catching a lady's fancy as he thought, if this one is pursuing him so intensely. Haurchefant is trying very hard to imply that there is something legitimately going on, while Aymeric repeatedly rebukes him. He could take wry pleasure at someone's expense in different circumstances, but... not right now. Not after the energy they worked up on the way over here.

Instead, he still finds himself somewhat adrift. Just another reminder that Aymeric has an entire life he is trying to build within this place, and it's a life that Estinien has little place in. Would he be expected to marry, in order to carry on the legacy of his house? Estinien fully intends to die before ever planting roots in such a manner.

He finds his gaze lingering on Aymeric more and more as the discussion goes on. Not even the idea of 'Ser Aymeric the Chaste' manages to get a chuckle out of him. It just doesn't feel very amusing, at the moment.

"Reason would suggest that, if he is rebuking her affections, he is not interested," Estinien rumbles, his lack of amusement clear on his face. He's mostly been ignoring his drink. "Unless he has an obligation to fulfill."

There is an almost instantaneous relief when Estinien agrees with him and it shows with how his shoulders, having gone very straight and tense, droop in turn. But before he can thank his friend for the most needed support, Estinien raises another, unfortunately, valid point.

No such obligations have been outright placed on him, though the weight of the Borel name dying with their adopted son and heir apparent is something he is keenly aware of and has oft considered of late with his mother's declining health. Not at all the kind of talk one entertains at a party such as this.

Aymeric clears his throat. "Not at the present... Moreover, affections and attentions are not one and the same." He pointedly sip his drink, feeding off of the aura of displeasure Estinien himself is emitting along with his own growing frustration.

While one to push and pry, Haurchefant is not a fool immune to reading the discontent of his guests. In this, at least, he offers them some room to breathe.

"Far be it for me to scorn someone's attentions either way." Haurchefant's own reputation has been growing far in the opposite direction of Aymeric's own. "But this is good news for the rest of Ishgard's hopefuls! Then I will feel no shame in asking our fine lady for a dance later this eve. That is unless one of you would like to take her place?"

Well, sort of.

If you'd asked him on the way in, Estinien would have indicated he was going to be making an attempt to be civil with people, no matter how annoying they were. In this moment, though, he's already been drained. It happened remarkably quickly.

"No," is all he says, keeping his arms crossed. He's almost certain that both Aymeric and Haurchefant would expect this response, though maybe with slightly more padding. If this is how taxing such a simple conversation was in this content, he can't bear to imagine what Haurchefant might spring upon him on the dancefloor.

It is absolutely the response that they both expect, although Aymeric is starting to bristle with concern. This is not at all how he was hoping the evening would be going, and so soon after arriving...well-intended though he believes Haurchefant's intentions are, he has clearly crossed a line.

The man in question takes it all in stride, ever the one to try to smooth out frayed nerves if he sees it within his power.

"Alas! I will be left wanting. Mayhaps another time."

"I am sure your dance card will be full soon enough, Lord Haurchefant." As much as he feels inclined to, Aymeric resists the urge to place his hand on Estinien's shoulder, so instead he places his free hand at his hip. "Seeing as we have only just arrived, I believe it is due time that Ser Estinien and I make our rounds."

"But of course! Don't let me keep you, Sers. And be sure to say 'hello' to father, I know that he has been interested in your progress."

Aymeric places that hand then on his own chest and gives a half-bow. Haurchefant may not be a Fortemps in name, it being so denied to him after birth, but his opinions do still hold sway in the family. Edmont may receive admonishments from the other High Houses for it, but he has not yet let it affect him.

"We shall. Many thanks."

Blue eyes flick to Estinien almost as they would in battle, that silent communication that they are to move forward. Haurchefant takes his leave in sync as Aymeric leads away further into the throngs of people, though not towards anyone in particular. It is quickly apparent that these rounds were really just a means to break the conversation.

Once they sufficiently departed, Aymeric sighs and shakes his head.

"...Apologies, my friend. This is not how I hoped the evening would begin. He means well."

Edited 2020-10-21 06:42 (UTC)

Having finally broken away from the situation, what strikes Estinien the most is that he can't even truly determine why he is upset. He wasn't the one being bothered about his love life, or having it speculated about in public. Haurchefants comments towards Estinien himself were mostly to be expected - useless flattery and compliments, the same as most others he would speak to about his 'promotion.'

