let's delay our misery
Yes, folks, it's time for that staple of staples: the hot springs meme! Your character is now joining someone else for a dip in the hot springs (or just passing by, if you're really dead sure they're not going to strap out of their spiky armor).
Is this the Bokaisen in Kugane? The natural springs in icy northern Twinpools? Some hidden, bubbly corner of Gyr Abania, maybe? Or familiar Camp Bronze Lake? You've got a lot of options! It can also just, you know, be nowhere in particular.
Why are they in the springs? Who knows! It's meme logic, my friends.
A note: this meme is intended as a gen meme, though if you'd like to play it as a variant of the matchmaking smut springs meme that's frequently posted on Bakerstreet, you're very welcome to do so!
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valoirs
no subject
[aymeric’s words, however intentioned, seem to slide off francel’s heart like so much useless seawater, leaving him no less hollow and probably a bit more saline. it’s always like this, he thinks, when he tries to talk about haurchefant: platitudes, praise for his character, for his knighthood, for his service. everyone rushing to tell some story about him or accept complicity for his death, as if fighting for the disappearing slices of some imaginary tart, snatching up even the flaky crumbs, leaving francel with nothing but the plate.
they didn’t know him, he thinks, bitterly. they didn’t know him when he was no one.
then again, he thinks, i didn’t know him when he was someone.
he feels empty again, like a plush rabbit with its stuffing long removed for a child’s amusement, forgotten and left on a shelf. he thinks that it would be nice to sink into the water and stop breathing, but he knows full well that his traitorous body would struggle for air, and that aymeric would stop him, probably, out of some misguided justice. he thinks about snow.]
...Has anyone ever told you that they loved you, Ser Aymeric?
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[ It's neutral and objective, like plucking a card to read from an orderly inventory of experiences he's never had. ]
Why do you ask?
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this, somehow, is worse. francel lowers his gaze to the water's rippling surface, thinking of the unsent letters stored in his bedside drawer, the countless sheets of paper he's ultimately crumpled up to use for kindling. he thinks of haurchefant's arm slung around his shoulders, heavy with the weight of his vambrace. he's been a terrible fool.
of course. that is exactly what would have happened had francel mustered the nerve to leave his heart in an envelope on haurchefant's desk: haurchefant would have forgotten it beneath a pile of other documents, and then swept it aside for another day never to come.]
...I suppose I just wanted to know what it was like. But you're right. A letter wouldn't have done any good.
[the young lord draws his knees up to his chest again, then rests his head on his arms, his arms on his knees. curled in on himself, he looks as if he means to fall asleep in the warm spring.
it's all too late no matter what he does, so why can't he just let it go?]
Forgive me. I should not have asked. I'll not bother you any further.
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Lord Francel's hands, reddened by the spring and the cold, look delicate, soft and unscarred.
Aymeric takes a long breath, tips his head back against the face of the boulder behind him, and extends an olive branch. ]
There was a man, once — no one who loved me, but one with whom I suffered a sort of infatuation. This was long ago; I was only one knight among many, then. I could not, for the life of me, determine whether I loved him or admired him. I resolved to write him a letter, though I could have spoken to him whenever I liked. I suppose I thought it a sort of protection: if he never acknowledged it, neither would I, and we could go on pretending that I had never confessed anything untoward.
I would not have envied you that anticipation, but all the same— [ he pauses, watching a few snowflakes spiral through evergreen branches— ] I regret that you were denied the attempt.
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...Did he acknowledge it?
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[ Aymeric offers him a conspiratorial smile. ]
I thought that in waiting I might make myself more certain — and so I did, and I felt no pressing need to confess formally to admiration and the love any man might bear a friend.
[ He leans back again, lets his eyes close, relaxed where Francel is wrapped tight around himself. ]
Nor is this to draw comparisons, of course; only to say that I do remember the sense of injustice — that cowardice, as I thought it then, might also be the most selfless solution.
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and that in itself seems a foolish statement. but he thought it would be fine. he thought he knew who he was without haurchefant: devoted son, pious lordling, fourthborn of house haillenarte. now, thanks in part to aymeric himself, all that seems stripped from him. haurchefant is dead. and francel doesn’t know who he is without his country, his bloodline, his only friend. more than that, he hates himself for being this weak, this pathetic.
but he can’t say any of this to aymeric. he’s said enough as it is.
haurchefant would have wanted you to be happy, he reminds himself, numbly.
then comes the second thought: no one came.
he sinks his wrists into the water, and imagines the knife. but that wouldn’t do any good. he doesn’t have the right to ruin this spring for everyone else, to taint it with his sullied name until such day as it is eventually forgotten.]
...Cowardice and bravery are empty concepts. It doesn’t matter how we feel, only what we do...
[and i, he thinks to himself, have done nothing. nothing of value at all.]
no subject
Wisely said.
[ And it is, and he couldn't disagree if he wanted to — but Aymeric has just seen the evidence of Francel's doing on his back. He wonders what it is about Francel's mind that twists good philosophies into dark impulses.
The man must have been left alone for a some time, it strikes him, to do himself so much harm.
