dpscheck | stuck meme

[ Francel's wriggling about earns him Zephirin's amusement, rearing its head anew. Abruptly, the knight's heart seems to clench behind his ribs with a warm rush of fondness. ]

Friendship? I believe you give me yours — naught more is needed to keep mine.

But I want to give you things.

[francel's complaint is not the sort one would usually expect from a child, though he says it as if it is a child's complaint. he huffs indignantly and rests his head upon zephirin's chest once more.]

I want to make you... happy. As you... make me. [this is the inane rambling of a sleepy lordling, no doubt, but francel's eyes flutter in an effort to remain open.] I was so happy with the rabbit today, Zephirin...

[ Francel is not a child, and perhaps Zephirin's hand should not comb its fingers through his hair, stroking it as if the gesture will smooth away Francel's pouting. Even so, Zephirin's fingers pass through the golden strands, once, twice. ]

Then you have made me happy.

[ Happiness is not bought with material things. ]

...Are you sure?

[this is not the first time that francel has asked zephirin to reaffirm his happiness — it is as if he does not believe that others can be satisfied simply by being in his presence alone. francel turns his head, burying his face in zephirin's chest. his voice comes out muffled.]

...When I cannot provide what others desire... they always leave...

...so I want to give you...

[ Behind the barrier of his shirt, warmed beneath the weight pressed against his torso, Zephirin's heartbeat is steady within his breast. His hand settles atop Francel's head once more.

Francel is eager, desperate to please for fear of abandonment, and unfortunately his new friend does not wear his heart on his sleeve. ]

What concealed wants do you believe me to harbour, Joacin?

[ He cannot promise never to leave — there is no returning from Halone's halls. ]

...I don't know...

[the liquid burble of oil against his ears was francel's first fixation; zephirin's heartbeat, steady against francel's eardrum, becomes his second. unconsciously, francel slows his breathing to match the pace of zephirin's pulse.]

Anything... name anything within my power, and I will see it done.

[ As Francel refuses to accept the possibility that Zephirin will demand nothing from him, the knight falls silent, in thought. His legs express their desire to be released from the position in which he has placed them, twinging.

Several heartbeats later, Zephirin names his supposed wish. ]

...A composition, then. I assume you write your own?

A composition...?

[at last francel looks up, swaying slightly as he attempts to remain sitting upright. his eyes are half-closed; he hovers on the delicious edge of sleep. one wonders if he will even recall this conversation at all in the morning.]

...Music? Or poetry...?

[ Zephirin's arms are poised once again to avert Francel's toppling over; the boy's losing battle against sleep is apparent. Indeed, Zephirin half expects drowsiness to claim its victory mid-sentence, perhaps even to make this conversation a dream. ]

As I recall it, you spoke of your interest in music.

[the mention of music brings a small, kittenish smile to francel's face. were it not for the fact that his arms are still half-wrapped around zephirin, he would clap his hands in delight.]

Mmhmm... I would write you... something pretty, like you...

[saying that, he closes his eyes at last and collapses face forward, his plush cheek firmly against zephirin's neck.]

[ Inevitably, sleep is the victor. Zephirin stays motionless for a time to be certain that moving Francel will not disturb him into waking, and then, cautiously, he transfers the boy from his arms to the mattress, beside the toy rabbit. The covers are partially trapped underneath Francel, leaving only the free half to drape across him — this exposes the rabbit. Zephirin's solution is to tuck it into the crook of Francel's arm before he puts his clothing in order and quietly exits the room, making his way to the manor's entrance and seeing himself out.

They made no arrangements to meet again, and Zephirin does not return to the Last Vigil in the days that follow, assigned to patrol duty that keeps him wandering the Pillars, then stationed beyond the Steps of Faith. It is a sign that ere long, he may expect to be called back to the battlefield.

He prepares to keep his word and inform Francel of the change.

Saint Valeroyant's Day arrives first, and with it come the festival's annual preparations. Temple Knights still clad in the uniform, unarmed, are sent forth to make their rounds through Ishgard's streets, carrying baskets full of painstakingly woven wreaths, emptier with each passing child that receives a crown. ]

[the following days are harder on francel than he would like to admit.

in the end he wakes with the sheets wrapped around him and the plush rabbit pressed against his chest, and the first thought that floats through his mind is that zephirin must have tucked him in. the second is that he is horribly, horribly angry with himself for having fallen asleep despite all his efforts — despite the fact that he had wanted nothing more than to spend the entire evening with zephirin, talking and laughing and indulging in the knight's subtle smiles.

some of the manor servants tease francel for falling asleep and leaving his guest to see himself out, but such teasing does not last long: the sight of their lord's pain-stricken face is not their intended result.

with classes at the scholasticate not in session, francel could while away the days at his most excellent bay window, studying and preparing for future classes — but few things are less appealing than the thought of haunting the scholasticate halls, where francel is met with stony gazes and silence from both noble and common student alike, so he spends his days in the music-room in haillenarte manor, trying to write a melody that might suit zephirin's tastes.

he pens a fresh letter to ser chlodebaimt, and then — after some day's time — pens another one to ser haurchefant.

temptation brings him to the congregation of our saints most heavenly, a handful of times — but francel cannot bring himself to walk in through the tall double doors and ask for ser zephirin's whereabouts, and he leaves empty-handed, each and every time.

