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🕯️ - A scented candle shaped like the moon. It smells like rain. Something about it calms the soul.
"Milord, are you sure you don't simply want to return home?" Handeloup asked. "Your paperwork will be there for you on the morrow."
"As a treat for my future self, I'd like to tidy up ere I leave. You go on and get your rest," Aymeric said.
"Ser." With a salute, his captain left.
And with that, Aymeric shut the door to his office. The last stray Blasphemies from the Final Days had been finally felled, and peace was truly returning to Ishgard. Well, peace as far as him not having to send out soldiers to fight for a cause. That transition in itself that was still unfolding. Lucia had reported that there had been a Voidsent incursion in Garlemald, and the brave knights that had remained there had proved invaluable in that fight. At some point he would have to call those men home, or offer an honorable way for them to stay if it suited them.
That was a problem for the morrow, or some other day's morrow. Tonight Aymeric was simply sorting a few papers into their proper places before returning home. He frowned at his desk, seeing an oddly high stack of papers. Surely he had not let things get so out of hand...
He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized twas simply a stack on top of a cup of some sort. Twas crescent shaped, and full of some substance. He realized it must be a candle when he saw a wick at the top of it. Underneath it was an envelope with familiar handwriting. He found his letter opener quickly and fell into his chair.
Dear Aymeric,
I must thank you and all of Ishgard for your efforts in staving off the Final Days. Twas a star wide effort, but I felt stronger knowing that I had the Lord Commander on my side to urge the importance of what we had to do. Your strong words and effortless leadership saved countless lives, and for that I am grateful.
Twas just like Rowan to spread the credit of saving the Star across to others. Still, the sentiment warmed Aymeric's heart as he read on.
I hope that things are well in the Holy See. Emm.*** says that you and Artoriel are hard at work with reforming the laws, and I do hope that the House of Lords and the House of Commons come to an agreement that will suit everyone. I feel as though my work in ending the Dragonsong War only gave you more work in the political sphere! I do hope you are finding it fulfilling. I have found my journey across the Star and elsewhere to be so.
At this point, there was a blot on the page. If Aymeric had to guess, Rowan was coming upon something that she was finding hard to write.
I suppose part of my fulfillment comes from the relationships I've had. I believe you've had the chance to meet with most of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, including one Urianger Arugelt. Twas Ishgard who supplied him with his Astrolabe. By enabling his magics, Ishgard has indirectly saved me on numerous occasions. He has been a dear friend of mine since we first met and our relationship has only grown. If you're reading this, it is likely we have been wed by an authority recognized by one of the Eorzean Citystates. (Tataru said that the Watcher on the Moon did not count as a proper witness, and I would argue is far more official than any mortal witness, but I digress.)
I write this to you because I feel as you are due this knowledge before it becomes widely known. I know not what lies in store in my new life as a married woman, but I wish to live a more private life from now on. Who knows if that will be at all possible, but it does mean we had to be very selective as to who attended the ceremony back on the Star proper. My mother wasn't able to come to the first ceremony, so you are in well beloved company.
I've asked Estinien to deliver this letter, as well as a candle I made while on my sojourn on the moon with Urianger. If my brother dragoon has any kindness left within him, he'll stay and talk with you. I know he's been avoiding Ishgard and you as well. If you don't find his company, I do hope that the candle can bring you a small mote of comfort - it's scented to smell like the first rain of spring.
With love and friendship,
Rowan Argentas-Arugelt
Aymeric set down the letter with an exhausted sigh. While he was happy that Rowan felt fulfillment in her life, it was quite the barb to see her named sighed as Argentas-Arugelt.
In another life it would have been Rowan de Borel.
That was a thought that required a drink, and with it being as late as it was, it was the thought finally sent Aymeric home. He was so focused on keeping his composure until he was in his private chambers that he didn't notice Estinien outside the manor until the servant at the door pointed him out. After a few short orders, the two of them were sitting next to the fire with brandy in hand.
"To the path not taken," Estinien said, raising his glass.
"To the path not taken," Aymeric repeated before downing his brandy.
the cast time for a phoenix down is so funny actually. the wol is frantically digging through their pack for that stupid feather they KNOW is at the bottom somewhere
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Humble had been diligently studying the duties of a romantic suitor for some time, although now G'raha had made it apparent that he not only reciprocated Humble's feelings, but was actually prepared to act upon them as well, the giant warrior was even less sure of the proper course of action.
His research had provided a few examples of the sort of thing a dashing gentleman might do in order to demonstrate their ardor. However some of them Humble felt he probably ought to give a miss.
For example, serenading G'raha with a beautiful song sounded nice in theory, but Humble was fully aware that he had not been blessed with the kind of singing voice that others would wish to be exposed to, at least not at close range.
Equally, he remembered that Momodi had once told him that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach - although she had needed to clarify that this was actually relationship advice, rather than guidance on efficient assassination techniques. However, he was fairly sure that romantic meals involved things like oysters and complicated chocolate desserts in which rose petals were prominently featured, not so much smoked raptor or grilled loaghtan haunches.
The only thing left to him, he decided, was to attempt to pen a romantic poem. He'd read, or at least attempted to read, plenty of those and he felt he had a vague sense of what was required. You needed to say nice things about the person and, ideally, compare bits of them to other things, like flowers or clouds. He liked the ones that rhymed the most, so he also thought he ought to give that a go, although it seemed quite difficult.
However he was also conscious that he was not a very confident writer and that his spelling was, at best, inexact, so he might need to get it proofread by Krile or something - if he could get over his embarrassment enough to share it.
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