Chapter 1: One
Chapter Text
If one was to ask Emmanellain, Artoirel owned not only too many orchestrion rolls, but too many players. It wasn’t that many, by Artoirel’s estimation, he only bought a new one if there was something particularly special about it. He hadn’t even bought this one. It was a gift.
The unassuming package had arrived that morning, wrapped in brown paper and bearing a return label from all the way in Thavnair. Emmanellain sat on the edge of Artoirel’s desk as the elder brother cut the string holding it all together. Inside the paper was a beautifully carved wooden box and inside the box was a neatly folded letter atop something wrapped in a deep red fabric with silver embroidery. Artoirel unfolded the letter, and, without looking, swatted Emmanellain’s hand away from the fabric.
“When someone sends you a gift it’s impolite not to read the note first.”
“I know that, but considering who it’s from I cannot imagine he would mind.”
Still, Emmanellain folded his arms across his chest and didn’t try it again. Artoirel returned his attention to the note. The first sentence or so was an incomprehensible mess. While he’d grown used to many of the Warrior of Light’s little eccentricities, Artoirel was still a bit caught off guard whenever he chanced across his attempts at handwriting. Fortunately a more familiar and legible hand took over the writing after that.
My dear brother,
I hope this letter finds you well. Thilan and I are in Radz at Han at the moment. Everything is so warm and brightly colored, quite a world away from Ishgard, all of you really must see it some day. I must admit that much of the local food is a touch spicy for my palate but it is excellent once one adjusts to it. I’ve scarcely needed to remind Thilan to eat at all.
In any case you will find gifts enclosed. The jacket is for Emmanellain, and may require a bit of tailoring for a proper fit. I fear it may be too thin to wear outdoors in Ishgard but perhaps it will impress that pirate friend of his when next he visits Limsa Lominsa.
Artoirel paused reading the note aloud to glance at Emmanellain, who had turned nearly as red as the embroidered coat he was pulling from the box.
“Sicard’s not my friend…”
“Certainly not.”
The device enclosed is an antique tabletop orchestrion. I’m unsure where, precisely, Thilan acquired it but he’s spent the better part of the last week restoring it to working order. It was quite a mess when he first showed it to me. It appears to be rather fragile, so we hope it has survived the trip well enough. If not, Thilan is insistent he can repair it when next we return home.
Lastly, I hope Father will like the box itself. Perhaps he has some papers or keepsakes in need of a home? I confess to finding him the most difficult of the three of you to choose gifts for. If you have any thoughts on the matter I should love to hear them.
There is much adventuring to be done! So I must finish writing and hand this all off to the postmoogle. We shall write again soon!
With love,
Haurchefant and Thilan
Artoirel folded the letter back up and set it aside. When he wrote back he really needed to press the point that what Father would most like was for them to visit more often. Perhaps he’d have use for a nice wooden box, though. He had an awful lot of notes and things to keep track of while working on his memoirs and Artoirel was fairly certain he’d spotted his father working on other writings as well.
Emmanellain had left the room to try on the jacket, leaving Artoirel alone in the office. He reached into the box to pull out the orchestrion. It was shockingly small, and could easily be lifted with one hand. Most tabletop models were fine on the table, but too large and heavy to move very often. If not for the aforementioned fragility this one was practically portable. It also gave a rather unpleasant rattle when he picked it up. Something inside had come loose.
Artoirel wasn’t the most mechanically minded, but he looked the device over all the same. The outside was a lovely polished… brass? Possibly? Knowing Thilan it could be some odd sort of metal from another world entirely. It had a hinged lid on the top of it and when Artoirel opened it a small spring shot out and landed somewhere on the opposite side of the room. He sighed and peered inside. It had all the same parts he was used to finding inside an orchestrion player, the crystal that powered it, the rotating drum that the musical roll would wrap around, the gears and springs that made everything move… it was just all much smaller and tightly packed together than was standard. He closed the lid and got up to search for the escaped spring.
The orchestrion sat untouched on Artoirel’s nightstand for several days. When he’d finally found the spring, it had rolled under a bookshelf, he’d simply dropped it into the open space inside the device. It was unlikely to cause more damage and less likely to become lost that way.
“I don’t see what the big deal is anyhow,” said Emmanellain over breakfast. He was set to return to Dragonhead that day and was already dressed for it save for the outermost layers of his armor. Artoirel had to admit that Emmanellain was growing into the role of a knight commander much more than he’d have expected. “How many orchestrions have you got now anyhow? Eight or nine?”
“Five. Four if you only count the ones that function.” Artoirel frowned. He really only had the one hobby. He ought to be allowed to indulge a little. “It’s merely a shame to have to wait until Thilan and Haurchefant are next in town to hear it.”
“They all sound the same.”
“They absolutely do not. The larger models produce a lower, more reverberating sound, and the smaller ones are better for primarily vocal recordings. The materials make a difference as well, wood vibrates differently from metal. Ask Thilan when next you see him, he will agree.”
“Only because he’s a duskwight and has super hearing.”
“That hasn’t ever really been tested and you know it.”
“Have you considered looking for someone here in Ishgard who can repair it?” Edmont didn’t look up from the morning newspaper as he spoke. His tone told Artoirel that he mostly didn’t wish to listen to his sons argue over something so trivial. Unfortunately it was very easy for Artoirel to argue with his brother over trivial things.
“You have the right of it, Father. It is a rather unusual orchestrion, and I fear an average craftsman may damage it further, but I still ought to look.”
“You have need of an unusual craftsman, then. Try the Firmament, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” There were any number of craftspeople there at any given time, of all disciplines and skill levels. It was a good idea. “I shall visit there this afternoon. Thank you for the suggestion.”
Artoirel nearly forgot about the orchestrion during the day. There were no proposals to be voted on at the moment, but Aymeric had taken it upon himself to go through the entirety of Ishgardian written law in search of things that ought to be altered, added, or removed, and to write up proposals for each change he might make. He’d work himself to death if somebody didn’t help him. Artoirel could be somebody.
It wasn’t terribly interesting work. Ishgard hadn’t known peacetime in a thousand years, and much of the law code reflected that. Still, Artoirel found himself enjoying the work despite everything. He liked spending time with Aymeric, and he liked that they now got to worry about things like reconstruction and airship schedules and sanitation. Ishgard had such potential now that she wasn’t at risk of being burned to the ground at any moment. Aymeric would sometimes go off on tangents about how wonderful a more egalitarian Ishgard could be, how the arts and culture could flourish once they found a way to provide for the health and basic comforts for all Ishgardians. It sounded difficult, if not impossible, to achieve, but absolutely worth striving for. It sounded like the sort of Ishgard Artoirel would like to live in, and one where someone like Emmanellain would absolutely thrive.
Artoirel found it hard not to get caught up in Aymeric’s enthusiasm. He was so idealistic and well meaning and kind. He couldn’t help but become a little bit smitten. It didn’t help that Aymeric was also devastatingly beautiful. Artoirel had decided some time ago never to voice those sorts of feelings. No good could come of it, he told himself. In the best case scenario they’d simply distract one another from their work. At worst… well, as far as Artoirel knew Aymeric was not in anything more than a platonic relationship with Estinien Varlineau, but he had a healthy fear of getting a little too well acquainted with Estinien’s lance.
If those sorts of feelings started to bubble up Artoirel took care to tamp them back down. He simply needed to find a more appropriate target for them. A nice noblewoman, perhaps, would be the most acceptable, and they did approach him from time to time, but they never seemed to stir any romantic or sexual interest in him. Artoirel wasn’t certain why, many of the ladies seemed perfectly lovely, but he couldn’t force himself to think of them the same way he sometimes thought of Aymeric, or Thilan, or some of the men he’d gone through knight training with or… he tamped the thoughts back down. Were his mother still alive she almost certainly would have been pressuring Artoirel to get married already. She may even have tried to pick someone for him. It would have been simpler, at any rate.
The chronometer chimed the hour and Artoirel realized he’d stayed longer than he’d first planned. “Oh dear, I did have something else I meant to do this afternoon.”
Aymeric looked up from the pile of documents on his desk. “Oh! I apologize for having kept you.”
“You haven’t kept me, Aymeric. I come to help you with these things because it’s important work and I’m happy to do it.” Artoirel had stood and picked up his coat, but paused before opening the door. “You mean to continue working after I leave, don’t you?”
“A-aye?”
“Please consider taking the rest of the day off. You will not reform the entirety of the Ishgardian code of law in a day, and you shall accomplish far less than that if you work yourself into an early grave.”
Aymeric was quiet for a few long moments before responding. “Yes, I shall consider it. Thank you, Artoirel.”
“Perhaps take another walk around the new housing districts? Without the disguise, this time?”
“I… I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re referring too.”
“Of course not. Good evening, Aymeric, I hope to see you well rested tomorrow morning.”
The path to the Firmament went through the Brume. It was much safer now than it had once been, owing to the greater foot traffic of adventurers and craftspeople coming and going from the newly built housing areas, and to the Firmament itself providing safe and stable housing for many of the Brume’s former residents. The air today was not too bad either, but Artoirel didn’t walk that way often enough to know if it was simply a good day or if the end of the war had improved things. Surely it was healthier for people to be breathing in less ash and soot from dragons’ fire.
Artoirel’s pace quickened until he reached the gate to the Firmament itself. The Brume may be safer but that didn’t mean it was free of hazards, and it had always been impressed on noble children never to set foot there. He was far from being a child, but one didn’t quickly shake the feeling of being someplace one absolutely should not be. Last time he’d been here was for that piano concert Thilan had performed to commemorate the Firmament’s completion. He’d flubbed a few notes, but Artoirel was fairly certain they were the only two to have noticed.
Francel de Haillenarte was still keeping a close eye on everything, despite the bulk of the reconstruction being complete. His eyes widened slightly in recognition as Artoirel approached.
“Lord Artoirel, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to the Firmament?” He paused, then added, “Did Ser Aymeric send you to petform an inspection on his behalf?”
“No, nothing like that. I do not believe Aymeric is even aware that I’ve come.” Artoirel glanced out over the streets and rooftops of the neighborhood, nothing looked amiss. “Even if he had sent me, I cannot see anything negative to report back about.”
Francel seemed to relax at that. “Oh, good, It’s just that one cannot be too careful about such things.”
Artoirel smiled, “Had something gone wrong, Aymeric is an understanding sort. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He didn’t know Francel perhaps as well as he ought to have. He’d always been Haurchefant’s friend, particularly during the times Artoirel had kept the most distance from his half brother. “I’ve come because I received a lovely gift from Haurchefant and the Warrior of Light, but unfortunately it was damaged in transit. I was hoping you knew of somebody who might be able to repair a very unusual and very small orchestrion. I’d show it to you but I’m afraid I haven’t got it with me at the moment.”
Francel’s posture changed slightly, as if he’d been given a boost in confidence. “Well, we have far too many artisans coming and going for me to recall each individually, but I’m certain someone around here could do it. I could ask around if anyone is interested in taking such a commission.”
“That would be very kind of you, Francel, thank you.”
“Or…”
“Or?”
“Well, you know how my brother Stephanivien enjoys inventing and building machines? I daresay he may be keen to look at it, particularly if it’s a very peculiar machine.”
Artoirel considered the idea. He’d known Stephanivien for ages, naturally. Their families were close, and they were born the same year, but they’d interacted little as adults. Artoirel had busied himself with knightly duties and preparing for a future as the Count de Fortemps, while Stephanivien had holed himself up in the manufactory. He was the only man Artoirel knew of to be offered knighthood and to refuse it. “An unusual craftsman to repair an unusual device… I believe I will ask him. Thank you. Should he not be interested, I shall return in search of someone who is.”
Artoirel didn’t go to the manufactory that evening, nor the next day. He wasn’t certain what was holding him back. He told himself he was simply afraid of anything happening to the orchestrion. It could become lost or damaged further. The obvious answer was to simply leave the orchestrion at home, to ask Stephanivien to stop by later if he was interested in taking a look at it. The manors Fortemps and Haillenarte were across the street from one another, it would hardly be asking him to go far out of his way.
In reality the major issue was that Artoirel didn’t know how to approach Stephanivien de Haillenarte. They didn’t dislike one another, but neither had they ever really been friends. As children all of their interactions had been filtered through the social formalities and expectations of High House functions. Dinner parties, and Holy Day events, and balls, and galas, all gatherings for Ishgard’s nobility to make political deals and political socializing, and to pretend to have fun even when one did not. There were rules and scripts for such things and Artoirel had always followed them to the letter. The adults had often complimented his parents on raising such a quiet and well behaved son. One of them anyhow, Emmanellain had never been quiet, but he’d often managed to make his antics come across as cute and charming even when he was absolutely irritating. Artoirel didn’t see himself as having a natural charisma to fall back on, he had to follow the scripts.
Stephanivien had not followed the scripts. He could memorize the names and titles of everyone well enough, but often didn’t seem to bother. He didn’t know the steps to even the most common dances. Once he’d been old enough to choose his own clothing he often came to formal events underdressed and would leave early. Once they were adults Stephanivien hardly appeared at those events at all. Last time Artoirel had seen him at one had been a party at Haillenarte Manor. Stephanivien had turned up still covered in dust and grease from the manufactory and spent the entire evening at the bar disassembling and reassembling a chronometer.
Artoirel envied him a little. He didn’t feel his parents had raised him with an undue amount of pressure, but he’d felt a pressure all the same. He had a title to live up to, after all. Stephanivien was also the eldest son of a High House. He, too, would inherit the title of Count one day, but based on his behavior Stephanivien seemed to not care about that fact. He cared about the manufactory and inventing things and evidently little else. Though, if the rumors were to be believed, he was unusually beloved by the Haillenarte house staff. Artoirel took care never to be rude or cruel to the people in his family’s employ, but he was under no illusions that they loved him. Stephanivien must be doing something differently. Stephanivien did everything differently. There was no script for how to interact with him.
Artoirel left the orchestrion at home when he finally walked into the Skysteel Manufactory. He’d never had reason to set foot inside the building before, and while he’d assumed the machinery inside would put out some heat he hadn’t been prepared for exactly how warm the interior was. Compared to the frigid temperatures outdoors it was like walking into a sauna, albeit one with a lot more dust and fire and clanking and grinding sounds of metal on metal. Stephanivien was located near the back of the shop, goggles pulled down over his face, and operating some sort of mechanized grinding wheel on a piece of metal that Artoirel assumed to be part of a gun or something but found himself distracted by the terrible sound of it and the frankly alarming amount of sparks it produced.
The shop was also crowded. Artoirel realized he should have expected that. Stephanivien and his machinists had been part of the Ilsabard contingent and by all accounts performed splendidly. They’d even merited a mention in Emmanellain’s recounting of things, between bragging of his own performance and complaining about that Lominsan fellow he had a crush on. Plus there were the accomplishments of Hilda’s Hounds having rooted out and apprehended a number of dangerous elements within Ishgard. Plus there was the fact that Thilan, among so many other things he was, was also a machinist. Of course the manufactory was awash in recruits. Of course Stephanivien was busy. Artoirel wondered if he ought to leave. He suddenly had that feeling again of being somewhere he ought not to be.
He was about to do so when one of the engineers got Stephanivien’s attention and pointed Artoirel out to him. Then he was standing, pulling up the goggles, and walking towards him. Then they were standing close enough to speak, if they shouted a little, over the din of machinery and people in the workshop.
“Count Artoirel! What brings you to my humble manufactory?” Stephanivien smiled warmly, if a little asymmetrically. The last time they’d stood this close they’d both been somewhat awkward teenagers, neither having hit their growth spurts. Artoirel had been the taller of the two of them at the time. That was no longer the case. Stephanivien had grown very tall, even by elezen standards, and quite muscular too judging by the amount of his chest the top he wore exposed. If Artoirel hadn’t known better he’d have mistaken him for a strapping workman and not the heir to one of Ishgard’s high noble houses.
“Ah, I have a small mechanical issue I thought you may be interested in, but I seem to have come at a bad time.” Artoirel loosened the collar on his coat. It was awfully warm in there.
“Nonsense, my prospectometer has told me that something very interesting will happen today. Would you like to step outside so that we might speak more easily?”
Artoirel didn’t realize he was nodding until a hand with long fingers touched the small of his back and guided him back out the door. The chilled Ishgardian air struck him in the face and was equal parts refreshing and sobering. He wasn’t sure why his face still felt so warm.
“Tell me everything about your mechanical issue.” In the light of the outdoors Artoirel could now see a light smudge of soot across Stephanivien’s nose and cheek. He resisted the urge to reach up and wipe it off.
“Ah, well,” Artoirel cleared his throat to buy himself a moment to compose himself. “Let me start by saying I’m under no assumptions that you will like to help me. It isn’t an important issue, in the grand scheme of things, and should you be busy or simply disinterested I will take no offense.”
“Yes, but what is it?” Artoirel found Stephanivien’s expression hard to read. He was smiling but in a giddy, almost boyish way.
“Er, well, it’s an orchestrion, a small one. I received it as a gift but it’s quite old and fragile and was damaged in the post.”
“Can I see it?”
“What? Yes, I’m looking for someone who can repair it.”
“I should love to give it a try.” Stephanivien paused and stared at Artoirel as if he were waiting for something. “You can rest assured I shall be very careful with it.”
“Oh!” It had taken Artoirel a moment to realize where the disconnect was. “I’m afraid I did not bring it with me, I feared it might be damaged further, you see.”
Stephanivien’s smile faded slightly but he nodded. “Yes, that does make sense. Very practical.”
“Perhaps, you could come by Fortemps Manor later? When you have the time, I don’t mean to keep you from your work. What time do you typically leave the manufactory?”
Stephanivien considered what Artoirel had thought was a very basic question for a long moment. “I will say… seven. I am supposed to leave at seven.”
“You often stay later, don’t you?” Artoirel recognized that much, Aymeric was the same way. He’d keep working until he was made to stop.
“Sometimes, yes. But tonight I shall make an effort to leave on time, so I might repair your orchestrion. Perhaps it’s just the inspiration I need to figure out this ceruleum heater I’ve been working on.”
Artoirel had no idea how an orchestrion could possibly be similar to a ceruleum heater, but decided not to ask. “Stop by at eight, then? If you leave at seven that should give ample time for a shower and an evening meal or anything else you may need to do.”
“Right, I can do that! Eight. I will see you at eight.”
Stephanivien disappeared back inside the manufactory, leaving Artoirel standing in the street and feeling mentally, if not physically off balance. Artoirel headed back towards home once he realized that Stephanivien’s departure signaled the end of their conversation until later that evening.
He re-tightened the collar on his coat as he walked, despite still feeling oddly warm. Artoirel wasn’t entirely sure what exactly had just happened but a couple of things were clear: first, Stephanivien de Haillenarte remained exactly as eccentric as he’d remembered, and second, sometime in the intervening years Stephanivien had become absurdly, confusingly handsome.
Chapter 2: Two
Summary:
In which Stephanivien continues to be delightfully odd and Artoirel continues to be gay and afraid.
Notes:
I guess I should just post it? I'm afraid I have no one to do a beta read for me. I have been sharing what I'm writing with my FC's discord but not everyone is reading it and those that are aren't necessarily looking for places to improve it. Anyway I am hoping everything is flowing okay and paced appropriately. Thank you for enjoying these boys with me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel refused to admit it aloud but he’d begun to miss Emmanellain when he was away on knight duty. Emmanellain made the house lively. He seemed to always have gossip to share, whether anyone asked for it or not, and on those occasions he didn’t he somehow managed to continue talking despite having nothing to say. He had friends that he’d bring home, far more than Artoirel could keep track of. They’d sit in the parlor or the lounge or the dining hall and laugh and talk and play games over drinks. Artoirel would watch them for only a few moments before shutting himself into his personal chambers and putting on some music.
With Emmanellain away most of the house was almost always quiet. Artoirel didn’t collect gossip, and the conversations he had with his father over meals were almost always over business or politics. Artoirel would ask his father’s opinion on what had been discussed in the house of lords that day, or practical matters of maintaining a noble house, until he asked for too many opinions and his father would retreat to a position of his opinion being unimportant on account of his age and retirement. The message was unspoken but clear. Artoirel couldn't defer to his father’s advice on absolutely everything.
Artoirel didn’t have personal friends to invite into his home. He had Aymeric, he supposed, but they worked together. Thilan had called him friend on a number of occasions, but he was Haurchefant’s boyfriend first and anything to Artoirel a distant second at most. His lack of casual friends was probably why his father looked at him so oddly when Artoirel said he’d invited Stephanivien over.
"I wasn't aware the two of you were friends."
"It isn't exactly a social visit, Father. Stephanivien has agreed to give that broken orchestrion a look for me, and seemed rather excited to do so."
“Ah.” Something about the way Edmont had said that single syllable sounded almost disappointed, or perhaps disbelieving. They returned to dinner in silence for a time.
“How is Stephanivien anyhow? I haven’t seen him at any social functions in years.”
Artoirel startled slightly at the question, having thought the subject of Stephanivien and whether or not the two of them were friends had dropped. “He… seems well enough. We didn’t speak for long.”
They lapsed into silence for the rest of the meal. Artoirel tried to think of something else to talk about. He considered asking his father what he’d been doing during his retirement, but he’d asked many times before and learned that Edmont had developed something of a comfortable routine. When he’d been working on his memoirs Edmont had occasionally asked Artoirel and his brothers about their recollections of things, and the conversations then had had more variety, but now he just appeared to be journaling, reading, and going on walks. Artoirel had spotted his father walking and chatting with women (and, once, Charlemend de Durendaire) on occasion. It was always one at a time, most of them widowed themselves. Artoirel guessed that at least some of them had to be dates, but he wasn’t ready for that sort of conversation. He excused himself as soon as it seemed reasonable to do so.
It wasn’t quite eight when one of the house stewards came to Artoirel to inform him that Stephanivien de Haillenarte was outside.
“Yes? I’ve invited him. Let him in.”
“We… tried, my lord, but he keeps checking a pocket chronometer and claiming it is not yet time.”
Artoirel wasn’t certain how to respond to that. It was fine to arrive a bit early, surely Stephanivien knew that. Didn’t he? “I will… come out to meet him.”
Artoirel stepped out of the front door to find Stephanivien standing in the street. He’d managed to put on a coat but the shirt underneath was partially unbuttoned, showing off even more of his chest than what he’d been wearing at the manufactory. His hair was visibly damp and hung loosely about his shoulders. He’d evidently taken Artoirel’s suggestion of a shower very literally.
Artoirel tried not to imagine running his fingers through Stephanivien’s hair, or what he may have looked like in the shower, and found himself unable to think of anything else.
Stephanivien checked his pocket chronometer. “Ah, I do apologize, Count Artoirel, I appear to have arrived a bit early.”
“You… you needn’t apologize, nor wait outside.” He coughed to clear his throat. “In fact, I insist you come in early, I’d hate for you to catch cold.”
“Very well, I merely didn’t wish to interrupt before you were expecting me. I do understand that is considered rude.” They stepped into the foyer, where Stephanivien removed a small tool satchel from an interior pocket before allowing the steward to take his coat.
“In this case, you wouldn’t be interrupting anything at all. I’ve cleared my schedule for the evening, and the manor is somewhat empty with half the family off adventuring or posted elsewhere.” Secretly, Artoirel was glad for that fact. He generally prided himself on being able to keep his attractions a secret and under control, but both Emmanellain and Haurchefant had ways of seeing through that. Haurchefant might have encouraged him to do something… lascivious, despite the fact that Stephanivien was clearly no more an appropriate target for Artoirel’s attractions than anyone else he fancied. Emmanellain would have somehow managed to tell half of Ishgard that the two were having an affair of some sort before Artoirel had finished offering his guest a drink. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?”
“Perhaps later, but for the time being I’m quite alright.” The chronometer in the hall struck eight. “I must admit I am very curious about this strange orchestrion of yours.”
“Aye, it is upstairs.” Artoirel realized with some horror that he had neglected to move the orchestrion from its spot on his nightstand. He could have brought it down to the parlor or lounge or even the office and it would have seemed a perfectly normal place to invite an acquaintance. No, he had to have left it on the nightstand, in his bedroom. Artoirel watched Stephanivien for any sign that he thought the scenario odd or, worse, inappropriate. He wore a similar, confusingly excited smile to the one he’d had earlier when Artoirel had first told him of the orchestrion. He did not wear the bandanna and goggle combination he’d had on at the manufactory. Between that and his hair not being tied back Stephanivien looked very different indeed. Artoirel found himself idly debating to himself which version of Stephanivien he found more handsome before realizing what he was thinking and deliberately reminding himself that his opinion on the matter was irrelevant. “If you’d follow me.”
Fortunately Artoirel was in the habit of keeping his room neat and organized enough that the maids rarely had to do much cleaning. There was nothing out of sorts that anyone might judge him on, save perhaps the volume of his collection of orchestrion rolls and the half finished composition on his piano’s sheet music stand. He deliberately left the door open when they entered, lest he give off the wrong impression or be tempted to say or do something he’d later regret. Artoirel didn’t know if Stephanivien could read music or not but he still picked up the partially finished sheet music and stashed it in a drawer. It wasn’t ready to be heard yet.
When Artoirel turned around he saw Stephanivien quietly flipping through the music selection in the larger orchestrion unit in the corner. It was one of his unusual models, large and heavy both visually and in weight. It produced a lovely bassy sound when compared to other units and featured a large arch shaped tube filled with lights that pulsed with the beat of whatever song it was playing.
“Oh! If you’d like to put something on, feel free.”
“Hm?” Stephanivien tilted his head slightly to look Artoirel in the eye. “Ah, sorry, I know I shouldn’t snoop. It’s simply that I’ve never seen one like this before. You have quite an impressive music collection.”
That unusual warmth flooded back into Artoirel’s face. “I believe that one to be one of a kind, custom built… not for me, mind you. I acquired it second hand.” He was unsure why, but he left out the fact that the big orchestrion didn’t hold his entire collection of music rolls.
Stephanivien smiled, “How curious, and you said the broken one was small?”
“Right, very.” Artoirel turned to pick up the little orchestrion off the nightstand where it had sat nearly the entire time it had been in his possession. His nervousness at the situation must be obvious, especially to a clever person like Stephanivien, but if he’d noticed Stephanivien wasn’t showing it in his behavior at all. Instead his eyes lit up at the sight of the device.
“Oh, it’s… adorable.” Stephanivien sounded almost breathless. Artoirel felt breathless, and that ‘adorable’ was a rather odd descriptor for a machine of any kind. Perhaps that was why Stephanivien was a machinist and he was not. Their fingers brushed just slightly as Artoirel attempted to hand over the orchestrion. Stephanivien had large hands with long, slightly calloused, fingers. Artoirel’s hands opened of their own accord and the orchestrion dropped from them.
The device hit the floor with a loud pop and the clatter of small bits of metal scattering across the floorboards. Artoirel dared not look down right away, but Stephanivien was already kneeling at his feet to gather up the various cogs and springs and whatever else had detached itself from the machine.
“Fear not!” Stephanivien laughed, “Repairing it is why I am here. It has simply become a slightly trickier puzzle.”
Artoirel did look down now. Stephanivien was sitting on the floor, his long legs crisscrossed in front of him, and was laying out the scatted pieces of the orchestrion neatly in front of him. He unfolded the satchel he’d brought with him to reveal an array of different hand tools, and let out a small, tuneless hum as he ran his fingers over them.
Artoirel should say something… offer some information that may be helpful or point out that he had a writing desk that may be more comfortable to work at. “How can I be of help?”
“Ah, I thought I had a cord in here… but if you’ve got anything I could tie my hair back with.”
“Aye. I think I do.” Artoirel tore his eyes away from Stephanivien and his soft hair and his low cut shirt and his long fingers that delicately ran over each piece of the broken machine as if they were the most lovely and valuable things in the world. There was a jewelry box on top of the piano. He could walk to the piano. He could open the box. He could find the woven cord he sometimes used to tie his own hair out of his face when he was working on a song. He returned with the bright red cord in hand, sat on the floor opposite Stephanivien and handed it over without saying a thing. He tried not to think of how nice the color might look in Stephanivien’s golden hair, nor any sort of intimacy or symbolism that one might read into his gifting such an object. It was just a bit of string.
Stephanivien thanked him and tied his hair back into its usual ponytail with the practiced ease of someone who did something similar every morning.
They were both quiet for a while as Stephanivien finished disassembling the orchestrion. There was something Artoirel found mesmerizing about it. Using a long pair of pliers and a firm hand Stephanivien quickly broke the device down into each of its individual parts, yet he was gentle enough not to bend or scratch any of the pieces. Artoirel had looked at the inner workings of an orchestrion many times before, but never quite appreciated just how many moving parts were required to make it function. There was a sort of intricate, orderly beauty to it. Artoirel considered voicing that thought, or asking Stephanivien if that was something he liked about machines...
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. A hyuran maid stood there holding a tray laden with a full tea set for two and looking rather surprised to find the count and his house guest seated on the floor with an array of oddly shaped pieces of metal laid out between them. “F-forgive me my imposition, my lord, but Lord Edmont asked that I bring up some tea…”
“Oh…” Artoirel realized that he must have looked just as surprised to see her. “You aren’t imposing at all. You can just leave it here. Thank you.”
“On the floor, my lord?”
“Yes, I don’t see the harm, and please relay my thanks to my father for sending it up.”
“Yes, my lord.” The maid knelt and set the tray on the floor next to Stephanivien’s tools before backing out of the room.
“Thank you, and you needn’t come back for the tray, I shall return it to the kitchens myself.”
She scurried away without another word. Artoirel wondered if, by leaving the door open, he’d inadvertently encouraged the house staff to eavesdrop. He hadn’t overtly said or done anything untoward, so they shouldn’t have picked up on any of the embarrassing thoughts and feelings Artoirel was having such difficulty controlling. Artoirel concentrated on keeping his hands from shaking as he lifted the tea pot and poured two cups. He hoped the tea would help calm his nerves.
“How thoughtful of your father.” Now that it was in front of him, Stephanivien didn’t refuse the tea. He stirred in a sugar cube before taking a sip.
“Yes, he may seem distant at times, but Father is always thinking of us.”
“Hm, I suppose my own father is the same way.” Stephanivien put down the tea cup and picked up the pliers. “Well, it’s quite an interesting little device, delightful really. None of the individual parts appear physically damaged so I believe if I reassemble it correctly and tighten the springs it should function.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” Part of Artoirel was almost disappointed that the repair was unlikely to be very complicated. He could have had an excuse to visit Stephanivien at the manufactory again.
“Where did it come from, anyhow? You said it was a gift?” There was a soft click as Stephanivien fitted the first gear back into place.
“Haurchefant and Thilan sent it. In his letter all my brother could tell me was that it was very old and very fragile, and that Thilan had restored it personally.”
“I wasn’t aware he was such an accomplished craftsman.”
“He’s the Warrior of Light, he’s surprisingly accomplished at a lot of things.”
Stephanivien laughed. “I suppose I ought not be surprised then. I shall be excited to have something new to talk to him about when I next see him.”
“I must admit that watching you work has given me a deeper appreciation of the inner workings of orchestrions. I almost wish I had taken up a crafting discipline myself.”
Stephanivien was looking down at the machine, but his smile broadened. “I’m a little glad you haven’t, had you been able to repair it yourself we wouldn't be doing this.”
Artoirel thought he saw a slight flush appear on Stephanivien’s cheeks, but dismissed it as his imagination or a trick of the light. There was nothing happening that ought to embarrass him. Artoirel was the one staring a little too long, and watching Stephanivien’s hands and imagining how it might feel to be handled in the same confident, deliberate way as the orchestrion, and becoming slightly envious of a teacup whenever it touched Stephanivien’s lips. He blinked a few times to try to clear such thoughts from his head. They were inappropriate. Even if they hadn’t been, Stephanivien would not have reciprocated. Even if he had reciprocated, it would cause a scandal.
Stephanivien finished adjusting the tension on something inside the device and closed the lid. “I think that ought to do it? We shan’t truly know until we test it.”
“I’ve got a few orchestrion rolls we could use.” Artoirel’s knees felt a bit shaky as he stood and approached his writing desk. Some of the drawers contained musical sheets that he couldn’t or didn’t want to enter into the player itself, either because they were duplicates or ones he’d written himself, or because the song itself turned out not to be to his taste.
“Choose one that can be replaced. I believe I have reassembled everything properly but there is always the worry it may become stuck or damaged.”
Artoirel considered what qualities might make a song replaceable and chose one he had composed himself and never quite been certain of its quality. Perhaps it would be fate if the orchestrion shredded it. He returned to where he’d been sitting and, hands trembling slightly, fed the music roll into the orchestrion and turned it on.
It took a few moments for the drum to spin up and the music to start playing, but play it did with no unpleasant sounds of gears grinding or paper tearing. The sound reverberated inside the device, giving the music a slightly distant quality. The song itself was… fine. It was better than Artoirel had remembered it when he’d last played it and not as amazing as he wished it to be.
“It works! I could kiss you--” Artoirel clapped a hand over his mouth. Had he said that out loud? He watched Stephanivien for a reaction but he was just watching the orchestrion. Perhaps he hadn’t heard.
“It’s lovely, there is something… nostalgic about it.”
“Nostalgic is a good word to describe the tone it adds, I think.”
“I meant the song,” Stephanivien laughed. “However, I do not recognize it.”
“That- that’s because I…” Artoirel’s voice caught slightly in his throat. “I wrote it… I never gave it a name.” His entire body, especially his face and ears felt so, so warm.
“Well, I may not be the best versed in musical theory, but I think it sounds very good.” Stephanivien was smiling at him, and then rising to his knees to move in closer. Artoirel tried to shuffle backwards but his back pressed against the side of his bed, preventing him from retreating further. “Did you mean that? About being able to kiss me?”
“It’s, ah, it’s a figure of speech.”
“Is it only a figure of speech, or would you like to?”
Fury, Stephanivien was close enough now that, had Artoirel the courage, he could lean in and kiss him. He could… but he hadn’t the courage. It was socially unacceptable. He couldn’t. “I…”
Stephanivien closed the gap, because of course he did. He’d never shown much care for what was and wasn’t socially acceptable. Artoirel felt a lightly calloused hand on his face, and soft lips pressed gently against his. Despite everything, he found himself relaxing into it. The chronometer in the hallway chimed and then Stephanivien was pulling away. He pulled the pocket chronometer from his trousers and checked the time. “Oh dear, it’s already midnight. I’m afraid I should stay no later as someone must open the manufactory in the morning.”
Artoirel nodded, not trusting his mouth to form words just yet. He had work in the morning himself. They were both adults, not fumbling teenagers, even if Artoirel very much felt like one in the moment. “I’ll… I will walk you to the door.”
Stephanivien gathered up his things and they said nothing more to one another until they reached the manor’s front door.
“Not that I’m hoping you have any other contraptions in need of repair, but the manufactory door is always open should you have reason to stop by.”
“I will keep that in mind. You, ah, you know where to find me as well.”
They said their goodbyes as if everything was perfectly normal and, as Stephanivien started back across the street towards Haillenarte Manor, Artoirel noticed that he was still wearing that red braided cord in his hair. The color looked as nice as he’d guessed it might. Artoirel decided never to ask for it back.
Notes:
Oh I guess also I drew some pics of them if that interests anyone
A page of sketches in which I attempt to figure out Steph's face https://twitter.com/ThilanKristre/status/1560085729853800448A sketch I must have drawn while very tired because I woke up the next day with it just chilling in my drawing app, unsaved https://twitter.com/ThilanKristre/status/1562093441642905600
Another sketch https://twitter.com/ThilanKristre/status/1562491179308298241
This one is more finished but it is also straight up porn https://twitter.com/ThilanKristre/status/1561565810321137665
Overall I find Stephanivien very hard to draw, and Artoirel not so hard (I think because I've drawn Haurchefant uh... a lot and their faces are relatively similar apart from the nose shape). I do have more drawings of him, but would have to dig for them.
Chapter 3: Three
Summary:
Artoirel continues to have A Normal One.
Notes:
Sorry for the delay in replying to comments! I got weirdly anxious about it. I think I should be caught back up now.
Will probably start on the next chapter pretty immediately after posting this. Not sure how long it will take as I've just been kind of working on it between other stuff.
Chapter Text
Artoirel had difficulty sleeping that night, and most nights after. Without something else to occupy his mind it was far too easy to lie awake and wonder. He’d been working on the assumption that his attractions were firmly one sided. There was no reason to think Stephanivien reciprocated them at all. Except Stephanivien had been the one to kiss him. It had been a chaste, brief, and closed mouth kiss, the sort that one might be able to get away with in public. Artoirel couldn’t do such things in public, but someone might. Stephanivien might even be that sort of someone. Artoirel had so many questions turning over in his mind. Why had he done it? What did it mean? What else might they have done if the hall chronometer hadn’t chimed and reminded Stephanivien to check the time? When sleep finally took him Artoirel dreamed of what else they might have done.
During the day Artoirel tried to behave as if nothing had happened. Stephanivien had clearly been busy when Artoirel stopped by the manufactory initially. Artoirel was just… choosing not to trouble him. He had his own duties to deal with anyhow. Aymeric might have been devastatingly attractive himself, but he was comparatively safe. Aymeric was predictable. He followed the scripts. He didn’t dress in inadvertently sexy clothing or run his hands over objects in an oddly sensual way or kiss Artoirel just because he may have accidentally asked for it. With Aymeric, Artoirel could safely fence off any romantic or lustful feelings and feel confident that neither of them would attempt to open the gate.