The best he can determine is that for a moment he thought that Aymeric may have been withholding information from him, having some kind of flirtatious relationship with a woman he'd never heard of. Yet from the rest of the discussion, and everything he knows about Aymeric, that doesn't seem to be the case. Only that when Aymeric mentioned that his makeover may run the risk of drawing the attention of Ishgardian ladies, he may be speaking from experience.

So, why is he at such ill-ease? The thoughts still linger, that Aymeric has a life among these people, and one Estinien is ill-suited for. He's quiet as they first begin to talk away, but when Aymeric apologizes, he finally speaks.

"...Nay," he says more softly. "I was not the subject of Haurchefant's speculation." He pauses, and then adds: "And 'twas indelicate to egg him on."

Truthfully, Estinien can't help but respect Haurchefant, for how confidently he operates among a society that regards his existence as a mistake. So clearly unafraid is he to push against Ishgard's boundaries, but also all too willing to drag others into it.

The timber of Estinien's voice is enough to soothe a little of Aymeric's concern. A smile finds him easily, apologetic though it still is as his brows press together.

"He does not need the encouragement, that much is true. Yet I do know he speaks from a position of good faith, misguided though it may be."

Aymeric sighs, willing away his frustration best as he can. His empty glass is taken by the passing help, though he declines another for the moment. Seeing that Estinien has yet to indulge in his own, Aymeric tilts his head to the side and nods towards the drink.

"Is it not to your liking? We could find something better suited with ease, I am sure."

Estinien's eyebrows lift in surprise because frankly, he'd half-forgotten he was holding a drink at all. He realizes what Aymeric is talking about and then shakes his head, frowning.

"Nay, the drink is acceptable," he says. "Mine thoughts were lingering elsewhere." He takes a long sip to prove his point and then falls quiet again, looking around the crowd, feeling watched by too many eyes.

He glances at Aymeric a few times before an idea occurs to him.

"You had mentioned an armory before," he says. "May we take our own leave for it, or shall we require an escort?"

Edited 2020-10-21 19:57 (UTC)

Aymeric cants his head a little further in silent invitation for his friend to share exactly where his thoughts had traveled, should he care to. No such explanation comes and Aymeric is about to ask himself when Estinien offers a different idea entirely.

Ah, yes. That is a better idea--give Estinien something of greater interest to focus on, he thinks. Aymeric is, of course, interested in his own right, but his concerns are greater for his friend's enjoyment now than his own. So he smiles and nods in agreement.

"Come and let us see for ourselves. I have only attended an event at House Fortemps once before, but that had been on Temple Knights business, so I had not gotten the chance to fully explore the grounds."

He motions for Estinien to follow his lead out of the main ballroom and towards the hallway they had originally entered from. Even just as a thoroughfare it is busy enough, small groups and individuals alike flitting from room to room. They pass several, one that has clearly been dedicated to a spirited argument among older men with the door half-ajar, another sitting room accommodating a number of noble women who do take a pause to watch the two knights pass by--libraries, powder rooms, and a few unspecified areas where people can be found standing about and talking for a small want of privacy. The options dwarf all that Estinien has seen of the Borel Manor by far.

All the while they pass by House Fortemps Knights standing dutifully. Halfway down the hallway, Aymeric pauses in front of one of them to ask for directions.

"Ah, the armory, my lord? Count Edmont began the tour half a bell ago, but if you go to the end of the hallway and take the stairs to the right you should be able to catch up."

Aymeric gives a light bow in thanks and turns to smile at Estinien, pleased. As stated, the door down towards the armory is large and wide open, though Aymeric does not yet hear the voices of the tour. Just how far had they gotten?

Estinien finds himself a bit more relaxed alongside Aymeric - it's Aymeric's own happiness that draws it out in him. As the other man receives directions and turns to smile at him, he can't help but smile a little in turn, despite his heavy thoughts.

They make it to the armory and it's blessedly empty. Truthfully, Estinien would have found a proper tour quite boring - he was more curious to see the quantity and quality of Fortemps's military reserves more than to hear a thorough explanation of it. It's as impressive as he expected, similar to some of what is available at the Congregation, though more ornate and personal in its touches. It's a family collection, rooted in more than the practical reserves of an army.

