Chlodebaimt can feel Roelleโs breathing against his side, still heavy but they felt calmer. He knew, of course, that they often used sex as a coping mechanism, when they needed a distraction or when they needed to relax before broaching a subject. It didnโt bother him and he always knew that he could say no if he wished- and had a couple times- and they would find another way to get what they needed. He didnโt mind, but when they come looking for a distraction three nights in a row without talking about it after only a few months from their return from the front in Ala Mhigoโฆ Well, Chlodebaimt wasnโt stupid.
โAre we going to talk about this?โ he asks quietly as he presses a kiss to the top of their head, noting the way they stiffened next to him.
โโBout what?โ They ask, but they both know itโs not convincing and Chlodebaimt doesnโt have to respond before theyโre sighing at themselves. โItโs jusโ- itโs nothinโ.โ
โRoelle, I know youโre trying to protect me, but Iโm not glass. You wonโt drop me, you wonโt break me.โ His voice is gentle but firm, a reminder that the Vigil was long ago and far away and, more importantly, he wanted to help them. โI know, alright? I know what youโre doing and I appreciate it, but weโre hurting each other if we let it continue.โ
โYe came so far, I donโt want tโ send ye back โcause of my own new trauma. Handled it โlone last time, can this time.โ
โRoelle.โ Chlodebaimt releases their shoulders and rolls onto his side to look them in the eye. โYou are not alone this time. You have me. You have friends at the manufactory. You have my mother. And Iโm sure you didnโt alienate every machinist, not now that youโre all home. Do not be a hypocrite.โ
They take a deep breath and release it as a long sigh, eyes closed before shifting forward the few ilms between them to tuck their face into Chlodebaimtโs chest. Thereโs a moment of anxiety as he feels their cheek against his extensive scarring but he breathes it out and lets it go, helping them was more important than his disproven worries about their thoughts on his scars.
โItโs hard,โ they murmur against his chest as he wraps his arms around them.
โAnd it hurts, I know. You know I know. Youโve seen me at my worst, let me see you are yours.โ He rolls onto his back, pulling them with so they rested on top of him and slides a hand into their hair, patiently waiting for them to talk while he plays with their hair.
And, eventually, they do. They talk about knowing they were at war again, the returning nightmares, the worry about watching friends die, the fact that that worry led to accidentally undermining Joye and the feelings of alienation from the other machinists for it. They talk about the effort of writing new bard songs after years of rust, of desperately trying to keep alive these people they cared about but seemed less and less fond of them. They talk about the sand and the sun and the moon and the temperatures and how everything and nothing mattered. How they looked and looked for the right songs and just hoped they always chose well given how many machinists managed to come back. Talked about the phantom pains in their arm like it knew, like it was ready to be sacrificed again. Talked about how hard it is to create in a warzone and how scared they are to go back to work, worried they havenโt been and wonโt be forgiven despite Stephanivienโs promise to talk to the others.
All the while, Chlodebaimt listens and runs his hands through their hair, finding some troubles familiar to those of his own at the Vigil, and some foreign but invoking sympathy nonetheless. He stays silent until theyโve seemed to run out of steam, falling silent, face still pressed into his chest, neither of them drawing attention to the tears theyโve shed.
After a long moment, Chlodebaimt speaks. โDo you feel better?โ he asks quietly, one hand sliding from their hair to rub their back.
โIโฆ. I donโt know,โ they answer quietly and honestly, finally lifting their face to look him in the eye. โYe donโt feel worse?โ
He shakes his head. โThis is a different war; seems most of my trauma is Dragonsong only.โ He gives a wry smile. โThough I recognize some of your issues. I can help, if you want me to.โ
โI-โ they cut themselves off, chewing their lower lip in thought for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. โAsk me in the morning?โ
โIn the morning, then,โ he replies, gently pulling their head down for a short kiss. โUntil then, Iโm here.โ
They nod and shift, sliding off his chest to tuck themselves back into his side. โAnโ thanks.โ
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Valerin and Rivienne; Chlodebaimtโs kids with Ireine. Finally got around to naming them and making them in CC. Valerinโs the oldest by a year or two and takes after dad in introversion. Rivienne takes after Roelle and Uncle Guydelot and Claire and sheโs a dancer and friendly and excitable and sociable and extroverted and, once sheโs a teen, a flirt and a bit of a heartbreaker. Theyโre good kids and Chlode, Roelle, and Ireine love them both very much.