Aymeric was continuing to pile too many tasks onto his agenda, and with Lucia in Garlemald someone had to protect the Lord Speaker from himself. Artoirel had offered suggestions: take on fewer things at a time, allow his subordinates to take on more responsibilities, go on vacation. Ishgard was strong and would not fall apart without Aymeric for a little while. Radz at Han was supposed to be quite beautiful. Estinien was in Radz at Han. Why not visit him? Artoirel had been hopeful when Aymeric seemed to consider the suggestion, but the consideration only lasted a moment before the idea was rejected. Aymeric’s dedication to their home was one of the qualities Artoirel most admired in him, and also one he found most irritating.
Artoirel ended up simply taking some of the items off Aymeric’s to do list and insisted upon doing them himself. He wasn’t as effective as Lucia had been at getting Aymeric to eat regularly and go home at a reasonable hour, and she hadn’t always succeeded either, but he could write up a few law proposals. It would be good to have the distraction.
It worked as a distraction for about a week. Artoirel shut himself into his office for most of his waking hours, emerging only when obligated and for as brief a time as possible. He did make a reasonable amount of progress on his proposals in that time; writing laws involved a lot of tedium in accounting for how they should be funded and enforced and anticipating potential exploits and side effects. All of those things required research, which was good for occupying the mind even when it was uninteresting. He barely thought of Stephanivien at all. Until nightfall came and Artoirel would lie down to sleep and find himself staring at the way the moonlight reflected off the repaired orchestrion and unable to think of much other than Stephanivien and his muscular chest and skilled hands and soft lips. It was only a physical attraction, Artoirel told himself. It would pass. It had to.
He just had to keep filling every possible moment with distractions until then, forever, if need be. Artoirel refused to see any flaw in the idea. He would have continued to see no flaw with it had Emmanellain not announced his return by bursting into the office without knocking. “Stephanivien de Haillenarte?!”
Artoirel’s quill snapped in half and began leaking ink onto his hand and the parchment below. He quickly grabbed a kerchief to prevent it making any more of a mess. “How did you-- What about him?”
Emmanellain slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. He was still wearing his armor, suggesting he’d run directly to Artoirel’s office upon his arrival home. “I know you invited him over, and took him up to your bedroom, and had tea together, and kissed him!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Artoirel. “That is, essentially, a date. You absolutely cannot tease me about Sicard any longer.”
Artoirel sighed, while he didn’t know exactly how the news had reached Emmanellain all the way in Camp Dragonhead, he supposed he ought not be surprised. “He was simply here to fix my orchestrion, and as I recall Haurchefant and Thilan are the ones who tease you the most. I merely choose not to contradict them.”
“I don’t hear you denying that it was a date.”
“It was not a date.”
“But you did kiss him.”
Artoirel felt his face grow hot at the memory of it. “N-no…” Technically, no. Stephanivien had been the one to kiss him.
“You did! You’re blushing! You had better give me some details unless you’d prefer I invent some.”
Artoirel rose from his chair. “Why do you even want to know?”
“For the gossip papers, Artoirel, they are going to come asking and I must have something juicy to tell them.”
“Do not talk to one of those rags.” He started towards the door, and Emmanellain, who happened to be blocking it. “I need a new quill.”
“You must have spare quills in the office.”
“I need to wash my hands and get some fresh air as well.”
Emmanellain didn’t move. “Have you at least talked to him since then?”
“No.”
“Poor Stephanivien, he must be heartbroken, holed up in his manufactory, waiting for you to visit.”
Artoirel pressed an ink stained hand to his younger brother’s face. Emmanellain hopped away, but didn’t react quickly enough to avoid getting an inky palm print on one cheek. It got him away from the door, at least, which was the main thing Artoirel had wanted. He opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
Emmanellain had been correct in guessing that Artoirel already had a few spare quills in the office. They did break or wear out with some regularity and he’d have been a fool not to have extras on hand. He’d also been a fool not to even consider the possibility that Stephanivien had been actively waiting for him to stop by. Perhaps he did need some fresh air. Artoirel decided to go and buy a new quill.
He’d hoped the chill in the air and the walk to the Jeweled Crozier would clear his head. It mainly managed to push all thoughts of work from Artoirel’s mind. Emmanellain’s threat of inventing his own details was not an idle one. Artoirel may not have been one for gossip but he’d lived in the same home with Emmanellain for long enough to know how such circles operated. One could gain clout by having inside details on a popular rumor, the more scandalous or fantastic the better. In retrospect, their mother had been similar: collecting gossip for social capital and caring very much to avoid scandal and rumor damaging House Fortemps’ reputation. It was, evidently, part of the job of being a countess. Unfortunate for Artoirel to have only inherited the anxiety over what damage a bad rumor could cause while Emmanellain had gotten the actual interest in such things. Artoirel needed to think of something to tell Emmanellain that was interesting enough to count as gossip without being too embarrassing, which seemed impossible given the situation. He probably only had until he got back to the manor to think of something.
The Jeweled Crozier had enough shops and stalls to occupy a person for some time, provided they didn’t know exactly what they were looking for or where to find it. Artoirel had never been much of a browser, preferring instead to purchase only the things he needed and leave. He knew exactly where to find a quill, and any other writing supplies he might desire. The quill had only been an excuse. He didn’t really need a new one, but went into the shop anyway and tried to take his time.
The selection and variety of pens and inks and papers had expanded significantly since Ishgard had begun allowing in outsiders. Artoirel spent some time considering a fountain pen with a lovely gold filigree pattern on it. The last one he’d tried had been beautiful as well, and quickly developed a leak before becoming gummed up with dried ink and required a thorough cleaning only to immediately develop problems again. The previous fountain pen had been similar, as had the one before that. Perhaps this one might be different? It was very pretty… He went to the opposite end of the shop and looked over a display of differently colored inks for what felt like an inordinately long time. Artoirel really only needed black for legal writing, and orchestrion rolls required specific varieties of metallic inks to function properly. He wondered what someone might do with ink that was white or pale blue or bright pink. Perhaps on a dark paper, or some application where the color of the ink mattered only in terms of the writer’s preference, a personal journal, or a letter… It suddenly occurred to him that he’d neglected to write back to Haurchefant. He’d have to do it first thing when he returned home. Perhaps enlisting Emmanellain’s input would distract his youngest brother from the gossip papers for a time. Artoirel left the shop with three very basic and perfectly sensible quills, and a pot of dark green ink with a lovely iridescent sheen to it.
He supposed he ought to return home. Artoirel had a letter to write and more work still to do and a gossip loving little brother to manage. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been walking the wrong direction until he reached the end of the street and the stairs leading down towards Foundation. From here he could see the upper part of the Skysteel Manufactory and the plume of smoke rising from the chimney. The exterior looked like any other building on the street, disguising the plethora of odd and noisy machinery inside. He could walk a little further and go inside. He shouldn’t. He had no plausible excuse to do so. But he could.
Stephanivien would be there… Stephanivien had invited him. Artoirel wondered if the invitation was still open. It had been at least a week, after all. He really should go home and do some damage control before Emmanellain told anyone about whatever he thought had happened. It would affect Stephanivien too if rumors were to start flying... Artoirel realized he really shouldn’t try to run damage control for Stephanivien without at least talking to him about the situation. He started down the stairs.
Really, he should go to the manufactory. He should talk to Stephanivien. Even if Artoirel feared seeing him again may lead to further scandalous behavior. Even if Artoirel feared he may discover that he had broken Stephanivien’s heart like Emmanellain had said. Stephanivien hardly seemed that fragile but there was still that small chance that was the case. Artoirel had broken out into a cold sweat by the time he reached the door. He may have faced down dragons and a blasphemy and Count Dzemael but somehow this made him more fearful.
A wall of warm air and machinery sound was waiting for Artoirel on the other side of the door. He steeled himself for a moment before stepping inside and onto the balcony overlooking the main room of the manufactory floor. The place was no less busy than it had been the previous time Artoirel had been there. He scanned the room for Stephanivien, spotting him near the front desk. He was talking to one of the engineers, and still wearing that red cord in his hair. Artoirel wondered if he’d made a mistake in coming.
“Oh! Count Artoirel! Are you looking for m’lord Stephanivien?”
Artoirel nearly jumped out of his skin. Nearly. He managed to maintain enough of his outward composure to only appear mildly startled. A mousy hyuran woman with blonde braids was looking up at him with some concern. Artoirel was fairly certain he’d seen her coming and going from Haillenarte manor before, but did not know her name.
“Ah, yes, I had hoped to speak with him. I can return at another time if he is busy.”
“I’m sure m’lord can make time for you.” She smiled and winked at him. “He’s been speaking quite fondly of you lately.”
“He… he has?”
She was already down the stairs and approaching Stephanivien. As she turned around Artoirel couldn't help but notice the gun strapped to her back. She hadn’t struck Artoirel as the type, but then he supposed that was the goal of the Machinists’ Guild: to develop a defence force that any Ishgardian could join.
Stephanivien was smiling and waving at him now. Artoirel waved back and was certain he looked as awkward as he felt. He waited for Stephanivien to come to him, mostly because his knees felt a bit weak. When he got close enough, Stephanivien reached out to touch Artoirel’s forearm and Artoirel feared his knees may give out entirely.
Stephanivien’s smile faded slightly. “I was beginning to worry you were avoiding me. Last time, did I… overstep? I am sorry if I did.”
“Overstep?” Right, the kiss. Artoirel supposed he probably seemed uncomfortable at the time. He had wanted to do it. If anything that was the problem. “No, it was... nice.” His face felt oddly warm again and he averted his eyes from Stephanivien’s face. Artoirel found himself looking at the patch of exposed chest Stephanivien’s outfit left uncovered. He reminded himself not to stare, his gaze traveled down further, and he had to remind himself not to stare there either. “I was hoping we could talk, privately if possible.”
Stephanivien clicked his tongue and looked around the room. “Hm, come with me.” He took Artoirel by the hand and led him through a door marked for employees only which led to a small storage closet. Artoirel ended up sitting on a large crate both to ensure his legs didn’t betray him and to make enough room for them both to fit with the door closed. This wasn’t going to help prevent rumors from flying about.
“I expected, perhaps, an office or something similar.” Artoirel looked around for someplace suitable to put his hands. In such close quarters, Stephanivien was practically standing between his knees and Artoirel felt a compulsion to place his hands on the other man’s hips. He resisted the urge and gripped his own thighs instead.
“Ah, I haven’t exactly got one, most of the bookkeeping is done back at home.”
“I see.”
“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Stephanivien had leaned forward slightly, his fingertips just touching the crate next to Artoirel’s knee.
“Right. Ah, well, I want to thank you again for your help with the orchestrion. I owe you a great favor.”
Stephanivien laughed, “Really, I should thank you for trusting me with it. It’s quite an enchanting little device. I could ask for no better repayment.”
Artoirel should have guessed Stephanivien would say something like that. “There is also the matter of… somehow word of your visit has reached my younger brother Emmanellain and he seems to be under the impression that we did something more, ah, more.”
Stephanivien didn’t respond for a few moments. “Alright?”
“He’s liable to tell anyone who will listen, including the tabloid newspapers that we are engaged in some kind of torrid affair.”
“Oh.” Stephanivien appeared surprisingly calm, and Artoirel could not understand how. This could cause horrendous problems. “I’ve never paid such papers any mind. I understand they often lie.”
“People will believe the lies. We must come up with something less scandalous but just as interesting to tell him, so as to lessen the damage.”
“Well…” Stephanivien paused, evidently to think, before leaning in a bit closer, “if it would please you, we could simply have a torrid affair. Twouldn’t be so gossip-worthy were it out in the open. However, I suppose it wouldn’t quite be an affair seeing as neither of us are married.”
“I-I absolutely cannot do that!” Artoirel reached up, intent on pushing Stephanivien away but instead his fingers curled into the fabric of Stephanivien’s top and held on. “It does not matter if it would please me or not.”
Stephanivien’s hands moved from the crate Artoirel was seated on to Artoirel’s waist. He leaned in closer, close enough that Artoirel could smell the sweat and dust on his clothes and see the slight stubble along his jaw. “But it would please you?”
“… yes.”
“Then I see no reason that should not matter.” Stephanivien tilted his head slightly and instead of kissing him on the lips, as Artoirel had expected, went for the delicate spot below his ear where throat and jawline met. Artoirel’s breath hitched.
“I mustn’t,” he coughed. However much he might wish to, he mustn’t. “It would be… improper.”
“How so?” Stephanivien didn’t pull away and Artoirel could feel the heat of his breath on the side of his neck. “Because we are both men?” Artoirel felt lips on his skin again and the hands on his waist pull him in a little closer. He couldn’t stop himself from allowing it. “I may not seem the sort, but I know my scripture, and there is no rule against it.”
“Mayhaps not, but I am a count, and the position comes with certain… obligations.” Marrying and producing an heir being the most pertinent to the conversation, Stephanivien was heir to a high house himself, after all. “You should know that better than anyone.”
They were so close now that their bodies were nearly pressed together. Stephanivien let out a curious hum against Artoirel’s throat before pulling away just enough to look Artoirel in the eye. “Neither of us is currently ‘obligated’ to anyone, correct?”
“Well, no.”
“Should that change, or should you find the situation unenjoyable, we can stop, but I see no reason to deprive yourself if it would be enjoyable.” Stephanivien was looking so intently at him, Artoirel felt exposed despite being fully dressed.
He had to avert his own eyes. “You’re proposing a… purely physical relationship?”
“If you would like.”
It was an appealing idea, a purely physical relationship for what he was certain was a purely physical attraction, but Artoirel couldn’t say that out loud. “I shall need to think about it.”
Stephanivien’s hand moved to cup Artoirel’s face and tilted his chin up so their lips could meet. Artoirel let himself relax into it. His lips parted and Stephanivien’s tongue reached in to taste him, if only briefly. Artoirel chased after him as he pulled away until Stephanivien straightened up too much for him to follow. Stephanivien maintained his light grip on Artoirel’s chin. “Think about it, then?”
Artoirel worried his lower lip between his teeth and nodded. He didn’t quite feel capable of forming words at the moment.
“Good, I’ll be waiting for your decision on the matter.”
Artoirel nodded again. “I--,” he paused to clear his throat. “I should be heading back home, before anyone wonders where I have gone.” He had a letter to write, anyhow, he told himself.
Stephanivien took his hand and helped him back to his feet. Artoirel felt he shouldn’t have needed it but his legs did feel unusually shaky and his trousers unusually tight. The door opened and they stepped back out onto the upper balcony of the manufactory. It had cleared out considerably, most of the recruits and staff having left for the evening. No one seemed to pay them any special attention. Odd. Artoirel wondered if Stephanivien had a habit of taking visitors into storage closets for confusingly intimate encounters. He wouldn’t have guessed him the type until this very moment. Artoirel reached for the door.
“I hope I shall see you again soon, with good news.”
“Yes, I hope that, whatever the news is, it will be good.” Artoirel pushed down on the door handle and stepped out into the cold.
The sun was lower in the sky than Artoirel had expected on the walk home. The air was a bit colder as well, but not enough to cool his blood. Stephanivien had lit a fire in his veins and seemed exceptionally good at keeping it well stoked. At least Artoirel’s clothing did a good job of hiding any visible signs of arousal. It would be fine, it would subside by the time he reached the manor, and no one should think anything off about him unless they got exceptionally close. Artoirel wasn’t the sort of man anyone tried to get that close to. Except Stephanivien, he seemed to have done it, at first at least, without even trying.
He climbed the stairs back up to the Pillars and headed towards home. The arousal hadn’t fully faded by the time he reached the front door. His body was mostly behaving again but his mind continued to circle back to Stephanivien and the feeling of his hands and lips and the smell of his skin and the taste of his mouth. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t clear his mind of it. Artoirel was used to not being touched, fine with it even, and usually so good at keeping his emotions in check. It had even garnered him a reputation for being cold. Heartless, even. It should be best for him to remain that way.
The guard at the front door and the steward just inside greeted Artoirel and welcomed him home. He headed straight for his office. The document he’d been working on before he’d left the house was still on his desk. It bore a few stray ink droplets from when the quill had broken but he thought he could salvage it. He set the paper aside to deal with later. There wasn’t much room for legal matters in his head at the moment. Artoirel placed the new quills and the ink he’d bought on the desk and slumped into his chair. Why had he bought that ink anyhow? He didn’t have any use for it. It was just that it had been pretty. Artoirel liked pretty things as much as the next person, but he generally prided himself on placing practical matters first. Even when it came to buying orchestrion rolls, his real only frivolous habit, he always looked at things like the relative cost of a piece vs how rare it was and what sort of condition it was in before considering how much he enjoyed the song.
Yes, he must consider the practical matters first. Artoirel could not take Stephanivien up on his offer, no matter how much he may wish to. What Artoirel wished was unimportant.
Chapter 4: Four
Notes:
I'm debating if I should up the rating on this. They don't fuck this chapter but, you know, eventually.
Wow this chapter ended up longer than I'd planned.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel managed to make it through dinner without appearing too out of sorts. The time he’d spent beforehand was less so. He’d intended to write back to Haurchefant, and found himself instead leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. He eventually managed to place a clean sheet of parchment on the desk and stared at it instead. It was a basic thank you letter, it shouldn’t have been difficult, but Artoirel couldn’t seem to make himself pick up the quill. A maid eventually knocked on the door to summon him for dinner. It was Emmanellain’s first night back in a while, and it wouldn’t do for him to avoid his family right now.
The nice thing about having Emmanellain at home was he had, if not plenty of things to talk about, plenty of talking to do. Coerthas had become a lot more peaceful since the end of the war, the greatest threats now being common wildlife and the climate itself. Of course Emmanellain managed to describe the situation as if he were personally responsible for it before moving on to the various relationship dramas among the knights and staff around Dragonhead. It was all small, petty things, but their father still reminded Emmanellain that if any conflicts caused serious issue he was responsible for sorting it out. Edmont might have scolded Emmanellain more harshly once, but his demeanor towards all three of his sons had softened of late. An outside onlooker may have guessed that retirement or the end of the Dragonsong War had brought out a gentler side of their father, but Artoirel was fairly certain the main factor had been Haurchefant’s near death experience.
In any case Emmanellain appeared to respond much better to a less forceful guiding hand. Artoirel no longer worried that his little brother would walk directly into an angry dragon’s jaws if no one was around to stop him, and not just because there were far fewer angry dragons about any more. Artoirel hardly had to say much of anything apart from the occasional ‘hm’ or ‘I see’ to show that he was listening.
“What about you, Artoirel? Did you do anything interesting today?”
Artoirel coughed and quickly raised his napkin to cover his mouth. “Nothing terribly interesting, Father. I’ve been cooped up in the office for some time, so I went for a walk, but that was about it.”
“Oh, did you go anywhere in particular?” Emmanellain had leaned forward onto the table to rest his chin on his hands.
“Elbows, Emmanellain.”
“Sorry, Father.” Emmanellain changed positions to remove his elbows from the table.
“I stopped by the Jeweled Crozier is all. I considered buying a fountain pen but decided against it. They seem to always leak.”
That seemed to satisfy his father, who responded with a simple “Ah,” and returned to his meal. Emmanellain was staring at him as if he could bore a hole through Artoirel’s skull.
Artoirel knew Emmanellain wanted to ask about the manufactory. He also knew that Emmanellain knew if he asked about the manufactory Artoirel could and would respond by asking about that Lominsan pirate fellow. Neither of them wanted to have such a conversation in front of or, worse, with their father. It was a stalemate.
“Anyhow, I ought to excuse myself. I’ve realized that I have forgotten to write back to Haurchefant, and I should like to have the letter in the mail first thing tomorrow.”
Artoirel skipped dessert and headed back to the office. Perhaps if he used the pretty iridescent ink he’d bought the letter would be easier to write. A personal letter was possibly the only use he had for it. He opened the pot of ink, dipped one of the new quills into it, and wrote “Dear Thilan and Haurchefant,” in very clean handwriting and stopped. This shouldn’t be so difficult. It was certainly easier than trying to thank Haurchefant in person. A letter gave Artoirel time to choose his words with care. He dipped the quill again.
First, let me apologize for my delay in response. I have been busier than usual of late and I fear time has gotten away from me. I hope Thavnair is treating you both well. It sounds lovely and I should love to see it for myself one day, time and my duties here in Ishgard permitting, of course. Father appears in good health, and never complains of the cold, but I imagine a tropical climate might be a nice change of scenery for him.
Your gifts have been well received. Father said the box was beautiful and finely crafted. He appears to be enjoying his privacy in retirement and has not volunteered to tell me what he is keeping in it, so I have chosen not to pry. Personally, I believe what he would like more than any gift would be more frequent visits home. He may not always show it well, but Father loves you dearly and worries when you are away.
I have not seen Emmanellain wearing the jacket yet, but as you said it may be too light for Ishgardian weather.
Emmanellain burst into the room as if on cue, carrying a tea tray sporting the usual tea set as well as an array of small fruit tarts. He placed a tart into Artoirel’s hand before any protest could be voiced. “I know you said you didn’t want dessert, but you know how hard it is to get fresh fruit around here.” Emmanellain shoved some of Artoirel’s paperwork aside to place the tray on the corner of the desk and began dragging over a rarely used chair from the far end of the room.
“Is this an attempt at a bribe?”
“Is it working?”
“That depends upon what you want in return.”
“You know what I want.”
Artoirel sighed, took a bite out of the tart, and poured himself a cup of tea. It may have been a bribe of sorts but he wasn’t about to turn it down. Fresh fruit was hard to come by, after all, and it felt rude to let the kitchen staff’s hard work go to waste now that it was in his hand.
Emmanellain climbed into the chair and leaned his elbows onto the desk. “Are you in love with Stephanivien?”
Artoirel nearly choked on his tea and began to cough.
“That sounds like a yes to me.”
“Don’t be—” Artoirel coughed, “don’t be ridiculous! Of course not.”
For once, Emmanellain said nothing. He just smiled in a cheeky, sort of impish way.
“Whatever conclusion you’ve just come to is almost assuredly wrong.” Artoirel tried to rearrange things on the desk so he could resume writing the letter. “I’d like to finish this letter. You can offer some input or you can leave me alone to finish it myself.”
“Oh, I have input. You should ask Haurchefant for dating advice.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ll bet he’s got more experience in these matters than both of us combined. Especially with other men.”
“I would prefer not to have this conversation with either of you.” It may have been a while, but Artoirel didn’t consider himself inexperienced. It was discouraged, technically, for knights to lie with one another, but they often did, and he’d gone through training the same as all the others. He’d visited the sorts of bars men liked to meet up at for such things. A few years ago he’d spotted a familiar head of silver hair in the crowd, pretended he hadn’t, and never returned to such places again. Artoirel cleared his throat. “Just tell me what you think of the gift he sent you.”
“The sleeves were a touch long, but after a bit of tailoring, I look extremely dashing in it. As anyone would expect.”
Artoirel picked up the quill and added to the letter:
He tells me that it did require some minor tailoring but it fits well now and he loves it. I cannot comment on the reaction from his ‘pirate friend’ as I have not met him.
He paused, “Emmanellain?”
“Hm?”
“Did you suggest I ask Haurchefant for dating advice because you want to ask him that?”
Emmanellain’s ears turned a vibrant shade of pink. “N-no…”
“Hm.” Artoirel supposed he ought not be surprised. He was the ‘stern’ older brother and Haurchefant the ‘fun’ one. Of course Emmanellain would want to go to Haurchefant for advice on personal matters. “Is there anything else you’d like me to put into the letter?”
“I don’t guess so… ask him to come visit soon.”
“I will.”
Emmanellain picked up the tea tray and slunk out of the room. Artoirel returned to writing the letter.
For what it is worth I hope this Lominsan fellow is worthy of Emmanellain’s affections. This appears more genuine than his infatuation with Laniaitte.
Finally, the orchestrion did arrive somewhat shaken up. Fear not, Stephanivien de Haillenarte has very kindly repaired it for me, and it now works beautifully. He seemed quite interested in its origins, if Thilan can recall any details about that I would be delighted to relay them.
Artoirel picked up the quill. He’d intended to write more but if he thought of the orchestrion more he’d think of Stephanivien more and then run the risk of writing something that would betray his interests in the man. No, better to stop here. He signed the letter, added a “P.S. Emmanellain has directly requested you visit soon. Please pretend I have told you this information in a more tactful manner”, and began putting away the ink and quills. Now that the ink at the top of the letter had dried, the iridescent hues were much more subtle. It was classy looking, almost. Perhaps the ink hadn’t been such an ill conceived purchase after all.
Not thinking more of Stephanivien turned out to be impossible. Artoirel had tried to use the remainder of the evening to get some more work done. He had one law proposal he had yet to really touch, one to do with roadways and grading and gutters, written for an Ishgard that had still been warm enough to often receive liquid rain. It was really a rather technical set of instructions designed to prevent flooding or water pooling in undesirable areas, but written in the usual style of a religious decree. Artoirel hated to admit it but no matter how much he tried to read up on the subject he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the more technical aspects of the law. It required the expertise of an engineer. Artoirel had no idea if Stephanivien was the right sort of engineer, but he couldn’t help but think of him anyhow. A city was sort of like a large machine, in a way, and perhaps someone with Stephanivien’s expertise would have some insight… no.
Artoirel could not ask him for another favor, no matter how he might want an excuse to visit Stephanivien again. It would be a bother and he feared he may slip and agree to the… relationship agreement that Stephanivien had proposed. Artoirel had already concluded that he could not do that, and there was no reason to think Stephanivien was knowledgeable about roadways and drainage and snow management the way he was with machinery and clockwork. Artoirel set the file aside and decided to turn in early.
Artoirel’s bedroom, being on the top floor and at the end of the wing, tended to get chilly at night, even more so than most rooms in the manor. He’d chosen it deliberately when he’d grown too old for the nursery, partially for privacy, and partially due to the knowledge that his mother could not banish Haurchefant to the coldest, furthest bedroom in the house if it were already occupied. It was especially bad on a night like this. It had snowed only lightly earlier, and the sky was now clear. A thick layer of snow on the roof helped to hold what heat there was to be had inside the house. A heavy layer of cloud cover could have a similar effect on the city as a whole. Tonight he had neither and stoked the fire in his fireplace as high as he dared before changing clothes for bed.
If he parted the curtains and looked out the window, Artoirel had a clear view of the street below, the cloudless sky filled with countless stars and the, now singular, full moon. He could also see Haillenarte manor and the light dusting of snow on its roof. He wondered if Stephanivien’s bedroom had a window facing the street, and if so which one might it be. Could he see Artoirel’s window from there? Did Stephanivien’s room get as cold at night, and did he ever bring home lovers to warm his bed?
Artoirel had never done so. It had always been more practical to sneak off to some secluded part of the barracks with another knight, or purchase a room at an inn that paid no mind to who came and went, or simply deprive himself of such encounters entirely. It wouldn’t be proper to bring another man home like that, besides. Best for Artoirel to remain cold and lonely and stare at the house across the street and envy Stephanivien’s ability to not care what was proper or not… and imagine what sort of improper things might Stephanivien do with a lover in his bed. What might he do to Artoirel if--- Artoirel closed the curtains, shutting away the sight of Haillenarte manor as if it could also shut away the images running through his mind.
He moved from the window to the fireplace where he turned the remaining logs and cleared the ash until it died down to the sort of lower, slower burning fire that could keep the room from growing too terribly cold even while he slept. Artoirel pulled the grate across to block out most of the light and block in any stray embers that may try to escape the hearth and ignite something they should not, snuffed out the lamp, and crawled into bed. A small gap in the curtains allowed just enough of a view that Artoirel could see a bit of Haillenarte manor’s roof and upper floor windows. He rolled over, buried his face into the pillow and tried to banish all thoughts of Stephanivien from his head.
It was a futile effort. Artoirel’s bed was cold and while usually he was used to it taking a short while for his own body heat to warm it up tonight he couldn’t help but wish for the warmth of another body. He’d felt so warm in Stephanivien’s presence, too warm, almost. He couldn't help but imagine strong arms wrapped around him, soft lips on his neck, large, calloused hands sliding under his clothing to touch bare skin… he couldn’t take it anymore and slipped his own hand under the hem of his nightshirt and into his smallclothes. He could feel shame about it later. For now it would be faster just to take care of the problem directly. Artoirel surprised himself at just how hard he was, like iron and longing for the touch of a skilled metalworker. He imagined the hand stroking him was not his own but larger, rougher, calloused and strengthened through manual labor. He imagined a tall, strong body pinning him down and penetrating him as previous lovers had usually requested Artoirel handle them. He’d never taken that position himself, but it must feel quite good if so many men asked for it. He imagined soft, plush lips kissing him and whispering kind words in his ear…
Artoirel buried his face into the pillow again to muffle any sound he might make as he spilled into his own hand. He was alone in the room again. Imaginary Stephanivien was gone and shame came in to take his place. He knew he ought not indulge in such fantasies, effective though they may be. It was inappropriate. They could not be together. If they were to try Artoirel was sure he’d be found wanting, relatively inexperienced as he was and out of practice at that. They’d have to cut things off when Stephanivien inherited his father’s title as Count de Haillenarte. Artoirel could imagine no scenario where it could work out, no scenario where he could make Stephanivien, or anyone for that matter, happy.
He shifted position enough to open the drawer on his nightstand and fish out a tissue to clean himself up with. At least no one else need know about this. He’d destroy the evidence of what he’d done, beg Halone for forgiveness (though he rarely prayed otherwise), and tomorrow return to being cold, heartless Artoirel, incapable of giving or receiving love.
Artoirel cleaned himself off, disposed of the tissue, and tucked himself back into bed. When sleep came for him, he dreamed of nothing.
Artoirel thought he was doing a reasonable job of appearing normal. Neither Emmanellain nor their father commented on his behavior at breakfast. He sealed the letter to Haurchefant, gathered up the paperwork he needed to deliver to Aymeric, and headed out for the day. He had to walk past Haillenarte manor to get… anywhere really, but especially to reach the postmoogle. He tried not to look directly at the house without looking like he was deliberately not looking at the house. The moogle chirped excitedly as he approached and handed over the letter. Artoirel wasn’t fully certain that Haurchefant and Thilan were still in Radz at Han, but the moogles seemed to have a way of delivering mail to the intended recipient regardless of where they went.
“Count Artoirel! I do not usually see you about this early.”
Artoirel turned to spot Francel and Aurvael de Haillenarte approaching, probably on their way to the Firmament. “Ah, yes, I had a letter to my brother to send off and some paperwork to take to Aymeric this morning. Wanted to get it done early.”
“Perfectly understandable. How is Haurchefant, anyway?” Aurvael had spoken first, surprising Artoirel at first. Now that he thought about it, Haurchefant had spent as much or more time with the Haillenartes as he had at home when they were younger. The Haillenarte siblings were close with one another, as far as Artoirel could tell. They were probably all fond of Haurchefant, and better siblings to him than Artoirel could claim to be.
“Do you know when he’ll be back in Ishgard next?” asked Francel.
“Ah, well, I believe he still has some nerve damage, but he hasn’t complained to me and was able to lift a shield just fine when last I saw him. When he’s next in town I shall remind him to pay you a visit.”
“Oh, splendid. I do hope he’s keeping safe. I understand the Warrior of Light’s duties take them to some dangerous places.” Francel sounded slightly worried.
“I try not to worry overmuch. Thilan is highly protective of him, you know.” In truth, Artoirel worried quite a lot about the both of them. He just couldn’t seem to say so aloud. The Haillenarte brothers looked ready to go on their way, but Artoirel felt a need to stop them. “Ah, a moment, before you go?”
They paused.
“Stephanivien has done me a great favor by repairing that orchestrion for me. I owe him one in kind but when I asked he sort of… played it off. As if I owe him nothing. It just isn’t proper for me not to offer something as thanks.”
Aurvael and Francel looked at one another before looking back at Artoirel. “You’re looking for suggestions?”
“Yes, something he might accept as a thank you.”
Aurvael smiled, “Ah! You see, Steph wants for very little, and is happiest when tinkering with something. He’d consider getting to work on your orchestrion a reward in and of itself.”
“That is… essentially what he said when I asked.” Did Stephanivien’s brother just call him ‘Steph’? Artoirel was absolutely not going to be calling him that.
“Well,” Francel began, “If you haven’t got any other interesting machines, you could always just ask about whatever he’s currently working on. He’s always delighted to talk about such things.”
“That’s hardly a typical thank you gesture…” but, then, Stephanivien was hardly a typical man.
“Consider buying him a drink as well, then?” offered Aurvael.
“Yes, I think he would like that very much,” added Francel.
Artoirel considered the idea. It wasn’t a typical high society sort of ‘thank you’ but it was better than nothing. “I shall absolutely think about it, thank you.”
They said their goodbyes and the Haillenarte brothers headed towards the Firmament while Artoirel headed for the Convocation. He thought he saw them whispering something to one another as they left. It didn’t occur to Artoirel until now to wonder if Stephanivien had said anything to his siblings about him.
Artoirel spent most of the day with Aymeric, going over the law proposals he’d written, and the one he hadn’t. Someone with more technical knowledge needed to write that one. Aymeric had a few suggestions for changes but most of the time was spent deliberately inserting minor errors. The other three high house counts would have to read over Artoirel’s proposals before allowing them to come to a vote, and they always wanted to make edits. A few obvious errors made them less likely to change anything more significant. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it helped. Artoirel couldn’t help but wonder if they’d behave the same way if his father were still the count. Perhaps it would get easier when one of them retired and Artoirel wasn’t the youngest of the four of them by decades.
“I fear you’ll be waiting a while there, my friend.” Aymeric picked up the teapot to refill his cup. “None of them look ready to retire any time soon.”
“No, Charlemend de Durendaire maybe, but given the age of his chosen heir…”
“Yes, it is a shame about his son.”
“Hm, yes.” Rumors were rather difficult to avoid in the Fortemps house, and since Emmanellain had been finding excuses to visit Limsa Lominsa Artoirel had started hearing rumors from there as well. “I’m not usually one to spread gossip, but I have heard that there is an elezen pirate captain in Limsa Lominsa by the name of Carvallain.”
“Really? You don’t suppose...”
“Even if it were him, it’s been twenty years, he must have reasons for not returning home.”
“True, no point in forcing him, and it may well just be someone with a similar name.”
“Probably, it’s just nice to imagine he may yet live. In retrospect I had a bit of a crush on him when we were boys.” There was a loud clink as Aymeric suddenly put his teacup down and Artoirel realized that he’d spoken that thought aloud. “I-I’m just feeling nostalgic, I suppose.”
“I am not passing judgment, Artoirel.” Aymeric’s tone remained as smooth and gentle as it usually was. “I just struggle to imagine you having a crush on anyone, even in childhood.”
Artoirel felt his face grow a bit warm, “As do I…” Haurchefant and Emmanellain both might have garnered reputations for being lovesick fools, but Artoirel couldn't honestly claim to be any different. He simply hid his feelings better. “It seems very unlike me.”
Artoirel signed the new, edited version of the document, and set it aside. There wasn’t much left to do with the proposals until they came up for a vote. “How’s your workload looking anyway? Were you able to take some time for yourself?”
Aymeric took a sip of his tea. He appeared calm but Artoirel could tell it was a deliberate delay tactic. “Well, I didn’t finish everything I had planned… but I made progress.”
“Aymeric, did you immediately fill the gap I made in your schedule with more work?”
“Er…”
“By the Fury, you did.”
“There’s just so much to do and so few people I can trust to help me…”
Artoirel sighed, he’d been looking forward to having a bit of a break himself. “If I take more of the work you’ve assigned yourself, promise me you’ll actually take some time off.”
Aymeric looked a little surprised, but he nodded. “Yes, I promise.” Artoirel must have sounded more forceful than he’d intended. He left Aymeric’s office carrying an overstuffed file filled with legal documents.
Artoirel resisted the urge to go to the manufactory afterward. He had no logical excuse to do so and he’d just been there the day before besides. He headed straight towards home. Artoirel wasn’t sure what time it was but the sun was below the horizon and the temperature was beginning to drop. He was late for dinner, if he hadn’t missed it entirely. He wondered if he ought to have stayed longer and made sure Aymeric remembered to eat something.
When Artoirel rounded the corner onto the street running between his own home and Haillenarte manor he spotted a familiar figure coming from the other direction. Stephanivien was carrying a piece of machinery Artoirel couldn’t identify, had singe marks on his clothing and hair, and more soot than usual on his face. A broad smile appeared on his face and he broke into a light jog to meet up with Artoirel. Artoirel felt his heart rate increase.
“Count Artoirel! How nice to run into you!” As he got closer Artoirel could see a fresh looking burn mark stretching from Stephanivien’s singed collar, up his neck and ending on his chin. It looked painful but he was smiling at Artoirel as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“What happened? You’re injured.” Artoirel took a step forward. He could heal it. All knights were expected to at least try to learn a bit of basic healing magic, and Artoirel had turned out to have a particular knack for it. He started to raise a hand to Stephanivien’s face but stopped halfway. What if someone misinterpreted the gesture?
“Hm? Oh! A minor explosion occurred. Fear not, no one was harmed.”