Either way, Aymeric may be surprised to see Estinien's attention mostly lingering on him instead of the weaponry that surrounds them. He had an ulterior motive, coming here. He also doesn't show much interest in trying to catch up to the missing tour.

"At last, I can hear myself think," he says, glancing around at some of what's on display, but without much investment. "We are more than capable of showing ourselves around, are we not?"

Though Aymeric's own gaze wanders to the suits of armor that he sees on display to their left, lining the wall for quite an impressive distance, he is clearly trying to garner which direction the tour might have gone. He is curious on the history of these pieces, what battles they might have seen, the valiant knights who wore them...

But Estinien's mood seems to have lightened considerably and his friend has all his attention once he speaks. Aymeric purses his lips slightly as he considers--the guard did not outright say they were not to do so, did he? Merely directed them towards the armory assuming their intent was to join the tour.

Perhaps it would do them both some good to step away from the masses for even a short while. So Aymeric smiles and gives a nod in agreement.

"I admit there is something deliciously appealing about the notion of getting to view these pieces unsupervised."

With that decided, they might as well continue down the first hall they find, passing all those suits of armor along the way. Aymeric does take a moment to inspect each one, although he does not feel the need to show an overt interest in each as he might otherwise, wanting to leave that good, thoughtful impression that he understands how each piece was built on and advanced on the last.

No, for a moment, he can just be a young twenty-something who has some experience with a sword and a curiosity for how they came to be.

"Estinien, look at this," he says as he stops in front of one suit. "The helm...is that...molded in the fashion of a karakul?"

It looks like it. It is...bulbous and has the horns to boot.

Estinien moves down the hall as well, though he finds himself staring at the back of Aymeric's head more than focusing on the armor. He has some things he wants to ask, but with Aymeric looking so engaged, the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he ends up hesitating until Aymeric suddenly starts asking about karakul - something so bizarre that he can't help but pay attention to it. He looks at the helm, squinting.

"...Well, they certainly can be ornery little brutes when the mood strikes them," he says, after a moment. "Though, not as elegant in their rage as I might have expected from knights of the noble houses."

That someone would be so inspired by the beasts that they would have a custom helmet crafted in their image is really quite incredible.

He cannot help but chuckle at that, eyes twinkling with mirth when he turns them back to the other man. He has had a few run ins with the wild ones out in the Highlands, but they had hardly been formidable opponents. Though he does hear tales of one particularly large and infamous specimen...

"Perhaps this was a custom piece crafted to suit the sordid tales of this particular knight? House Fortemps has claimed the unicorn rather than the karakul, after all."

Other specialized weapons and armor do bear some more ceremonial enhancement that do reflect the aesthetics befitting the household, something that Aymeric finds himself quite taken by.

"Estinien...pray me allow me this ridiculous indulgence--"

He is grinning, albeit a little sheepishly--tips of his ears a little red--as he steps away from one suit who is certainly sporting the unicorn design...in...questionable areas on the armor.

"--do you believe this was actually worn in battle? It is intimidating in ways that I do not imagine the horde would pick up on."

It occurs to Estinien that the tour guide probably would have explanations for all these questions, stories to go with what they are seeing. It would, in its own way, be practical to listen to people who know what they are talking about. Yet, he can't help but be more amused with their mutual speculation.

He looks at the new piece that Aymeric has spotted, and that only confirms his feelings. He's not sure he could have contained himself in the presence of others. He barks out a laugh.

"The Drachen Armor has many spikes of its own, but that is one area it lacks such thorough defense." He grins. "Mayhap the armorers of the Knights Dragoon could find inspiration in the Fortemps work."

Perhaps Estinien could benefit from his own cock spike. He leaves that implication to hang over Aymeric, eager to see the response.

Amused as he is and as used to as he should be by his friend's frank (and sometimes crass) way of speaking, he still finds himself a little floored by the suggestion. Though still smiling, Aymeric's mouth hangs open for a moment and he prays that the rest of his ears do not adopt the same color of red as the tips at the mental image.

"Would that they could!" Yet, he does laugh freely. "I ought not entertain what battle tactics that would arise from such an enhancement."

Aymeric shakes his head, looking away from both Estinien and the accursed piece of armor in order to compose himself. Even still...

"You surely need only one lance to contend with."