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She didnโt often follow her father when he met other nobility for business, or whatever he chose to call it that day. While she didnโt mind a good gossip and seemed to be rather adept at playing the politics of Ishgard when needed, she had little interest in it. It wasnโt fun to her to pretend to care about stories from people she didnโt care about, she had always wanted to follow her heart, her desires. She was an artist, even from a young age, her father having taught her to paint long before she picked up the violin. She was raised to follow her whims and fancies, even when she could tell her father did not wholly approve. She never hurt anyone, however, and thatโs what mattered to both of them.
But today she had. Father was going to the Haillenarte manor and it had been a while since she had seen the Countess de Haillenarte; she hoped for tea and a chat while her father and the Count discussed whatever it was they were to discuss- something about rebuilding the Firmament, she believed. But she hadnโt been expecting to hear the most sad and beautiful piano as she asked after the Countess.
She had been playing violin for many years and it took a good few years after picking it up to realize she had been looking for someone to play with, a memory in the back of her mind of her motherโs piano echoing through the halls. She was looking for that in someone else, the love, the skill, and she came up empty time and again; the lowborn had not the time or money to learn to play and the highborn didnโt have the heart. It took often sounded like an automaton had learned the moves- lovely in perfection, but lacking all emotion.
But this was perfect. The notes played smooth and flawless, sliding into one another, not a chord fumbled, but it didnโt feel like sheet music. She felt like she could feel the playerโs heart. They were sad, no, bittersweet. They were lost, trying to find themselves, and she was drawn. Not because she wanted to lead them to the answers, not because she was foolish enough to think she had the answers, but because she found the piano she wanted to play with. And because she wanted to watch whoever was playing on the journey they seemed to be embarking on. She had never heard a moldy like this in the Haillenarte manor and she was almost enthralled.
By sound alone, and quite on accident, she finds her way to the music room, leaning in the open doorway and seeing, finally, whose hands were on the keys. Francel, she believed it was, though, of course, all the Haillenarte children seemed so scarce these days; it had been quite a while since she had seen a single one at a party or gathering she had been invited to. She watches his hands glide, watches him sway as his fingers dance. His eyes are closed, she notices, and thereโs no sheet music before him, yet she knows the song. Had he memorized it? How had she not known there was a musician so skilled in the Haillenarte bloodline? She hardly remembered any of the family other than the Count and Countess; Stephanivien had always been scarce, ill suited to the life of nobility, the same for Aurvael as she heard, Chlodebaimt was gone, may he forever walk Haloneโs Halls, and had been a knight besides, a path Laniaitte followed. As had Francel last she heard. And while it wasnโt unknown for Ishgardโs knights to have softer sides this was far from what she would expect.
The final notes of the song hang in the air, heavy with emotion and Claire feels her heart moved and wishes she had brought her violin, wishes she had even a single chance to play with him, to perhaps try to convince him to be her partner, to play together. With one song alone, heโd had her heart ensnared. She felt as though she knew his heart, though she knew she knew nothing about him. All she knew is she loved the man she heard between the notes, she was compelled to spend her life in whatever way she could with him. But she didnโt know him. Not yet. Time to fix that.
โYou must really love that song.โ Not the words she had meant to say to the man she wanted to hand her entire heart and soul to, but not inaccurate. She suppresses a wince as he jumps in his seat, eyes flying open. He almost looked at though he were some pray animal surrounded by hunters, he must have been quite deep in the music and she honestly felt bad for startling him so.
โSorry,โ she apologizes, pushing off the door frame and walking into the room. โI did not mean to startle you. My father is here to talk to yours and I could not help but be entranced by your playing. I have never heard anyone else in this city play with as much heart as you just did. I merely wish I had my violin to play with you.โ
โI-โฆ..Thank you,โ he stutters out and she wonders if he wasnโt used to receiving praise. She couldnโt fathom how he couldnโt be; the Countess de Haillenarte was a very warm and loving woman and Claire couldnโt imagine her, of all people, neglecting to tell her own son when he did something well. Or perhaps he was simply modest, she wasnโt certain, but she would find out with time, should he be willing to befriend her.
โNo thank you,โ she replies earnestly. โI needed to know there was one other person in this city who both loved music as much as I and could play well.โ With a smile, she offers him her hand. โClaire. Claire Pierriquet.โ
โFrancel. De Haillenarte.โ he says his surname like an afterthought as he takes her hand and shakes it. His is warm and surprisingly delicate for one who had been serving in Coerthas for years. He seemed to be quite a mystery to her and she was eager to solve it, should she be allowed. โPleasure to meet you,โ he adds letting go of her hand.
โLikewise. I have heard of you, though I confess, not of your passion and skill for music. We should play together sometime. Your music room seems much more loved than ours. Better lived in.โ
For a moment, Francel merely blinks, and Claire almost frowns. Never had she met a nobleman so inept at hearing himself complimented. It would be endearing if it wasnโt almost troubling.