“You don’t look unharmed.” Artoirel stopped caring if anyone saw, and raised his hand the rest of the way to lightly touch the burn on Stephanivien’s face. It turned out to be a shallow injury and required little aether to mend. It didn’t even leave a scar.
Stephanivien laughed. “Thank you, I had forgotten you’d be able to do that.”
“Think nothing of it.” Artoirel coughed to clear his throat. His face was feeling oddly warm again. “On the subject of thank yous. I know you said I do not owe you anything, but it would be unbecoming of me not to offer something as thanks… perhaps I could buy you a drink?”
“Right now? And here I thought my prospectometer was on the fritz when it said today I would have good luck…” Stephanivien’s cheeks were slightly more flushed than usual. Artoirel dismissed it as an effect from the cold.
“Well it does not have to be…”
“I am free now, if you’ll allow me a moment to get washed up.”
“Ah, alright… I need to put this paperwork down anyhow.”
They parted ways for their respective manors and Artoirel headed directly to the office, dropped the papers off on his desk and got caught by Emmanellain before he made his way back to the front door.
“Oh, where are you going?”
“It’s really none of your business, but I’m going out for a drink.”
Emmanellain’s eyebrows shot up. “You? You’re going out.”
“Yes.”
“I have a rumor about Stephanivien that may interest you.”
“I’m not interested.” Though Artoirel suspected he was about to hear it anyhow.
“So I’ve heard he’s particularly well endowed.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s unusually large,” Emmanellain gestured downward, “as in ‘it may not fit’ large.”
“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, and that this conversation did not happen.” Artoirel reached the front door and hurried to open it.
“Rumor is Stephanivien de Haillenarte has an absolutely monstrous cock!”
Artoirel slammed the door behind him but heard a muffled “Enjoy your date!” from the other side.
“It isn’t a date…” Was it? Artoirel waited awkwardly in the street for a few moments until Stephanivien came trotting out of Haillenarte manor with a washed face and a fresh shirt. He wasn’t wearing his gloves either and reached out to touch Artoirel on the wrist. Oh no. It was a date.
“Did you have any place in particular in mind?”
“Uh, not as such. It was a somewhat spur of the moment decision.”
“I know a few options.”
Artoirel followed Stephanivien down the street and several staircases until they reached a small tavern near the end of the Jeweled Crozier and not far from the manufactory. The sign read “The Heav--y Rose” and bore a jagged hole between the V and Y in heavy. Artoirel had never noticed it before. Based on the name he guessed the owner was someone connected to the Haillenartes.
“It used to say ‘heavenly’ but there was a stray bullet…” Stephanivien explained. “They stay open late so I come here sometimes when I leave work.”
“I see.” They seated themselves in a small booth at the back of the room. “Do you often stay very late?” Artoirel supposed he wasn’t much better, given how late he’d left Aymeric’s office today. The Lord Speaker’s work habits were rubbing off on him.
“More than I should,” Stephanivien admitted. “It’s just… do you ever get so engrossed in what you are doing that the time just gets away from you? Oftentimes I will begin work on something and when I next look up at the time find that many bells have passed.”
“Hm, not often… once or twice, when trying to write a song, and I sometimes deliberately ignore the time when doing more important work.”
A waitress came by to take their order. Stephanivien ordered a dark ale. Artoirel ordered a glass of red wine for himself. Perhaps the alcohol would help calm his nerves.
“Songwriting is important.”
Artoirel actually laughed at that. “I’m afraid my duties as count leave me little time for it anymore.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. That one song I heard was very nice.”
“Thank you…” Artoirel was certain he must be blushing. Their drinks arrived and Artoirel took a sip quickly but tried not to do it so quickly as to look desperate. “Don’t you ever think about when you become a count? You won’t have as much time to focus on the manufactory then.”
Stephanivien shifted in his seat a bit. It was the first time he appeared nervous to Artoirel. “Honestly, I have been waiting for Father to give the role to Aurvael instead. He has the better head for writing and politics and would actually find the job engaging.”
“Really?” Artoirel found himself envious of the Haillenartes again. Artoirel could not remember a time when his life hadn’t revolved around the inevitability of his becoming count. The closest he’d ever come to imagining anything else had been when he’d been quite young and his mother had been insistent that Haurchefant intended to steal his inheritance. It was untrue, but he hadn’t learned what a ridiculous notion it had been until he was older. “I never considered the possibility, but then Emmanellain would be poorly suited to the role and Mother insisted Haurchefant be explicitly excluded from the will as a condition for him living with us at all.”
“Oh…”
“In retrospect his anger when we were younger was completely justified. I’m shocked he’s not angry now. I would be.” Artoirel stared down at the glass in his hand and idly rolled the stem between his fingers. What was he doing? He didn’t want to be thinking about Haurchefant and all his regrets about how he’d treated him over the years. Not right now.
“Well, wills can be rewritten,” Stephanivien offered.
“They can, I should ask if he would want that. I think Father would be amenable to it.” Haurchefant had always been his favorite, after all, just as Emmanellain had been their mother’s favorite. Artoirel laughed, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Artoirel, are you alright?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m fine.” Artoirel looked down at his empty wine glass. He ordered another. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on? What caused that ‘minor explosion’ as you put it?”
“Oh!” Stephanivien’s face lit up. “The ceruleum heater!”
“It exploded?”
“Only slightly. It turns out one should be very careful when combining ceruleum with other sorts of crystals.”
“Well I am relieved you weren’t seriously harmed.”
“There was very little fuel in the heater. That is sort of the point of my experiments.” Stephanivien was grinning now. “You were in Garlemald at one point, right? I’m sure you noticed how frightfully cold it is there.”
“Yes, Coerthas is cozy in comparison.”
“Precisely, the area is only inhabitable, particularly by a people unable to manipulate aether, due to ceruleum powered technology. Garlemald remains rich in the stuff, but with the empire collapsed they lack the ability to extract and refine ceruleum at the same scale they once did. So I need to get the heaters to run on a fraction of the fuel they used to require.”
“That sounds difficult,” Artoirel had leaned forward onto the table slightly. It wasn’t a subject he’d normally have paid much attention to, but Stephanivien’s clear excitement over it made it interesting. “I’m sure you’re equal to the task.”
Stephanivien laughed, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. It is a very interesting puzzle, and has given me the opportunity to examine a few examples of Garlean technology. I haven’t been this spoiled for new things to disassemble in years.”
“Is that how you work such things out? Just take it apart?”
“And put it back together. It’s absolutely the most intuitive way to understand a machine. If you understand what every part does and how they interact with one another, you understand the machine.”
“Oh, I suppose, I wouldn’t describe law or music in the same words, but it’s not dissimilar.” Or perhaps he could. Artoirel could recall spending hours as a child piecing apart the notes and chords of a favorite song to better understand how and why they fit together.
“You understand, then!” Stephanivien leaned in slightly. “Between you and me, I often fail to understand people, and wish I could take apart their personalities in the same way so I might understand better.”
Artoirel reached the bottom of his second glass of wine and ordered a third. “Are you… wanting to take me apart?”
“A little…” That slight flush was back on Stephanivien’s face. He reached across the table and laced his fingers between Artoirel’s. “Not in any harmful way, of course.”
Artoirel thought he should want to pull his hand away, but in the moment he couldn't recall why. Stephanivien’s hand was warm and comforting. Why shouldn’t he want to hold it? “I know you wouldn’t do anything harmful… you’re a good and kind person.”
“It’s more… at first I thought, ‘Artoirel de Fortemps is a person who does what he’s designed to do’ a bit like a machine, and that I might be able to understand you more easily. But now I see that’s not the case. You’re as complex as anyone, moreso maybe. And that’s become more interesting, in a way.”
Artoirel wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The wine wasn’t helping to calm his nerves as much as he’d hoped, instead his mind was just becoming foggy around the edges. Strange, normally he could handle this much alcohol without issue. “You think I’m interesting?”
Stephanivien laughed. He had a sort of low, gentle laugh that Artoirel found oddly soothing. “Yes, very much so…”
“I’m not really, a politician should be a bit boring… you’re interesting, and smart, and handsome, and...”
“Artoirel?”
“Hm?”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Well… I was working so late I missed dinner.” Artoirel had to think for a moment. “I may have forgotten lunch as well.”
“I see.” He expected to be scolded, the way he often found himself scolding Aymeric for overworking and neglecting basic needs like food and sleep. Instead Stephanivien nodded and flagged down the waitress. Artoirel didn’t register Stephanivien ordering anything but soon he had a glass of water and a basket of fried popotoes in front of him.
It was simple commoner food, not the sort of thing the kitchen staff at any noble house would typically serve, but the combination of salt and oil and starch was pretty tasty and helped slow down how quickly the wine worked its way into Artoirel’s bloodstream. He didn’t feel any more sober, not really, but he did now realize how drunk he truly was. “I’ve been making a fool of myself, haven’t I?”
“Not really. I don’t mind a few extra compliments, though I do worry how you may feel tomorrow morning.”
“Regretful?”
“Hungover. I think I ought to take you home.”
Artoirel blushed, imagining being taken back to Stephanivien’s bed and wondering what they might do there. “Ah, alright.” Artoirel fumbled for his coin purse.
“Are you sure you still want to pay--”
“Yes, I invited you, after all.”
Stephanivien helped him count out the right amount of gil, tucked the coin purse back into Artoirel’s coat, and helped him to his feet. If anything, standing made him feel even more drunk and Artoirel leaned on Stephanivien for support as they made their way back.
It was sort of nice. Snow had begun to fall and Stephanivien’s body was so warm in contrast to the cold air. Artoirel could feel his feet wanting to trip over themselves, but a strong arm around his waist kept him upright the entire walk home, until they were climbing up the steps to Fortemps manor, followed by the stairs inside, until Stephanivien had led Artoirel all the way back to his own bedroom.
“It’s chilly in here.”
“Gets cold when the fire’s out…”
Stephanivien was removing Artoirel’s coat and boots, but when Artoirel reached for Stephanivien’s belt his hands were gently pushed away. “You’re just going to sleep.”
“Oh.”
Somehow Artoirel ended up in clean pajamas and tucked into bed and whenever he tried to grab at Stephanivien to pull him in with him or remove his clothes the attempts were firmly but gently rebuffed.
“Stay with me? Please?”
Long, slightly calloused fingers pushed Artoirel’s hair out of his face and Stephanivien finally leaned in close enough to kiss him. He pulled away before Artoirel could snake his arms too tightly around his neck. “Ask me again, when you are sober.”
Notes:
Not pictured: Aurvael and Francel high fiving over having tricked Artoirel into asking their brother on a date.
Chapter 5: Five
Notes:
I feel like this chapter took ages to write and poor Steph is in only one scene. He'll be back soon I'm sure.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, a sour feeling in his stomach, and a slow, dawning horror as he pieced together as much as he could of the night before. He’d made a complete fool of himself, in public no less, and directly at Stephanivien. He pulled his duvet up over his head as if it might help him to curl up and die right then and there. Halone did not strike him dead, but the darkness helped with the headache a little. He decided to take the day off work, or at least the morning, and to stay in bed for as long as he was able. When a maid came by to call him to breakfast he sent her away.
He managed to doze for a while longer until a knock at his door woke him again. He was about to call out that he still wasn’t feeling well when a voice called his name from the other side.
“Artoirel?” It wasn’t the voice of a maid or steward or anyone on staff, but his father. “Are you alright? You missed dinner last night as well.”
“… sorry, Father, I lost track of time helping Aymeric with work, and then went out for a drink after.” Artoirel peeked out from under the covers to see Edmont opening the door just a crack. “I… misjudged my tolerance level.”
“With Aymeric?”
“Er, with Stephanivien, actually.”
“Oh. Well, I am glad to hear you’ve made a friend, but do please look out for your health as well.”
“I will, Father. Thank you. It won’t happen again.” Stephanivien was unlikely to want anything to do with him after this anyhow. Making a friend, or whatever they might have been, turned out to be a terrible mistake.
“I’ll have somebody bring you some water, and you really ought to eat something once you are feeling up to it. It will help. Are you warm enough? It snowed heavily last night.”
“Yes. Thank you, Father.”
The door clicked closed and Artoirel was alone in the room again. He peered out the window to see a thick layer of snow on Haillenarte manor’s roof, and then around his room to see that there were still some burning embers in the hearth. He was certain there hadn’t been a fire lit when Stephanivien first brought him home.
It was early afternoon by the time Artoirel hauled himself out of bed for more time than it took to drink a glass of water or visit the washroom. He was still feeling rather poorly but his body refused to sleep any longer. He dragged himself over to the piano and sat on the bench. Its music stand had remained empty since he’d hidden the half-finished composition when Stephanivien had first visited. Artoirel really hadn’t had time to write much music since his father retired and he’d suddenly had to take over the role. It seemed the role of Count came with more responsibilities than he’d expected… but perhaps much of it was due to the transitional period their government was in.
Artoirel placed his fingers on the piano’s keys, but didn’t press any of them. When was the last time he’d played music just for fun? He couldn’t recall. He really ought to go downstairs to the office and try to get some work done. He hadn’t even gone through the files he’d gotten from Aymeric the night before. He removed his hands from the keyboard. Yes, work was the important thing. He needed to at least get something important done today, no matter how he felt physically or emotionally. He’d felt worse. He’d had the usual childhood illnesses and injuries, and gone on patrols like any other knight only to return home with fewer men, and dealt with his mother in the final weeks before the sickness took her… she’d grown so frail but also angry and delirious and had on more than one occasion confused him with Haurchefant. It had been a bitter taste of what his half-brother had dealt with his entire life. Artoirel had done what was required of him on those days. He could do it today as well.
Artoirel got up, combed his hair, and changed into clothes that were presentable enough if he stayed in the house. There was a steward waiting for him in the hallway. He greeted Artoirel with a small bow.
“My lord Artoirel, how are you feeling?”
“Well enough.” It was a lie but he saw no point in trying to explain how he did feel: achy and slightly nauseated and with an odd tightness in his chest whenever he thought back to the events of the night before and Stephanivien. “Did Father ask you to keep watch over me?”
“Ah… aye, m’lord. It is not my place to speculate, but he seemed concerned.”
“I see. Well, you may return to your other duties, I am alright.” He would be, at least. It had just been a little too much wine. Thilan was nearly constantly drinking far harder stuff with no apparent ill effects. Now that Artoirel thought about it the Warrior of Light was an extremely odd person and not a good point of comparison. Emmanellain though... Emmanellain had overindulged on a number of occasions and come out alright, and Artoirel considered himself to have the stronger constitution of the two of them. “I shall be in the office if anyone has need of me.”
He made it downstairs and into the office without further conversation with anyone. The folder he’d brought home the night before still sat on the desk, untouched, and some of the contents threatened to spill out from how hastily Artoirel had tossed it down. Artoirel slid into the desk chair, straightened out the papers and opened the file. He thought he’d at least be able to read through what he had and make a plan for how to approach things but his headache seemed to be getting worse again. He tried his best to ignore it and look over the paperwork anyway. It was a bit of a grab bag of things Aymeric had consented to part with: rough drafts of some proposals he’d written, some of which were little more than outlines, prospective laws and regulations written by other members of the House of Lords that required cosigners to come for a vote, and a surprising number of petty complaints from a variety of nobles about one another. Squabbles and rivalries and petty grievances were a fact of life among the nobility but Artoirel couldn’t fathom why any of them would think it worth the Lord Speaker’s time to try to sort such things out. Perhaps Aymeric was personally responding to the more reasonable messages he’d received and only given Artoirel the most pointless and irritating ones. Artoirel really needed to suggest Aymeric hire a secretary for handling such things.
Artoirel leaned forward onto the desk and put his head in his hands. He was certain he could handle this sort of thing under normal circumstances but the headache was getting worse. He wasn’t sure how long he sat in that position but he didn’t move even when Emmanellain opened the office door. Artoirel didn’t bother to look up. He knew it was his youngest brother because anyone else would have knocked first.
“I understand you had a little too much fun last night and are now dealing with a most terrible hangover. Worry not! Your handsome and loving brother has come to the rescue.”
“Emmanellain, I am really not in the mood.” Artoirel heard a gentle thunk of something being placed on the desk and looked up to see Emmanellain sliding over a whiskey glass containing a raw egg and some combination of red and brown sauces. It smelled of salt and chili and looked terribly unappealing. “What in the seven hells is that?”
“A hangover cure, Artoirel! Never say I don’t look after you.”
“Looks foul.” Artoirel wasn’t sure if he wanted more to ask if it worked or if it was a prank.
“Just swallow it, easiest if you do it all in one go.” Emmanellain seated himself on the edge of the desk.
Artoirel sighed, and, figuring it couldn’t make him feel any worse, picked up the glass and knocked back the contents. It didn’t taste any better than it looked and his throat threatened to cough it back up. He clapped a hand over his mouth and forced himself to swallow. “It’s horrible.”
“Well you don’t drink it for the flavor.” Emmanellain examined his own fingernails in a way that was probably intended to look nonchalant. “So… how was last night?”
“I suppose I don’t care what you say to the gossip papers anymore.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“I made a complete fool of myself, they’re probably writing something absolutely terrible about me already.” Stephanivien had practically had to carry him home, after all. Someone must have seen the two of them. “I doubt I’ll be seeing Stephanivien like that again anyhow, so there’s no longer anything to gossip about.”
“What?!” Emmanellain jumped back to his feet. “No! What about true love?” He looked, strangely, genuinely upset.
“Emmanellain, what are you talking about? This isn’t some kind of fairy tale for children.”
“Well it could have been true love, but you barely even gave it a go.”
“It wouldn’t have been, no matter what happened.” That strange tightness in Artoirel’s chest was back. He dismissed it as a hangover symptom. “It was a, uh, purely physical interest. Nothing more. I shan’t be pursuing it.”
Emmanellain let out an annoyed sounding huff. “Well, why not?”
Artoirel rubbed his eyes, his headache seemed to be worse. Emmanellain’s hangover cure wasn’t helping as much as promised, if at all. “I told you, I made a fool of myself.” He didn’t want to tell his brother how desperately and clumsily he’d been trying to get Stephanivien into bed with him, nor how firmly he’d been rejected. He vaguely remembered Stephanivien kissing him again, but that didn’t make sense. Artoirel guessed he must have wished for it so badly he’d dreamed it. He kept his head in his hands and sighed. “If Stephanivien had any romantic interest in me before, he certainly doesn’t now.”
Emmanellain remained uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before responding. “Well… you don’t know that unless you talk to him about it.”
“I’m not going to continue pursuing someone who’s clearly not interested the way you do with Laniaitte--” Artoirel cut himself off, but not quickly enough to stop from saying something much crueler than he’d intended. It was obvious how little romantic interest Laniaitte had in Emmanellain, obvious to everyone except Emmanellain. Artoirel’s eyes snapped up so he could examine his younger brother’s face for the inevitable pain he’d caused. Emmanellain was a delicate, sensitive sort; he wasn’t looking at Artoirel, and had turned to look out the window. “Emmanellain, I didn’t mean--”
“I know she’s not interested. I’m not stupid.”
“Eh? You know?”
Emmanellain looked at him again. He said he knew but his eyes looked slightly more damp than usual. “Of course I do! It’s just… it’s complicated.”
“Do… do you want to talk about it?” Artoirel reached out a foot beneath the desk and pushed out the chair Emmanellain had dragged over the other day. “I know I’m not the best at such things…”
Emmanellain flopped into the chair and pulled his knees up to his chest. It made him look more childlike than usual. “I don’t know.”
“I did ask Haurchefant to come visit soon, if you’d rather talk to him.”
“It’s just… Laniaitte is strong and smart and pretty and we were friends when we were little. She’s the sort of person I should fall in love with.”
“I see…” It was an oddly familiar concern. Artoirel may not have fixated on anyone in particular, but he understood all too well the idea of the sort of person he should, or should not, fall in love with. He wanted to tell Emmanellain to fall in love with whosoever he pleased, but it would sound so hypocritical coming from Artoirel right now.
“I just wish we could be friends again, actually friends, you know?”
“I suppose, you could try talking to her about that?”
“She’ll think it’s a ploy or trick of some sort.”
“You could tell her about… what’s his name?”
“Sicard.”
“Yes, him.”
“I don’t know…” Emmanellain fidgeted with the hem of his shirt sleeve. “I really like Sicard.”
“I gathered that much.”
“I haven’t told Father, I’m not sure what he would say.”
“Because Sicard is a man? Or a hyur? Or Lominsan?”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, I won’t force you to tell him, but Father does want for you to be happy. If he disapproves I shall back you up.”
“Why? You’ve never even met Sicard?”
“No, but… well if you like him I think that is good enough.” Artoirel cleared his throat. “But I will reserve the right to change my opinion of him once we meet. If he treats you well he should have nothing to worry about.”
Even after Emmanellain left the room Artoirel didn’t get any work done for the rest of the day. He put on some music and gazed out the window and eventually a steward brought him a sandwich and some tea despite his not having requested anything. A simple, relatively bland meal helped him feel a bit more like his usual self. His father had been right. One day of rest wouldn’t be the end of the world, Artoirel supposed.
The office was on the wrong side of the house to see Haillenarte manor through the window. It should have made it easier not to think about it but Artoirel found himself thinking of the house and its occupants all the same. The snow from the night before had piled up at least a fulm deep and it was still falling. During the war everyone would have trudged through the snow unless it piled so high they physically could not and in those cases someone would already be clearing it. Today there were a few scattered trails of footprints, but mostly the snow’s surface was pristine. There were still many important things to be done, but everything that had been so urgent during the war was now far less so. Artoirel wondered if Stephanivien would open the manufactory today, or would he too take the day off? He supposed he’d never know.
The snow didn’t stop falling for two and a half days. Artoirel mostly had enough work to occupy him that he didn’t need to leave the manor but by the third day he was outside with a shovel himself helping the knights and house staff clear away enough snow to make the front steps and their part of the street safer to walk on. Edmont had skipped his usual walks the past couple of days but he was likely to start again as soon as he could and Artoirel did not want his father slipping on the front steps and injuring himself. It would be an embarrassing irony to survive to see the end of the war only to be taken out by a patch of ice and trampled snow. He found himself wanting to do some physical work after spending so much time indoors recently anyhow.
Artoirel kept his eyes on the ground and his hands on the snow shovel and pretended he would not run into any of the Haillenartes in the street. Any of Stephanivien’s siblings would likely try to talk to him about… about the date. With Francel he might be able to change the subject to something else, the Firmament or Aymeric’s inspections or Haurchefant. Aurvael might be harder to deal with. Artoirel hadn’t spoken to him too many times, but it had been enough to know Aurvael was rather skilled at coaxing information out of people without them even realizing until it was too late. Laniaitte may not even know about the situation and if she did Artoirel could likely twist the conversation around to Emmanellain, but she was likely to be in the Sea of Clouds at the moment. As for Stephanivien himself, Artoirel both desperately wanted to see him again and was terrified of the idea.
It had to happen eventually. Nobility social circles were small and no matter how much Stephanivien avoided social functions he’d wind up at one by accident sooner or later. Perhaps Artoirel could avoid him until then. Perhaps in the mean time the memory of how disastrously he’d behaved would fade. Perhaps by then the attraction would have faded as well and they could speak to one another normally.
Or perhaps Stephanivien would step out of the front door of his home carrying an odd looking gun. Artoirel tried his very best not to look like he was looking and watched out of the corner of his eye as Stephanivien approached some of the staff clearing the snow from the Haillenarte side of the street only for them to somewhat frantically reject whatever he was suggesting to them. Artoirel froze. Stephanivien had spotted him and was now crossing the street, the depth of the remaining snow making it tricky even for someone with such long legs. He was smiling as if everything was fine.
“Lord Artoirel! I’m glad to see you looking well.”
Artoirel straightened his posture and attempted to look normal. “Lord Stephanivien… it’s good to see you looking well, yourself.” He didn’t exactly feel well. His stomach seemed to be twisting itself into knots and that odd tightness in his chest had returned. Part of him wanted to run away but he seemed to be frozen in place. He should apologize for his behavior the other evening… but he couldn’t bring himself to admit to such behavior in public. “I, ah, what is that?”
“This? Oh!” Stephanivien adjusted the… gun? It was shaped rather like a gun. “It’s a flamethrower. I thought it might help with clearing the snow.”
“Oh,” Artoirel saw now why the Haillenarte house staff had refused the help. “Well, it sounds like it could be dangerous.”
Stephanivien looked down at the flamethrower and then back at Artoirel. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. It was developed as a weapon originally, and Mother will be quite cross with me if I set the garden on fire again.”
Again? Artoirel was a little worried about what the answer might be if he asked about it. “Perhaps this is the sort of task for a different sort of invention, something more… controlled.”
“Ah! Yes! Like the ceruleum heater, you think?” Stephanivien’s smile had grown as broad as Artoirel had ever seen it. Confusing, Artoirel had assumed Stephanivien’s opinion of him would have soured after the other night, but he seemed as friendly and happy to see him as ever.
“Maybe? It is... somewhat outside my area of expertise.”
Stephanivien leaned in slightly, bringing a hand up to stroke his own chin. “And what is your area of expertise?”
“Er… law, I suppose?” And swordplay, and social etiquette, and business, and all the things a proper head of a noble house was supposed to be good at. “I’ve been training my entire life for the job of a count, so I hope I’ve managed some expertise there.”
“Hmm…” Stephanivien’s smile had faded slightly, still there but not quite so bright. Artoirel suddenly felt as if he’d answered the question incorrectly. “Perhaps I’ll ask for more details next time.”
“Next time?”
“Yes! When are you available?”
“Uh…” Was Stephanivien trying to ask him on a date? That was the last thing Artoirel had expected. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” In truth he probably could have made adjustments for just about any day but Artoirel feared looking desperate by agreeing too readily, or regretting agreeing to anything at all.
“Yes, of course!” If Stephanivien picked up on Artoirel’s worries it didn’t show in his face or tone of voice. “You’re very busy, after all. I understand.”
“I’m... sure you’re busy as well.” Artoirel found himself unsure what to say. He’d convinced himself before that Stephanivien would no longer have any interest in him after their previous encounter, but that seemed not to be the case. He had to admit, apart from the intense level of nervousness he felt whenever they saw one another, Artoirel had rather enjoyed their time together. It wasn’t just that Stephanivien was handsome, although he was, he was also kind and intelligent and had a sort of infectious air of positivity and excitement about him at almost all times. Artoirel wished he were so pleasant to be around. “I… I shall stop by the manufactory once I’ve confirmed a free evening.”
“Splendid! I look forward to seeing you!” Stephanivien leaned in, kissed Artoirel on the cheek, and headed back across the street to Haillenarte manor before Artoirel could even process what had just happened. He absentmindedly brought his fingertips to the side of his face, where Stephanivien’s lips had touched him just a moment ago.
“M-M’lord?”
Artoirel spun around to face the knight who had just spoken and pushed the shovel he’d been holding into the man’s hands. “No one is to say anything to anyone about what just happened. I am going inside.” He marched up the, now free of ice, front steps and into the manor, where he collapsed face first onto the nearest sofa in the front parlor.
“Artoirel? Are you alright?”
“Yes, Father. Perfectly fine.”
Artoirel’s schedule might have been full, but it was flexible, for the most part. He had to attend meetings of the House of Lords, of course, but proper meetings for debates and votes were somewhat far between and even then some of the heads of houses didn’t always show up. Artoirel wasn’t the sort to skip meetings. What they were supposed to be doing was too important. He also had the odd trade meeting with merchants from abroad. Ishgard was doing a lot more importing and exporting of goods these days and Artoirel would have been a fool not to try to get some of that trade for the benefit of House Fortemps. Wasn’t Emmanellain’s Lominsan boyfriend a ship captain? Perhaps Artoirel had reason to meet him apart from ensuring his little brother was being treated properly.
It had been a couple of days since the extended snowshower had stopped and Artoirel had to cross out a planned meeting with a merchant from Ul’dah. He’d received a missive today stating that they had canceled. It was annoying but Artoirel supposed if the snow came up to his knees in places it would be eye level on most Lalafell and he couldn’t rightly blame them for not wanting to travel in it. He wondered if he ought to start leaving the city for such meetings more, but he didn’t like giving up the negotiating advantage of playing host. At any rate he had a gap in his agenda he hadn’t had before.
He couldn’t believe he was now readjusting things with making time to see Stephanivien in mind. Perhaps he’d just… carve out the time and not say anything. Spend that evening relaxing at home, or getting ahead on the extra work he’d taken off Aymeric’s hands. He oughtn’t be entertaining this ‘date’ notion. Though Stephanivien hadn’t called it that, nor had he said what he was inviting Artoirel to do. That made him a bit nervous. He might have agreed to nearly anything just on account of who was asking.
The office doorknob turned with a soft click and the door opened just a crack. “Artoirel? Can I ask a favor?”
He looked up from the agenda to see Emmanellain peering through the partially open door. That was unusual. Typically Emmanellain would throw the door wide and sort of slide into the room with a bit of flourish. It wasn’t like him to do anything meekly. “What’s the matter?”
Emmanellain opened the door just wide enough to slip into the room and close it behind him. “I have decided to take your advice and speak with Lady Laniaitte.”
“Oh, good. Just be honest with her and I am certain everything will be alright.”
“Will you come to the Sea of Clouds with me? For moral support?”
Artoirel stared back at his brother for what felt like a very long time. “Are you certain you want me to? If you wait until Haurchefant returns home I’m sure he--”
“No!” Emmanellain coughed. “No, if I wait I might get scared and change my mind.”
“Well, I’m quite busy, but fortunately for you I just had a meeting get canceled.”
It had been a couple of days since the conversation with Stephanivien in the street when Artoirel and Emmanellain stepped onto the deck of an airship headed for Camp Cloudtop. There was something a bit exciting about wearing his armor again, even if they were unlikely to see any sort of battle. Artoirel instinctively reached to adjust a buckle on Emmanellain’s chainmail only to find everything had already been secured properly. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder instead.
“Remember, just be honest.”
“Right…”
The ship took off and Artoirel found a spot near the side of the ship where he could hold onto the rigging, enjoy the feeling of the wind in his hair and on his face, and watch the city and terrain below shrink into the distance. Emmanellain was pacing.
“Do try to stay calm, it will be easier if you do.”
Emmanellain stopped. “Seems like it wasn’t that long ago I made this trip with Thilan, right after we met him.”
“It’s been about two years.”
“I’ve never tried so hard to impress someone to have him be so… indifferent.”
“Well, he was already quite an accomplished adventurer then. People were already calling him Warrior of Light.”
“Laniaitte liked him right away.”
“Well, he did help save her little brother’s life, and as I recall Father didn’t fully warm up to him until after he saved you.”
Emmanellain let out an annoyed huff, “Don’t remind me.”
“If it helps, I’m not entirely proud of my behavior in those early days either.” The ship rose high enough to break through the cloud barrier, obscuring the ground below. Artoirel turned to look at Emmanellain.
“Yeah? You didn’t get kidnapped.”
“No, worse… I knowingly sent him into a potentially deadly situation, alone.”
Emmanellain stopped pacing. Artoirel realized that he must have never told his brother about that, and Thilan was so forgetful he wasn’t able to tell anyone. “He was fine in the end, came back with nary a scratch.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know that at the time. My point is no one is the best version of themselves at all times. We all do things we regret.”
“Hm…”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve matured a lot since then.”
“… you’ve, um, you’ve gotten nicer.”
Artoirel suppressed a laugh at that. It wasn’t much longer before the airship set down at Camp Cloudtop and they stepped off onto the floating archipelago of the Sea of Clouds. The rose knights stationed around mostly ignored them at first, until they noticed Emmanellain wasn’t alone and one of them rushed up to greet Artoirel.
“Count de Fortemps!” The knight looked nervous and was out of breath, he bowed. “What brings you to Camp Cloudtop?”
“Something of a social visit.” Artoirel smiled and the knight seemed to relax. “Is Ser Laniaitte busy?”
“I believe she is down at the Rosehouse, m’lord. I cannot say how busy she is.”
“We’ll make our way there, then. Thank you.”
No one else approached as Artoirel and Emmanellain climbed down the stairs to the next island and headed towards the Rosehouse.
“How do I look?” asked Emmanellain once they were out of earshot of any of the Haillenarte house knights. He attempted to smooth down his hair only for a few pieces to pop up again immediately after. Emmanellain had had that slight cowlick in his hair for as long as Artoirel could remember.
“You look fine, how do you feel?”
“I don’t know…”
“Did you warn Laniaitte we were coming?”
“Well… she kind of always expects me.”
That was less encouraging than Artoirel had hoped. Laniaitte was standing about where the knight had indicated, and chatting with a hyuran knight. They looked fairly casual. If Camp Cloudtop had been something of a dead end post during the war it hadn’t become a lot more exciting after the fact. Laniaitte spotted them before they got close enough to speak, and her facial expression visibly soured. Emmanellain’s posture shifted subtly into his usual boisterous demeanor and he trotted ahead. The hyuran knight made herself scarce.
Artoirel resisted the urge to sigh and let Emmanellain run ahead. He should have expected this. Emmanellain had been so nervous about telling Laniaitte of his actual feelings, of course he was going to revert back to his usual pattern of behavior. Artoirel caught up just in time to catch the tail end of some flowery compliment on the color of Laniaitte’s eyes. Her attention immediately shifted to Artoirel as he approached.
“Count Artoirel, to what do I owe the visit?”
Artoirel elbowed his brother in the ribs, just hard enough to be felt through his armor. “Evidently, I am here to keep my dear brother on task. I hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
Emmanellain coughed and stopped speaking. Laniaitte looked confused and also said nothing.
“Tell her the truth, Emmanellain.”
“Ah, I…” Emmanellain suddenly became very interested in looking at his own boots. “Lady Laniaitte, though you are still the loveliest girl in all of Ishgard, I… that is to say… I hope that we can still be friends, but, um, my heart has been stolen by another.”
Laniaitte’s expression immediately softened, she brought a hand up to her own cheek as she considered how to reply. “...Is that so? She must be a very special person.”
“Y-yes. He is…”
Artoirel gave Emmanellain what he hoped was an encouraging pat on the shoulder and said that he’d leave them to speak in private, before wandering off to find a place to wait for them to finish talking. He found a large plant he could lean against and still see Emmanellain and Laniaitte, though he was now far enough away not to be able to hear them. Emmanellain appeared a little less animated than usual. Laniaitte appeared to be earnestly listening to him for a change.
The conversation didn’t take as long as Artoirel expected, but he supposed Emmanellain did have a habit of talking more quickly when he was nervous. Before long he saw Laniaitte give Emmanellain a decidedly platonic hug, and then Emmanellain was jogging towards Artoirel with a smile on his face and tears subtly gathering in the corners of his eyes.
“Laniaitte truly is the loveliest girl in all of Ishgard!”
“It sounds as if it went well.”
“Yes! She said she was happy for me and we could stay friends, and I should be with whosoever I please.”
“Laniaitte is a smart woman.”
“She really is. Oh!” Emmanellain almost seemed to startle himself. “She said she wanted to speak to you as well. Only briefly.”
“Oh?” That was odd. Artoirel couldn’t imagine what Laniaitte might want to talk to him about. She was smiling as he approached her.
“I understand you’ve been spending a lot of time with my brother Stephanivien recently.”
“Oh.” Of course she knew. “I guess I have, somewhat.”
Laniaitte was still smiling, but in a serious, businesslike way. The casual posture she’d had before had shifted into that of a trained soldier. “I greatly respect my brother, but he’s not always the best at picking up on subtle social cues. If you’re disinterested in a relationship, be straightforward with him, and don’t lead him on.”
“I…” Artoirel suddenly felt very nervous in a way he hadn’t expected. The Sea of Clouds might have been rather cold, but he was certain he felt sweat run down the back of his neck. “I’m unsure how I feel about a… relationship, but I can assure you I’ve only been honest with him.”
Laniaitte looked unconvinced.
“If either of us is leading the other anywhere, it’s Stephanivien.” That was the scary part, Artoirel couldn’t seem to stop himself from following.
“Hmm.” Laniaitte folded her arms across her chest. She may have been smaller than him but Artoirel had no doubt in his mind that she could throw him off the island if he gave her sufficient cause to do so. “Well, I’ll be checking in with my brothers. Emmanellain isn’t the only one who comes home from time to time.”
Emmanellain was far less fidgety on the airship ride back to the city. Artoirel sat down on the deck and wondered what he would do when he next saw Stephanivien. He could hardly blame Laniaitte for being protective, even if Stephanivien was several years older than her and could handle himself just fine.
“What did Laniaitte want to talk to you about anyhow?” asked Emmanellain.
“Her brother.” Artoirel didn’t need to specify which one.
“Oh. Are you going to see him again?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Emmanellain paused and seemed to be thinking hard for a moment. He gasped, “If you go out again that’s the third date!”
“I don’t see why that would matter--”
Emmanellain dropped to sit next to him on the deck and leaned in. “I’ve been learning about commoner courtship practices, the third date is when you have sex.”
“… what?”
Emmanellain refused to elaborate further when asked. Was that a hard rule? Where had he learned that? What actually counted as a ‘date’ anyway? Emmanellain either didn’t know the answers or was uncomfortable stating them. In any case Stephanivien spent a lot of time among commoners, it made perfect sense he’d follow their rule book for such things. Did commoners even write their social rules into books? Probably not given that many of them lacked the benefit of a formal education. Not all commoners were literate, after all. Artoirel spent the rest of the trip quietly working himself into a panic.