He clears his throat. Absolutely the sort of joke he only shares with present company. Thank Halone Haurchefant is not present to hear this exchange, he would run with it.

He can actually think of a few applications for such an appendage, a flight of fancy that occupies his imagination for a few moments. While not often required, there had been a few situations where he was forced to straddle a beast's neck. It would, at the very least, allow him to keep his hold a bit more readily.

Though it may also be a bit harder to disengage than he'd like.

"I can think of a few," he says, getting close to testing the limits of what he can get away with. Haurchefant might not be the only danger. "The metaphorical gravitas would pale in favour of the practical applications I could devise."

He considers for a few more moments and then decides to spare him.

"Though the Knights Dragoon would not benefit from additional complications to their ability to sit down." With so many spiky additions, it's incredibly difficult to do anything but stand while fully armoured.

"Practical applications!" Aymeric repeats, unable to still another laugh as if bubbles up. "I am of two minds, curious yet mortified of what that might be."

Ignorance might be bliss in this instance. Aymeric does feel much freer in Estinien's presence, able to cast some proprieties aside for the sake of sharing the simple silly things that cross is mind when he is in the mood. Yet his own somewhat cloistered upbringing does rear its head.

"I can only imagine, and you have scarcely been seen out of it since your promotion." Aymeric turns to face the dragoon, crossing his arms. "It is nice to see your face again, my friend. For a while I feared it had been swallowed whole by your helm."

It may seem like an unchallenging comment, but something about it summons up complicated feelings in Estinien's chest. It's true, of course. Since winning his armor, Estinien has rarely been seen without it, at least away from his room in the Congregation. It's like a new skin, and a validation of the identity he's been seeking for a decade now.

It's something he can't help but be invested in, and despite the jovial tone of the conversation, part of him craves to voice some of those thoughts out loud - to share the experiences of his life with someone. So, after staring back at Aymeric with an expression of soft surprise, he puts an effort into finding the right words.

"Do you know much of Drachen Armor?" he asks, something more sober and genuine about the way he asks. He doesn't want to assume Aymeric is ignorant, but with dragoons being such an elite rarity, it seems that many are unaware of the specifics.

He had meant it in jest, of course, but Estinien's lack of reaction and quiet reflection is something of a curiosity in and of itself. There is a moment where Aymeric wonders if the remark was off-color, an apology forming on the tip of his tongue--he is proud, of course, of Estinien's accomplishments and did not mean to take shots at how he is reveling in them himself nor in his duties.

But the apology dies quickly at his friend's question. Aymeric raises his brows gently, a little surprised in his own right. There is a quality to Estinien's voice that he is not often gifted with, something that makes Aymeric want to hear it more often.

He shakes his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Nay, only rumors and wives' tales. But I am fortunate to be in the company of an expert."

"Even having earned my own set, it is hard to claim expertise," he says, but not in the same tone he often understates his accomplishments. Instead, it seems like he's going somewhere with it. He considers something, and then gestures for Aymeric to follow him, continuing to explain as he moves deeper into the armory.

"The material is precious and the process of its creation arcane - known to only a scarce few blacksmiths in all of Ishgard. I can only imagine the level of mastery required, and yet... ahah!" He finally spots what he's looking for. Towards the back end of the room, a set of aged Drachen Armor is on display. It has been cleaned up as best as it can be, but there is a gap torn out of the side of the chest plate.

"I had thought that House Fortemps must have its own history among the Order." His gaze lingers on the old armor as he speaks. "The craft is so arduous, and yet the armor is never passed down, never bequeathed to new generations. This is because Drachen Armor has been forged in dragon blood itself, and bonds to its wearer's very soul."

Edited 2020-10-22 20:42 (UTC)

Aymeric would follow without beckoning, even so he drops his arms to his sides and falls into step beside his friend. It is not often that Estinien offers information unprompted, though he realizes that this area is one of particular interest and import to the man. And, therefore, it is of particular interest and import to Aymeric as well.

He listens carefully, eyes straying from Estinien every now and then to take a glance at the different displays they pass by until Estinien finds what he was looking for. It is immediately recognizable, the sharp edges and distinctive mail of a Dragoon seems to carry over no matter who is sponsoring it--the Temple or the High Houses.