(suppose he was a nuisance? suppose zephirin had other friends?)

saint valeroyant's day presents a different kind of temptation. of all of ishgard's saints, saint valeroyant ranks among francel's favorites, but he is grown too old to receive of the traditional saint's-breath garlands, and he has no younger siblings to escort on a walk through the city.

nevertheless, there is a chance that he may find ser zephirin among the temple knights gracing ishgard's children with their crowns... thus, lord francel de haillenarte may be found half-running through the streets of the jeweled crozier, peering at the face of every passing temple knight as if searching for someone.]

Edited 2017-07-23 23:10 (UTC)

[ One passing Temple Knight, unable to resist his curiosity, postpones his duty to approach Lord Francel in his frantic search. On his arm, his basket swings merrily to and fro. He steps into Francel's path, pushing up his mask to reveal his face as he speaks. "Whatever is the matter? Unless I'm mistaken, it was you outside the Congregation only yesterday..." Cocking his head, he looks Francel up and down, from head to toe.

"Not yesterday alone, come to think of it." ]

["ah? er..."

thus halted, francel stops dead in his tracks, still wearing the anxious look of a man desperate to find something he is missing. the temple knight's face is unfamiliar, though of course it would be, if he wears his mask when he stands watch outside the congregation. the man's eyes are a warm brown; francel cannot see past the coif that still shelters the knight's head and neck from the elements, but he supposes by the man's eyebrows that his hair is white.

he isn't bad-looking — but he isn't zephirin, and francel's heart is set on one particular knight at the moment.

"...i... i was looking for someone," the young lord stammers, by way of explanation, which isn't much explanation at all.]

[ "Someone, is it? A Temple Knight?" prompts the man, clearly intent on making Francel's business his own, now that his spontaneous investigation has begun. His basket hangs still. A grin on his lips, the knight jabs his thumb at his chest. "Well then, mayhap the Fury bids me to help. Guerrique de Montrohain, at your service!" He salutes.

If it occurs to him to ask Francel why he seeks a specific Temple Knight, and with such urgency, he asks another question instead.

"This Temple Knight, has he a name? She? Even a description will do—" Guerrique's hand touches his mask. "...Do we know our knight's face?" ]

[francel has no mask to mask his own face, and indeed no mask to hide the surprise and recognition that flashes in his eyes. "oh — so you are ser guerrique!" he exclaims.

then he backtracks, holding up his hands to halt guerrique from leaping to any conclusions. "er — that is, you are not the knight i seek! i simply know you. or rather, i have heard of you. he spoke of you."

perhaps it is unwise of francel to inform ser guerrique that the temple knight he seeks has spoken of him behind closed doors. nevertheless, francel hesitates only a moment before he adds, rather sheepishly: "...i have been looking for ser zephirin."]

[ Astonishment spreads across Guerrique's features; every sentence out of Francel's mouth fixes it ever more firmly into place. The knight's expression makes it plain that he leaps to a series of conclusions in the span of a few moments, and that the need to pursue them is pressing.

A number of reasons, not all of them flattering, could explain each and every statement made. Guerrique's smile falters. His brow furrows uneasily.

"Ser Zephirin, truly? And you say he spoke of me?" He laughs off his confusion. "You must tell me what he said! But if the knight you seek is Ser Zephirin, your best option is to wait at the Congregation and ask to see him... On duty, we all look alike!" Turning, his mask pushed back down to cover his face, he beckons to Francel. "Here, shall I go with you?" ]

[it would be impossible to tell guerrique the truth, which is that his name only came up because francel was nursing a strange desire to be thrown across a room by a carved and chiseled temple knight, so the young lord only laughs and lies politely. "he said you were very strong," francel says, and it is not entirely untrue.

inexplicably, he blushes at the thought of going to the congregation once more. he scuffs at the ground with his feet. "i did not want to disturb him at his place of work..." francel murmurs — though seeking the knight while he is on-duty handing out garlands to small children does not seem any less intrusive.]