Ishgardian nobility had fairly strict rules for courtship etiquette. They weren’t always followed to the letter, but when they were a couple might not get a proper unsupervised conversation until weeks or months into the relationship. Sex was something to be saved until after marriage. Artoirel knew this was rarely observed in practice, but in public people generally pretended that it was. Affairs and one night stands, on the other hand, had no rules whatsoever apart from their being kept secret. All of Artoirel’s previous sexual encounters had been of the one night stand variety. Most of those men, not that there had been many, he’d never seen again after, and if he had he’d have pretended not to recognize them. He’d never attempted to court anyone. Not that the rules about it considered the possibility of a man courting another man. Commoner dating rules were entirely alien to him. If he and Stephanivien were going to do...whatever it was they were doing, Artoirel had no idea how to approach it. Keeping it a secret seemed impossible at this point, and Stephanivien seemed to have no interest in doing so. At the very least Artoirel needed a second opinion on this whole third date business. The issue was who could he possibly get it from? He wasn’t close enough with any of the Fortemps house staff for that, and Aymeric seemed an inappropriate option if he would even have an answer. Straightforwardly asking Stephanivien what he was expecting was right out.
When Artoirel and Emmanellain returned home for the day nothing appeared out of the ordinary until they set foot in the parlor to find two very familiar figures chatting with their father. Haurchefant’s armor, he’d traded in the standard chainmail for a combination of leather and plate, was dusty from travel, his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and his skin slightly sun-kissed. The Warrior of Light, Thilan, looked the same as the first time Artoirel had laid eyes on him: white hair, dark grey skin covered liberally with pale freckles, glasses, and a rapier on his hip. He had one arm hooked around Haurchefant’s, and was studiously jotting something into a notebook. Haurchefant noticed them first. “Ah, we were just wondering when the two of you would get home.”
Artoirel absolutely could not ask the two of them for dating advice. He couldn’t, they’d give an answer that was weird or too detailed or… there wasn’t anyone else to ask.
Notes:
I stopped waffling and decided to write Haurchefant and my WoL into the story, mostly because Haurchefant is really funny imho.
Chapter 6: Six
Notes:
god this chapter took so much longer to write than I wanted
I'm a little nervous about posting it as I haven't fully proofread everything more than once yet and the chapter ended up with more of a presence from my WoL than expected. I hope everyone will be able to like or at least tolerate him.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel supposed he ought to have expected Haurchefant and Thilan to turn up suddenly. He’d requested they visit in his last letter to them, and Thilan had an uncanny habit of accidentally turning up exactly where he was needed exactly when he was needed. Even for small things. Artoirel had heard enough rumors about the Warrior of Light appearing out of nowhere to aid complete strangers with the gardening or finding a lost item or rescuing a pet from a tree. No task was beneath him, evidently, and Artoirel had just been thinking he needed help with the smallest, most personal of problems. Thilan really didn’t seem the sort to have good dating advice, but he did know Stephanivien and he’d been surprising before. He just needed to find the right time to talk to him… both of them. Thilan and Haurchefant were rarely apart if they could help it. Artoirel could admit there was something charming about that habit but in this sort of situation it was more irritating. He really, truly, did not want to have to ask Haurchefant for help in matters of romance or sex. Even if his half brother was like to have usable advice, Artoirel felt shameful enough that he was considering asking anyone.
“When did you get into town?!” The excitement in Emmanellain’s voice was clear.
Thilan turned to look at the chronometer on the mantle, gave a small hum, and kept staring at it for an unusually long time.
“We only just arrived,” Haurchefant helpfully offered.
“It would seem everyone has arrived in time for dinner,” Edmont’s tone was calm but he was smiling. “Rather impeccable timing, don’t you think?”
It took Artoirel a moment to realize that his father had turned to look at him. He cleared his throat to give himself another moment to compose himself. “Yes, Father, it’s most fortuitous. It has been quite some time since we’ve all been here at once.”
Artoirel wondered when the last time had even been. His Father’s most recent name day, probably, but that had been a larger sort of party with guests. More guests than expected. It was customary to invite members of many noble houses to such things even knowing they would decline. Evidently a lot of people wanted to meet the Warrior of Light and news of his presence had drawn more interest than expected. Thilan had gotten overwhelmed and hidden for the latter half of the evening. The last time everyone had been home without any sort of formal event with guests had been… around Starlight he supposed. There had been parties and the like to host and attend then as well but not every night. Some nights had been quiet with only family and the regular house staff.
“Well,” Emmanellain piped up again, “I have been having a rather good day so far, and I shall not like to sour it by wearing my armor to the dinner table.” He gave Thilan a light tap on the arm, startling him out of continuing to stare at the chronometer. Artoirel suspected Thilan had forgotten why he’d turned to look at it in the first place.
“Right… we should probably get cleaned up ourselves.” Thilan smiled in that sort of nervous, awkward way he tended to do when he was trying not to appear disoriented. Teleporting halfway around the world could do that to anyone, and the Warrior of Light was already a bit off kilter most of the time.
Everyone went their separate ways to prepare for dinner. Artoirel asked his manservant to draw him a bath while he doffed his armor and combed out his hair. The wind on the airship ride may have been refreshing but it always left his hair a terrible tangle. The bath was full and the manservant departed before Artoirel got his hair fully combed out. At least a long soak in hot water should give him time to collect his thoughts and figure out what he was going to do.
Laniaitte’s… it was more a warning than a threat, he felt, had made perfect sense to Artoirel, even if it had caused him to break out in a cold sweat. After all, he’d be just as protective of Emmanellain, if less overtly, Haurchefant too, excepting he seemed to be the most well versed in matters of love of the three of them. Artoirel found little reason to worry about him in that particular arena, especially after getting to know Thilan a little bit. For as odd and honestly dangerous as the Warrior of Light could be, he was almost absurdly devoted to Haurchefant. Artoirel couldn’t imagine him handling his brother unkindly.
Artoirel closed his eyes and submerged himself fully in the bath. Perhaps Laniaitte’s concerns had merit. Perhaps he was leading Stephanivien on, albeit unintentionally. When he thought about it Artoirel really had no clue how Stephanivien felt about the situation. Evidently he enjoyed their time together enough to want to continue, and each time they’d shared a kiss Stephanivien had been the one to initiate it. Perhaps it was simply a physical attraction on Stephanivien’s part? Artoirel didn’t consider himself unattractive. He might not look like much next to Aymeric, but he took decent enough care of himself. But then, there were a lot of attractive people in the world, Stephanivien among them. He could probably have his pick of partners. And if all he wanted was a physical relationship why hadn’t Stephanivien tried to get him into bed yet? Artoirel’s lungs started to burn and he came up for air. Trying to think things through was helping less than he’d hoped. Maybe he really did need to talk to someone about it. Artoirel resolved to try to speak to Thilan alone after dinner.
“...and after a few days they draw a lot and if your number comes up you get the housing plot and if it doesn’t you have to go and collect the gil you put down or else you lose it.” Thilan was using his fork more for gesturing than eating, which for him was unusually animated. For all his troubles with memory and scheduling and keeping track of things, he’d apparently put great effort into keeping track of the housing market schedules.
“I don’t know why you want a little house like that anyway,” said Emmanellain.
“You always have a place to stay here,” Edmont reminded. “You’re part of the family and the manor has plenty of space.”
“I know…” Thilan sort of trailed off. Haurchefant guided the hand holding the fork back down to the plate and Thilan seemed to remember he was supposed to be eating. He stabbed the fork into his popotoes gratin but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “It’s just, a house of my own would be something of my own. I could do whatever I liked with it.”
“He likes furniture and decorating,” Haurchefant added with a small shrug.
Artoirel suspected they wanted a private place to have sex, which he could understand conceptually, if not in practice. He certainly didn’t want to know the details, but Haurchefant had enough of a reputation that even Artoirel couldn’t fully avoid knowing about it. “Have you talked to Aymeric about it? He’d have the authority to--”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want any special favors or… or strings pulled on my behalf.”
“I shan’t mention it to him then.” Artoirel brought his napkin to his mouth. “Aymeric’s been overworking himself again, so I do think a social visit may do him some good.”
Haurchefant laughed. “Well, we’ll be here until the end of the week when the housing lottery ends, that should give ample time to visit with a few people.”
“Assuming nothing calls us away.” Thilan’s tone gave away the fact that he somewhat expected to be called away, although he seemed more resigned to the fact than upset about it. There were often a lot of things demanding the Warrior of Light’s attention.
“That reminds me, I bumped into Francel de Haillenarte when I was mailing that last letter. I promised him I’d remind you to pay him a visit.”
Haurchefant laughed again. “I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t.”
“Why not invite the Haillenartes to dinner sometime soon?” Edmont suggested, “You’ve been spending more time with Stephanivien lately, haven’t you?”
Artoirel nearly choked on a bite of steak and quickly took a sip of wine to wash it down. “Aye, Father, a little bit.” Nothing about his father’s expression indicated that he had any idea what the nature of Artoirel’s relationship with Stephanivien was. It made sense, Artoirel wasn’t certain what their relationship was. He glanced over at his brothers. Emmanellain had a sort of odd, closed mouth smile on his face, and was clearly struggling not to break into a wider, more conspicuous grin. Haurchefant had both eyebrows raised so high they disappeared fully behind his hair. Thilan had finally placed his fork into his mouth. Artoirel feared something about his expression was giving something away. He took another sip of wine. “It is a good idea, they may not be available on short notice, but I shall extend an invitation.”
If Edmont noticed anything amiss he did not mention it for the rest of the meal. Artoirel spent dessert listening to Emmanellain recount a story from his most recent trip to Limsa Lominsa and a bar fight where he’d defeated several pirates single handedly. It had to be embellished, if not outright fabricated, as Emmanellain’s combat stories tended to be. Haurchefant, of course, listened and reacted as if it were completely unimpeachable. Artoirel needed to work out the best and least suspicious way to separate his half-brother and… Thilan wasn’t technically his brother in law but he might as well have been. In any case Artoirel wanted to speak to one and not the other alone. He should do it without lying either. Thilan hated being deliberately deceived, probably because it was frighteningly easy to do. He settled on being vague instead and as everyone was leaving the table Artoirel caught the Warrior of Light by the sleeve and asked that he come to the office for a moment. “I’d like your opinion on something.”
“Oh, alright.”
Artoirel had forgotten to account for the fact that Thilan was agreeable to a fault. Once they were alone in the office together he realized he’d also forgotten to decide exactly what to ask and how to ask it. They stood on opposite sides of the desk and stared at one another awkwardly. Thilan reached for his pocket and pulled out a notebook. “You… needn’t write anything down. I shall not ask you to recall any of it.”
“Oh.”
“I suppose I need a listening ear, and you’re my best available option.”
“Oh! I can do that,” Thilan visibly perked up slightly. “People keep telling me duskwights are good listeners.”
“Well, you’re a good listener, at the very least. Sit down.” Artoirel sat in his own chair and leaned forward onto the desk. Thilan sort of perched on the edge of the opposite chair as if he may need to leap up at any moment. “You see, the issue I’m having is somewhat personal, and I do not have many personal friends to speak to about it.”
Thilan tilted his head the way some animals do when hearing a strange new sound. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t have more friends. I like you.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t really the point.” Artoirel cleared his throat. “I seem to have stumbled into a relationship of sorts, with, ah, another man, and I’m not sure how to proceed or if I even should at all.”
“Did you, er, want advice on the, um, mechanics? When it comes to toys and things Haurchefant knows where to buy--”
“N-no, I can figure that part out, thank you.” Artoirel felt his face grow rather warm and his entire body tense up. Thilan slowly straightened his posture again and looked up at the ceiling.
“Oh, well, I don’t know too much about romancing someone. Haurchefant pursued me, and if I had any prior relationships I’ve long forgotten them.”
“Hm, I suppose if one of us is doing the pursuing, it is him.” Artoirel hadn’t quite thought about it in those terms before. Stephanivien was certainly the more forward of the two of them, but Artoirel would have compared it more to being led and himself following. It was an invitation rather than a chase. “I’m quite certain he would stop, if I were to ask, but I haven’t asked.”
“Do you want him to stop?” The confusion in Thilan’s voice was clear. Of course he didn’t pick up on the problem. He wasn’t Ishgardian.
“I should, it’s… improper.” Artoirel sighed and leaned forward to place his head in his hands. This was a mistake. He rubbed his eyes for a moment before looking at the man seated across from him again. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand. There are… expectations, for someone in my position.”
Thilan leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms and legs and looked up at the ceiling again. “Hmm… is there some kind of rule against it? I was under the impression that as count you could more or less do as you pleased.”
“Emmanellain told you that, didn’t he? It isn’t that simple.”
“He may have, I don’t recall.” Of course he didn’t.
“It’s less of a rule, I doubt I shall be directly punished, but having a good reputation among the rest of the house of lords is very important, and I already have less respect among them than I would like.”
“And being with this person would damage your reputation? Is he not respectable?”
Artoirel paused before replying. He’d been deliberately vague about who, precisely, he was involved with but he was still slightly offended at the suggestion that Stephanivien might be anything less than honorable. Sure, he may have been a bit odd, unpredictable even, but Stephanivien was brave and kind and brilliant and cared for Ishgard and her people as much as if not more so than any knight. Furthermore, he’d been right about the difference, or lack thereof, between Ishgardian nobility and commoners. “He’s very respectable, if anything he’s afforded far less respect than he deserves.”
Thilan smiled, “you have that in common, then.”
“Hm… I suppose he and I have a lot in common.” On paper at least, up close he and Stephanivien seemed so, so different. “I… don’t know what I should do.”
“Well,” Thilan began and then paused for an unusually long time, “It sounds like you like him.”
“Being around him makes me feel… something. I cannot put it into words.”
“I think, if you like him, you should appreciate his company, even if other people might judge.” Thilan folded his hands in his lap, and instead of looking up, as he often did when trying to find his wording, he looked down at his own hands. “You never know if your time together may be cut short.”
Artoirel didn’t know how to respond. It almost sounded as if Thilan spoke from experience, but if Haurchefant was the only person he could recall being with…
The office door opened revealing Emmanellain practically sliding into the room. Haurchefant stood more politely just on the other side of the doorway. Both of them were smiling.
“See? They’re in here!”
“So they are.”
Thilan was already on his feet and stepping in to wrap his arms around Haurchefant’s midsection. Artoirel wondered if anyone would ever leap up to embrace him like that.
Artoirel didn’t realize until the following day that he’d neglected to ask Thilan about the ‘third date rule’ Emmanellain had told him about. It had to be fake, right? Emmanellain didn’t know what he was talking about. Emmanellain also, usually, got these kinds of ideas from somewhere. Someone had to know what the kernel of truth there was. Thilan probably wouldn’t know, but he was still the least objectionable person to ask. He was also currently in the housing districts, with Haurchefant, trying to buy a house. Artoirel had no idea how long that would take or when they’d be back.
Breakfast that morning was a relatively quiet affair. Emmanellain, as usual, had a lot of words to say very little and Artoirel had to contribute little to the conversation himself. He spoke up only to ask which days would be most convenient to invite the Haillenartes to dinner, and returned to the office to pen the invitation first thing before getting engrossed in other work. He tried to keep it concise and polite without being overly formal. In many ways Baurendouin de Haillenarte was the easiest to deal with of the other three High House counts. He’d been good friends and political allies with Artoirel’s father for many years, after all. He was never really rude or unkind, but Artoirel always got the sense that the man struggled to see him as an adult. Perhaps his father would be willing to give the invitation a look over before it was to be delivered. Artoirel thought he had a decent enough first draft and exited the office with the invitation in hand. Edmont was most likely in the study.
Artoirel didn’t make it to the study. He climbed the stairs back up to the ground floor to find Haurchefant and Thilan entering the house. Right, he had to ask about… about third dates. He carefully folded the invitation as if it were ready to send and approached them.
“I’m afraid you missed breakfast, but the kitchen staff can still prepare something for you.”
“Splendid! We’re famished,” Haurchefant laughed, “We had to do a few laps around the housing districts before deciding which house to bid on.”
Thilan was wringing his hands slightly. “I just… I needed to weigh all my options.”
“Well, I hope you are lucky this time.” Artoirel ran his fingers across the crease on the invitation and tried to figure out how to word himself. “I am glad to see you back, I had hoped to ask something of you.”
“Oh?” Thilan stopped wringing his hands. “Is that the dinner invitation for the Haillenartes?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to deliver it?”
Artoirel glanced nervously at Haurchefant, who now had a curious expression on his face, and then at Thilan, who appeared almost excited. “...yes?”
The invitation was in the Warrior of Light’s hand and he was out the front door before Artoirel could say anything more. Haurchefant folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head slightly. It wasn’t a mannerism he used to have. He must have picked it up from Thilan, except when Haurchefant did it he looked more incredulous than confused. “Artoirel, you’ve broken out in a sweat.”
“H- have I? It is… warm, in the office.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it.” A mischievous smile appeared on Haurchefant’s face. “You wanted to ask something else, didn’t you?”
Artoirel had a strong urge to retreat back downstairs to the office but forced himself to straighten his posture and look as serious as possible. Haurchefant might have grown broader and more muscular than he had but they were the same height and Artoirel was still the elder brother. “Perhaps, but it’s something I had hoped to discuss with him alone.”
“Hm… a matter of love, then, is it?”
Artoirel had no idea how Haurchefant had guessed. "What makes you say that?"
"If it were a matter of business or politics, I doubt you'd be so hesitant to answer plainly." Haurchefant's grin broadened. "Additionally, we saw some rather interesting tabloid headlines on the walk back from Empyreum. Nice not to be above the fold myself, for a change."
Artoirel felt his pulse quicken, but did his best not to let it show in his body language. "Whatever you read, it isn't true."
"Oh? Well, in that case... Thilan and I were considering inviting a third person into the bedroom, and we're both fond of Stephanivien. Perhaps he would be--"
"NO!" The protest leapt out of Artoirel's mouth before he could stop himself. "Ah, I mean..."
Something about his reaction must have come off as genuinely upset, because Haurchefant's smile softened. "Hey, I was just teasing. I am glad to hear you are seeing someone, and you could certainly do worse than Steph. He's a good person."
Fury, Haurchefant called him 'Steph' also? Artoirel cleared his throat. "Seeing someone feels like something of an overstatement. Truth be told I'm not certain what we've been doing."
"Emmanellain tells me you've been on a couple of dates."
"Of course he told you."
Haurchefant laughed. "Naturally. Gods, and you wanted to ask Thilan for help with this? Adorable though he may be, he's only ever been seductive by accident."
"It's less about seduction and more of... er, Emmanellain mentioned a sort of commoner rule about dating?"
"Hm?" Haurchefant genuinely looked confused now. He raised an eyebrow and his smile faded fully.
"So you don't know what he's talking about either?"
"I'm not certain they have rules, as such, it's more informal, and Thilan certainly wouldn't know."
"I suppose I'd hoped he'd have an outside perspective." Artoirel paused, how long had they been talking? "Has Thilan been gone an unusually long time?"
"Haillenarte manor is just across the street, he couldn't possibly have gotten lost between..." Hauchefant trailed off. "I shall go and look for him."
Artoirel volunteered to help. He could hardly go back to focusing on work at the moment and they were like to find him faster if they split up. Perhaps Artoirel could even retrieve his first draft dinner invitation before it was delivered to Count Baurendouin.
No such luck. Artoirel and Haurchefant crossed the street to talk to the Haillenartes' doorman, who informed them that Thilan had dropped off the invitation and it had already been taken inside.
"I shall look forward to the Count's response," said Artoirel, "Did you happen to see which way Thilan went when he left?"
"Ah, no, m'Lord, I handed the note off to a steward and when I turned back your courier was gone."
"Gods, I know he doesn't vanish on purpose, but he's worse than Estinien sometimes." There was a tinge of exasperation in Haurchefant's voice. Artoirel supposed any couple together for long enough did things that irritated one another, and for all Thilan's good qualities he did have a terrible habit of simply disappearing sometimes.
"I'm sure he'll turn up when he's next needed, he always does," Artoirel offered.
"True, but we missed breakfast and he'll forget to feed himself if I'm not there to remind him." Haurchefant sighed. "I shall head down to Foundation and begin searching for him there. Can you search the Pillars?"
"Yes, of course."
They parted ways and Artoirel began a gradual loop around the neighborhood. There weren't many places in Ishgard's very upper levels that Thilan was like to visit of his own volition apart from Fortemps Manor. Perhaps he'd stop by the Athenaeum Astrologicum, but the odds seemed low and Artoirel did not want to talk to Jannequinard de Durendaire. He did not go inside to look. The Jeweled Crozier seemed more likely. Even the Warrior of Light needed to buy things on occasion, and if he actually managed to buy a house he might want things to furnish it with.
The markets were about as bustling as one might expect on any given morning, but lacked the tell tale crowd that tended to form whenever enough people began to recognize the Warrior of Light. It rarely took long in the more crowded parts of the city. Thilan had a very distinctive appearance, after all.
Artoirel reached the end of the street, and the archway and staircase leading down towards Foundation... and the Manufactory. His feet kept walking almost of their own volition. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to stop in. Thilan might go to the manufactory, and Artoirel could ask Stephanivien to keep an eye out for him. He told himself that was his only reason for going inside as he opened the door and stepped into the upper level of the Manufactory's main room.
He needn't go any further. Artoirel instantly spotted Stephanivien on the lower area of the Manufactory floor, talking to Haurchefant and Thilan. He was still wearing that red cord in his hair. Artoirel's feet started to carry him down the stairs. As he approached Artoirel could hear some of their conversation as they shouted to hear one another over the sounds of the nearby machinery.
"It was really only about a bell, at most."
"Oh, good, for me it seemed longer. I was trying to get back."
"Oh! Count Artoirel!" Of course Stephanivien had been the first to notice him. "I am glad to see you! I have something I wanted to show you." Stephanivien reached an arm out towards him, and when Artoirel approached close enough that arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him in closer.
"Er, you have?" Artoirel felt his face grow a bit warm. Stephaniven was smiling and looked a bit flushed himself. It must have been a trick of the light, or perhaps he’d been doing some sort of strenuous work just a moment ago. In either case Artoirel felt as if he might drift away and Stephanivien’s arm was the only thing holding him in place.
Haurchefant laughed and the sound pulled Artoirel back into the physical space. "I think that's our cue to head home." Haurchefant held up one hand to show he had a firm grip on his boyfriend's. "We shall see you back at the manor later."
Haurchefant and Thilan disappeared back out of the Manufactory's front door, leaving Artoirel there with Stephanivien's arm around him. If Artoirel didn't know better he'd think they'd set him up. Haurchefant he may have suspected, but there was no way Thilan was that conniving.
Stephanivien's other arm came up to pull Artoirel into something more like a proper embrace and he pressed his nose and lips into Artoirel's hair. Artoirel tried, and failed, not to look directly down the low cut opening of Stephanivien's shirt. It really wasn't fair for him to have such a nice chest and then also to show it off like that. How could he expect anyone not to stare? There were probably people staring at the two of them right now.
“You… wanted to show me something?”
“Oh! Yes! This way.” Stephanivien stepped back slightly, but rather than releasing Artoirel entirely he ran a hand down Artoirel’s arm to take him by the hand. He didn’t need to pull at all for Artoirel to follow, and led him through a back door and down a short hallway to another room about halfway filled with storage shelving. The shelves themselves were over filled with machinery and boxes filled with wiring and odd bits of metal. The other half of the room contained a large work table, a drafting table covered with blueprints and design sketches and a cluttered but otherwise unremarkable desk. Stephanivien grinned at him. “It’s an office!”
“… so it is. You said you didn’t have one?” Artoirel didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
“I thought about what you said before, about expecting one, and you were right. I should have an office at the manufactory. This was all storage before, but it’s proved quite useful to have a space on site for working on new designs and ideas.”
“Oh.” Artoirel looked around the room again, it was all pretty unassuming but it felt more private than sitting in a booth at a small bar or being dragged into a cramped closet just off the manufactory floor. It was the first time Artoirel felt like the two of them were truly alone. “Are you… ah, are you working on anything interesting?”
Stephanivien’s face lit up. “Yes, actually!” He had yet to release Artoirel’s hand and led him over to the drafting table. The small bench in front of it was designed for a single person, but if they squeezed together close enough they could both fit. Artoirel found himself sort of tucked under Stephanivien’s arm and pressed close into his side. It would have been surprisingly comfortable if Artoirel’s heart wasn’t threatening to beat its way out of his chest. He tried to act natural and folded his hands in his lap, and tried not to think about how Stephanivien’s thigh felt touching his own nor how few ilms he’d need to move his hand to touch him more deliberately.
Stephanivien, for his part, seemed completely calm, and simply happy to show off things he’d been working on lately. Up close, the schematics turned out to be meticulously detailed, filled with precise technical drawings and copious notes and equations written in tight, tiny lettering. Artoirel could read the words, but strung together he had little idea what they meant. For as chaotic as Stephanivien could be much of the time, his mechanical designs were shockingly orderly, at least when Artoirel looked at each sheet of parchment individually and ignored the haphazard way they were arranged on the drafting table. Stephanivien showed off a few designs he must be particularly proud of: a gun that could fire an extremely long range, the heater he was working on for the Garleans, a sort of Ishgardian take on magitek armor, and a controlled snow-melting device like Artoirel had suggested when last they spoke. Artoirel didn’t understand a lot of the smaller details when Stephanivien explained how they were supposed to work, but there was something soothing about just listening to Stephanivien’s voice. He had such enthusiasm for everything he was working on, it was almost childlike if one ignored the complexity of the ‘toys’ in question. Artoirel took great pride in his own work, but he could not say he ever truly found it fun. His work was interesting and intellectually stimulating on the good days, but not fun.
“Oh, if I can work this one out, you might find it useful.” Stephanivien pulled a smaller design out of the nest of schematics stuck to the table. It was less overtly complex than many of the other ones and Artoirel could clearly see it was some kind of a teacup. “Tell me, do you ever forget your tea and by the time you remember it’s gone fully cold?”
“All the time.”
“It seems, if I were to embed some kind of heating element in the cup, it should keep the tea warm for as long as needed.”
“That does sound useful.”
Stephanivien’s smile softened slightly, “Unfortunately my first prototype cracked, I’m unsure if it was the heating element or just that I’m unused to working with porcelain and made a mistake somewhere. I thought about using a different material but Aurvael said it ought to resemble a regular teacup as much as possible if we want anyone to buy them.”
“Hm, he is not wrong, nobles can be a traditional, fickle lot.”
Stephanivien laughed. “Not all of us.”
Artoirel found himself smiling too. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point his heart rate had returned to normal, and the tension in his shoulders had relaxed. There was still that nervous feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach, but now it was as much excitement as it was fear. “No, not all of us, but I fear no one in the House of Lords is quite as forward thinking as you are.”
“Ah, yes, I know from experience how difficult it can be to convince my father of anything, I don’t envy the task.”
“He’s hardly the most stubborn of them.” It now occurred to Artoirel that he ought to tell Stephanivien about the dinner invitation and work out some ground rules for their behavior should Count Baurendouin accept. Stephanivien’s fingers were lacing their way into Artoirel’s hair and the pad of a thumb traced lightly along the length of his ear. It sent a tingly sort of sensation down Artoirel’s spine and he forgot all about the invitation and familial dynamics that might complicate things. There was just him and Stephanivien and the lack of space between them. Artoirel’s breath caught in his throat.
“Hm? Are you alright?”
“Yes…” Artoirel paused as he considered how to word things. There wasn’t anything particularly salacious about the way Stephanivien was touching him. It was more that there was any touch at all that caused Artoirel’s thoughts to become erratic and his blood to rush to embarrassing places. He couldn’t simply say what sort of effect Stephanivien’s hands were having on him. That would be absurd, uncouth, and entirely inappropriate. “I…”
“You’re blushing.” The thumb ran along his ear again, a little more firmly this time, and Artoirel couldn’t prevent a rather undignified noise escaping his throat. Stephanivien laughed. “It’s cute.”
“Cute?” No one had described him that way since he’d been very small, Stephanivien must be exaggerating.
Stephanivien leaned in slightly, not that he had to move far, and Artoirel surprised himself by closing the remainder of the gap himself and pressing their lips together. It was… nice to kiss someone. Nice to want to kiss someone specific. Artoirel struggled to recall who the previous specific person had been.
Artoirel’s hands found their way to Stephanivien’s waist, and then up to his chest. The outer layers of his clothing were made of a stiff, heavy fabric, not the sort of thing a nobleman would be expected to wear, but he could still feel how solid and well muscled Stephanivien’s body was beneath. Stephanivien tightened his grip on Artoirel’s hair and gave it a firm but gentle tug, causing Artoirel to moan into his mouth. It surprised him. Artoirel wouldn’t have guessed that having his hair pulled might actually feel good.
When he broke the kiss it hadn’t been because he wanted to, but because Artoirel had forgotten to breathe and pulled back with an audible gasp. Another tug on his hair and he tilted his head back, allowing Stephanivien access to his collar, which was soon unbuttoned, and throat, which was currently being peppered with kisses and love bites. Artoirel felt uncharacteristically relaxed, content to let Stephanivien do as he pleased with him, until a third button on his shirt came undone and a question crossed his mind.
Was this the third date?
Were they supposed to… was Artoirel supposed to… he wasn’t ready, and by the Fury it wasn’t even midday yet!
Artoirel leapt to his feet. Stephanivien made no attempt to stop him, though the look of worry and confusion was plain on his face.
“What’s the matter?”
“I… uh…” Artoirel glanced around the room as if he’d find a plausible excuse written on the walls. He certainly couldn’t just say what was actually troubling him. “I… nothing, nothing is the matter. I just remembered that I have an awful lot of work to do today. I’m sure you do as well.”
Stephanivien’s expression didn’t change. If anything he looked more upset than before, his usual smile and general aura of cheerfulness conspicuously absent. Artoirel averted his eyes.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No, you’re wonderful. I think maybe I did something wrong. I…” Artoirel paused, trying to think of something else to say, something that would make it okay, but couldn’t bring himself to look Stephanivien in the eye again. “I do hope to see you again soon, but I mustn’t take up too much of your time.”
Artoirel threw open the door with a little more force than intended and fled the manufactory back towards Fortemps manor as fast as he could without arousing suspicion. He knew he shouldn’t have just run away. He should have explained but he could hardly explain any of it to himself. He certainly couldn’t explain his fear of physical intimacy and all the ways he might be found inadequate, not out loud at any rate. He entered the manor and headed straight for the office, marching right past the parlor where his brothers were chatting quietly over something he didn’t care to investigate.
“Artoirel? You’re back earlier than--”
“Artoirel?”
He heard footsteps behind him and hurried down the stairs and into the office. No sooner had he closed the door behind him when someone knocked. Haurchefant.
“I’m busy.” Artoirel noticed a forgotten teacup from earlier that morning on his desk. He picked it up. Stone cold, as he would have expected if he’d been thinking clearly at all.
“I simply thought you may like to know,” Haurchefant’s voice carried through the closed door, “that Count Baurendouin has already replied to your invitation. We shall be dining together tomorrow evening.”
Notes:
me starting this fic: I think Artoirel is bad at relationships
me finishing this chapter: holy shit he is worse than I thought
Chapter 7: Seven
Notes:
I had initially hoped to get the entire dinner party into this chapter but I'd broken 5k words and it's been taking so long so... fuck it.
Split the chapter in half.Anyway I'm love writing Fortemps brother interactions a little too much maybe.
Chapter Text
Artoirel really hadn’t expected a response from Count Baurendouin so quickly, and he certainly hadn’t expected him to accept. He cracked open the door and peered out at Haurchefant, who was smiling softly and holding a neatly folded missive written on House Haillenarte letterhead. The wax seal was broken.
“This isn’t some sort of bad joke?” Artoirel reached out a hand and Haurchefant handed it over. “And you opened it?”
“I can assure you it is not a joke, and Father was the one who opened it. Old habits I suppose.”
“I see.” Artoirel unfolded the note and skimmed enough to confirm what Haurchefant had just told him; the Haillenartes had accepted the invitation. “I don’t mind if Father opens the mail on occasion… By the Fury, I should have planned for Baurendouin to say yes.”
“Fear not!” Haurchefant’s smile broadened. “Emmanellain is quite excited to plan the event. He’s already prepared a seating chart and I am helping him with the menu. You needn’t do anything but play host when the time comes.”
“I cannot just ‘play host’, part of my job is to plan these kinds of things.”
“As I recall, when we were children the Countess planned most of these sorts of events.”
Artoirel paused before responding. Haurchefant was right, of course, traditionally the wife of a count would handle the more social side of the household, such as planning dinner parties. She’d also specifically and consistently excluded Haurchefant from such things. Surely he’d have some lingering resentment, or at least pain over that, but when Artoirel searched his half-brother’s face he found no indication of it. Haurchefant was still smiling, though the wider grin had faded back to his usual pleasant expression. It was a professional smile, like a knight… or a servant. “I suppose so… but I haven’t got a wife.”
“No, but you’ve got a younger brother with a knack for and interest in such things.”
“I’m not certain how to feel about the implication that Emmanellain is the closest thing I’ve got to a countess, but if he wishes to do the work I see no reason to prevent his doing so. That said, I should at least look over whatever he arranges.”
“I’m sure there will be time for that.”
There would not turn out to be time. Artoirel was certain he’d fallen very behind on work with all the distractions going on in his life at the moment and holed himself up in his office for the rest of the day. He had laws and business dealings to work on and a desperate need not to think about Stephanivien and how badly he’d probably hurt his feelings.
He found himself unable to think of much else and sat staring at a stack of proposals that had already passed the house of commons and unable to focus on reading over them. Some members of the house of lords might vote on things without having read them. Artoirel generally refused to be one of them but today whenever he tried to focus on work his eyes would slide over the words without his mind really processing the meaning. Instead he kept mentally returning to the manufactory and trying to think of ways he could have handled things better. At the very least Artoirel was certain he should not have fled, but going back now seemed no better even if he could not explain to himself why.
Perhaps he could apologize at dinner tomorrow, but both of their families would be in attendance. A proper apology required details about what he’d done wrong, and why he should not have done it, but he couldn’t say such things in front of his father. Artoirel wasn’t ready to try to explain such things to him yet. He wondered if Stephanivien had said anything to his father. They weren’t exactly a couple but they were something, Artoirel supposed, and the thought of openly telling his father he was involved with another man twisted his stomach into nervous knots. If his mother were still alive he was certain she would not approve. She’d been very concerned with appearances.
Edmont had been accepting of Haurchefant’s relationship with Thilan at least, but whenever Haurchefant had really wanted something their father had done his best to provide it, or at least not get in the way. Plus Thilan was the Warrior of Light, who wouldn’t want him for a son in law? And it wasn’t like their father was counting on Haurchefant to provide him grandchildren. Perhaps one advantage to being the house bastard was there was less pressure on Haurchefant to behave properly, or whatever passed for proper among Ishgard’s nobility.
Artoirel sighed and leaned forward to put his head down on his desk. Emmanellain had a boyfriend now too, though he also had not yet told their father about the situation. All three of them could not take male partners. One of them must marry and father children, surely. Artoirel knew it had to be him. He’d need to apologize to Stephanivien but cut things off. He’d then find some nice single noblewoman and force himself to be interested in her. There’d be no need to explain anything to his father.
Artoirel would do what was required of him, and his brothers could be free to love whoever they pleased. His physical attraction to Stephanivien would pass, and then things would go back to normal. Perhaps, if Artoirel could control himself and was very lucky, Stephanivien would be willing to remain friends in a platonic sense.
Thinking about the idea made Artoirel’s chest feel tight and his throat want to close up. He didn’t understand why the thought hurt so much. It shouldn’t hurt. It was the way things had always been.
Many bells had passed by the time Artoirel emerged from the office. He was uncertain of the hour, knowing only that he’d refused calls to come out for a meal multiple times and the house was now mostly dark. The lamps had been snuffed out and the majority of the staff had retired for the evening. Artoirel had gotten far less work done than he’d hoped. He supposed he ought to force himself to eat something and go to bed given the apparently late hour.
Artoirel used the dim light from the manor’s fireplaces to navigate his way towards the kitchens. He rarely had occasion to prepare his own meals but he was certain he could manage something. No one should be around to judge him for being a poor cook, at the very least.
Only there was someone there. Artoirel approached the kitchen to find the door slightly ajar, which was unusual, particularly late at night. He pushed the door further open as quietly as possible only for the lone shadowy figure in the room to immediately turn to look at him. It was seated on the long prep table in the center of the kitchen, slender and darker even somehow than the rest of the room. What little light there was reflected back out of the figure’s eyes, giving the effect of a pair of glowing red and blue lights in the dark.
“Thilan?” It had been spooky the first time Artoirel had run into the Warrior of Light in the manor at night, but over the years he’d grown used to it.
“I couldn’t sleep.” The glowing eyes blinked at him. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Ordinarily I’d say yes, but I’ve skipped a few meals and it would go straight to my head.” That was exactly what had happened last time Artoirel had wine on an empty stomach, though Thilan did not make him quite so nervous as Stephanivien did and he wouldn’t be tempted to drink so much. As Haurchefant’s boyfriend, Thilan had always been off limits, but recently Artoirel felt no sexual interest in him at all. “You needn’t sit in the dark, you know.”
