#yaelle

                “Thank you, Emmanellain,” said Drakyr as she took a mug of tea from him with a smile. The quiet afternoon brought her to Camp Dragonhead. Honoroit wasn’t there, leaving her to catch up with Emmanellain one-on-one.

                “You are most welcome, old girl.”

                They clinked their mugs in a casual cheer and took a sip.

                “Ah, still not quite as good as Haurchefant’s, but I’d like to think I have improved,” Emmanellain remarked.

                “Worry not, I think you have too.”

                “Thank you!” Emmanellain’s beaming smile turned bittersweet as he briefly glanced over his shoulder to Haurchefant’s portrait. “I still have far to go. Not just in terms of brewing a good cuppa, of course. I cannot thank you enough for your support and your company. I worry that I would flounder without you and Honoroit. Responsibility does not yet fully suit me, I fear.”

                Drakyr’s heart ached for him. It seemed Emmanellain was not only trying to find himself, but while surrounded by people who had come to assume the worst of him. Outwardly, her smile never wavered.

                “You’re growing into it more every time I see you. There’s much to be said for strength of heart that you develop, one success and one failure at a time.”

                Emmanellain’s smile brightened again. “Thank you. I shall do my best to remember that.”

                Several minutes later, Emmanellain had to leave for a moment. Yaelle approached Drakyr.

                “Shall I take that from you while he's gone?” Yaelle whispered, referring to the tea. Her nose scrunched as she looked into Drakyr’s mug. Emmanellain’s tea was typically terrible.

Germanotta sidles up to Corentiaux’s side, tugging Yaelle along with her for a knight-ly congregation. She looks up to Corentiaux and Yaelle both, her lips pulling down in a pensive frown. “…How long has our lord been in this state?”

“A bell, at least,” Yaelle says mildly, her expression hardly shifting from its usual serious mein. 

Corentiaux makes a thoughtful sound, looking down at the hyur with a shake of his head. “Nay, longer. He has been… rather distracted as of late.”

Yaelle makes a breathy sound through her nose, almost a snort if she were not so dignified. “An understatement, to be certain.”

Germnotta crosses her arms. “…The Warrior of Light has sent word that they would pass through our Camp soon enough on one of their missions. I have little doubt that is to be the reason for this.” 

Corentiaux and Yaelle both give agreeing hums, crossing their arms along with Germanotta as they nod their heads in unison. 

“Of course.”

“A reasonable hypothesis.”

- - - 

Lord Haurchefant’s smile could be described as dreamy. Besotted, smitten, positively love-struck.  His quill hovers over the parchment he had been working on for the last two bells, a blot of ink spreading across his return response to his eldest brother. He would need to start over again. 

Ah, but how to focus on such trivial things when the Warrior of Light was soon to grace him with their presence again? 

Would they come see him? Would they smile? Tell him they had missed him the very same as he had them?

Haurchefant drops his quill to cup his cheeks, sighing wistfully.

He could just imagine them now. Bursting through the doors to make their way to his desk. Their usual stoic, warrior mask softening at the sight of him. Their smile warm enough to melt even the iciest of hearts. 

“Lord Haurchefant,” They would say so softly. “I missed you ever so much.” 

And then they would reach across his desk for him, pulling him in to kiss them deeply, passionately - breathing, “Lord Haurchefant, Lord Haurchefant.” 

Ah, but should they not call him merely Haurchefant as he had asked?

“Lord Haurchefant!” 

Haurchefant startles, snapping out of his daydream as he is shaken forcefully. His head bobbing forwards and backwards. “Lord Haurchefant, snap out of it!” 

Haurchefant shakes his head, palms curling over the smaller hands that grasped his collar. Germanotta stood at his chair, her hands twisted in his collar.

“Ger, what…?”

Germanotta frowns at him, gesturing to his desk with one hand. “You spilled your ink whilst lost in a daydream, my lord.”

Haurchefant tips his head to stare at the slowly spreading pool of ink across his desk. It seems he had tipped over his inkpot in the midst of his daydream. 

“How clumsy of me.” 

Thankfully enough it seemed his knight had the sense to gather up the rest of his finished documents before they were horribly stained. Haurchefant plucks up the ink-stained parchment that was to be the letter to Artoirel. 

“Ah, well…” 

Germanotta bops him on the head with the stack of papers, her lips quirking in the barest of smiles. “I know you are eager to see them, my lord, but pray do not become so lost in your imaginings that you make a larger work load for yourself. You do wish to have time to interact with them, no?”

Haurchefant smiles sheepishly. “Of course, Ger. My thanks for your timely rescue.”

Corentiaux and Yaelle share a look, sighing with a smile as Germanotta looks at their Lord Haurchefant with such clear fondness. Helping him to clean up the mess of spilled ink with nary a complaint.