Edited 2017-07-26 12:51 (UTC)

[ The doubtful look in Guerrique's eyes is fleeting. His mask hides his mouth, but the pride in his tone is undisguised. "Our one match ended in a draw! Would that we could have another..." Realizing that his footfalls are the only ones to resume, Guerrique halts mid-step and glances over his shoulder, puzzled.

"Ishgard is his place of work," he points out. "The Congregation or the streets, does it matter?" ]

[guerrique has a point — one that makes francel realize, much to his embarrassment, that his trepidation is caused at least in part by the fact that, with the exception of their jaunt through the jeweled crozier on his nameday, he has always met zephirin with some expectation of privacy, behind closed doors. seeking him out in public, with all the world (or at least zephirin's colleagues) to see them together, seems quite another matter entirely.

"w-well..."

but he wants to see zephirin, and a kind man is willing to show him the way, and more importantly, that kind man is looking at francel with an expectant air behind his mask — and in the end francel gives in, slowly walking the few paces required to fall into place beside the brown-eyed knight.

"...i suppose you are not wrong," francel mumbles, rather awkwardly.]

Edited 2017-07-27 14:05 (UTC)

[ "Full glad am I that you see it!" Guerrique makes to thump the boy on the back when he comes within reach, but he thinks better of it, only curling his hand into a fist to pump it in the air. Whether or not he knows Zephirin's exact whereabouts, he confidently leads the way through the city.

The Pillars behind them, a crowd-filled Saint Valeroyant's Forum lies ahead; each year, Ishgard's citizens are invited to gather by the saint's statue and reflect upon his deeds. Temple Knights patrol the plaza.

"Is it urgent, your business with Ser Zephirin?" Guerrique, reaching into his basket to fish out a wreath for a flowerless child, finally addresses Francel's oddly desperate searching. "And you must speak with him, and no other knight?" ]

[francel cringes inwardly at the barrage of questions, though he manages to keep a straight and dignified face. he fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, staring out at the crowd gathered to honor saint valeroyant; his feet follow ser guerrique's rather mechanically.

"it is not urgent," he answers truthfully, after a pause, "but... but it must be him. it must be."

guilt settles inexplicably into the cracks of francel's heart. suddenly, he wonders if this is all too trivial, if zephirin will not be upset with him for seeking him out on an important day for such an unimportant reason. his next comments — meant to reassure himself — must seem positively bizarre to a stranger:

"we are friends," francel says, largely to himself. "we are friends. he's said... i've said..."]

Edited 2017-07-29 09:34 (UTC)

[ Guerrique's brows vanish beyond the upper edge of the slit in his mask, suggesting that to his mind, these remarks are rather strange to offer in response to his questions. "Not that I don't believe you, but you seemed in such haste that I thought something gravely amiss!" He shrugs, weaving through the crowd to the Congregation's entrance. "Well, the matter is yours and Ser Zephirin's to settle..."

Easily, the knight throws open the doors. Heads turn their way. "Take a seat and pass the time thinking of Saint Valeroyant — we've no Saint Zephirin's Day to celebrate just yet." He winks.

Apparently Guerrique plans to keep Francel company while he waits, or at least he does not abandon him immediately. Eyeing the lordling with interest, he soon returns to the topic of Zephirin himself, despite his words. "...So, a friend." As if to discuss a secret, he leans closer. "Of late, Ser Zephirin disappears for bells from time to time, and some of us have a wager to win. Has he mentioned anything to you?" ]

Edited 2017-07-30 02:41 (UTC)

[bewildered, francel takes a seat as he is bid, all the while thinking of how happily he would, in theory, celebrate saint zephirin's day. he laces his hands in his lap; his fingers seem oddly tense. he swallows on his anxieties.

when guerrique speaks once more, francel frowns. zephirin, disappearing for bells at a time? to what end? the young lord does not quite realize that the bells in question are the same bells spent with him — instead, he wonders vaguely if zephirin has been spending time with other people, and then he wonders why his heart clenches at the thought.

"...no," he answers, finally. "he's mentioned nothing of the sort, ser guerrique. what do you mean, a wager?"]

[ Guerrique draws back, disappointed, somewhat unconvinced. "All in good fun, all in good fun," he explains, with a reassuring wave of his hand to accompany his assertion. "Every one of us would follow Ser Zephirin into battle." In other words, if the man genuinely has a secret to keep, his comrades will think no less of him for it.

"No doubt you know as well as we that Ser Zephirin's wife is faith and his mistress is duty, and any pastime we imagine for him is wildly off the mark unless we keep it mundane." Suddenly, Guerrique points at Francel, the tip of his finger aligned with the boy's nose. "Even so, some might come closer to the truth than others! Do we have another challenger?!" ]

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