Artoirel pulled over an oil lamp and lifted the chimney to light it, only for Thilan to pinch the wick between two fingers and light it magically before Artoirel could strike a match. “I forgot,” he confessed, “the dark doesn’t bother me too much anyhow.”
“Still, it cannot be good for your eyes.” With the lamp lit Artoirel could now see Thilan’s face and the label on the bottle of wine he was holding. It was a drier red from La Noscea that Artoirel had liked when he’d tried it. Thilan had elected to be polite and was drinking out of a glass rather than directly from the bottle. Artoirel made his way to the icebox and opened it to find a foil covered dish centered amongst the raw vegetables. Someone had written his name on it in rough but familiar handwriting. He peeled back the foil to discover an entire prepared meal underneath, cold now but otherwise ready to eat. He decided it would be rude if he didn’t take it.
“You really oughtn’t skip meals. Haurchefant always scolds me when I do it.”
“He probably worries you’ll waste away if he doesn’t.” Truth be told, Artoirel also worried Thilan would waste away without Haurchefant taking care of him, and was certain Father and Emmanellain did too. He’d filled out some now but had been dreadfully thin when they first met. It had been a wonder he’d been able to lift a sword and cast spells, let alone fight and win against primals. Somehow, he had. Somehow Thilan had done everything that was asked of him: anything a hero might be required to do in addition to the many smaller things an average adventurer, or even an average person, could handle. “How do you do it?”
Artoirel hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, and only realized he had when Thilan looked up in the middle of refilling his wine glass. “Huh? The Drinking? My body doesn’t quite seem to process alcohol properly. If I drank a normal amount I wouldn’t feel anything.”
“No… not that.” Artoirel had picked up that fact about Thilan’s unusual physiology just from being around him. “I mean the heroics. You do everything that’s asked of you and I’ve never once heard you complain or seen you choose something else because of your own preferences.”
“Someone must do those things. If not me it would be someone else.”
A hypothetical someone else, not even anyone specific or anyone Thilan knew. If he could do that, surely Artoirel could sacrifice something comparatively small for the sake of his family. “I see… and you’ve never shirked those duties for personal reasons.”
Thilan suddenly averted his eyes, and an odd almost pained sound seemed to stick in the back of his throat. “...once. I did that just once.”
Artoirel tried to focus on picking at his plate of leftovers but it was impossible not to be curious when someone said something so cryptic. “What did you do?”
Thilan poured the last of the wine into his glass and set the bottle aside. “I probably shouldn’t say… but I did it to protect Haurchefant.”
“...I see.” He knew he was unlikely to get further details and decided not to press Thilan on them. “Was it worth it?”
“Yes.” Thilan downed the last of his glass and slid off the table to place it in a bin for used dishes. “He’ll worry if I’m not there when he wakes up, so… I hope you’ll get some sleep too, Artoirel.”
“I mean to try, thank you.”
Artoirel’s bedroom was as cold as ever. The fire in the hearth had died some time ago and he made no attempt to relight it before crawling into bed. He still hadn’t quite repositioned the curtains in such a way as to block the entirety of Haillenarte manor from view. The roof and upper windows were just illuminated enough from the moon and streetlights that Artoirel could make out most of the architectural details. The light in just one of the upper windows was still lit, making it impossible for his eyes not to be drawn to it.
Artoirel did not know which part of the house Stephanivien stayed in. The light could just have easily been the work of any other member of the family or the staff, but he couldn’t help but imagine. Was Stephanivien upset from Artoirel’s behavior that morning? It would be perfectly understandable if he was. He must be upset enough to be unable to sleep.
It only now occurred to Artoirel that Stephanivien may elect not to come to the dinner party. He generally avoided noble social gatherings to begin with and Artoirel had given him ample reason to skip it. If he was unable to sleep he’d even have a ready excuse to stay at home on account of being tired and not feeling well. The thought of having to navigate trying to apologize and explain himself with both of their families within earshot was bad enough, but the thought of not seeing Stephanivien at all was somehow even worse. Artoirel wasn’t sure if he slept at all that night or not.
He arose the next morning before sunrise, exhausted but unable to sleep. Of all the people who were supposed to attend dinner that evening Artoirel was the only one who absolutely could not skip it for any reason. He attempted to make himself presentable with a long bath and thorough combing out of his hair, but when Artoirel looked in the mirror there were noticeable dark circles under his eyes. He could only hope they would fade by the time any dinner guests arrived. Artoirel dressed himself as the sun rose, and twisted forward a small lock of hair behind his left ear before weaving it into a tight, neat braid.
He could only faintly recall when he’d started wearing it that way. He’d been a boy of about eleven summers and it had been one year since Carvallain de Durendaire had vanished at sea. With no body and no ransom message he was officially presumed dead and a funeral held. Their houses had ever been rivals, but Carvallain had always been kind to Artoirel and the older boy’s disappearance had upset him more deeply than he’d been able to understand at the time. Artoirel had hidden in a spare room during the wake to find it already occupied by a boy his own age. They’d sat quietly on the floor and Artoirel had allowed Stephanivien to braid his hair and Stephanivien hadn’t judged Artoirel for crying. It was the first time someone other than his mother or one of the servants had touched Artoirel in such a way, and there had been something oddly soothing about the feeling of the other boy’s fingers on his scalp and in his hair. Artoirel tugged lightly on the braid, odd that he should suddenly recall that encounter now. He couldn’t imagine Stephanivien would remember. There was no reason that day should have mattered to him.
The remainder of the morning was spent with a cup of black coffee in hand and finishing as much paperwork as Artoirel could manage before lunchtime. No one commented on his looking tired until he ventured to Aymeric’s to drop off what he could.
“Artoirel, are you feeling alright? You seem… distracted.” Aymeric lowered his tea cup to the saucer on his desk. It occupied one of the only spaces not covered with paperwork. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together with apparent worry but the rest of his face appeared as flawless as ever. Aymeric was, by far, the harder working of the two of them, and Artoirel wondered how the exhaustion never showed on his face.
“Yes, I… I fear I didn’t sleep well last night is all.” Artoirel stood and straightened his coat. He didn’t have time to linger, no matter how much he might enjoy Aymeric’s company.
“Is it a personal issue then? You needn’t talk about it if you don’t wish to, but I certainly don’t mind listening if you do.”
Artoirel’s mouth suddenly felt rather dry. He coughed. “I… yes, I suppose it is personal.” It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he might be able to confide in Aymeric about his personal life. Aymeric was kind, and knew the importance of discretion in such matters. He might even have some useful insight. However, Aymeric was always so busy. “I couldn’t possibly trouble you over it.”
“Don’t think of it as trouble, then. Think of it as… allowing a friend to help shoulder your burdens.” Aymeric smiled in that warm, serene way he always did. Artoirel felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears grow a bit warm. He was the one who was supposed to help Aymeric, not the other way around.
“I shall have to think on it… but please don’t worry over me in the meantime.”
Artoirel had mixed feelings about Aymeric’s evident concern for him. Aymeric cared about everyone in Ishgard, of course, it was one of the things that made him well suited to the position of Lord Speaker. It was normal for Aymeric to be concerned about people. It was not normal for him to be concerned about Artoirel specifically, or at least Artoirel didn’t think it should be. He’d always tried so hard to not be someone anyone need worry about: to always do the right thing and meet the expectations of others and never, ever, have wants or needs that fell outside those expectations. There was something pleasant about the idea that Aymeric considered him friend enough to want to help, but not pleasant enough to diminish the guilt Artoirel felt over having worried him in the first place. He returned home with an armful of fresh paperwork to do and a heart full of emotions he couldn’t quite put a name to.
Fortemps manor was bustling with activity. Nearly every member of staff who didn’t work in the kitchens was in the frontmost rooms of the house ensuring everything was spotless and no object was even slightly out of place. Artoirel rarely hosted parties outside the obligatory ones to mark specific calendar events. There were just too many other things to worry about. He supposed he often wouldn’t worry about celebrating his own name day or certain holy days if he didn’t feel he was required to do so. Some of the senior members of staff seemed downright excited for the evening, smiling and welcoming him home with more enthusiasm than usual. They were only hosting the Haillenartes, and the house was already very well kept so they really needn’t scour every nook and cranny for every possible speck of dust, but any occasion was an occasion. Artoirel barely made it a few steps into the foyer before Emmanellain came barreling down the stairs with damp hair and wearing a dressing gown.
“Brother! You’ve very little time left to prepare for dinner!” He stopped rather suddenly on the bottom step, putting him about at eye level with Artoirel. “You brought home more work?”
“Of course I brought home work, I always do, and there are several bells left before anyone is due to arrive.”
“Only a few bells to bathe and choose an outfit, and evidently cover those dark circles beneath your eyes.” Emmanellain snatched the stack of papers from Artoirel’s grasp and handed it off to the nearest steward without even looking. “You look awful, were you up all night? Pining, I suppose.”
“Pining?” That hadn’t been why he’d slept poorly, had it?
Emmanellain already had a surprisingly strong grip on Artoirel’s elbow and was dragging him up the staircase. “Fear not! A bit of concealer will take care of that.”
“You wear makeup?”
“Only in emergencies, and this is an emergency.” Emmanellain dragged Artoirel down to hall towards the wing housing his own bedroom. “You must look your absolute best if you are to impress Stephanivien and his family.”
“I’m reasonably certain they all have some idea of how I normally look.”
“You cannot simply look normal, you must be stunning.”
“Not possible.”
“Not with that attitude.” Emmanellain pushed open the door to Artoirel’s bedroom suite and shoved him into the attached washroom. “Ordinarily I’d say you should ask Stephanivien for advice, as he’s quite good at make up, but seeing as he’s the one you’re trying to court…”
“I am not courting him--” The door closed before Artoirel could finish protesting.
He’d taken a rather long bath that morning, but Artoirel supposed a quick washing up couldn’t hurt. He did seem to be sweating more than seemed reasonable given Ishgard’s weather. Nerves, he supposed. He examined himself in the mirror to find that he looked no less exhausted than he had that morning, if anything he looked worse.
Artoirel assumed if he was fast he could wash up and get dressed and have enough time left to review Emmanellain’s dinner menu and seating chart, maybe even make changes if they weren’t too drastic. He opened his wardrobe to an array of outfits that ranged from semi-formal to extremely-formal, even the least of which should be good enough for a simple dinner party. Whatever he chose was likely to disappoint Emmanellain, who probably had been imagining something much flashier and trendy, but Artoirel had never worn such things. He simply needed something fashionable enough to play host but not so fashionable as to upstage his guests. He settled on a rather traditional coat in a darker, warmer grey color than what he wore most days, though he did pin on a brooch bearing the House Fortemps crest. He should perhaps start to wear it or something similar daily, as his father had, and still did. He was the count now, after all. A few short years ago Artoirel would have been excited to wear his title on his sleeve, so to speak, but now… so much had changed and in such a short time. For a brief moment Artoirel considered the idea of what might most impress Stephanivien, or failing that what might impress the rest of the Haillenartes and show him worthy of Stephanivien’s affections. He closed the wardrobe. He knew he could not pursue such a relationship, and nothing he could put on would be enough to change that.
Artoirel stepped into the hallway to find Emmanellain waiting for him. He was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded and scanned Artoirel up and down a few times before letting out a sigh. “I suppose it will do.” Emmanellain reached into his housecoat’s pocket and pulled out a bright red and gold handkerchief, folded it neatly and stuffed it into the breast pocket on Artoirel’s dinner jacket. “There, a little pop of color never hurt anyone, and you can certainly afford to look a bit more progressive in your fashion. It better matches to your politics.”
“I wasn’t aware you paid my politics any attention.”
“One overhears things, Artoirel.” Emmanellain shrugged. “In any case have you got anything that might fit Haurchefant? Or Thilan? They are fashion disasters, the both of them.”
“Not without tailoring.” Thilan was too short and Haurchefant too large for that. “And I think they usually both look decent enough. Thilan might not notice trends but he’s always looked fashionable to me.”
“They look like a traveling knight and mage.”
“They are a knight and a mage.”
“Haurchefant cannot wear armor to the dinner table. You must help me.”
Artoirel couldn’t help but let out a sigh. Now that he thought about it he supposed he’d never seen Haurchefant at any sort of formal event not dressed in a knight’s regalia. When they were boys Artoirel’s mother hadn’t wanted Haurchefant around for such things, and in adulthood he mostly only attended events if it was in his capacity as a knight commander and not a member of the family. It was only after he’d begun traveling with the Warrior of Light that that had begun to change, and still he always, always wore full armor. “I’m sure they both own something that would be suitable…“
“You’ll help then! Excellent!”
Artoirel considered pointing out that he hadn’t actually agreed to anything, but allowed his brother to lead him down the hall and into the guest wing where Haurchefant’s room was. Emmanellain threw open the door without knocking. It was an absurd level of recklessness, Artoirel thought, considering the room’s occupants.
They were safe this time, relatively speaking. Haurchefant was seated on the edge of the bed and had trousers on, if nothing else, and a person sized lump under the bedspread indicated the Warrior of Light’s current location. Haurchefant had been relaxed and gazing silently out the window but quickly shifted into a straighter posture and folded his arms across his abdomen, covering most of the large, gnarled scar there. Artoirel chose not to point it out, though he doubted the scar could possibly be worse than the wound had appeared when it was fresh.
“I see Emmanellain has roped you into helping dress your two most embarrassing family members.” Haurchefant was smiling but something in his tone of voice sounded slightly strained. Artoirel wondered how long they’d been arguing about clothes.
“I don’t find you embarrassing.” Perhaps that had been the case once, but it certainly wasn’t now. “Honestly, after everything that’s happened the two of you could show up wearing anything and I doubt I’d hear any complaints.”
“Not to your face, maybe,” said Emmanellain.
“Haven’t you got your own outfit to worry about?”
“Please, brother, I’ve had something picked out since yesterday morning. I need only get dressed.”
Artoirel turned and took the risk of opening Haurchefant’s wardrobe. Surely he had something suitable. Inside was the usual array of gambesons and other undergarments for wearing beneath chainmail, a couple of outer chain shirts, and some more casual clothing that didn’t look brand new but Artoirel had never seen Haurchefant wearing. Past that was another armor set, with an unmistakable hole in the middle, the broken edges of the chain still slightly stained with dried blood, and a battle mage’s coat that had once been dark blue but was now mostly black with dried blood. It bore a massive hole straight through the center of the back. Artoirel recognized it as the coat Thilan had been wearing when they first met. It looked ready to disintegrate at any moment. He ran his fingers over the damaged section of the chainmail. Why in the Fury’s name had they kept these things? Artoirel shook his head in an effort to clear away the memories of that day, and reached into the very back of the wardrobe. There were a handful of formal outfits there, dusty, seemingly never worn, and tailored for a much younger version of Haurchefant who was shorter and skinnier.
“Artoirel?”
He tried not to jump but still slammed the wardrobe doors closed harder than intended. He turned around again to find his brothers both seated on the bed. Thilan was still hiding under the duvet. “Is this truly all the clothing you own?”
“Of course not,” Haurchefant smiled and nudged a travel pack that was sticking partially out from under the bed with one foot. “We’re traveling all the time lately, so I keep most of the things I actually wear with me.”
“Oh.” Artoirel suddenly felt rather silly for looking in the wardrobe at all.
“Tataru actually made me a lovely suit of ceremonial armor for formal events, but Emmanellain has already vetoed it.”
“He looks very handsome in it.” A head of mussy white hair peeked out from under the duvet and a set of dark grey fingers curled around the edge to pull it down slightly until about half of the Warrior of Light’s face was visible. Artoirel wasn’t sure why it surprised him, but Thilan wasn’t wearing his glasses.
“He looks too handsome,” Emmanellain huffed. “We cannot upstage Artoirel when he’s trying to earn the approval of his beloved’s family.”
“Oh? Is that why we’re doing this?” Haurchefant’s relaxed posture returned and he leaned back slightly onto the headboard. A cheeky smile appeared on his face.
“No! Emmanellain is imagining things!”
“Who’s your beloved?” Thilan asked.
“Nobody.”
“He’s been seeing Stephanivien.”
“Oh.” Thilan’s tone seemed only mildly surprised. “Stephanivien is nice. He’ll treat you well.”
“He’s also a man of relatively humble tastes when it comes to fashion,” Haurchefant pointed out. “If he already likes you, he’ll like you no matter what you or anyone else is wearing.”
Artoirel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean to cut things off with him, so please stop trying to ‘help’. I’ve given him ample reason to dislike me anyway, so he probably won’t even turn up.”
“What? No!”
Artoirel ignored Emmanellain’s outsized distress and headed for the door. “I don’t care what the three of you wear, just get dressed.”
There wasn’t enough time to review any of Emmanellain’s dinner party planning, let alone adjust anything. Artoirel just hoped none of it would be so unorthodox as to embarrass him, but he was reasonably certain he’d be safe enough in that respect. For all of Emmanellain’s flaws, not knowing all the ins and outs of Ishgardian social etiquette had never been among them. If anything had been arranged wrongly it would have been intentional, and Emmanellain had seemed quite earnestly invested in ‘helping’ Artoirel’s courting of Stephanivien. Not that Artoirel was trying to court Stephanivien, of course, and he couldn’t understand why Emmanellain would care. Now that he stopped to consider it, Haurchefant and Thilan also had been somewhat encouraging of the idea in their own ways, if lacking in Emmanellain’s histrionics.
Artoirel couldn’t understand why they were all acting like that. Couldn’t they see that he could not pursue such a relationship? It was far too irresponsible.
The Haillenartes arrived precisely on time, and Artoirel rushed to the front foyer to welcome them inside. The Count de Haillenarte was dressed only slightly more formally than he normally did at House of Lords meetings. Despite his only being a few years younger than Artoirel’s own father his age barely showed on his face. The countess, tall and similarly youthful despite her years, wore an elegant green dress and her auburn hair piled into a tasteful updo. It being customary for dinner party guests to offer the host a gift, Count Baurendouin handed him a rolled up parchment. When unrolled it turned out to be an orchestrion roll of a song Artoirel knew, but it was a different arrangement than any copies he already owned. Artoirel was surprised that Baurendouin remembered his fondness for music, and thanked him profusely. Countess Almette greeted him with a hug and Artoirel did his best not to tense up at the contact. The Haillenartes had always been unusually warm for a noble family, more carefree and open with their affections than Artoirel’s own family had ever been. Artoirel knew, at least on an intellectual level, that his family loved him, and he them, but such sentiments were rarely expressed through words or physical touch.
Aurvael, Laniaitte, and Francel entered just behind their parents. There was no sign of Stephanivien. Artoirel felt his chest clench up. Stephanivien wasn’t coming. Of course he wasn’t coming. Artoirel did his best to keep his voice steady as he welcomed them inside. It was fine if Stephanivien didn’t show up, Artoirel told himself, even as he glanced over Aurvael’s shoulder as if he might suddenly appear behind his siblings. “I’m so glad you all could make it.” Artoirel’s breath caught slightly in his throat and he hoped nobody noticed.
All three Haillenarte siblings gave him odd looks as they passed. Aurvael made rather intense eye contact, Laniaitte smiled at him and seemed to be suppressing a laugh, and Francel placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure Stephanivien is on his way,” he whispered, “he often loses himself in his work.”
“I see.” It hadn’t occurred to Artoirel until now that he may be competing with the Manufactory for Stephanivien’s attention. If that were the case he couldn’t possibly hope to win.
Chapter Text
It was fine that Stephanivien wasn’t coming to dinner. Really. Artoirel did need to talk to him but it really was a conversation best saved for privacy. It was fine.
Artoirel was fine.
Everything was normal.
It had been sweet of Francel to try to reassure him but Artoirel was reasonably certain he would not see Stephanivien tonight. In fact, Artoirel was glad he wasn’t coming. It would be simpler, easier to act normally, were he not distracted by Stephanivien’s handsome face and infectious smile and how all of his shirts seemed to be cut low enough to show off his muscular chest. Artoirel needed to behave normally.
He stopped only briefly to speak to the doorman before joining his family and guests in the parlor. “Should Lord Stephanivien turn up, please invite him inside. I don’t care how late he is.”
Pre-dinner drinks and hors d’oeuvres should be easy enough to handle. Artoirel was well practiced at small talk and could do a decent enough job entertaining by simply ensuring no one’s glass was empty for too long and encouraging people to talk about themselves, which most people enjoyed. Thilan was a notable exception but Artoirel suspected he simply found it stressful to be asked to recall anything. Haurchefant told enough adventuring stories for the both of them, at any rate, and was currently regaling the Haillenarte siblings with tales from Thavnair and Sharlayan. He’d evidently won the argument with Emmanellain about his outfit and Artoirel had to admit that the armor Tataru had made for Haurchefant was very flattering, if obviously made more for aesthetics than function. It made him look rather like a knight from a storybook they would have read as children. The sort that might save a maiden from a dragon… Artoirel made a mental note to speak with Aymeric about funding some children’s literature that painted dragons more positively.
Thilan was wearing a black suit that appeared to be of Sharlayan make and was clinging to Haurchefant’s arm as if he were a security blanket. It was the most relaxed Artoirel had ever seen him at a party.
Artoirel inserted the new music sheet into the orchestrion in the front parlor, set the volume to a level loud enough to create a pleasant ambiance but quiet enough to not interfere with conversation, and made a gradual loop around the room until he found himself standing next to his father and refilling the Countess de Haillenarte’s champagne.
“Almette was just telling me about her progress with the rose garden.” Edmont had a pleasant smile on his face, a genuine one. Artoirel had studied his father’s behavior as count carefully enough to be able to easily tell when a smile was real and when it was merely polite for the sake of guests.
“Oh, how is that going?” Artoirel smiled too, though he feared he was only being polite for the sake of guests.
“As you may recall the calamity killed nearly all of the flowers with any outdoor exposure, but after much painstaking work I believe I’ve developed a variety that can really stand up to the cold.” Countess Almette smiled broadly and launched into a detailed explanation of rose bush genetics and selectively breeding and cross breeding the plants for desirable characteristics. Artoirel followed very little of it but found himself enjoying listening all the same. It wasn’t so different to listening to Stephanivien talking about clockwork and aetheric circuits. He must take after his mother in that respect.
“Perhaps that’s a bit too technical, dear,” Baurendouin cut in, “really the big breakthrough has been the ability to import and study varieties from outside Coerthas.”
The countess laughed, “Oh, I’m sorry, it must seem a rather trivial thing to get so invested in.”
“Not at all,” said Artoirel, “I believe there is great value in things that are beautiful simply for the sake of beauty, they are part of what makes life worth living. Besides, perhaps your techniques will be adaptable for other sorts of plants. Don’t you agree, Father?”
“Yes, completely.”
“I always thought Artoirel had a good head on his shoulders,” Baurendouin laughed but was clearly addressing Edmont rather than Artoirel himself. “Perhaps he’ll be a good influence on Stephanivien, since they’ve been spending more time together recently.”
The sound of Artoirel’s own heartbeat suddenly grew very loud in his ears and he froze in place for what felt like a suspicious amount of time. He felt a tug on his elbow and glanced to his left to see Emmanellain. “Artoirel! Have you tasted these stuffed dates? They are delightful.”
Artoirel glanced back at his father, who offered a small wave of acknowledgement that he was stepping away from the conversation, and allowed his brother to lead him back across the room. “Stuffed dates, then? I’m surprised you didn’t go with those cocktail prawns you like.”
“Francel is allergic, it turns out. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Haurchefant did, thank Halone, ‘twould be terrible if we killed one of our guests.”
“Yes, that would be terrible.”
Emmanellain led him over to the other conversation group consisting of his own brothers and the three Haillenarte siblings in attendance.
“Are you alright, Artoirel? You’ve gone pale.” Francel sounded concerned.
“He’s always pale.” Emmanellain laughed, despite the two of them having quite similar complexions.
“Seems Father said something to frighten him.” Aurvael smirked over the rim of his glass.
“Has… has Stephanivien been mentioning me around the manor?”
“Only whenever I see him.”
“Often, yes.”
Artoirel thought he could feel a headache approaching and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stave it off.
“For what it’s worth,” Francel began, “I don’t believe Stephanivien has mentioned the precise nature of your relationship to Mother and Father. They likely assume it to be platonic in nature.”
“It should be platonic, is the issue. I must insist we go no further than that when next I see him.”
“Why?” Emmanellain’s voice sounded far more heartbroken than it ought to be. “You’re clearly smitten and it sounds like he is as well.”
Laniaitte raised a hand and for a moment Artoirel feared she would strike him. Instead, she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It hurt. “I know I said not to lead him on, but do not lie to him in the opposite direction either.”
“Stephanivien is an adult, I’m sure--”
“If you break his heart I will take yours.”
“...You mean that as a figure of speech, right?”
“No.”
“Perhaps we ought to begin moving to the dining hall?”
Artoirel was saved, at least for the moment, by a steward approaching and tapping him on the shoulder Laniaitte didn’t currently have in a vice grip. “My Lord, your final guest has arrived.”
“Oh! Thank you, I shall come out to greet him.”
Laniaitte released him and Artoirel could not get to the front door fast enough.
He nearly slipped on the transition from stone tile to rug in his hurry to the front foyer and had to brace himself on the wall for stability. Stephanivien stood just inside the doorway, handing his coat to the doorman, and looking as handsome as ever. He was underdressed for a formal dinner party but his clothing was more formal than his usual attire, consisting of a dark green waistcoat over a white shirt with slightly billowed sleeves and the collar still unbuttoned just enough to draw Artoirel’s eyes directly to his muscular chest. His trousers were form fitting enough that Artoirel dared not let his eyes travel much lower, lest he be caught staring. Artoirel had seen him just the other day, but it felt like it had been far, far longer. He couldn’t seem to make the last few steps through the foyer, nor could he seem to form words. They needed to talk, but there wasn’t time at the moment, and there were servants in the room, and all Artoirel’s lips and tongue wanted to do right then was to kiss Stephanivien.
“Stephanivien, I…” he managed to force out but further words refused to come. I’m sorry. I’ve behaved terribly. We cannot be together. I want so, so badly to be together. “I…”
“Artoirel.” Stephanivien, sounding slightly out of breath, closed the distance himself. Up close Artoirel could faintly smell dust and smoke from the manufactory. Stephanivien’s face was clean of soot but the front parts of his hair and the cuffs of his sleeves were slightly damp, as if he had washed his face only a moment ago and not bothered to roll up his sleeves. He spread his arms as if to embrace him, but stopped and resumed a more neutral posture before making any physical contact. “I hope I have not arrived too late.”
“Not at all.” Artoirel, too, stopped just short of putting his arms around Stephanivien. It might seem inappropriate. “I feared you may not want to come at all. I’ve noticed you rarely attend High House social events.”
“I fit into them poorly, is all. But this is just our two families, and… I wanted to see you.”
Artoirel could practically feel the blood rushing to his face. “I wanted to see you too.” He coughed to clear his throat. “I believe everyone was about to move into the dining hall.”
Artoirel had not had a chance to review Emmanellain’s seating chart before dinner, and found himself placed at the end of the table with Baurendouin to his right and Stephanivien to his left. He supposed he ought to be glad Emmanellain hadn’t seated them as if they were already a couple, it would have put them far apart and possibly given away things Artoirel wasn’t ready to speak aloud. Customarily a traditional seating chart required married couples to be separated far from one another, though Artoirel wasn’t certain why, and the current lineup of guests made that impossible. The Count and Countess de Haillenarte were the only true married couple in attendance, and the other couple, Haurchefant and Thilan, should generally not be separated. Haurchefant actually made a wonderful dinner guest once he had a couple of drinks in him and began to relax. He was good at telling stories and could get very enthusiastic about doing so. He was probably even better when not around family. Thilan, on the other hand, was quiet and odd and became anxious when asked to speak for too long. Artoirel had once seen him leap off a balcony to escape a conversation. Thilan wasn’t a dragoon, and had plummeted. Fortunately, he’d healed quickly.
Artoirel guided everyone into the dining room with an ease that was well trained, if not exactly practiced and watched everyone find their assigned seats. His father’s seat was at the other end of the table, with Countess Almette on one side and Thilan on the other. Haurchefant had been seated next to the Countess with Francel across from him. Artoirel watched Haurchefant and Francel wordlessly swap their place cards.
The soup course was a lighter clear broth containing a few thinly sliced mushrooms and scallions. It wasn’t terribly filling on its own but Artoirel’s nerves were tying his stomach into knots again and he was grateful for something lighter than a more traditional Ishgardian cream-based soup. Its vague quality of being exotic but not too exotic also provided a nice conversation hook.
“Is this a far eastern soup?” Asked Baurendouin.
“Ah, yes. Haurchefant brought the recipe back from Kugane a year or so ago, among several others. I believe technically it is a consummé.”
“I see, I do recall he always had a healthy appetite when you were boys.”
“Yes. He’s always been open to new foods.” Artoirel swallowed. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his, or Haurchefant’s, childhoods, especially not how, for a time, Haurchefant ate more family meals with the Haillenartes than with their own family, or how, when they were very small, Artoirel’s mother might send Haurchefant to bed hungry if she was cross with him. She had often been cross with him.
Artoirel felt Stephanivien’s knee brush up against his own. He took it for an accident at first, until it happened a second time and pressed against him with more intent. It was odd, intimate, but not sexual, and fully invisible to everyone else at the table. There was something oddly grounding about it. Artoirel pressed back.
“The far east sounds fascinating, don’t you think?” Aurvael, who was seated next to his father, leaned forward a bit. “I should love to visit some day.”
“It’s rather far for your personal airship, Aurvael,” replied Baurendouin.
“Not with that attitude, Father. You know I’m an excellent pilot.”
“I worry more about the ship’s fuel capacity than your piloting skills.”
“Suppose I redesign the engines to be more efficient,” Stephanivien chimed in, “I’ve been working on fuel efficiency quite a lot lately.”
The conversation quickly evolved into a more in depth discussion about airship engines and flight routes, and exactly what would be required to get a small, personal ship to make such a long journey. There weren’t exactly many places to stop for breaks along the way. Artoirel understood few of the more technical aspects, though he did recognize some terms Stephanivien had mentioned before. Looking down the length of the table Artoirel could see the Countess, Francel, and Laniaitte smiling and laughing at something Haurchefant had said. His father looked to be enjoying himself as well. At least that was one half of the table Artoirel needn’t worry about.
Emmanellain had placed himself near the center of the table, evidently so he could listen in on anyone’s dinner conversations if he so pleased, and had been unusually quiet until there was a lull in conversation around when the appetizer course came out. “You know, speaking of traveling, Artoirel’s never been to the far east either. Why, he’s barely even left Ishgard.”
“That’s not true, I’ve been to Garlemald recently to help with their Blasphemy problem, and before that I went to Ala Mhigo to help with the war effort.”
“That’s for work, I meant you’ve never traveled for leisure.”
Emmanellain was, technically, correct. Artoirel took a bite out of his crostini to avoid having to answer. The bruschetta topping had cilantro in it, an herb Artoirel thought tasted unpleasantly of soap but had always eaten without complaint when it was served to him.
Aurvael’s face broke into a wide grin. “Well, now that our borders are open we could travel just about anywhere. There’s an entire world of culture and trade open to us now that was unthinkable a few short years ago.”
Artoirel deliberately didn’t turn to look at Stephanivien, though he could swear he could feel a similar excitement radiating off of him. “I suppose that’s true, but unfortunately my work here in Ishgard leaves me little time for leisure. Emmanellain gets out to Limsa Lominsa with some regularity though.”
“I’ve been to Ul’dah and Gridania a number of times too, not to mention all the travel I did on behalf of the Ilsabard contingent.” Emmanellain puffed out his chest slightly. “I’m clearly the more well traveled brother.”
“Haurchefant’s been to the moon,” Artoirel countered. Emmanellain forced a closed mouth smile.
Stephanivien finally spoke up, “I suppose it needn’t entirely be for leisure. My few visits to La Noscea were on manufactory business, but a longer excursion could provide enough time for work and sightseeing both.”
Artoirel thought back to the business contact from Ul’dah who had canceled their meeting on account of the blizzard. “Perhaps traveling for business more often wouldn’t be a terrible idea, and there’s likely many useful things to learn from observing life in our sister cities first hand,” he admitted. He allowed himself to look at Stephanivien now, who was smiling broadly. He really did wear his current outfit well, even if it wasn’t really up to normal standards of Ishgardian formal wear. Artoirel caught himself imagining how Stephanivien might look in full formal wear and the brief fantasy of being able to attend social events as a couple… He forced the image to the back of his mind where he would pretend he hadn’t thought of it and the idea could taunt him for the rest of the evening.
“If our schedules align, we could even travel together.” Stephanivien’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke. Artoirel’s mouth suddenly felt rather dry. He took a sip of his wine.
“Aye, that… that sounds nice.” Too nice, almost. If Artoirel found himself alone with Stephanivien for an extended period of time there was no telling what he may be tempted to say or do, particularly if they were away from Ishgardian soil and the Ishgardian rumor mill. Given that sort of time and freedom he may be able to sort out his feelings, and maybe even find the words to express them. “If our schedules align.”
It would be easy enough to prevent. Artoirel had plenty of work to do in Ishgard and if it ever started to run thin he could simply take more of Aymeric’s tasks. It would have to be done, even if the thought made Artoirel’s chest tighten somewhat painfully. The appetizer was removed and the salad course delivered. He tore his eyes away from the way Stephanivien’s fingers wrapped around his fork and decided to change the subject.
Artoirel scanned the faces currently turned towards him and tried to think of a topic. Stephanivien was too handsome to look at directly for too long. Emmanellain was Emmanellain. Artoirel didn’t work directly with Count Baurendouin as often as his father had, but often enough that work seemed a poor choice of subject. His eyes landed on Aurvael, who looked unnervingly like his father, if younger and wearing a slightly mischievous smile. “I fear we don’t speak often, Aurvael. How are things going with the Diadem? That recent blizzard didn’t cause too much trouble I hope.”
“Well the beasts there are still relatively docile. They have been for ages now.” Aurvael let out an almost imperceptible sigh. “I suspect the current situation may be permanent.”
“You sound displeased with the situation.”
“Ah, do not misunderstand me, it is much safer these days. It just isn’t as exciting as when it wasn’t. That blizzard is the most interesting thing to happen in some time.”
Artoirel’s fork hit the bottom of his salad bowl a bit harder than intended. “Did- did you fly while it was still actively snowing like that?”
Aurvael laughed. To his left, Artoirel could hear Stephanivien laugh too. “I fly in lighter snows all the time. Francel suggested we suspend expeditions during the worst of the weather but where’s the fun in that?”
“I suppose in knowing you’re unlikely to lose control of the airship and crash?”
“But we did not crash!” Aurvael was still smiling. “It’s really not so bad once you’re above the cloud barrier.”
“It’s colder than usual, surely?” Artoirel risked a glance at Count Baurendouin, who wasn’t smiling but nor did he look surprised. He then turned his head just enough that he could see Stephanivien out of the corner of one eye. Would he be suspicious if he looked too directly at Stephanivien? Was he being suspicious by not looking directly at Stephanivien? Artoirel let himself turn his head a little more. Stephanivien was smiling, but not in the broad, excited way his brother was. His expression was more serene, and the smile widened slightly when their eyes met.
“It’s no worse than the flight to Azys Lla,” Aurvael continued.
“When did you go to Azys Lla?” asked Baurendouin.
“We didn’t!” Stephanivien chimed in. His voice had a slight anxious edge to it that Artoirel had never heard before. He also felt a small twitch from Stephanivien’s leg, noticeable only because of the way their legs were touching beneath the table. “We heard about it after the fact, from some of the Garlond Ironworks staff.”
“Right!” replied Aurvael, “we often work quite closely with them.”
Baurendouin let out a small hum, indicating he didn’t quite believe his sons but wasn’t inclined to tease the truth out of them. Artoirel felt Stephanivien’s leg twitch again and, under the guise of folding his hands in his lap, reached out to lightly place his fingertips on Stephanivien’s knee. It was about as far as he could reach without leaning forward a conspicuous amount. He wasn’t certain exactly what he wished to communicate with the gesture: that he was there, and that he cared, he supposed. If Stephanivien was nervous, Artoirel could not fathom why. No one at the table was a stranger, and Stephanivien was so, so easy to like. A hand with long, calloused fingers entangled itself with his own and Artoirel’s heart skipped a beat. The main course was brought out.
Were circumstances different, Artoirel would have liked to hold Stephanivien’s hand forever. Stephanivien’s hands were warm, and larger and rougher than his own, and Stephanivien moved them with a sort of confidence that Artoirel couldn’t quite describe. Artoirel’s own hands weren’t that soft, he had his share of callouses from holding both a quill and a sword, though he usually wore gloves when holding the latter, but compared to Stephanivien... He felt rather soft, delicate almost. It had been confusing at first, but now it was kind of pleasant. No one else had ever made Artoirel feel that way before.
But circumstances were not different. They were at dinner with their families, who could not find out the truth of Artoirel’s feelings, and a medium rare aldgoat steak with a side of asparagus had been placed in front of each guest. One could not hold another man’s hand and a knife and fork at the same time. Artoirel gave Stephanivien’s hand a small squeeze before reluctantly letting go.