He turns to Francel, straightening, and abruptly changes the subject. ]
Would you be amenable to telling me more of the standing of the central highlands? Whether the Locks, the region generally, your impressions of the other houses' holdings — anything. I would be grateful.
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...As the leader of the Locks, I suppose I can offer no unbiased account of life under mine own command. But Camp Dragonhead seems to have accepted its new commander, and young Honoroit is more than capable of making up for Lord Emmanellain's faults. I suppose I have some concerns about the Observatorium — the astrologians spend much on frivolities and little on the knights that guard them, but who am I to question the wisdom of Master Forlemort? That said, had I half the coin in his coffers, I would send more patrols along our southern border, to better keep the roads safe for pilgrims to the Fury's Gaze...
[francel goes on in this vein for some time — he is not spirited, not exactly, and his thoughts tend toward the pessimistic all the same, but at the very least, his propensity towards dark impulses has not prevented him from doing his job.]
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Have you been to the Fury's Gaze yourself? I have not, I admit. I've seen the tower from afar several times, but never had cause to venture closer.
[ Such as, for instance, the earnest piety of a pilgrim. ]
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[aymeric did not ask for a description of the place, to be sure, but it seems only natural to offer one. subtly, all this talk seems to have relaxed francel some: the young lord now sits in the spring, his legs folded at a comfortable angle. he even seems in a good enough humor to crack what seems to be a joke:]
I feel judged all the time, of course, so it matters less to me...
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I should like to see it. [ He props his chin in his hand like they're talking about a grander sight: a far-off city, an ocean. ] Would you indulge me? Not this very moment, of course — in a few days' time? Or the morrow, if you like. Your insights on the journey would be instructive, no doubt.
[ His smile goes a little crooked, boyish. ]
My company must be poor incentive, but I've heard there's another spring not far from the tower.
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still, even cold and hardened by disappointments, francel is weak to boyishness, to sweet innocence, and there is something appealing, too, in satisfying someone's passing whim. if his days are numbered — as francel believes they are — then he might, at least, spend them trying to make others even a little bit happier...]
...There is indeed. I will have to send word in advance of our arrival, that the knights might set it aside for our use, but Ser Ignace will not begrudge me the visit.
[the young lord closes his eyes, vulnerable, but at peace.]
I have no engagements so pressing that I cannot set them aside for a time. Name the time that best suits your itinerary, and I shall see to the rest.
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[ It isn't that he has nothing planned -- he has a trip to the hot spring planned, every day, for nearly two weeks -- but the longer ride will be a perfect reason to cancel an appearance at a particularly onerous dinner party with little to be gained. ]
I've been ordered to rest here, daily, for some days. [ His smile says he doesn't mind, though it makes him think of all the things he isn't doing. ] Perhaps we shall meet again ere then?
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[this seems as natural an end to their conversation as any, and francel decides that his tired muscles have taken in quite enough heat for now — he rises slowly from the water, drying himself with his towel as quickly (and modestly) as possible, not quite meeting aymeric's gaze.]
...Thank you for your company, Ser Aymeric. Let us be kinder to one another, next we meet.
[he thinks about skipping his bath the next day, but in the end, he doesn't — francel shows up at the spring at the same time, and in the same way: eyes downcast, shuffling empty and lost through the snow. he seems willing to speak of work; outside of that, he speaks of nothings, of sound philosophies that sound more like death knells in his quiet voice.
and yet, when he leaves for his humble home once more, he seems somehow less burdened.
dawn soon rises on the day of their promised meeting. midday sees lord francel waiting dutifully at the southern gate to dragonhead, the reins for two chocobos held in his hand. he looks about anxiously, as though he fears that the lord commander will renege on his promise. but perhaps this, too, is its own kind of progress: fear of disappointment at least means that he still retains the capacity for hope.]
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[ The lord commander is punctual, smiling as he makes his way across the courtyard, a hand raised in greeting. The keep is at his back; plainly, he used the opportunity to speak to Camp Dragonhead's new commander. ]
And with two birds — what fine fortune! I'd hoped to make a pilgrimage today in good company. Will you indulge me?
[ His voice carries; the nearby armsmen all turn to look between them. ]
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[i thought that was the purpose of our meeting, francel thinks, but the words flounder and die in his throat. why is aymeric acting as if this is some convenient happenstance? was this trip supposed to be some great secret? or did he take the suggestion of it far more seriously than did aymeric?
anxiety flits across francel's face, though he seems to swallow it, turning away as he climbs into the saddle of his chosen mount.]
...Never mind what I thought. I am bound for Monument Tower regardless, so if you would join me, I shall not object.
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'Twas a jest. I've thought of little else since I awoke -- many, many bells ago. [ With humor again, he climbs into his own saddle. ]
And what of you? How has this morning found you?
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[francel seems to grow a few shades pinker, though that might very well be from the cold than from any embarrassment on his part. he takes the lead, setting his chocobo on a gentle walk down haldrath's march. it is best to conserve the birds' energy until they reach the more dangerous wilds in boulder downs — that, and it would be rude in a silly way to just go sprinting off in the horizon without addressing aymeric's question.]
I am well enough. I rose for matins... took breakfast... completed a report, then made my way here. I — forgive me my brevity. My days are not particularly interesting.