โI thank you, but truly you flatter me. It has been quite too long since my fingers were last acquainted with these keys,โ he admits, gaze dropping the said keys in front of him.
โIf thatโs you playing rusty I would be honored to hear you play when more tuned. You always have an audience in me. And a partner, should you wish one.โ Before the conversation can go much further, however, she hears her name being called quizzically down the hall. โOh! I was going to have tea with the Countess while my father and the Count talk. Would you like to join? I would love to continue our conversation.โ
Thereโs a moment where sheโs almost certain heโll decline, a moment where sheโs sure sheโll have to catch him again some other time, ease her way into friendship some other way, but then a small smile spreads on his face and he nods. โI would love to join you for tea.โ And Claireโs certain sheโs never heard a sentence that sounded so good.
Sometimes Claire forgot her father was a soldier. It was an easy thing to forget, wandering their manor. Most she had seen were decorated with trophies and weapons and ย any point of pride they could find in fighting the war that kept calling Ishgardโs sons and daughters to the front lines. But their home wasnโt. Instead the walls were covered in beautiful portraits, many of Ishgard and Coerthas before the calamity befell them, green and splendid, some including a younger her running through the grass and flowers. She remembered traveling with her father when she was younger, remembered stopping in at outposts. Her father lent his blade as needed and any other skills he had, but mostly she remembered his painting, she remembered running around and seeing the plains stretch for malms. She remembered the farms of the Western Highlands, Falconโs Nest as it used to be, if only vaguely, as one does with distant memories. The Calamity may have only happened five years ago, but these were the longest five years of her life.
She enters the music room and takes a moment. Paintings also adorned these walls, some of a woman that looked much like the reflection Claire saw in the mirror, but the nose was off, the eyes were a different color. She remembered when her mother died, all the paintings of her being moved into this room, she remembers the door staying closed for years, remembers being confused as to why there were no longer happy melodies filling the air from inside. Of course, she understood now, sliding her fingers across the neglected piano. She had never learned to play it, she could have, she could have asked her father for a tutor to teach it, but it hadnโt been what called to her, it wasnโt what her heart wanted. No, she had found that at a party with hired music. She had heard the violin and knew it was her calling.
She sets her case on the piano bench and pulls her violin from it carefully, placing it against her neck, bow in hand and she begins to play. Itโs soft, itโs a tribute to a woman she doesnโt completely remember, an ode to a smile that she only saw in paintings and dreams. She doesnโt resist when her feet begin to move to the rhythm, dancing around the room as she played. This wasnโt a song recorded anywhere, it wasnโt something she had learned, nor was it like to be replicated. This came from her heart, her eyes closed remembering faintly, the woman who birthed her, who died so long ago Claire barely remembered her, the woman her father still grieved for, the woman he often saw in her.
She looked like her mother, she knew, not only from the paintings but from being told oh so many times from well meaning friends and other nobility, she had learned it was a compliment. Her mother had always been a gentle soul. Even her father might have fought but his heart was here, with the woman he lost, with the daughter he loved, in his paintings. He was a gentle man, a kind man, and she loved him. This song was also for him, she knew he would hear, no matter where in the manor he may be. She had left the door open, the curtains were left open by the maids letting light filter in.
Her feet guided her in a twirl, her skirt spinning out as she moved, swishing and swaying with her every move, the pendant against her chest thudding against her sternum with every dip and spin. She never knows how long she plays, when she plays like this, she doesnโt know if her mother can hear it all the way in Haloneโs Halls. Doesnโt know if sheโd be proud, doesnโt know if sheโd like the woman her daughter was becoming. But it was all she could offer the woman she barely remembered, the woman who gave her life, the woman her father loved.
The song comes to an end, the final note ringing in the air and Claireโs feet still, her breathing coming hard, and when she opens her eyes, her father is leaning in the doorway watching, smiling. She offers him a curtsy, as he claps and steps forward, pulling her into a gentle hug. โShe would have loved to see you now,โ he murmurs against her hair as she returns the hug, careful to not damage her violin.
โI only live as you have taught me,โ she replies stepping out of the hug and going to her toes to kiss him on the cheek before putting her violin away and turning back to him with a smile. โDo you think she heard me?โ
โOf course, child. She hears anything you will her to.โ He offers her his hand to take to lead her from the room.
She takes it, slinging her violin case over her shoulder. โI wish I had known her.โ
@sezja asked:ย ยซ well, youโre obviously not going to change your mind, so iโm coming with you. ยป for Chlode and Roelle pls x
His bag was already half packed when they walked through his door. He should have expected it; he knew their schedule at Skysteel, he knew they often came over to visit him after they got off work. He was still uncertain how he felt about that; they had gone from under his command, to dragging him through healing like he was naked in a room of shattered glass, to something approaching friendly. It was far too much for him to comprehend.