Artoirel just had to make it through the rest of dinner without making a fool of himself. He did his best to make polite small talk between bites. How were things going in the Firmament? And in Empyreum? He may have let slip that Thilan was trying to buy a house, though Artoirel did not know what plot he had bid on. He asked if Baurendouin had been working on any law proposals of his own, but hadn’t expected the question to cause him to fix his gaze on Stephanivien.
“Funding proposals for the Firmament, mainly, and the Manufactory.”
Stephanivien’s smile faded completely. “The Manufactory is mostly self sustaining these days, Father.”
“Mostly, financially, yes.” Baurendouin’s expression remained calm, but serious. “You know how people are, not everyone in the House of Lords is in favor of your arming the commonfolk en masse.”
Stephanivien set his jaw and straightened his posture. “Times are changing. They will simply have to get used to it.”
“Well, for your sake I hope the House of Lords will be more open minded by the time you become a Count.”
“Right.”
Artoirel felt a hand on his knee. The grip was tense, tight in a way that Stephanivien’s touch usually wasn’t. He’d often wondered how Stephanivien remained so unburdened by the expectations and responsibilities that came with being heir to one of Ishgard’s high houses, but perhaps the premise of the question had been flawed from the start. Perhaps he was less unburdened and more able to avoid those pressures… most of the time. Now was not most of the time. Artoirel placed a hand on top of Stephanivien’s and cleared his throat. “Should you need a cosigner, or help in convincing the others, I would be happy to offer whatever aid that I can.” The grip on his knee relaxed slightly.
A slight smile returned to Stephanivien’s face, albeit not as bright as it had been before. “Right, I’m sure there are many things you’d be a wonderful help with.”
Artoirel had been avoiding looking at Stephanivien too directly all evening, he feared becoming distracted or his gaze lingering on Stephanivien’s handsome face for too long, but now their eyes met. Artoirel could feel a warmth rushing to his face and tore his eyes away to look at the rest of the table. “Emmanellain! How have things been going at Camp Dragonhead?”
Asking his brother to talk about anything had been a last resort, but an effective tactic. Emmanellain immediately launched into a story about fending off a rampaging cyclops before switching with a frankly impressive seamlessness to a second story about a guard and a chirurgeon who ‘obviously’ fancied one another but had yet to admit it. The thought that Emmanellain could be a successful fiction writer, if he had any interest in such a thing, crossed Artoirel’s mind.
Dessert turned out to be a marjolaine, and Emmanellain continued to fill the silence as Artoirel performed the hosting duty of cutting and handing out slices, and opening a bottle of ice wine to pair with it. He wasn’t feeling much interest in sweets at the moment and once he sat back down only took a couple of polite bites himself. Now that there were fewer eyes on him, and there was less pressure to speak himself, Artoirel had a moment to consider how the evening was going. He was managing pretty well so far, he thought, even if he could feel the exhaustion from stress and the lack of sleep creeping up on him. His hand found its way back below the table and into Stephanivien’s again. It stayed there throughout the rest of the dessert course and until it was time to move to the lounge for after dinner drinks.
Normally, when it came to hot drinks, Artoirel opted for the black tea with milk that was commonplace in most Ishgardian households. Tea was predictable and easy to come by. Coffee was a rarer treat in circumstances like this, when one had guests to impress. He’d been told that the beans used to make it were harder to grow, and thus harder to import to a place like Ishgard where the climate was far too cold even before the calamity. Artoirel found he liked the taste of coffee and was hoping it might help stave off how tired he was feeling for a bit longer. He was soon seated between his father and the Countess de Haillenarte on one of the sofas near the fireplace with a cup of coffee in hand. He’d caught essentially none of the conversation on that end of the dinner table but the countess was gushing about the chat she’d had with Haurchefant and Thilan.
“I’ve seen him briefly at Holy Day and Nameday celebrations, but I believe this is the first real conversation I’ve had with the Warrior of Light.”
“Yes, despite his bravery in the face of physical danger, Thilan’s been rather anxious about social gatherings since we’ve known him.” Across the room Artoirel spotted Thilan and Haurchefant, each holding a drink in one hand and holding hands with the other. They were chatting quietly with Stephanivien. Artoirel felt a pang of jealousy that he could not casually hold Stephanivien’s hand in the same way.
“And so modest?” The Countess continued, “You’d think a man who’s saved the world would have more of an ego.”
Thilan was looking in their direction now, though Artoirel could not be sure who exactly he was looking at. “Honestly, I’m not sure he thinks any of the things he’s done are so impressive. He’s unusual in many respects.”
The countess laughed. “He’s fond of flowers too, did you know that?”
“Aye, I did, he’s quite an accomplished alchemist, as I understand it.”
The conversation shifted to gardening, and the small parks and bits of greenery scattered around Ishgard. Artoirel fell quiet as his father and the Haillenartes discussed things as if he weren’t there. Stephanivien was looking at him now too, but far more directly than Thilan had. His eyes met Stephanivien’s and he longed for a way to get up and cross the room without drawing attention to himself.
Instead, Artoirel sat quietly as conversation happened around him. He drank his coffee and he and Stephanivien watched one another from across the room. It was Emmanellain of all people who came to his rescue.
“Atoirel!” Emmanellain leaned somewhat melodramatically onto the back of the opposite sofa. “Some of us were talking about going for a walk, do you want to come?”
Artoirel glanced around the room, so as not to appear too eager, before nodding. “Alright, I think I could stand to stretch my legs a bit.”
It may help distract from how tired he was feeling as well. Artoirel hauled himself to his feet and was soon standing in the front entryway and donning a coat alongside his brothers and the Haillenarte siblings. “Were you planning to go anywhere in specific?”
“Not really,” Emmanellain replied in an almost sing-song tone of voice, before practically hopping down the manor’s front steps. The group set off roughly to the west, past Haillenarte manor and vaguely in the direction of the Jeweled Crozier. Some of the shops may still even be open. Artoirel found himself walking shoulder to shoulder with Stephanivien on one side and Haurchefant and Thilan on the other. Laniaitte, Francel, and Aurvael were a little in front of them with Emmanellain. The temptation to take Stephanivien’s hand again started to rise up in him and Artoirel crushed it back down. They were so close, and it would be so easy, but they were in public. He couldn’t. He…
They couldn’t be together. Artoirel had responsibilities and obligations that necessitated they not be together. Stephanivien must be in a similar situation. He just had to speak to him privately and explain it.
They descended the staircase near Durendaire Manor and leading into the Jeweled Crozier. Many of the shops had closed for the evening, but a few still had their lamps lit. Artoirel paused at the base of the stairs to look out over the city’s stone railings to the mountains and clouds in the distance. It was particularly overcast tonight. During the war, before Haurchefant’s injury and their father’s retirement, Artoirel had spent a lot more time idle. He’d had time to write music, or go chocobo riding, or just watch the clouds. It was hard to imagine he’d ever had so much free time, or had so little to worry about aside from the war.
He must have watched the sky for longer than he’d thought, because when Artoirel turned back to look at the rest of the group they were gone. Almost. Stephanivien had been standing just behind him, also looking at the sky. On a dark, cloudy night such as this, Stephanivien’s face was lit only by the odd streetlamp and the windows of the remaining shops open in the crozier. The lighting accentuated the warm, golden tones in his hair, and the masculine angles on his face. He was so handsome.
Artoirel realized he was holding his breath and exhaled.
He should say something. They were alone now, sort of. Artoirel opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. It did not matter how much Artoirel wished it were different, they could not be together. He needed to explain that. He needed to put the right words in the right order. He imagined it might be easier in writing, but writing was too impersonal, and would leave a paper trail besides. Stephanivien placed a hand on Artoirel’s cheek and he couldn’t help but lean into it. If Artoirel had decided on any words to say he immediately lost them.
“You wanted to talk, right?” Stephanivien’s voice was low, gentle, someone would have to be quite close to hear him clearly.
Artoirel nodded, but no words came to him.
“Would you prefer if we went someplace more private? The manufactory isn’t far.” Stephanivien paused and suddenly removed his hand from Artoirel’s face. “I promise I won’t touch you without permission.”
Artoirel nodded again. Perhaps the walk to the manufactory would give him time to sort out his feelings. The days and weeks prior had not been enough, but perhaps a few moments more would be. He fell into step next to Stephanivien and focused his attention on looking ahead and not at Stephanivien and his warm hands and muscular chest and soft lips. They were at the doors before Artoirel could get his thoughts into any kind of order. Stephanivien produced a set of keys from his trouser pocket, picked out a specific one, and inserted it into the lock.
It was the first time Artoirel had been inside the manufactory after closing time. On his previous visits it had always been filled with heat and noise and people, and with everything constantly moving, as if the building itself was some great mechanical beast. Now, however, it was cool and quiet and still. It felt as if time had stopped. The smell of ash and hot metal and smoke had been replaced with dust and wood and oil, but both states felt, in their own ways, like an extension of Stephanivien. Artoirel placed his hands on the upper balcony’s railing and closed his eyes. He heard the door softly close behind them. He felt Stephanivien move to stand next to him. Stephanivien did not touch him, but the warmth and proximity of his body was enough.
“I was hoping to talk as well,” said Stephanivien, “though, now I’m unsure where to start.”
“I hoped I’d figure out where to start by the time we got here.” Artoirel opened his eyes and gazed out over the quiet manufactory floor for a long moment before finally turning to look at Stephanivien.
“I’m sorry.” They’d spoken the words in unison and then fell silent again. Artoirel thought he saw a small hint of a relieved smile appear on Stephanivien’s face.
“Why are you apologizing?” he asked.
“I overstepped? Last time?” The hint of a smile was replaced with a look of confusion. “Didn’t I? Wasn’t that why you left?” Stephanivien raised a hand as if to brush Artoirel’s hair out of his face and then stopped without actually touching him.
Artoirel wrung his hands slightly before noticing what he was doing and settled on simply gripping the fingers of his left hand uncomfortably tightly with his right. “It was not anything you did, not really. I… I guess I got scared.” He’d regretted leaving immediately, but been too embarrassed to come back. He was too embarrassed now to admit such a thing aloud. He looked down at his own feet.
“Artoirel.” Stephanivien did touch him now. He gripped Artoirel by the chin and tilted his face up so they were looking at one another again. A small shiver ran up Artoirel’s spine. “I’ve no intention of pressuring you into doing anything you don’t wish to do. You do understand that, right?”
“I… yes, yes of course.”
Stephanivien released him and took a small step back, placing a polite distance between them. “I just… sometimes I have trouble telling what other people are feeling or thinking. So If I should stop doing something, or do something else, please tell me.”
“You really haven’t done anything wrong, and I do not think you would, even by accident.”
“But suppose I did, you would tell me, right?”
“I, well, I would try, I think.” Succeeding would be more difficult. Artoirel’s previous romantic encounters had been so few and far between he was unsure where his boundaries lay, or if he was even allowed to have them. He stared down at his own hands. His fingers were starting to go numb and he switched to worrying the hem of his coat between his fingers. “I have been enjoying our time together, really.”
“As have I. I’d hoped to continue, if you’d also like to do so, of course.” Stephanivien’s hands reached forward slightly, and for a moment Artoirel thought, hoped, that Stephanivien might embrace him, only for him to pause and lower his hands again.
“I- I mustn’t…” Artoirel felt his chest grow tight. He’d been feeling it often lately but it was only now that he recognized it as that tense overwhelmed feeling one has just before beginning to cry. He was unsure when the last time was that he’d properly wept but now the feeling just built up in his chest and throat and refused to release the pressure by spilling over into actual tears. “It does not matter what I would like.”
“It matters to me.” Stephanivien’s hands reached forward again. Artoirel stepped between them before Stephanivien could hesitate and pull back again. He leaned forward to rest his head against Stephanivien’s shoulder as the machinist’s arms wrapped around his back. From past encounters, Artoirel knew that if he tried to move away Stephanivien would release him. He’d been… forward in ways, certainly, but never once tried to trap or chase him. Part of Artoirel wished that he would.
I’m going to run away again, he thought. Pray, do not let me. The tightness in his chest increased. The tears did not come. For a moment, Artoirel thought his heart may stop right then and there, and felt a slight pang of disappointment when it did not. Had he died in Stephanivien’s arms, he would never have to push him away. “There are obligations,” he choked out, “a count must marry and father children.”
“Must you?” Long fingers threaded their way into Artoirel’s hair and began to gently massage his scalp. Artoirel’s eyes fluttered closed and the pressure on his heart seemed to lessen. “Times are changing, there are other options, and still more options will be invented.”
“I… cannot picture it. I wish that I could.” Artoirel wanted to put his arms around Stephanivien as well. He needed to push him away. His arms fell limply at his sides. “Whenever I try, I find myself fantasizing about the impossible.”
Stephanivien let out a small hum. “We’ve seen a number of impossible things these past few years.” The hand in Artoirel’s hair moved down to rub his back. “You seem tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night, perhaps not at all.”
“We could stay the night here, if you like. I’ve added a sofa to my little office space. It folds out into a bed.”
Artoirel had never heard of such a thing, and imagined Stephanivien may have built it himself, inventive as he was. Images flashed through his mind of nude bodies intertwining, how Stephanivien’s skin would feel against his, of falling asleep and then waking up in one another’s arms… impossible. He somehow managed to get his hands between them, braced against Stephanivien’s handsome and muscular chest, and straightened his arms, putting space between them. As predicted, Stephanivien released him at the first sign of resistance. “I- I should get home or everyone will wonder where I have gone.”
“Do you… want to walk together?”
Yes, more than anything.
“N-no… I’m sorry.”
Artoirel fled the manufactory and practically sprinted back to Fortemps manor. He attempted to calm his racing heart as he pushed open the front door and past his brothers and up the stairs. They called after him but he responded only that he wished to retire early that evening and not to be disturbed.
Once in the relative safety of his bedroom and with the door closed he set the large orchestrion on shuffle before stripping down to his smallclothes and throwing himself onto the bed. Perhaps, if the music was loud enough, he would not hear his own thoughts.
Notes:
okay, hopefully I have caught all the typos and spelling errors and dropped or repeated words. I'll probably give the chapter another read over in the morning.
Anyway I do have a more general plan for the next chapter so hopefully it won't take quite so long to write. No guarantees though.
Chapter 9: Nine
Notes:
Okay I'm cutting the chapter here. It's over 7k words. I haven't fully proofread yet so don't be surprised if I make some minor edits in the next day or two.
I think maybe 1-2 more chapters? We shall see.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel did not recall falling asleep, but he was freezing when he awoke. He’d evidently partially pulled the bedclothes over himself, but not properly tucked himself in. There were tear stains on his pillow, though he did not recall crying either. The orchestrion was still running, playing a song he’d purchased in the Jeweled Crozier years ago and forgotten about. A love song, of all things. It had been written for an opera his mother had taken him to see when he was a young boy: a tragic story of a young man attempting to rescue his lover from the underworld, and ultimately failing. The opera’s opening song stated that the story ended sadly, but Artoirel had still been moved to tears at the conclusion. He wondered if he could credit the performance with sparking his fondness for music.
This song in particular was traditionally performed by the male lead, but this recording had a female vocalist. She sang so beautifully. Artoirel had always liked the song, but it struck him differently now… a song of love and longing and being willing to go to hell and back for the woman she loved.
He got out of bed and shut off the orchestrion. He needed to be dressed and downstairs for breakfast. After two nights now of poor sleep and a stressful day in between, Artoirel wasn’t feeling especially well, sluggish and somewhat achy. He was just tired. It would pass.
Artoirel pulled on a pair of trousers and a sweater he’d been gifted last starlight, and chanced to look in the mirror as he was combing his hair. The dark circles under his eyes hadn’t really faded. They may even have gotten worse. If he stayed in his office all day no one was likely to comment on his appearance, save perhaps Emmanellain.
Edmont was already at the breakfast table when Artoirel arrived, newspaper in hand and looking relaxed. They exchanged their good mornings as Artoirel took a seat.
“You were out rather later than usual last night,” said Edmont over the rim of his teacup. “I didn’t see you get in.”
“I lost track of time, and went directly to bed when I got home.” Artoirel reached for the teapot to pour himself a cup, and noticed a slight tremor in his hands that wasn’t usually there.
“Well, I am glad to hear you’re beginning to socialize a bit more. You spend so much of your time alone.”
“I know, I have been thinking about that…”
Artoirel’s brothers, still in their pajamas, entered the room before he could finish the thought. A pair of maids swept in just after them carrying trays filled with baked goods and fresh fruit and cheese filled omelets. Artoirel waited for his father and brothers to fill their own plates before serving himself.
“So I thought last night went rather well.” Emmanellain loaded down his breakfast plate with pastries and made rather pointed eye contact with Artoirel.
“I agree,” said Edmont, not looking up from the paper. “I cannot recall the last time I was able to have such a lovely chat with Lady Almette.”
“It certainly could have gone worse,” Artoirel admitted. He may have made a terrible mistake at the end of the night, but what was done was done. He’d have to try to move forward with his life… without Stephanivien in it. He cleared his throat. “Ah, in any case I’ve been thinking, and I think I ought to begin courting someone.”
“Really?” Haurchefant coughed. Emmanellain dropped his pain au chocolat in his lap.
Edmont finally lowered his newspaper. “Did you have someone in mind?”
“Not specifically,” Artoirel admitted, “it’s just, well, I am already older than you were when I was born.”
“Not by much.”
“No, but, well I thought I ought to start looking.”
“I see.” Edmont shifted some in his chair. “Well, I hope you will not rush into anything. You have time to consider your options.”
“I know. I am trying to consider them.” If his mother were still alive he would already be married to someone she’d picked for him, he was sure. Artoirel glanced across the table at his brothers. Haurchefant’s eyes were wide, and his jaw slightly agape. Thilan was idly chewing on an orange slice and either didn’t understand what was going on or was letting himself appear that way. Emmanellain looked… distraught, as if he may burst into tears. Artoirel could not fathom why he cared so much. “I promise I shall think very carefully about this.”
Thinking brought Artoirel to a set of large double doors on the east wing of the manor. He’d been far too young to understand at the time but his parents’ relationship had changed dramatically when Haurchefant was brought home. Attempts had been made to patch things up, Emmanellain’s very existence had been proof of that, but by the time of Artoirel’s sixth nameday his mother had moved out of the master bedroom and into the mother-in-law suite on the opposite end of the house. He hadn’t recognized the significance of the move until he was much older. His mother had been excellent at playing the role of countess, and keeping up the appearance of a perfect wife and mother. She’d always kept up appearances, and Artoirel never saw a hair on her head out of place until she was on her deathbed.
He hadn’t set foot in the room in the years since she’d passed. No one had apart from the occasional maid going in to dust, but the room lay otherwise undisturbed. Mother would have picked someone for him. She probably had a list of candidates started by the time Artoirel could walk. A perfect wife and mother would have a perfect son and the perfect son would have a perfect wife. If she’d made a list and written it down it would contain the names of all the women in Artoirel’s generation who were from prestigious enough families to be considered suitable. He could think of no better place to start.
Artoirel placed a hand on the knob and could not bring himself to turn it.
“What are you doing?”
Artoirel jumped back from the door as if he had been burned. Just a short way down the hall Thilan and Haurchefant were approaching him. Thilan was anyhow, and he was dragging Haurchefant with him by the hand in a sort of reverse of their usual behavior. “Ah…” Artoirel wondered how to explain. “This was my mother’s room, when she was alive.”
“Oh.” Thilan stared at him and did that sort of confused head tilt gesture of his. “Are you going inside?”
“I was, er, looking for something, but…” Artoirel paused. Thilan’s soft, freckly face projected an innocence that was at the same time honest and really should not belong to someone who killed gods for a living. Haurchefant was looking down at the floor. He looked… small, somehow, despite his actual stature. “It just feels weird, even though she’s been gone for years.”
“Well it’s technically your house now, isn’t it? You should be able to go where you please.”
“Yes, I suppose so…” Artoirel stepped forward a bit and leaned down just slightly to try to catch his brother’s eye. “Everyone in the family may go where they please.”
Haurchefant met his gaze briefly and straightened his posture, but didn’t say anything.
“Well, what are you looking for?” Thilan asked. “Do you want me to help?”
“Do you remember what I was saying at breakfast?”
“No.”
“Uh, well, I was saying I ought to start courting, I ought to have started years ago.”
Thilan was nodding but something about the look on his face implied he didn’t fully understand. Artoirel supposed he ought not expect him to. The Warrior of Light was good at a great many things but Ishgardian courtship customs were not among his talents.
Artoirel coughed to clear his throat. “You never met my mother but she was very… particular about things. I imagine she would have kept tabs on girls she might want me to marry.”
“Oh.” Thilan tilted his head again. “It seems strange, wouldn’t you have been a child at the time?”
“Well, yes. It’s not so unusual for noble families to arrange for their children to wed one another, some couples are betrothed from quite an early age. Had Mother not passed away I’d almost certainly be married already.”
“But you wouldn’t get to choose? She would have chosen your wife for you?”
“Yes.”
“And now she’s gone and you’re still letting her choose?”
“I hadn’t exactly thought of it that way, but… well I suppose I’d like to know who she would have preferred.” Artoirel noticed he was wringing his hands again and folded them behind his back instead.
Thilan let out a small hum. “In that case I’ll help you look. A list of lady’s names, right?”
“Yes, or something like it.”
“Artoirel?” Haurchefant finally spoke. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
Artoirel’s eyes met his brother’s. It seemed an odd question. He wanted Stephanivien. He could not have him. He’d have to try to be happy with what he could have. “It does not matter what I want. Are you going to help?”
“I’d sooner die than set foot in that bedroom suite.”
“Don’t joke about that!” Suddenly much more animated than usual, Thilan threw his arms around Haurchefant’s waist and buried his face into the crook of his neck.
“Haurchefant…”
Haurchefant lowered his gaze to the floor again. “Sorry, I know she was a loving mother to you.”
“… no, it’s alright, I understand.” Artoirel’s own feelings about his mother had grown rather complicated the more he reflected upon their childhoods. He did still love her as most children love their mothers, but there was something else there now too. He couldn’t put the conflicting feelings into words and the thought of trying filled him with yet more indescribable and unpleasant feelings. “She… she cannot hurt you anymore, Haurchefant.”
“I know.” Haurchefant moved to sit on a small bench on the other side of the hall, the sort that was placed more for decoration than for function. “I simply prefer to wait in the hall.”
“Very well.” Artoirel placed his hand back on the doorknob, held his breath, and turned it.
The inside of the room was pristine. The bed made, the books orderly on the shelves, the makeup brushes and perfume bottles laid out on the vanity as if their owner may sit down to use them at any moment. Artoirel reached out to touch the large harp near the foot of the bed but stopped before his fingers met the strings.
“Oh, do you play the harp as well?” Thilan had made a sort of slow loop around the bedroom but hadn’t touched anything.
“Er, a little. I never got good at it.” He did pluck one of the strings now, it needed tuning. “Mother used to let me play it when I was little. I guess it kept me from crying while she brushed my hair. My arms were too short to reach all of the strings back then.”
“Hm…” Thilan placed a hand on his chin and stared somewhat curiously at Artoirel. Artoirel felt as if he were being studied.
“What?”
“I guess… I struggle to picture you as a child. I can imagine a younger Haurchefant quite easily. Your faces are rather similar in many ways, but I cannot imagine you as anything but an adult.”
“Our circumstances were rather different, despite being raised in the same home.”
Thilan nodded.
Artoirel cleared his throat. “Anyhow, Mother was a prolific journal keeper, I should think her journals would be a good place to start looking.”
The journals themselves were lined up neatly on two rows of bookshelves, all identical books with identical covers save for the dates carefully written onto the spines in gold ink. The books were arranged in chronological order, so Artoirel sat on the floor by the earliest volumes and Thilan by the most recent and began working their way towards the middle.
Artoirel skipped the first volumes, the ones written before he’d been born, and pulled the first book marked with his own birth year. He opened it to find each page labeled with a motivational quote from the Enchiridion and the date at the top and tried not to read too much of the actual journal entries as he scanned the pages for his own name. He didn’t find much in the first few books: a mention of how Artoirel had been named after his great grandfather, hopes that he’d grow up to be as good a count as his father, comments on things he’d done as a baby that his mother had found especially charming, and an entry from a few months after he’d been born that the Haillenartes had also had their first son. His mother had described Stephanivien as ‘not as cute of a baby as Artoirel’ but he assumed she was biased on account of being his mother. Nothing seemed particularly out of sorts until he got about two and a half years further into the journals. There he found an entry written in messier, more agitated handwriting than usual and on a page marked with small spots of bleeding ink and crinkled, water damaged paper. Artoirel knew a tear stained diary entry when he saw one.
“...how could he do this to me? To Artoirel? An affair is bad enough, but to bring the results home? Why couldn’t he simply leave it in the streets like everyone else…”
Artoirel turned the page.
“...Edmont and I had the most terrible argument. I have had to put my foot down with regards to the will and the family name. I will not have some harlot’s child taking what belongs to my Artoirel. Why could he not simply lie and tell everyone the child is a common foundling…”
He turned another page.
“...I do not want them sharing a nursery. Ideally they would not even share a home. That baby is such a fussy, colicky thing. We’d all be better off without it. I know it’s terrible but, sometimes I think, it would be so easy to be rid of it. Left on the cathedral doorstep, perhaps. Or mayhaps the Fury will see fit to take it. Babies die in the crib all the time, after all, and then everything would go back to normal…”
Artoirel’s blood ran cold and he snapped the book shut. She wouldn’t. She didn’t, obviously, but the fact that she’d even imagined such a thing... Artoirel turned to look back out into the hallway. Haurchefant was still sitting on the bench, at some point Emmanellain had joined him, and was very much alive. He certainly had not been murdered in infancy by Artoirel’s mother or Halone herself or anyone else. He placed the journal back onto the bookshelf with the others. Under no circumstances could he tell Haurchefant or Emmanellain what he had just read, and he especially could not let Thilan know about it. The Warrior of Light was, typically, very calm, even in the face of great danger. The one thing that reliably cracked that calm demeanor was a threat to someone he cared about, and when that someone was Haurchefant it was less a crack and more an explosion. Sometimes it was a literal explosion when magic was involved. The threat was long past, if it had ever been a real threat beyond the private musings of a heartbroken woman at all. No good could come from this. Fearful that the later journals may contain similar sentiments, Artoirel redirected his attention to Thilan, who had amassed a stack of journals on the floor next to him. Thilan pulled another book off the shelf, and, rather than flipping through the pages or reading anything, turned the book spine-side up and gave it a shake. He added the book to the stack.
“Thilan?”
“Hm?” Thilan looked up at him as if he hadn’t been doing anything odd. “Oh! I figured if there was a list your mother had maintained over time and kept updating, it would be a loose scrap of paper rather than bound into the book.”
Artoirel wondered why he hadn’t thought of that, and watched Thilan shake out three more journals until one finally dropped a folded piece of paper. Artoirel reached out to pick it up before Thilan could. Unfolding it revealed exactly the sort of thing Artoirel had been looking for, a list of names of girls around his age… now that he looked at it they were all younger than him, some significantly so. Artoirel supposed some men preferred the company of women much younger than themselves, though he did not really see the appeal. If he must be with a woman he wanted one who was intellectually his equal and a girl barely an adult was unlikely to have the life experience necessary for such a thing. Some of the names had been crossed out or even had notes written next to them like “quite pretty” “gossip” or “devout” written next to them. “This is… exactly the sort of starting point I hoped for. Thank you, Thilan. Your knack for finding precisely what is needed has come in very handy again.”
Thilan cracked a small smile, but he also appeared to be slightly embarrassed. A slight flush was visible in the pale freckly spots scattered across his otherwise dark grey face. “Ah, well, I’m happy to help.”
They arranged the journals back onto the bookshelf in chronological order, and stepped back into the hallway. Artoirel stopped to close the door behind them. Thilan kept moving until he was close enough to wrap his arms loosely around Haurchefant’s neck and leaned down to kiss him on the temple. Haurchefant’s hands settled onto Thilan’s hips.
“What were you doing in Mother’s room?” asked Emmanellain.
Artoirel suddenly felt rather self conscious about the entire scenario, but he could hardly lie about it at this point. “I thought perhaps Mother would have written down her thoughts on who she hoped I might marry.”
“Well, who did she want?” Emmanellain jumped up and snatched the list of names from Artoirel’s hands before he could hide it away. “Laniaitte was on her short list!?”
“She is the Haillenartes’ only daughter… I’ve no intention of courting her, if that worries you.”
“Mother called her ‘tomboyish’!”
“Well… she did become a knight.”
“Artoirel. Remember what you were just saying to me?” Haurchefant’s voice was low, and soft, and not as accusatory as it could have been. “If your mother cannot harm me anymore, nor can she have any control over you.”
“She cannot, but…”
“If you must marry, think about the sort of person you’d want.”
“I…” Artoirel could not consider who he might want. If he tried he’d list qualities like intelligent and kind, and fun to be around and they all led him back to thinking of Stephanivien. It didn’t help that Stephanivien was also incredibly handsome. Haurchefant rose from the bench and headed down the hallway without waiting for a response. Thilan fell into step beside him. Artoirel let out a sigh.
Emmanellain held out the folded list of names and allowed Artoirel to take it back. “If it’s what you truly want, I shall help you to narrow down the options further.”
Artoirel looked down at the paper in his hand. He hated to admit it, but Emmanellain’s habits of following gossip and skirt chasing would both come in usefully. “Alright.”
The first thing Artoirel did after he and Emmanellain were seated on opposite sides of his office desk was to cross Laniaitte’s name off of the list. Other women were also easy to eliminate as they were already married. Emmanellain knew many of their exact wedding dates, to whom they were married, and which ones were involved in affairs.
“Timinne de Maicier married Eausort de Savoix four summers ago.” Emmanellain tapped one of the names on the list and Artoirel crossed it out. “She does fancy you though.”
“I have no recollection of who she is.”
“Brother, she stops outside our manor and gazes dreamily at our manor twice a day every day, and dashing as I am she is not pining for my affections.”
“Perhaps it’s simply convenient for her.”
“Savoix manor is on the other end of town.”
“Regardless, I have never noticed her and I’ve no intention of starting now. The last thing I want is to participate in an extramarital affair.”
“So you will stop seeing Stephanivien once you are wed?”
“I am not seeing him.”
Emmanellain let out an exasperated huff. “Well, if you must marry a lady I think you should choose one who will allow you to see him.”
Artoirel sighed. It was a ridiculous idea. Emmanellain was often full of ridiculous ideas when it came to romance. “Father’s indiscretion very nearly tore our family apart. I will not do the same to my own children.”
“Unless the rumors about him are very incorrect, you and Stephanivien will not be having any bastard children. Besides, it wasn’t all bad, we got Haurchefant out of it.”
That was true. It was too difficult to say aloud but their lives were improved by Haurchefant’s presence both in small, personal ways, and larger ones. In a way the resolution of the Dragonsong War was his doing. Another knight commander may not have fallen in love with the Warrior of Light, and therefore not been motivated enough to beg their father grant him and his friends asylum in Ishgard. Without their interference the Archbishop’s reign, and the war, may have continued on the same as ever. Artoirel thought back to what he had read in his mother’s journals, and gripped the quill a bit harder.
“Brother, your hands are shaking. Is aught amiss?”
Artoirel tried to force his hands to steady but the tremor remained. “Yes, everything is fine, I was just thinking… how different things may have been.”
Emmanellain stayed silent for a moment. “Oh. You read Mother’s journals.”
Artoirel had been staring down at the desk and the list of now mostly crossed out names, but now he looked up to meet his little brother’s eyes. “You read Mother’s journals?”
“Of course I did, Artoirel! I couldn’t just not know what sorts of secrets were in there.”
Artoirel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. If Emmanellain could channel that nosiness into a productive direction he might make a decent detective. “Does it not… complicate your feelings about Mother? About our entire family?”
“Our family was already complicated, Artoirel.” Emmanellain gave a little shrug. “I cannot recall Mother ever truly being happy, she cared so much about everything being just so and it made her miserable. So I try not to judge her harshly for anything she may have written in what she assumed would be a private journal.”
“That is true. If I were to write down my every private thought surely there would be many things in there I would not be proud of.” Artoirel laced his fingers together and looked back down at the list. There were only a small handful of names left. If he thought back to his fuzziest, earliest memories, there were times when Mother had seemed happy, but he couldn’t be sure if he was remembering incorrectly or if Haurchefant’s birth had truly changed everything. “I hope the afterlife is happier for her.”
“Me too.” Emmanellain let out a small hum and tucked his feet up into the chair. “Gods, Mother would have a fit if she saw how our romantic lives were going. Haurchefant is the closest to marrying of the three of us.”
“I have been thinking that she would have arranged a wife for me, probably for you as well. I suspect she would dislike you courting a male pirate.”
Emmanellain laughed. “Sicard is practically the opposite of a refined Ishgardian noblewoman.”
“I suppose I ought to meet this Sicard at some point, since your relationship sounds rather serious.”
“Ah, well…”
“Is it not?”
“Well, you know, we’ve um, done… things… but Lominsans are rather freer with their affections than Ishgardians on average.”
“He… is aware of your romantic interest. I hope?”
Emmanellain leapt from the chair and towards the office door with a surprising agility. “Oh! So sorry, Artoirel! I need to… I must be going!”
The door opened and shut and Emmanellain was gone. Artoirel made a mental note to ask Honoroit if there were any details he ought to know about when he next saw the boy.
Artoirel had managed to pare the list of eligible bachelorettes down from twenty something to about five. First by crossing off any who had already married, and a few unfortunate souls who had been killed in the calamity or the war, and fewer still who seemed to have vanished from the city entirely. Next he had ruled out anyone who he’d interacted with enough to find unpleasant, or who simply would not make for a good match. The remaining names were ones Artoirel knew, but mostly in passing. He’d danced with most of them at some formal gathering or another but such memories had ways of blurring together and Artoirel had little impression of them as people. He decided to make a point to dance with each of them at the next large ball, and perhaps some other available women as well and hopefully one of them would strike his fancy. No woman ever had before, but perhaps this time would be different.
There was a good opportunity coming up: a ball was to be held to celebrate the opening of the Empyreum housing districts. Such a large celebration was going to have a long guest list and provide a good opportunity to interact with many different people. Artoirel had practically forgotten about it until it got brought up in a House of Lords. The House of Commons had voted against the proposed dress code and the altered proposal had been sent back to the House of Lords to be voted on again. Artoirel voted to use the updated proposal that lacked the dress code. There were likely to be many adventurers in attendance and he had very little time to prepare himself. It would be easy to appear refined and well dressed if half the guests turned up in combat gear. There were only a couple of days left, after all.
Artoirel spent the last couple of days before the Empyreum Inaugural Ball holed up in his office. He had a lot of paperwork to finish and leaving the house risked the possibility of running into… anyone really, but he especially could not bear to see Stephanivien right now. He needed avoid the man until his feelings for him faded. Artoirel hoped to find an appropriate replacement at the ball, and surely Stephanivien, charmingly eccentric and handsome as he was, would easily attract the affections of someone more preferable than Artoirel. If only Artoirel could sleep without dreaming of Stephanivien’s hands in his hair and his lips on his own and… he woke up the morning of the ball face down on his desk. His steward knocked on the door to summon him for breakfast. Artoirel peeled a loose sheet of paper off his face and headed upstairs to meet his family for breakfast.
The housing raffle had evidently not gone well. Artoirel had never seen Thilan sulk before but he was leaning forward onto his elbows and pushing his scrambled eggs around on the plate with his fork rather than forgetting his food entirely as he usually did. Haurchefant was rubbing his back sympathetically. Artoirel, or Emmanellain more likely, would be scolded for adopting the same posture, but being a foreigner and clearly already upset granted Thilan more leeway in such social faux pas.
“Good morning, Artoirel,” said his father from behind the morning paper.
“Good morning.” Artoirel pulled out the chair opposite Haurchefant and sat down. “I take it you did not win a house?”
“No. Sadly.” Haurchefant waved over one of the maids. “Bring him a mimosa, would you?” The maid squeaked out a ‘yes, m’lord’ and scurried off to the kitchens. She must be new if Haurchefant made her nervous.
“Well, you got your gil back, right? You can try again next round.”
Thilan shrugged. “I knew I was unlikely to win, I should not be as upset as I feel.”
“It’s perfectly normal to be disappointed,” said Haurchefant.
“Gods, Artoirel, you look like hell!” Emmanellain had slipped into the room, still in his pajamas, and flopped down in the chair next to Artoirel.
“Er, I do?”
“Your hair is a little… unruly,” Haurchefant admitted.
“There’s ink on your face as well, and you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”
“I…”
“It’s okay to fall asleep in weird places, I do it all the time.” Thilan had perked up slightly now that he had a flute of champagne and orange juice in hand.
“I…I have a lot of work to do, is all.”
Artoirel ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage and fled upstairs to his bedroom.
The mirror in the attached bathroom revealed that Haurchefant’s description of his hair as ‘unruly’ had been an understatement. It was a mess, tossed and tangled worse than it was after some airship flights. He supposed he may as well begin preparing for the ball that evening. He needed to look presentable. He intended to find a wife there, after all.
Artoirel was dreading it. He told himself he should be excited. He stared at his own reflection as he was combing out his hair and ordered himself to be excited. Why wasn’t it working? He sighed as he removed the clasp from the braid in his hair and unwound the strands. Whenever Artoirel had been required to do something he did not especially want to do he’d swallowed his own feelings and done it anyhow. This should not be all that different. It was only for tonight, and then perhaps the rest of his life, but it should be no different than his life up until this point. He drew a hot bath while he finished combing out his hair.