Aymeric takes his spot next to Estinien as he gives the piece a very slow and securitizing review as if he is about to be tested on the finer details at a moment's notice. Yet as Estinien speaks again, his eyes drift towards his friend and finds the way he regards the process itself decidedly more interesting.

Though becoming a Dragoon had been such an important feat, a milestone in his life, Estinien rarely shared the specifics. Aymeric would only pry so far, of course, knowing that the process in and of itself is barbaric in its best of times, keeping such distaste for the methods behind closed lips. There were not many alternatives, after all, and he did not want to begrudge his friend's ambitions and goals. How could he when Estinien gazes at the armor like that?

Aymeric's eyes widen. "Then it is true?" His eyes flick back and forth between the armor and the dragoon. "I had been duly convinced that mentions of dragon's blood were a myth."

He settles again on the armor, regarding it as something more than a suit for the first time.

"It seems much more than earning one's Soul Crystal."

"Aye," Estinien says with a rare bit of reverence. "The armor and Gae Bolg both aspire to turn the strength of dragons back against them. A Crystal may strengthen the mind, but this armor bolsters one's physical prowess in a way I've never felt before."

"I had mastered the techniques before earning my armor, but to have them both... the symbiosis of its power is seamless." And as Aymeric well knows by now, strength is the thing that Estinien craves more than anything. No victory, no accomplishment, has ever been enough, been until he has the power to slay Nidhogg it is meaningless.

Yet, this is a rare taste of what he's aspiring towards. He can feel the difference, in the way he fights and the way he moves - could it be any surprise that he'd be reluctant to put it aside?

His expression hardens, darker thoughts finally making their way to him. The depth of his need can be glimpsed in his eyes.

"...And this is only a fraction of what the Azure Dragoon could achieve."

Edited 2020-10-22 21:48 (UTC)

His eyes fall once again to Estinien, watching the way he speaks as well as listening intently to it. It is rare to hear him speak of something so, with much in the world falling short of gaining his respect. It is a nice shift, Aymeric thinks, from the somber notes and gruff appraisals of nearly everything else they encounter. There should be more in life that gives him this reason.

Knowing his friend as he does, Aymeric is unsurprised to see Estinien's expression fall, whatever accomplishments he has to his name coming yet short of his ultimate goal. At times he seems so far away when he thinks on the wyrm, travelling somewhere in his mind where Aymeric cannot follow.

So Aymeric attempts to bring him back to the present, placing a warm but firm hand on Estinien's shoulder.

"Yet it is an achievement on its own, is it not? So few master these techniques nor earn their mail." He cants his head, trying to encourage a smile. "I had known the armor was significant to you, yet I plainly underestimated the weight of its import. It is truly a second skin, another piece of you."

Edited 2020-10-22 22:13 (UTC)

Estinien never explained much of this at the time because it felt overly sentimental to speak of it this way. It was useful armor, of course, and an important victory, but part of him had wondered if it was simply not something those on other paths could understand.

So, there is a sense of relief in his heart when Aymeric lays his hand on his shoulder, putting words to the feeling that Estinien has been trying to get across. It draws him back from the hungering void that lingers in the center of his being. It's at least one thing he can be satisfied with.

"Aye," he says in that same voice, softer and more vulnerable than he often allows. "And I may make my way yet." He glances back at the armor. "My mail is yet new, but I intend to have it earn its marks. Would that one day there could be cause to display it so lovingly."

The Drachen Armor remains as a memorial to the dragoon that wore it, bearing the touch of their body and soul. He doesn't have a family armory, but he will make himself known regardless.

Estinien comes back to him--back to himself, making Aymeric's smile only widen, the warmth reaching his eyes. He nods again, this time following Estinien's gaze back to the armor. It's a firm reminder that behind each suit is a warrior--a story to be told. Someone who fought for their nation, someone who might have died for it. Someone who had their own ambitions and dreams, whether it led them to battle or not.

"There is no doubt in my mind that it will, my friend. Yours is a tale that will be told, your deeds speaking for themselves."

He does not give the wyrm a name almost as if it might invoke Nidhogg onto the private moment. This feels like the first time Estinien has ever sounded...almost peaceful in his quest, in his resolution. Aymeric would like to savor it a bit longer.

"I suppose then I will have the privilege of claiming the bragging rights of knowing the future Azure Dragoon before he rose to infamy."

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