But he should have expected this. He already knew half of his family didnโt fully expect him to return when he announced he was visiting Hyrstmill again. It shouldnโt surprise him when they already knew his plan before reaching his rooms, shouldnโt surprise him that they had something to say. And yet, what they had to say did surprise him. They werenโt trying to stop him, they werenโt telling him this was a bad idea. They were saying theyโd come along.
He wasnโt sure if he wanted company, but he couldnโt continue standing there blinking at them. โI- you want to?โ he asks, internally cringing.
Roelle shrugs. โSure the cheifโll give me time fer it, cโn pack me own bag if ye just give me a few.โ
Chlodebaimt tugs on his sleeve and frowns at them, noting that that wasnโt the question heโd asked. They look like they had come straight from work, Stephanivien must have mentioned it off hand, or asked if they knew anything about it and they came straight over without cleaning up. They were worried, surely they had the same fear as the rest of his family. โBut do you want to, Roelle? Iโm going the long way on foot and chocobo. If you donโt want that, donโt sign up for it.โ
โDonโt pretend I ainโt understandinโ ye.โ Roelle frowns at him. โI want tโ go. I want tโ see how ye lived when ye werenโt here. Might help understand somewhat of who ye are now. It ainโt up fer debate anyways; I already told yer ma.โ
Chlode swears under his breath, but he wasnโt certain he didnโt want company and what other friends did he have in Ishgard? Surely everyone in Hyrstmill would want to know how heโs been since he left and how better to tell the story than with them? โYou know I am not a child, right?โ but his tone is amused and thereโs almost a smile playing at his lips.
Roelle grins. โCouldda fooled me. Iโll be back in jusโ a few minutes with me bag.โ
Chlode waves them off. โWe leave in the morning. Go bathe, Iโm certain the maids will be willing to draw you a bath and find fresh clothes for you. Mother will want you for dinner as she always does. Joye can tell Steph tomorrow youโll be out.โ
โBright โnโ early, then. Meet ye at the gates.โ
โlisten to your big brother and make some friends.โ For Steph and either Chlode or Francel. Gimme brothers
Scarcely out of mourning, Francel looks nearly a corpse himself, pale and drawn - as though losing Chlodebaimt has killed something within him, as well, some vital piece of his soul. Never the brightest flame in their family, his brotherโs death has left Francel a guttering ember, sure soon to flicker out and go cold.
Not the ideal commander to send to Skyfire Locks. Left frigid by the Calamity and remote by design, the Locks make for a dismally lonesome postingโฆ and they are within a dayโs march of the Steel Vigil. Or what remains of it.
Mama wept when Francel insisted upon it.ย
There has been, Stephanivien decides, enough weeping. If he cannot be merry, at the very least, he supposes theyโll all be best served by someย cheer: it will not do to send Francel off as though his own family questions his aptitude.ย โTis more than clear now that the gentlest of his siblings will not be swayed from this course - stubbornness befitting a man of House Haillenarte, after all, dismaying though the cause itself may be.ย
And so he smiles, ignoring Francelโs look of wariness at his approach (for nearly all the family has tried to persuade him to remain home, to seek a safer post, to not throw his own life after Chlodeโs, to be less determined to follow in Chlodebaimtโs ill-fated footsteps), and Stephanvien claps a hand on his youngest brotherโs shoulder with a grin.
โTo the highlands for you, then, is it?โ
Caution, like a rabbit sensing a snare.ย โThe Locks require a new commander, after-โ
โAfter the previous commanderโs retirement, of course! Of course.โ The man couldnโt bear to keep the post, after learning what had befallen the Vigils. So close, so close, and unable to help, unable to save more lives, too snowbound and blizzard-blinded to reach either fortress in time.ย โBut the garrison is still much unchanged, of course, and do you know what that means?โ
โIโฆ I hesitate to hazard a guess.โ
Stephanivien grins.ย โWhy, friends, of course! Youโll need to make friends among the soldiers and suttlers of the Locks, dear brother, and not merely your own men, but those of the other settlements in the area. Lord Haurchefant holds the command at Camp Dragonhead - Iโve no doubt heโll introduce you to his men, as well.โ
Something like life surfaces in Francelโs deep-shadowed blue eyes, and for the first time in what feels like years, ages, eternities, he smiles.
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So if Iโm deciding Francel and Emm are friends, and I am, Iโm alsoย deciding Foncrineau regards Honoroit as a grandchild when theyโre in the same room.
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