The warm water did help with soothing away the stiff joints in his neck and back. He must have acquired them by falling asleep at his desk. His shoulder muscles felt even tighter than usual as well. Artoirel scrubbed his hair and body clean as quickly as he could but, instead of getting up after, leaned back in the tub and allowed his eyes to close. He was only resting them for a moment, he thought.
Stephanivien was leaning over him. Artoirel’s eyes fluttered open as long, gentle fingers pushed his damp hair away from his face. He should, perhaps, ask what Stephanivien was doing there, but when he opened his mouth to speak no sound came out. The hand moved from Artoirel’s forehead to caress his cheek. Artoirel’s body felt so heavy he knew he could not move if he tried. It did not occur to him to be embarrassed of his nudity, nor to be afraid of his inability to move or speak. Stephanivien smiled at him, and Artoirel felt relaxed. Stephanivien leaned down to kiss him, and Artoirel felt safe. The hand on his cheek moved down, over his throat and chest, and into the water. It moved further down, still, until it was grasping him firmly and Artoirel’s hips rose up into the touch. “Good, you’re doing beautifully.”
Artoirel’s eyes snapped open and found himself alone, uncomfortably aroused, and lying in a bath of now room temperature water. He removed the bathtub’s stopper, pulled his legs up to his chest, and leaned his head down onto his knees. Artoirel stayed there as he waited for the water to drain and the chill air on his damp skin to chase away the arousal and thoughts of Stephanivien. What an absurd thing to dream about. He was shivering terribly by the time he felt normal enough to climb out of the bath and wrap himself in a towel. He was fine, he told himself, the room was just cold.
The chronometer on Artoirel’s nightstand indicated he’d slept for several bells and it was nearly time for supper. The ball wasn’t scheduled to begin until seven pm, and it was still considered fashionable to show up a bit late. Artoirel had some time still to prepare. He planned to arrive at seventeen minutes and a few seconds past. Less than fifteen minutes late was not late enough to be fashionable, more than twenty was too late to be polite, and exactly fifteen or twenty minutes was too exact to not come across as calculated. He gave his hair another comb through, so it would dry into the desired position, and ran a bit of leave in hair cream into the strands to prevent flyaways and add a subtle pleasant scent. He started to braid the lock of hair behind his left ear as usual only to get halfway through and realize he wasn’t certain where he’d put the clasp. He’d find it and put the braid back in before he left, certainly.
Artoirel did not go downstairs for supper, instead he asked for a light meal to be sent to his room while he finished getting dressed. Fortunately his wardrobe was filled with things that were appropriate for a formal dance. There may no longer be a dress code, but Artoirel must project his status if he was to attract the sort of attention he needed. It took some time but he eventually chose a pair of comfortable leggings in red, black over the knee boots with gold buttons up the sides, and a black tunic and coat that were light enough to not overheat and also flare out dramatically on the dance floor. He pinned the same House Fortemps crested brooch onto the coat that he’d worn at the recent dinner party, before second guessing himself, removing it, and choosing a larger and more elaborate one. He was putting in his earrings when Emmanellain threw open the bedroom door.
“Brother, we really must be going or we are going to be late. Not fashionably late. Actually late.”
“I am aware, do not worry.” Artoirel exited his bedroom and left the manor with his father and brothers for the housing districts. He had never found the clasp for his braid.
The Ingleside apartment building housed not just a host of apartments for less wealthy or less lucky adventurers, but a sizable event space as well. The ballroom was filled with Ishgardian locals, highborn and lowborn both, and adventurers of all sorts. It was the most diverse gathering of people Artoirel had seen in Ishgard since… ever. Aymeric offered only the briefest of greetings before hurrying off to deal with some hosting duty or another. Artoirel smoothed out his coat. Openly chatting with Aymeric might help for him to stand out, but he didn’t need the extra help. Artoirel was quite the eligible bachelor, on paper at least.
He’d only gotten a few paces into the party before the rest of his family had scattered. Thilan was headed for the bar, no doubt, if he had not simply turned around and left. Haurchefant was probably right behind him. Artoirel briefly spotted his father through the crowd, leading the recently widowed Laurrenne de Pauretont onto the dance floor, despite his bad leg. The crowd swallowed them up again and Artoirel hoped his father would not overdo it and harm himself. Emmanellain could have gone anywhere. Artoirel straightened his posture and scanned the room for any of the ladies on his mother’s acceptable daughters in law list. He didn’t need his father or brothers by his side for this.
Things did not go as Artoirel hoped.
The live music was beautiful but quite modern and there were not yet established dances for some of the faster time signatures. Artoirel would have to improvise. He first danced with a rogadyn woman with a Lominsan accent and who was already somewhat inebriated. He supposed he did see some appeal in a woman taller and stronger than him but she was somewhat frightening and when the song ended she was gone without giving her name. She was certainly not on the list anyhow. Artoirel swung by the bar to grab a glass of champagne. It should help to calm his nerves. As predicted, Thilan was there, shoving several bottles of wine and liquor into his jacket.
“We’re going to go buy an apartment,” Haurchefant shouted over the music, “we may not return home tonight.”
Artoirel gave them an acknowledging wave, and tried to pretend he didn’t know exactly what they’d be doing, in that very same building, once they had a private space to do it in. He wasn’t like to see them again that evening. They were gone and Artoirel refocused himself on the task at hand.
He made a point to dance with every woman who approached him, with special care to make note of those who would have met his mother’s approval. Nauffiene de Traibanoix turned out to be a sweet girl who was ten years his junior and giggled at everything he said regardless of if it were funny or not. Artoirel mentally crossed her off the list. Eleone de Faucuet was twenty one and had not yet finished her growth spurt. She seemed clever but Artoirel could not imagine courting anyone who still looked at all like a child. Usheanne de Jeaumimault kept ignoring him in favor of openly flirting with the other ladies. For a moment, Artoirel considered that a woman who fancied other women might be sympathetic to his predicament, but the song ended and she was off dancing with a female adventurer before Artoirel could think of a tactful way to broach the subject. Artoirel made his way back to the bar for a second glass of champagne.
Perhaps this had been a poor plan. He had two names left on the mental list. Surely one of them would be suitable. Auvette de Gouhort was heavily intoxicated and tried multiple times to work her hands under his clothing. Mid-dance Artoirel spotted Emmanellain chatting rather closely with a hyuran man with seafoam colored hair and Lominsan garb. Was that Sicard? Auvette fell asleep leaning on Artoirel’s chest and he had to carry her off the dance floor. He lost track of Emmanellain and Possibly Sicard in the process of finding a maid from House Gouhort who could care for Auvette until she sobered up.
Feyenne de Ziesilont was the last name on Artoirel’s mother’s list who had not been eliminated as an option. She appeared excited to dance with him, and at first seemed like a good choice. She smiled and nodded and only laughed at what Artoirel said when it was appropriate. She was too appropriate. When Artoirel asked how she was enjoying the party she smiled and nodded and laughed. When Artoirel implied that all the women he’d seen that evening were lovely she agreed. When Artoirel implied that all the women were not lovely she agreed then as well.
“Have you got any hobbies?” he asked, “what do you do in your spare time?”
“Oh, the usual things, what do you do in your spare time?”
“Well, I do like to collect orchestrion rolls.”
“Oh! I love orchestrion rolls!” She’d stressed the word ‘love’ just a little too much. Artoirel could tell when a person was molding themselves to meet expectations. He’d done it his entire life.
He handed Feyenne off to her next dance partner and someone new caught his hand before he could really consider what to do next. The woman who stepped into his arms was someone who looked familiar but was certainly not Ishgardian. She was a duskwight, like Thilan, though her complexion was more of a soft blueish grey compared to the Warrior of Light’s deep midnight sky. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders and her dress was form fitting and adorned with countless strands of beads that swayed when she moved and glittered under the lights. She was quite lovely by any standards Artoirel could measure by.
“You’re Artoirel de Fortemps, are you not?” She smiled. Her voice was low for a woman, and slightly melodic. She had a Gridanian accent.
“I am, but I fear I do not know your name, miss...?”
“Jehette Zousumeaux,” she laughed, “I’m with the band.”
It clicked then for Artoirel, she looked familiar because she had been on the stage. The last few songs had been fully instrumental. “You’re the singer.”
“Yes!” She smiled. “Is it true that you wrote the Commencement Song to celebrate the Firmament’s completion?”
“I did, but how did you come to hear it?”
“I have my ways.” She winked at him.
They continued talking even after the dance ended, moving to the bar to get drinks and then out onto a balcony to continue the conversation.
“Is it true that the Warrior of Light is like family to you?”
“Essentially, yes. Though if you’re romantically interested in him he’s already quite dedicated to my brother.”
Jehette laughed. “Perish the thought. I prefer more… elegant men. It’s simply that he’s quite popular with the duskwight community in Gridania. The children especially idolize him.”
“Oh, that does make sense. I’d be curious to meet him too in those circumstances.” He paused. “But, I fear he and Haurchefant have already left the ball. If you will be in town for longer I can probably introduce you.”
“I will be in town for at least the next day or two. I should love to meet him if that is possible, and if you are able I’d be delighted to hear more of your musical compositions.”
“Oh, ah, I think that could be arranged.”
“Do you ever write pieces for vocalists?”
“Hm, not so far.” Words had too much specific meaning, and were more vulnerable to share than raw musical notes. “But, I should perhaps give it a try.”
“Oh! I hope you do, and I hope you will consider me if you ever need a vocal performer.”
“I absolutely will.”
Jehette was smart, and friendly, and certainly pretty enough. She still sparked no feelings of lust in Artoirel, but she checked nearly all the boxes otherwise. Perhaps the feelings of desire would come later. He just needed to try harder.
“Could I walk you back to your inn room?”
She agreed and took his arm. Artoirel thought things were going rather well. They headed back inside to find it growing late and the crowd starting to thin and before they reached the exit Artoirel found himself face to face with the last person he expected to see at an Ishgardian ball.
Stephanivien was wearing an off white blouse with loose sleeves and the collar unbuttoned more than was considered appropriate at any formal function. His dark green trousers fit high in the waist and snugly enough to make it clear where the rumors about his… endowments, had come from. Feelings of desire came to Artoirel now. He felt his throat go oddly dry.
“St-Stephanivien!” Artoirel choked out. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
Notes:
Edit: OH! I forgot! I also wrote a bunch of little vignettes about them for rarepair week. You can find those here if you haven't seen them already: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47847226/chapters/120625441
Chapter 10: Ten
Summary:
I thought this may be the last chapter but it's not, there will be at least one more.
They don't fuck this chapter, but next one, I promise. It's also a little shorter, about 5700 words instead of the over 6000 some of the others are.
Anyway am I posting this without anyone else having read it over? yes. Should I do that? probably not.
I am impatient, is the thing.
Chapter Text
“You ran away again, after we last spoke? Not a moment has passed that I haven’t thought of you.” Stephanivien’s tone of voice had not been angry. Rather he had answered the question as if it had no particular emotional charge to it at all. Artoirel sort of wished Stephanivien were angry. It would have made it easier to brush him aside. Instead he was frozen in place, unsure what he should say or do.
Jehette let out an audible breath through her nose and gave Artoirel’s arm a small squeeze before releasing him. “I should have guessed you were too good to be true.”
Artoirel managed to turn his head enough to look at her. She was smiling but her eyes looked sad. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I don’t know what you have going on but it’s clearly something with the way you gasped when you saw him.”
“I don’t think either he or I know what we have going on either,” said Stephanivien, “I would very much like to know.”
Artoirel hadn’t realized that he’d gasped. How could Jehette tell so much from just that? “It’s…” It wasn’t nothing between him and Stephanivien. He didn’t want to lie. “Nothing I said to you tonight was untrue, and I really did enjoy chatting with you.”
Jehette laughed. “I enjoyed chatting as well.” She reached into her dress, into the small gap between her breasts, and removed a small metal case and a fountain pen. Opening the case revealed a small stack of cards. Jehette removed one and wrote something down on the back of it.
Artoirel stared at her and wondered how the pen hadn’t leaked. She stuffed the card into his coat’s breast pocket.
“My linkpearl frequency, for when you figure yourself out. I’ll find someone else to walk me back to the inn and I hope you will still think of me, should you ever write a song that has lyrics.”
“I will…”
Jehette patted the pocket where she’d stuck her card, and backed away a couple of steps before turning and disappearing back into the remains of the ballroom’s crowd. Artoirel’s heart sank a little as her glittery dress vanished from view. Perhaps he could not love her as she deserved, but he’d found her lovely and pleasant in all other respects. Someone like Jehette was the best he could have hoped for. A sigh escaped from his throat.
“Artoirel?” Stephanivien placed a hand on Artoirel’s cheek and guided him to face him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d brought a date.”
“I didn’t bring her, she was with the band. She was very nice, though.” Artoirel should pull away from Stephanivien’s touch, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do so. Stephanivien pulled the hand away on his own. He attempted to put his hands into his pockets, found his trousers to be too tight to have any real pocket space, and folded them in front of himself.
“I realized that an event like this was the best chance to catch you out of the home, and it could look like happenstance.”
Artoirel looked down at the floor.
“I was hoping to talk? I shall try not to touch you, and I will leave you alone after if that is what you wish.”
Artoirel wanted nothing more than to be touched, but could not bring himself to tell Stephanivien that, especially not here in the still reasonably busy ballroom where someone may overhear. “Somewhere more private?”
Stephanivien nodded, moved to place a hand on Artoirel’s back to guide him, and then pulled the hand away before making physical contact. He cleared his throat. “One of the side doors.”
The Lobby of Ingleside Apartments was too open and occupied by staff people to avoid being overheard, but a smaller side hallway led out into a small side yard occupied by only a fountain and no people. It was dark, and cold, and a light snow had begun to fall. Stephanivien sat on the edge of the fountain, and appeared unbothered by the cold, despite his thinner clothing. Artoirel was freezing, and sat next to him. He wrapped his arms around himself, both for warmth and to stave off the emotions he could not explain.
“Artoirel, do you dislike spending time with me?”
“What? No! Of course not!” Stephanivien was so clever and charming and kind. Artoirel couldn’t fathom anyone not enjoying his company.
“It is only that… well, you seem to have been avoiding me. You even rushed home again after we last spoke, after I’d promised not to force you to participate in anything.”
“I trust that you wouldn’t.” Artoirel leaned forward slightly to hook his wrists around his knees. A few snow flakes were beginning to accumulate on the trim of his coat. It was probably in his hair as well. “It’s myself I do not trust.”
“I am not sure I understand what you mean?”
“I…” Artoirel caught himself biting his nails and shoved his hands under his thighs, just as his earliest tutors had made him do as a boy, so he’d learn not to fidget and to write with the correct hand. “I… find myself uncontrollably drawn to you. I fear I would do something I would regret.”
Stephanivien started to reach for him again only to stop himself. “Why should you regret it? No one would be harmed, and it sounds as if we would both enjoy it.”
“I… it is not done, and there are obligations.” Artoirel felt that tightness in his chest again, and a lump beginning to form in his throat. “I really tried tonight, Stephanivien. I danced and spoke with so many women, and each time I thought… surely the next one. I will fall in love with the next one. And yet… Jehette was so lovely, she should have been perfect, and yet…” Artoirel leaned forward all the way until he could touch his forehead to his knees. He felt his body wanting to cry. He wanted to cry. Tears refused to come and instead the feeling curled up in his chest and throat and threatened to strangle him.
“Yet you were not ‘drawn’ to her in a similar way?”
Artoirel shook his head. “It happens often with men… never once with a woman. What is wrong with me?” Artoirel didn’t realize he was shivering until he felt the warmth of Stephanivien’s chest against his back and his arms wrap loosely about his shoulders.
“Nothing,” Stephanivien half whispered into Artoirel’s ear. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
Artoirel felt a slight tug on his shoulders and allowed himself to be pulled upright and into a proper embrace. He tucked his face into the crook of Stephanivien’s neck and allowed his hands to grip onto the billowy fabric of Stephanivien’s shirt. Stephanivien smelled of clean sweat and dust and machine oil. The urge to cry moved fully into Artoirel’s throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?” Stephanivien began to rub soothing circles into Artoirel’s back. ‘Whatever for?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t already been unwaveringly patient with Artoirel’s inconsistent behavior and inability to explain himself. Artoirel felt lips in his hair and choked back a sob.
“I’ve been terrible. I’ve scarcely considered your feelings at all.” The urge to cry finally reached Artoirel’s eyes and he squeezed them shut in a futile effort to hold back the tears. “You deserve better, someone who will put your feelings ahead of their own.”
“I don’t need my feelings to be put first.”
“I cannot love you properly.”
“How do you know that if you have not tried?”
“Surely there are many other people who would love to be with you.”
“I don’t want many other people, I want you.”
“The Church is unlikely to approve.”
“I care not what the Church approves of.”
“What of your father?”
“If I made life decisions based upon my father’s preferences I would not be running the Manufactory.”
“What of my father?”
Stephanivien gripped Artoirel by the shoulders and put just enough space between them to look him in the eye. Artoirel could feel the tears rolling down his overly warm cheeks, and attempted to wipe them away only for them to be replaced with more tears. “If you wish to be traditional, I can ask his permission to court you.”
Artoirel’s voice stuck in his throat. He couldn’t seem to stop the tears, and his face felt hot and uncomfortable. He must look an absolute mess. “He… he will say no, I am certain.”
“If you desire it, I will court you anyhow.” Stephanivien’s face had been slightly stern and held a determination Artoirel rarely saw on him when he was talking about anything other than solving a mechanical puzzle, but after a moment his expression softened to something gentler, and more worried. “Do you desire it?”
“I…” Artoirel found himself nodding. “But, pray, do not ask him. I have not told my father about my… attractions. I do not know how he will react.”
“He seems comfortable enough in Haurchefant’s choice of partners.” Stephanivien relaxed his grip on Artoirel’s shoulders and moved one hand to weave his fingers into Artoirel’s hair. Artoirel leaned into the touch without thinking about it.
“The expectations are somewhat different. Haurchefant doesn’t have the future of House Fortemps relying on his marrying and fathering children.”
“Perhaps,” Stephanivien admitted. “But so much has changed in the past couple of years. Perhaps in another generation there will be no more need for Counts or High Houses, or perhaps succession will be chosen by something other than bloodline.”
“Perhaps…”
Stephanivien wiped the remaining tears from Artoirel’s face. “In any case, try not to worry about such things overmuch. Right now, you and I are here, things like marriage and heirs are problems for the future, and the future will present new solutions.”
Artoirel wasn’t sure if it was Stephanivien’s presence or if it was the fact that crying offered some emotional release, but he did feel a bit better. Stephanivien’s hand in his hair reminded him that he’d misplaced the clasp and failed to braid his hair. He wished that he had. “Thank you.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Still worried… but better… I still do not know what I want. It has never mattered enough to think about.”
“Well, it matters to me. I want to be together, but only if you want it as well.”
Artoirel opened his mouth to reply but could not find the words. He did want that, but… “it seems so impossible.”
“Perhaps I could start by kissing you? That is not impossible.”
“Please…”
Stephanivien leaned in and pressed their lips together, and one of the many threads that Artoirel had been using to hold himself back snapped. He leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Stephanivien’s neck and allowing his lips to part so their tongues could meet. For a moment Artoirel felt safe and comfortable and possibly even happy, and he did not care who saw him.
It was only a moment.
“Artoirel?”
He leapt to his feet, away from Stephanivien and the fountain and whirled around to face the sound of his own name. Someone else had chosen to exit the venue via the same secluded side door Stephanivien and Artoirel had used. He was the last person Artoirel hoped to explain himself to.
“Father?” Artoirel was usually quite good at reading his father’s expressions. He’d been studying him his entire life. Now, Edmont’s face wore the same furrowed brow as usual, and his mouth had narrowed into a thin, straight line, neither a smile nor a frown. Artoirel had no idea what he might have been thinking or feeling. “I… I can explain.”
Edmont let out a sigh. “We can talk about this later, at home.”
Artoirel concluded that his father must be angry. Possible consequences flashed through his mind, a lecture, at the very least, of the optics of such things and the family line and how his mother must be turning in her grave. At worst he could imagine being disowned and wondered what that would mean for his job as well. Would he have his title stripped from him? Would he be forced to step down?
Edmont’s cane made an audible click against the stone walkway as he moved past. Artoirel turned to run after him. “Father, wait, I--”
Edmont stopped just before reaching the staircase leading down into the rest of the housing district. “You can save the explanation for breakfast tomorrow, or lunchtime if you are not home in time for breakfast.”
“I know you must be angry--”
“Angry?” Edmont turned to look at Artoirel now. The severe angle of his eyebrows softened when they made eye contact. “Artoirel, I am not angry, and you really needn’t explain yourself. You are still young and should enjoy your life from time to time. I am heading home for the evening”
“But… Father, why don’t I walk you home? It’s snowing and I would never forgive myself if you were to slip on all of these stairs.” Artoirel offered a hand to his father, only for Edmont to raise his cane and push it aside.
“I may be old, Artoirel, but I am not that feeble. I can handle a few stairs.” Edmont was talking a bit faster than usual, and he seemed to be looking over Artoirel’s shoulder rather than at his face. “Why don’t you go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening?”
“Oh! Edmont!” A slightly singsong female voice came from the Ingleside’s main entrance, and Artoirel turned to spot a noblewoman in perhaps her fifties and a red velvet dress moving towards them at as brisk a pace her long skirts and refined posture would allow. She slowed as she got closer and spotted Artoirel. He recognized her as Inelle de Brigont. Her husband had died in the calamity and she had not remarried.
“Oh…” Artoirel supposed that he wasn’t the only one at the ball trying to find a woman to court, he’d just been less successful at it. “Ah, good evening Lady Inelle.”
“Good Evening Lord Artoirel.” Her face was slightly flushed, clearly not expecting to run into Artoirel alongside his father. Still, she brushed past him and took Edmont’s arm. “Your father has very kindly offered to walk me home.”
“Oh. Well. In that case I shall see you tomorrow, Father?”
“Yes… tomorrow.”
Artoirel waited until they were about halfway down the stairs before turning and walking back towards the apartment building. Stephanivien came around the corner and, once Artoirel was close enough, wrapped his arms around him. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know, strange. I cannot go home just yet, but Father reacted far better than I feared.” Despite everything, Artoirel leaned his head on Stephanivien’s shoulder and found himself relaxing against his broad chest. He was so warm.
“You could come to my home?” Stephanivien suggested. “We could have tea? Or … whatever you are comfortable with.”
That did sound nice, but… “I should probably look for Emmanellain before I leave.”
“That sounds like an excuse. Also, as I was entering I saw him sneaking into the coat room with a green haired hyur.”
Artoirel lifted his head and looked Stephanivien in the eye. “That’s his pirate boyfriend! I knew it! I should-- I…”
Stephanivien laughed. “Or you could let him have fun.” His hands returned to Artoirel’s hair and began to gently massage his scalp.
“By the Fury, can no one in my family keep his libido in check?”
“You’ve proven rather adept at it.”
Artoirel surprised himself by laughing this time. “I’m really, really not.”
“My place for tea, then?”
Artoirel spent most of the walk back to Haillenarte manor looking at his own feet. If he made eye contact with anyone along the way he feared he would panic and flee back to his own home. Stephanivien was walking at his side, and though he refrained from touching him Artoirel could feel the warmth of his body and catch glimpses of him out of the corner of his eye. He told himself it shouldn’t look strange to any passers by. Houses Haillenarte and Fortemps were on the same street, Artoirel and Stephanivien were the same age, there was no reason they should not not be friendly with one another. No reason not to walk together. Artoirel felt an urge to hold Stephanivien’s hand as they walked. He resisted it.
They approached one of the side entrances to Haillenarte manor, one usually used only by staff, and slipped inside. Once the door was closed behind them the landing was almost entirely dark, and Stephanivien wrapped one arm around Artoirel’s waist as he fumbled with the other for a light. Artoirel saw a brief spark and then a series of small ceruleum powered lanterns lit up the small entryway. A spiral staircase on the left hand side led both up and down to the different levels of the house, a dumb-waiter was recessed into the wall on the other. House Fortemps had a similar stairwell. Haurchefant and Emmanellain had sometimes played in it when they were children. Artoirel had not joined them.
A narrow hallway led further into the manor and a door a short ways in opened. The head of a young hyuran woman with strawberry blonde braids poked out. “M’lord, are you back so soon-- OH!” She let out a gasp. “Count Fortemps! Welcome!” She hopped the rest of the way into the hall and offered him a bow. It took Artoirel a moment to realize she was the same young woman he’d seen at the manufactory some weeks ago.
“Oh, Joye, I’m sorry if we woke you.”
Artoirel froze when he realized that Stephanivien’s arm was still around him. The woman, Joye, seemed unphased by their intimate posture.
She smiled. “No worries, m’lord, I was still up.”
“Oh, in that case could you bring some tea up to my chambers in a few minutes?”
“Absolutely!” She turned and dashed down the hallway.
Stephanivien led Artoirel up the stairs and down a hallway until they reached a bedroom suite that could only have belonged to Stephanivien. The furniture was your typical sort of make for Ishgardian nobility: sturdy, hand made, designed to last a lifetime and then some. Everything else was effectively an extension of Stephanivien’s ‘office’ back at the manufactory. Blueprints, various other documents, and bits of disassembled machinery were scattered over almost every available surface in the room. Most of the floor and the entire bed were clear, but the writing desk and tables and chairs all housed papers or tools or mechanical parts of some type. Stephanivien moved to gather the papers littering a sofa near the fireplace, stacked them somewhat haphazardly, and began doing the same with the papers on the coffee table.
“Ah, sorry, I don’t often bring home guests…” Stephanivien seemed to be avoiding Artoirel’s gaze. Was he embarrassed? Artoirel reached out to help straighten out the stack of papers in Stephanivien’s hands.
“It’s not really that bad. You should have seen the state of Haurchefant’s desk when Emmanellain took over his post at Camp Dragonhead. My own workspace can get rather disorganized when I am especially busy.”
“It’s just when I try to put things away for safe keeping I always forget where they are. I know it looks a mess, but I can find everything this way.” He put the stack of irregularly sized papers on the end of the table and moved to sit down. Artoirel took the seat next to him.
All this time, it had never occurred to Artoirel that Stephanivien also had things he felt insecure about. He’d always seemed so self assured and so unworried about the judgments of others. Artoirel steeled himself and reached out to take Stephanivien’s hand. Lacing their fingers together felt nice, natural, even. “I promise, I am not passing any judgment.” Perhaps another time he would offer to help with organizing, if Stephanivien welcomed it, but not now. Their eyes finally met again. Artoirel only noticed now that Stephanivien’s green eyeshadow had more of a glittery sheen to it than usual. He decided he liked it. “I am glad that you invited me here, and that I agreed to come. I… I am sorry that I’ve been so poor at communicating with you.”
“Perhaps I’ve failed to ask the right questions.”
Artoirel shook his head. “You really haven’t done a single thing wrong.”
“Haven’t I?” Stephanivien’s free hand had nearly made its way back into Artoirel’s hair, but he stopped and began to pull away. For once, Artoirel did not think and caught Stephanivien’s wrist before he could pull his hand back.
“Please. I… it feels nice. When you touch me like that.”
Stephanivien looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled and ran his fingers through Artoirel’s hair. “It’s just, has anyone ever told you how soft your hair is?”
“I do not think so.” Artoirel scooted himself a little closer, until he could lean in and rest his forehead on Stephanivien’s shoulder. “It’s been a very long time if they have.”
“Not even a previous lover?”
“… it’s been a very long time. I’m unsure if anyone even counts as a previous lover, in any case.”
A surprised sound escaped Stephanivien’s throat, and Artoirel could feel the low vibration of it in Stephanivien’s chest. “Really? But, surely you attract plenty of interest?”
“The women stir no interest in me, and the men… I’ve been afraid to indulge, or have been unable to meet their expectations.” Artoirel let out a small sigh, and closed his eyes as Stephanivien continued to gently massage his scalp. He could count his previous sexual encounters on one hand, all with relative strangers. A man in a position of authority in society must also want to have authority in bed, they’d assumed, and though Artoirel certainly had the physical strength to do as expected he’d been too fearful of causing harm to handle anyone as roughly as they’d desired. “I fear I will disappoint you as well.”
“Let me be the judge of such things. And we needn’t do anything tonight if you are not yet comfortable.”
There was a knock at the door and Stephanivien got up to answer it. Artoirel tried to position himself on the sofa as if he hadn’t been leaning on the other man up until a moment ago. It turned out not to matter. Artoirel heard a brief conversation between Stephanivien and Joye about the tea before they wished one another goodnight and Stephanivien returned carrying a tray laden with both the typical tea set and a selection of tarts and finger sandwiches. He set it on the table before settling back onto the sofa.
“Joye says it’s chamomile, since it’s getting rather late. She thinks of everything.”
“Oh. This is rather more than I expected.”
“I suspect she is hoping to help me make a good impression.” Stephanivien poured them each a cup of tea. “Cream?”
“Please. And you’ve been making a good impression already.” Stephanivien placed the prepared teacup and saucer in Artoirel’s hands. Artoirel took a sip to find it only lightly sweetened, exactly how he would have made it himself.
“I noticed you didn’t add much sugar when we had tea at your home that time.”
“You remembered something that small?” That had been nearly two months ago, by now.
“Well, the small details are important, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I agree.”
Stephanivien picked up his own teacup and relaxed into the sofa cushions. “That does remind me. I’ve been curious and wanting to ask. Suppose you were not the count? If you had an elder brother or perhaps the High House system had been abolished along with the Archbishop’s seat? What would you wish to do with your life?”
Artoirel blinked. It wasn’t the sort of question he’d expected. “I… I do not know. There has never been a time when I was not acutely aware of the duties laid out before me. Why do you ask?”
“Hm, well, I suppose everyone knows the Artoirel de Fortemps who is a gallant knight and canny politician, and who lives for his family and his work and for Ishgard. I wish to know the Artoirel de Fortemps who lives for himself. What does he wish for?”
Artoirel swallowed. “I am not sure that I know that Artoirel either.”
“Perhaps it was too broad of a question.” Stephanivien paused, evidently to think. “Suppose you simply had more free time?”
“Well, there is always more work to be done…”
“No, suppose you must fill the time with something other than work.”
“I- I think I would like more time to write music. I haven’t finished a piece in so long, and I wish to be a better composer.”
Stephanivien’s face lit up with a broad smile. “That is more the sort of thing I had imagined! Now, I do not know very much about musical compositions but I did enjoy that one you played on the orchestrion. And the duet Francel and Thilan played at the Firmament Celebration, you wrote that one as well, didn’t you?”
“Ah, aye, I did.”
“I thought it was lovely.”
Artoirel felt his face grow hot and had to avert his eyes, though he could not keep himself from smiling at the compliment. “Thank you…”
“Artoirel?”
“Hm?”
“I think, if writing music makes you happy, it is worth making the time for, even if it means less work must get done.”
“It is just so difficult to find the time when there is more important work to be done.”
“But it is important. Your happiness is important.”
Artoirel’s eyes snapped back up to meet Stephanivien’s. He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing convincing came to mind.
“If you cannot do it for yourself, then do it as a favor to me. Whether it’s composing music or something else, find the time to do something that you enjoy. I wish for you to be happy.”
“Do I seem so unhappy?” Artoirel knew the answer to the question before he’d even asked it. He took great pride in his work and his station, and shirking the responsibilities associated with it was unthinkable, but had he been born second, or simply not born a Fortemps at all, he’d likely have chosen something different than politics. What he would have chosen, he wasn’t sure, but he supposed he would have considered what might bring him happiness.
“I confess to finding you difficult to read, but I rarely see you smile.”
Artoirel took a sip of his tea as if it would distract from the blush that he was certain was on his face. “We’re talking about me an awful lot.”
Stephanivien laughed. “Would you prefer to talk about me instead?”
“Ah, maybe…” Artoirel paused and tried to think of something interesting to ask about. “Have you got any hobbies? Outside the manufactory, I mean.”
“Hm, well I’ve been experimenting with building mammets. So far just the small sort that are little more than elaborate dolls.”
“That’s still a mechanical pursuit.”
“Yes, but as interesting as weaponry is to design something that is more akin to a child’s toy provides a charming contrast. Besides, if they sell well they’d provide a good revenue stream for the manufactory’s normal operations. Several people have suggested making some that look like the Warrior of Light.”
“Thilan would be mortified, and Haurchefant would bankrupt himself buying the lot.”
“I suppose so.” Stephanivien laughed again. “What if I made one to look like you.”
“Well, no one would want that.”
“I think you underestimate your number of admirers.”
They were talking about him again, somehow. Artoirel needed to change the subject. “Ah, you asked me about previous lovers, surely you’ve had some yourself?”
Stephanivien shifted slightly in his seat. “Ah, a few. My last relationship ended rather messily.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, in retrospect it was not a healthy dynamic. He was a knight working for House Dzemael and had no respect for my own line of work. In any case, I prefer not to think about him now, especially when I am with you.” Stephanivien set his teacup aside. Artoirel wondered if he’d ever met that Dzemael knight, if they were close in age they may even have gone through training together. Stephanivien’s hands were in Artoirel’s hair again and his attention snapped back to the present time and place. “You are far kinder and more beautiful, but until recently I had assumed you would never be interested in me.”
“I tried so hard not to be… but I am, more than I have ever been interested in anyone, I think.”
“I am the luckiest man in Ishgard, then.”
Artoirel could think of several possible romantic partners more desirable than himself, Stephanivien being chief among them. When he opened his mouth to protest Stephanivien leaned in just enough further to kiss him. It had been brief, just long enough for Artoirel to be surprised and then for the initial surprise to wear off. It had still been long enough to lose track of whatever self-deprecating idea had been forming.
“You disagree?” Stephanivien whispered against Artoirel’s lips.
“I… I am not so special.”
“Everyone is special, Artoirel.”
“If everyone is equally special, would that not mean that no one is?"
"I don't think so, no. A mother loves all her children equally, and that does not mean she loves them less as individuals."
"Mother loved Emmanellain the most."
Stephanivien paled slightly. "Ah… perhaps that wasn't the best point of comparison. The point I mean to make is that just because people are equal in value does not detract from each person's unique value. And, to me, you are especially valuable."
Artoirel wasn't sure how to respond. Part of him wanted to kiss Stephanivien, and to beg to be taken to bed and shown how especially valuable he was. Part of him was convinced he was certain to disappoint if he did that, and should make an excuse to flee back to his own home. He froze in place rather than doing either.
"Artoirel?" Stephanivien's expression softened and he moved both hands to gently hold Artoirel's face. "Is aught amiss? You've gone tense."
"I… I'm afraid…" Artoirel admitted, "I will not be able to meet your expectations."
"Artoirel, I invited you here expecting tea and conversation. You have already exceeded expectations. Anything beyond that is a nice bonus, but not expected." Stephanivien released Artoirel’s face and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. It was an innocent enough touch, but it still sent a shiver down Artoirel’s spine. He looked down at the, now mostly empty, teacup in his hands.
“What if… if I wanted to do ‘things beyond’ I fear I will not be good at those things. It has been so long… and I…” Artoirel trailed off. He had not been good in bed during his few previous attempts at it, he was certain, but to say such a thing aloud was so difficult. I do not know how to please a man in bed. I will not be able to please you. It is better not to try.
Stephanivien lifted the teacup from Artoirel’s hands and placed it on the table next to his own. “Artoirel? I told you I have no intention of pressuring you into anything, and I don’t want to misinterpret.” He took Artoirel by the hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles. “So please tell me straightforwardly what you want and I will do my best to provide it.”
“I fear I will not be pleasing to you.”
“You are already pleasing to me. I want to please you.”
Artoirel wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail. What did he want, exactly? He wanted Stephanivien, but now that he had him, at least for the evening, the specifics of what he wanted were far harder to articulate. He needed to do something, anything at this point. Artoirel gripped the back of the sofa and forced himself to move forward, until he was close enough to wrap his arms around Stephanivien’s neck and kiss him as desperately as he now realized he’d wanted to this entire time. He allowed his lips to part and their tongues to meet. Stephanivien’s hands settled onto Artoirel’s hips and guided him into his lap. Artoirel moved into position without resistance, and used most of his willpower not to simply grind himself against Stephanivien’s body.
Would that Artoirel could stay in that moment forever, where the rest of the world fell away and there was only him and the feeling of Stephanivien’s body against his and the taste of him on his tongue. Artoirel wanted to drown in him, to kiss him until his lungs burned and he began to feel light headed and still refuse to come up for air. He let out a gasp when Stephanivien finally broke the kiss.
“You need to breathe, Art.”
“Is this straightforward enough?”
Stephanivien laughed. “Hmm… I’m still a little unclear.”
Artoirel kissed him again, less desperately this time but with no less desire.
“Better,” Stephanivien chuckled against Artoirel’s lips, “If this is all you wish to do, that is perfectly alright.”
“More, please…” Artoirel did grind himself against Stephanivien now, for the friction and to demonstrate his interest. “I have fantasized about… this, and other things. I just do not know exactly what to ask for.”
Stephanivien let out a small, thoughtful hum. “Would you prefer, then, if I told you what to do?” He tilted his head slightly to kiss Artoirel on the jawline, and then the neck. Artoirel tilted his head back to expose his throat. The thought of it intrigued him. If he were not making the decisions, then he could not be paralyzed by indecision. If he were not making the decisions, then he could not make the wrong one. An aroused shiver ran up his spine.
“Yes. Please.”
Stephanivien gripped Artoirel’s hips a little tighter and pushed him away enough to look him very intently in the eye. “I have one ground rule then.”
“Anything.”
“If you feel any pain, or fear, or simply want to stop or slow down for any reason, you must tell me right away.” Stephanivien’s tone was firm, serious but lacking any aggression. “I do not want to harm you, even by accident.”
Artoirel felt the blood rush to his face and nodded. “I will, I promise.”
Stephanivien smiled and kissed him again, on the lips this time. “Try to relax then, and I will take care of you.”
Chapter 11: Eleven
Summary:
Sorry this has taken so long! I've had art commissions and an entire webcomic chapter to draw.
This, like all other chapters, has not been beta read. Unlike other chapters they finally fuck in this one.
Merry Crisis.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel was trying to relax, but there were soft lips on his throat and calloused hands in his hair and his entire body was wound so tight and he could not stop thinking about what was to come. What he had agreed to. What he had asked for. The top couple of buttons on Artoirel’s shirt were undone and Stephanivien’s tongue dipped into the cleft between his collar bone and throat. A soft, shuddering gasp escaped from Artoirel’s mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. Stephanivien was suddenly too radiant to look at directly. It was like trying to stare into the sun. When he opened his eyes again he was looking towards the fireplace. The flame within did not burn nearly so brightly as Stephanivien.
His coat slipped off his shoulders, followed by the jacket underneath. Artoirel shivered as his shirt came unbuttoned the rest of the way, removing the last barrier between his bare chest and Stephanivien’s eyes and hands. Warm hands slipped into Artoirel’s clothes, to touch bare skin and to push the garments the rest of the way off his shoulders. He realized now that he’d had a white knuckled grip on Stephanivien’s shirt and forced himself to open his hands and let go, so he may be divested of the clothing completely.
“Gods, you’re beautiful.” Stephanivien’s voice was barely above a whisper. His hands, warm and gentle, returned to Artoirel’s skin, exploring his arms and chest with the same reverence Artoirel had seen him use when handling the orchestrion parts so long ago. Calloused fingers traced over old battle scars and the curves of bone and muscle and when a thumb brushed over a nipple Artoirel could not suppress the surprised, pleasured vocalization that leapt from his throat. Stephanivien laughed. “And more sensitive than I’d anticipated, it’s cute.”
Artoirel’s skin grew hot, and he was certain he could feel the blush spread down from his face to cover his throat and upper chest as well. “No one has ever touched me quite like this before.”
“No one has touched you properly, then.” Stephanivien’s lips were on his throat again, then on his collarbone, and then on his sternum. Artoirel shivered. Stephanivien straightened up and turned Artoirel’s face so they were looking one another in the eye. “I’m giving you orders, correct?”
Artoirel blinked at him. “Y-yes? If you wish to.”
“Good. Put your hands together, like this.” Stephanivien held his hands palm sides together just in front of his chest. Artoirel copied the motion. Through force of habit he laced his fingers together, clasping them as if in prayer. Stephanivien’s face lit up in a delighted smile. “Perfect!” Stephanivien reached behind his head and, in a smooth, practiced motion, removed the cord from his ponytail and shook out his hair. His blond hair fell loosely about his shoulders, and, for a moment, Artoirel forgot to breathe.
Stephanivien wound the cord, red, braided, the same one Artoirel had given him months ago, around Artoirel’s wrists and tied it. It was snug enough to be felt, but not so tight. He’d tied it loosely enough that Artoirel could likely slip out if he tried or, if absolutely necessary, he could probably break it. Artoirel could free his hands, but he did not want to. He wanted to please Stephanivien, and that meant keeping his hands tied. “Oh…”
“Is it alright?”
Artoirel nodded. It was more than alright. There was something pleasant about it, even. He was trying to think of the words to describe how he felt when Stephanivien wrapped a strong arm around him and leaned forward, shifting both of them on the sofa so Artoirel was lying on his back with his head near the armrest and Stephanivien was kneeling between his legs.
“Hands above your head, please.” Artoirel moved to comply, raising his arms and hooking his bound wrists over the sofa’s armrest. “Perfect. Good boy.”
Stephanivien leaned in to kiss him, and Artoirel’s heart skipped a beat.
Hands trailed down Artoirel’s chest, over his ribs and abdomen, to reach the top of his waistband. Some of the places Stephanivien had touched were ordinarily ticklish, but for whatever reason right now they were not. His trousers came unbuttoned and Artoirel felt fingers lightly trail over the shape of his erection through the fabric of his smalls. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking upward in response.
“St-Stephanivien, please…”
Stephanivien laughed. “Please, what?”
“Please… touch me… I’ve waited so long…” Artoirel turned his face and tried to hide his eyes against his upper arm. It seemed blasphemous to say such a thing out loud.
Stephanivien began working on the closures on Artoirel’s boots. “Have you, now? How long?”
“When you came to repair the orchestrion, you looked so handsome I… no… before…”
Artoirel’s left boot came off. Stephanivien’s lips were on Artoirel’s chest.
“When we were seventeen and our families went to the lake together… you fell out of a canoe…”
Stephanivien laughed again; his lips were on Artoirel’s midsection. “You jumped in after me.” Artoirel’s right boot came off.
“When we were eleven and we hid in that guest room together at Carvallain’s wake...”
“Your mother was so cross with you for wandering off…”
“It would have been worse, had it not been in front of your parents.”
Stephanivien hooked his fingers into the waistband of Artoirel’s trousers, but didn’t pull them down just yet. “When we were six, your brother broke your favorite music box.”
Artoirel squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered crying, and being scolded for crying. It had been an accident. Emmanellain was only a toddler at the time. Haurchefant got punished for it, even though it had nothing to do with him. “You were able to fix it...”
“The way you smiled at me, I think I fell in love then.”
Artoirel opened his eyes. Stephanivien was smiling at him. “You…” He hadn’t dared considered the possibility of love. It would have hurt too much to hope for more than an illicit affair and not to be able to have it.
Stephanivien yanked both Artoirel’s trousers and smalls down and off in a sudden and surprisingly skilled motion. All thoughts of more innocent, youthful interactions they’d had vanished from Artoirel’s mind. He attempted to close his legs. Stephanivien held his knees apart with strong but gentle hands as he visually examined the entirety of Artoirel’s nude form.
“Am I… acceptable?”
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Artoirel wanted to say that couldn’t possibly be true. There were plenty of beautiful men all over the place. Stephanivien leaned down, and Artoirel felt warm breath then soft lips on the head of his cock. He let out a desperate whine and immediately bit down on his lower lip to silence himself. Stephanivien laughed, and, gods, Artoirel could feel the vibration of his voice.
“You can moan if you like. My room shares no walls with other occupied bedrooms.” He ran his tongue up the length of Artoirel’s shaft. Artoirel bit down harder on his lip.
“I… hnn-- I thought you were going to use me for your own pleasure?”
“This pleases me.”
If this was what pleased Stephanivien, who was Artoirel to protest? He watched through half-lidded eyes as Stephanivien peppered kisses up the length of him before taking the tip into his mouth and sucking gently. Artoirel’s hips attempted to thrust up of their own volition and a pair of strong hands gripped them and pinned him back down to the sofa.
Ordinarily, Artoirel only pleasured himself when his body refused to be denied, fearful of sullying himself or other men with his vulgar fantasies about them. On those occasions that he did Artoirel usually tried to get it over with as quickly as possible. That habit was working against him now. Stephanivien bobbed his head, dragging lips and tongue along Artoirel’s length. “Stephanivien… I can’t…”
Stephanivien responded with a hum, swallowed Artoirel to the root, and Artoirel came unraveled. He let out a strangled cry and his hips tried to thrust up again. Stephanivien’s grip remained firm and held him down until the orgasm subsided. Only then did Stephanivien sit up and allow Artoirel’s softening cock to slip from his mouth. He wiped his mouth with his thumb and licked it. “How do you feel?”
Spent. Boneless. Artoirel was still catching his breath, but otherwise felt more relaxed than he had in he knew not how long. “You swallowed it?”
Stephanivien laughed. “Tis a common enough practice. How do you feel?”
“I had hoped to last for longer…” Artoirel realized now that he had turned his wrists enough to have had a vice like grip on the wooden trim of the sofa’s armrest. He slowly forced his fingers to unclench and brought his arms down in front of his chest. He covered his face with his hands. Gods, he was finished already and Stephanivien was still fully clothed. “I’m sorry. I really, really was hoping not to disappoint you.”
“You haven’t disappointed me.” Long fingers wrapped around Artoirel’s and pulled his hands from his face. Stephanivien leaned in and wrapped an arm around Artoirel’s shoulders. “May I kiss you?”
Artoirel nodded, and wasn’t sure why he’d been asked until he could taste his own spend on Stephanivien’s tongue. It was salty and musky and hardly pleasant but not nearly as unpleasant as he might have expected. “Do you want me to… um… do the same for you?” Artoirel was certain he would not be as skilled about it, but he was willing to try.
“Hm, I had something else in mind… when you’re ready for a second go.” Stephanivien kissed him again. Artoirel shivered. He was sensitive to begin with and over stimulated, but…
“I’m ready. I trust you.”
Stephanivien rose to his feet and offered Artoirel a hand to help him up. “Do you want me to untie you?”
“N-not yet… I think I kind of like it.” He placed his bound wrists in Stephanivien’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Artoirel’s knees threatened to buckle under him but a strong arm looped around his waist and held him upright.
“I’ll rig up something more elaborate next time.” Stephanivien laughed.
They made their way to the bed and Artoirel allowed himself to collapse onto it when Stephanivien released him. His initial impulse was to curl up, to hide as much of himself as possible, but Stephanivien had said he was beautiful. Stephanivien had said ‘next time’ which indicated that he wanted to do this again. No one had ever wanted Artoirel a second time before. Artoirel wasn’t sure how to deliberately appear sexy, but allowed himself to stretch out, at least as much as was possible with bound hands. Hopefully just allowing himself to be viewed would be enough.
Stephanivien did seem to be viewing. He’d kicked off his boots and gotten halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he simply stopped and stared. “I have Artoirel de Fortemps in my bed…”
Artoirel couldn’t suppress the slight smile that crept onto his face, and hid it behind his hands. “Nude and bound as well. Whatever will you do about this?”
“I have some thoughts on the matter.” Stephanivien laughed and finished the last few buttons on his shirt so he could remove it entirely. The fabric peeled away to reveal tanned skin and muscles well defined from manual labor. Stephanivien’s penchant for wearing low cut shirts had been taunting Artoirel all this time, and now that his broad, muscular chest was bare… it was better even than Artoirel had dared fantasize about. Stephanivien was as well muscled as any knight, perhaps more so, though something about his line of work or base physiology had made him fill out more across the chest and arms and left his waist toned but relatively narrow. In the light of the fireplace Stephanivien’s hair and skin seemed to glow like polished metal. Artoirel had read about statues made of bronze or gold in regions to the east and imagined, perhaps, their best sculptors could make something half as beautiful as Stephanivien. He also imagined wrapping his legs around that narrow waist.
Stephanivien unbuttoned his trousers and lingered there a moment without pulling them down. Artoirel licked his lips in anticipation. Stephanivien’s erection sprang free when he finally shoved the clothing down his thighs. The size of him had been impressive enough when contained by his trousers, but in the open air it was clear that the fabric had been concealing quite a bit. Stephanivien was long and thick and Artoirel wondered if the offer to use his mouth had been rejected because he almost certainly wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Artoirel suddenly recalled the rumor Emmanellain had told him about. It had been exaggerated, but neither was it based upon nothing. Artoirel wondered how it would feel inside of him, if that was indeed what Stephanivien intended to do. He’d heard it was painful, but also many men seemed to enjoy it. Artoirel decided he didn’t mind either way, so long as it pleased Stephanivien.
By the time Stephanivien had kicked off his trousers and climbed onto the bed, Artoirel was half hard again. Once Stephanivien was close enough, he looped his tied wrists around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. Their bodies pressed in close, until Artoirel could feel the heated flesh of Stephanivien’s cock against his thigh. “Show me what you’re thinking.”
Stephanivien smiled against Artoirel’s lips. “There’s so many things I want to do with you.” He Shifted slightly to kiss along Artoirel’s jawline and then his ear. “Far too much for one night.”
Teeth scraped lightly along his ear and Artoirel let out a gasp. “Stephanivien! Please!”
Stephanivien laughed, softly, only audible because his lips were next to Artoirel’s ear. “Please what? Tell me what you want.”
Artoirel tightened his grip and pressed his face into Stephanivien’s chest. He didn’t even want anything that strange, but it was so difficult to say it aloud. “Please… please fuck me…” He felt lips in his hair, and then Stephanivien’s weight shift.
“See? That wasn’t so hard. Who could refuse such a polite request?” A strong, long fingered hand gripped Artoirel’s wrist, and he relaxed his arms and allowed them to be maneuvered back above his own head. He tried to relax, even as Stephanivien pushed his legs apart and picked up a bottle of what Artoirel assumed to be oil from the nightstand. The cap came open with the flick of a thumb and, when Stephanivien coated his fingers with it, the substance inside was runnier and more transparent than Artoirel would have expected. “Remember, if you are uncomfortable you must promise to tell me.”
Artoirel nodded, though he could not imagine Stephanivien doing anything to harm him. Even when pushing him a little, Stephanivien had been so gentle and patient. He flinched slightly when Stephanivien’s slicked up fingers first came in contact with his skin.
“Is it alright?”
“It’s a little cold, is all. Please continue.”
Stephanivien smiled. It would warm up soon enough. His fingers dipped lower to rub the sensitive flesh around Artoirel’s entrance, which felt surprisingly nice, before beginning to push one in. Artoirel let out a breath. He’d had fantasies about it, but had never quite been brave enough to put his own fingers, or anything else, inside of himself. He’d been anticipating pain, or at least discomfort, but it really wasn’t bad at all. It was, perhaps, odd, but it felt kind of pleasant. Artoirel didn’t think he’d be able to climax again from just this, but decided he didn’t mind. There was something comfortable about it, having Stephanivien essentially draped over him, surrounding him, inside of him. The finger pushed deeper, and Artoirel remembered just how long Stephanivien’s fingers were. The finger began to withdraw and Artoirel opened his mouth to protest, but then it began to push back in alongside a second one and a pleasured gasp came out instead.
Stephanivien leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of Artoirel’s mouth. “How are you feeling?”
“...a bit strange, but nice…”
“Good.” Stephanivien spread his fingers, stretching Artoirel open a bit further. “You’re doing so good.”
Artoirel’s hips shifted, seemingly of their own accord, to push back against the sensation. “More… please…”
Stephanivien laughed and tilted his head slightly to run his tongue along Artoirel’s throat, just below his jaw, and up to the sensitive spot behind his earlobe. Artoirel stared up at the canopy of Stephanivien’s bed as he felt a third finger enter him. The stretching sensation was getting to be a lot, but still it did not hurt. Stephanivien had been moving carefully, methodically, opening him up with the same firm but gentle hands that had disassembled and repaired his orchestrion. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be taken apart. Stephanivien’s fingers curled and stroked Artoirel from the inside, and he was prepared neither for how good that would feel nor for the sudden, pleasured moan that escaped him. Artoirel bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from doing it a second time. He understood now why people liked this so much.
The fingers withdrew fully, and a hand hooked under Artoirel’s knee to push it up towards his chest and his legs even further apart. He did his best to relax and let himself be manipulated however Stephanivien pleased and soon found himself nearly folded in half as he watched Stephanivien apply more lubricant to his cock before lining himself up and pressing slowly but insistently into him. It felt far bigger than even Stephanivien’s fingers had, filling him more than he would have thought possible before. Stephanivien let out a slight hiss as he bottomed out.
“Fury, Artoirel…” Stephanivien allowed Artoirel’s leg to drape over his shoulder, and he seemed to be trembling slightly. His hand moved to squeeze Artoirel’s hip. “You’re perfect.”
Artoirel opened his mouth, his first instinct being to argue that he could not possibly be perfect. Being adequate was already more than he’d hoped. Stephanivien leaned down to cover his mouth with a kiss, and it dawned on him that the slight tremble in Stephanivien’s limbs may have been from holding back. He rolled his hips and moaned into the kiss. Stephanivien’s cock was large enough to rub against every sensitive place his fingers had touched before, and some they hadn’t. Perhaps Artoirel had guessed wrong, he could climax again from this.
The first thrust was almost agonizingly slow. Artoirel let out a slight whine as Stephanivien’s hips drew back and slowly pushed back in again. “Steph… please…”
“You like being filled like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Artoirel closed his eyes and turned his face to one side. He could not look Stephanivien in the eye and admit it with his mouth at the same time. “You needn’t hold back on my account.”
Stephanivien inhaled sharply through his nose, readjusted his grip on Artoirel’s hips, and began moving in earnest. The bed shook slightly. Artoirel felt teeth lightly grazing along his throat. “Do you know how long I’ve been holding back?” He punctuated the sentence with a firm thrust. “Years.”
Years? Artoirel was quite certain he hadn’t thought of Stephanivien in such a way for so long, at least not consciously, but it was difficult to think clearly about such things given the current situation. He looped his arms around Stephanivien’s neck once again and hid his face in the crook of his neck. If he opened his mouth to respond, Artoirel was certain he’d be able to do little more than moan. Instead, he bit down on his own lip harder to silence himself, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and allowed himself to become lost in Stephanivien. There seemed to be nothing else but the scent of sweat on his skin and the sound of flesh against flesh and the feeling of his body repeatedly moving against and inside of him. One of the hands on his hip moved to wrap around his dick and Artoirel could not contain the shuddering gasp that escaped his mouth.
“Getting close?” Stephanivien’s voice and breath were growing a bit erratic.
Artoirel shivered. How had Stephanivien known? He’d hoped after one orgasm he’d have had a little more staying power for the second, but it had only made him more sensitive. “Y-yes…”
“I’m still giving orders?”
Artoirel let out a small, affirmative whimper.
“Come for me, then.”
Artoirel had always been good at following directions. Whatever tenuous ability he had to hold himself in check failed and the orgasm tore through his body and spilled over Stephanivien’s fingers. He felt more than heard the pleasured cry that escaped from his throat.
He must have blacked out for a moment. Artoirel found himself lying flat on his back, his own semen splattered across his midsection and his legs draped loosely around Stephanivien. He had a firm grip on Artoirel’s hips and seemed to be single mindedly focused on chasing his own orgasm. Overstimulated as he was, the sensations are almost too much for Artoirel. Almost, but not quite. From this angle he has a clear view of Stephanivien’s body and the sheen of sweat on his skin and the way his abs flexed as he moved. Artoirel wondered why it had taken him so long to notice Stephanivien in such a way. Why had he wasted his time considering anyone else?
“...Art… fuck…” Stephanivien’s breathing was growing increasingly shallow and erratic. Artoirel found he could easily untie himself by pulling on the loose end of the cord with his teeth. He could reach one hand up and just barely caress the side of Stephanivien’s face with his fingers. He responded by leaning down again and gathering Artoirel into his arms. A few more short thrusts and a soft whine and then Stephanivien didn’t move again except to tighten his embrace and ghost a few soft kisses along Artoirel’s throat and collarbone.
Artoirel blinked and found the barest hint of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He moved his hand to stroke Stephanivien’s hair. It was softer than he expected. He wrapped his arms and legs around Stephanivien and gave him a squeeze. If this went anything like his previous sexual encounters, they would separate, Artoirel would return home, and they would never speak again. The thought was unbearable. An urge to weep began working it’s way up from his chest and into his throat. His breath hitched.
Stephanivien pulled his softening cock from Artoirel’s body and rose up just enough to look him in the face. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“N-no… I just… I do not wish to leave.”
Stephanivien’s expression shifted from one of concern to a soft smile. “I would be delighted if you were to stay the night.”
“Truly?! I… you- you still find me acceptable?”
“Wh- I think you’re wonderful! Why would you think otherwise?” Stephanivien’s smile faded. “Did I do something to imply that I didn’t?”
“No… but…” How could he possibly explain? Artoirel averted his gaze. “I’ve not been with many others, but, to a man they all lost interest in me... after…”
“I’ve not lost interest since we were boys and I’ve no intention of doing so now.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss on Artoirel’s cheek. “Why don’t I draw us a bath? You have some time to decide if you want to stay the night. I’d like very much if you did.”
Reluctantly, Artoirel untangled his limbs from around Stephanivien and allowed him to get up. The room suddenly felt rather cold without the warmth and the weight of another body on top of him. He heard soft footsteps on the carpeted floor, followed by a door opening and then the sound of running water. Artoirel had said he was not in pain, and had done so honestly, but when he tried to sit up found himself rather sore and his limbs had little interest in cooperating. The sound of running water continued even as Stephanivien returned.
“How are you feeling? Able to stand?” Stephanivien began to wipe the worst of the mess off Artoirel’s midsection using a warm, damp cloth.
“I fear you’ve ruined me... taken me entirely apart.” Artoirel felt a hand behind one knee, lifting his leg slightly so the cloth could be used to clean between his legs as well.
A warm hand moved to cup Artoirel’s cheek. It smelled faintly of soap. “I’ll simply have to put you back together, then.” Stephanivien slipped an arm under Artoirel’s shoulders and helped him to sit up. “You’re in no pain, I hope?”
Artoirel shook his head. “A little pleasantly sore, at most. I’m not so fragile.”
“Fragile or not, I fear I got carried away.” With a little support, Artoirel found he could stand and walk himself to the bathroom. He allowed himself to lean on Stephanivien a little more than was strictly necessary. If it meant they could do that again eventually Artoirel was more than happy for Stephanivien to get carried away.
The bathroom was already filled with steam when they entered the room. So much so that the small window on the far wall had been cracked to offer some ventilation. The layout was similar to Artoirel’s own attached bath, with the fixtures in similar places and the rough layout of the room a similar size and shape. However, Stephanivien had clearly made some modifications, heavy duty pipes ran up the walls and between the sink and the bath, which had a large shower stand sort of bolted onto it. The pipes also ran into a gap in the floor, which was surprisingly not cold on the feet. It was all very hand-altered and clearly more for function than aesthetics. Artoirel thought he might have complained, if he’d seen it only a year or so ago, but now it had a sort of charm to it. The tile floor in his own bathroom was always cold, and it had never occurred to him that there could be a means to change that.
Stephanivien tossed the damp cloth into the sink and led Artoirel to the already filled bath. The water was pleasantly warm, bordering on being hot, and the tub big enough to fit the both of them easily. Stephanivien closed the valve and the spigots filling the bath stopped pouring. Artoirel settled into the water, where the heat helped to soften some of the muscles that were already trying to tense up again. Stephanivien’s long, muscular arms wrapped around Artoirel’s midsection until his chest was flush with his back and he could rest his chin on Artoirel’s shoulder.
“You seem tense. How are you feeling?”
“Well enough. About as relaxed as I’ve ever been.” If he could fully articulate it, Artoirel might have said that he was always tense, and that right now he was fearful of Stephanivien growing bored of him. If not now, then sometime in the future, when he realized what a dreadfully boring person Artoirel was. His Father had already caught them together. Artoirel was throwing away his personal and professional reputation for what was likely to be one night of, honestly very enjoyable, sex, and perhaps a relationship that was doomed to failure. The arms wrapped around him gave a gentle squeeze.
“You don’t feel as relaxed as I’d hoped.” Stephanivien turned his head just enough to nibble lightly at Artoirel’s ear. “Do I need to bring you off again?”
Artoirel shivered. “I… I’m sure you could, but I don’t know if my body can handle it again so soon.”
Stephanivien laughed, softly enough that Artoirel felt it more where their bodies were pressed together than he heard it. “Next time, then. I’ll be more thorough.” The arms around Artoirel loosened and he then felt his hair being moved aside and lips on the back of his neck. Stephanivien’s other hand trailed down his arm until it could close around his wrist and pull it up for a second kiss. “I’ll get you some nice leather cuffs, as well, if you’d like to be restrained properly.”
Artoirel couldn’t deny the idea stirred something in him. He also couldn’t bring himself to say aloud that it held such an appeal. A small whine escaped him instead.
“Only if you’d like it, of course.” Stephanivien’s hands settled onto Artoirel’s back and began to rub small circles into the tightest muscles right at the base of his neck.
“I… hn!” Artoirel let out a surprised gasp as Stephanivien pressed a thumb into a particularly tight spot between his shoulder blades. His hands then stilled.
“Ah, is this alright?”
“By the Fury, do not stop!”
Stephanivien complied and dug a bit more forcefully into the knotted muscle. “I’m good at puzzles, I’ll figure out how to make you relax.”
“You- you truly want to spend more time together?”
“Of course I do! It was not a lie when I said I’ve been fond of you since we were children.”
Artoirel didn’t want to move, but he wanted to look Stephanivien in the eye more. He turned until he the two of them were nearly face to face and he could place his hands on the sides of the tub on either side of Stephanivien. “Why did you never say anything?”
Stephanivien’s face flushed, and his eyes widened in surprise. “I, ah, well…” He paused for a moment. This was the first time, Artoirel thought, that Stephanivien had really seemed nervous. “You’ve always been so dutiful, and… well… the ideal, of what a young nobleman ought to be.”
“You thought I would not reciprocate?”
Stephanivien nodded. “I thought you would wed and begin fathering children nearly as soon as you were of age. It is what young noblemen are expected to do.”
Artoirel had tried, but it simply had never happened. He’d wanted to marry someone he loved, and avoid the same mistakes his father had made, though he’d never been brave enough to ask if his parents had ever loved one another. “I- I’m sorry. For not noticing you sooner.”
Stephanivien’s hands came up to cup Artoirel’s face. “But you’re here now.” A broad but gentle smile appeared on his face. “I think you noticed me at precisely the right time.”
Their lips met, though Artoirel wasn’t sure who leaned in first. He pressed their bodies in close and finally managed to mostly relax into Stephanivien’s arms.
“Weren’t we supposed to be washing up?”
“Hm… I got distracted by something.”
The water was cold by the time they’d scrubbed one another clean, and had it not been they may not have gotten out at all. It was simply too easy to allow hands to wander or lips to kiss or to simply lean into one another’s arms and nearly doze off. Stephanivien’s bedroom was not nearly so cold as Artoirel’s tended to get, but he was still shivering when he stepped back into the room. Artoirel pulled the bathrobe he’d borrowed a little tighter around himself. Stephanivien wrapped his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on Artoirel’s shoulder.
“Have you decided if you’d like to stay the night?”
“It’s not for lack of wanting…” He could think of nothing he wanted more. Artoirel had never shared a bed with a lover. He’d never shared a bed with anyone that he could recall, not even as a child. Sometimes, when they were quite small, Emmanellain would run up the hall to their mother’s room after a nightmare, and though Artoirel had also awoken often due to unpleasant dreams he had not. He’d stayed in his own bed until the sun rose, no matter what.
He’d been wondering what it was like more often recently. It sounded very pleasant, to fall asleep in one another’s arms: warm, and comfortable, and… safe, for lack of a better term. Artoirel realized he wanted it nearly as much as he’d wanted the actual sex, perhaps even more so. He was generally a light sleeper, if he snuck out of the Haillenartes’ manor and back to his own before dawn…
Stephanivien had nearly finished changing the bedclothes by the time Artoirel had made a decision. “I… I want to stay.”
A slight look of surprise appeared on Stephanivien’s face before being replaced by a wide grin. “Oh! Wonderful!” A single long stride was enough to carry him from the bed to close enough to pull Artoirel into a tight embrace. He released him again before Artoirel could decide how to react. “Typically, I sleep in the nude, but I’m sure I’ve got some sleepwear around here you could borrow…”
Artoirel felt his face grow hot and hid it in his hands. “N-nude is acceptable… I like the feeling of your skin against mine.”
All he had to do was wake up on time.
Stephanivien’s bed was large enough to fit them both comfortably and Stephanivien himself was so warm. Artoirel awoke from one of the soundest sleeps he’d ever had with his head resting on the machinist’s chest and their arms around one another. A beam of sunlight fell across Artoirel’s face and he turned in to hide against Stephanivien’s chest.
Wait… sunlight?
Artoirel had needed to sneak out before sunrise. He leapt from the bed in a panic only to become tangled in the sheets and fall to the floor with a most undignified crash. Stephanivien was already sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes before Artoirel could compose himself.
“Artoirel? What’s the matter?”
“I… I overslept… if I am seen leaving in the clothes I wore last night…” He scrambled to untangle himself and rise to his feet.
“Well, no one will see you at all until you leave this room, except for me, of course.” Stephanivien extended a hand and when Artoirel looked down he found he had already placed his own hand in it. He was guided back first into the bed and then into Stephanivien’s arms. “If you are to be spotted leaving it makes no difference if it is now or at lunchtime, and I’d like to keep you here longer.”
“I don’t think I’d mind if you kept me here forever…”
The thought was pleasant, but would be short lived. A knock came at the door and Artoirel leapt, and fell, from the bed in a panic for a second time. This time Stephanivien also got up and, quickly wrapping a robe around himself, ran to answer the door.
“Stephanivien? Is everything alright? I heard a crash.” Artoirel recognized the voice of the Countess de Haillenarte and froze. He stayed on the floor and prayed she did not notice him.
“Everything is fine, Mother. I, ah, I knocked over a stack of books is all.”
“I see.” There was a pause. “Well, seeing as you haven’t left for the Manufactory yet, you may as well come down for breakfast with the family. I’ll have another extra place set for your… books.”
The door closed. Neither Stephanivien nor Artoirel moved for a moment.
“Sh-she knows I’m here.”
“Mother has always been uncannily observant. If you run out now she’ll be sure to notice.”
“What did she mean by another extra place?”
Notes:
it's again not the last chapter, oops, things are just taking so much longer to happen than I expected.
Chapter 12: Twelve
Notes:
I'm posting this at 630 AM and have to be somewhere at 7 and haven't had time to fully proofread the chapter. I really want to get it up though, so, apologies if there's more typos or other issues than normal. I'll give it another read over soon to see if it needs edits.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Artoirel lay on the floor of Stephanivien’s bedroom as if refusing to move could also prevent time moving forward. Stephanivien had pulled on a pair of fitted trousers and simple button down shirt before picking up Artoirel’s clothing from the night before and moving to sit next to him. They didn’t look at one another or speak for a moment.
“I had hoped to define our relationship better before having to explain it to my parents.” Stephanivien let out a small sigh. Artoirel moved to sit up and soon found a pile of discarded clothing placed in his lap. Everything was rumpled and bore the stale scent of clothing that had been worn previously and not yet been laundered. Artoirel began pulling his smallclothes back on.
“How… how do you wish it to be defined?”
“Hm, well, I should like to spend more time together… I enjoyed showing you my work and going out for drinks and taking you to bed. I’d like to hear more of your music and go traveling together and be able to have breakfast together without it being awkward.”
“I think I’d like that too…” Artoirel’s voice had barely come out as more than a whisper. Speaking the hope too loudly felt as if it might destroy any possibility of it coming true. He slowly rose to his feet to finish dressing himself. No matter how he smoothed down the tunic he could not get the wrinkles out. “I fear this morning shall be awkward no matter what.” Gods, he was going to have to look Count Baurendouin in the eye at breakfast today and then again at every House of Lords meeting for the foreseeable future.
Stephanivien was soon on his feet and began finger combing out Artoirel’s tousled hair before beginning to weave a small braid into it. The strands would not hold without something to bind the end of the braid in place, but Artoirel found the gesture oddly soothing. “I shall tell my parents whatever you wish. Personally, I would prefer to openly present you as my romantic partner, but I can say we are simply friends if that makes you more comfortable?”
“They… will know we have spent the night together either way… noblemen are not supposed to court one another.” Artoirel noticed that he was chewing on his fingernails only when Stephanivien caught his hand and pulled it away from his mouth.
“I care not what noblemen are supposed to do, I wish to court you anyhow.”
“There is no script for such a thing.”
“We get to write our own. Is that not better?”
“Suppose it does not work? What if we grow to find one another irritating or boring?”
“If you are boring then I shall become irritating enough to balance us both out.”
Artoirel suppressed a laugh. He wasn’t certain how that was supposed to work but Stephanivien’s confidence was infectious. Artoirel turned his wrist to lace their fingers together. Once they exited the bedroom, his nerves would almost certainly take over again, but right now, Artoirel felt like he could face anything if Stephanivien was there with him. He leaned up to press his lips to Stephanivien’s, if only for a moment.
“I suppose the truth is the best course of action. Any lie I can think of will be too easy to see through.”
Stephanivien smiled, though it looked slightly forced. “Yes… ripping off the bandage quickly, so to speak.”
Artoirel had guessed correctly about his own nerves. Despite Stephanivien keeping a firm grip on his hand, once they left the relative safety of the bedroom Artoirel felt a bit as if he was walking towards the gallows rather than the Haillenarte family dining room.
It will be okay, he tried to remind himself. What was the worst that could happen? Artoirel knew that Stephanivien’s relationship with his father was a bit distant, at the very least. Such circumstances were common, if not expected, amongst Ishgardian nobility. His relationship with his own father couldn’t be accurately described as any better.
The worst outcome, he supposed, would be if Stephanivien’s father disowned him. Artoirel guessed House Fortemps could officially adopt him. They’d have to construct their own Manufactory, Stephanivien would be miserable without something like it, but perhaps Count Baurendouin would be interested in selling it… Perhaps not if this irreparably damaged the relationship between their houses… It would damage Artoirel’s standing in the House of Lords as well. It would have to be worth it. Stephanivien was worth it.
Artoirel would need some kind of a plan for if his own father also disapproved. On paper Artoirel was now the Head of House, but Edmont still held social sway and the respect of his, now former, peers and that of House Fortemps’ staff. They arrived at the door to the dining hall before Artoirel could work out the contingencies.
Stephanivien gave his hand a squeeze, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. Count Baurendouin had not yet entered the room. The table was already laden with a few trays of fresh fruit, and Aurvael and Francel were already seated on the far side. Between them sat a very familiar looking Duskwight woman with an impish smile on her lips.
“Lady Jehette?”
“Count Artoirel de Fortemps, fancy meeting you here.” The small smile on her face widened into an amused grin. Artoirel glanced between Francel, who was beet red, and Aurvael, who was leaning over the table with his head in his hands, and tried to guess which of them had brought the Gridanian songstress home with them.
The answer came when Aurvael raised his head. He’d buttoned his collar all the way up but a few tell tale bite marks still managed to peek out. “Mother caught you as well, did she?”
Stephanivien nodded and the woman herself practically floated into the room before he could verbally respond.
“Good morning, darlings!” Lady Almette de Haillenarte placed a hand on her eldest son’s shoulder and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, she then stepped to the side and did the same with Artoirel. “I was hoping it might be you, Artoirel.”
“Eh?”
“Be a gentleman, Stephanivien. Pull out your beau’s chair for him.” The countess was halfway out of the room before Artoirel’s brain finished processing what had just happened. “I should go brief your father, so the surprise doesn’t give him a heart attack.” Lady Almette gave the room a little wave before closing the door behind her.
Stephanivien somewhat stiffly approached the table and pulled out a chair. Unsure what else to do, Artoirel took the offered seat. “How… how did she know it was me?”
“Mother is very observant,” said Francel. Stephanivien slid into the chair next to Artoirel.
“At least she approves.” Jehette picked up a slice of pineapple off the fruit tray and began to nibble on it. “I’ve been kicked out of a few houses without being offered breakfast.”
“You’ve done this before?!” Francel seemed to blush even harder somehow. If Artoirel wasn’t so nervous he might have found it funny, considering Francel was the only one of the three sons not to be caught with a lover in his bedroom. “How often?!”
Jehette raised an eyebrow. “A normal amount?”
“The normal amount is zero!”
Jehette’s smile faltered. She blinked. “Oh…” She lowered her pineapple slice and leaned back against Aurvael. “This is one of those cultural differences they were warning me about, isn’t it? In Gridania this isn’t terribly uncommon.”
“I fear Ishgardian society would collapse if such things became commonplace.” Though, the thought of not having to sneak around, of being open with one’s affections… Artoirel wished such things could be normal in Ishgard.
“You should visit Gridania sometime, then.” Jehette’s smile returned just as bright as before. “Especially during festivals; things can get pretty wild once everyone has put their children to bed.”
Artoirel felt Stephanivien’s hand find his underneath the table. He laced their fingers together. He turned to look at Stephanivien to find he was already gazing back at him. “We… we had discussed the possibility of traveling together.”
Stephanivien smiled at him, only for the smile to fade when the double doors at the far end of the room opened and Stephanivien’s mother returned alongside his father. Count Baurendouin took his seat at the head of the table before speaking.
“I thought I raised you two with more decorum than this.” He let out a sigh, but his tone of voice sounded far less angry than Artoirel had feared. Artoirel gave Stephanivien’s hand a gentle squeeze and received one in response.
“It seems it did not stick, Father,” said Aurvael, “clearly we are a bunch of ruffians.”
The Countess bent down to kiss her husband on the temple, before moving around the table to her own chair. “Relax, Baurendouin, this is no worse than some of the mischief we got up to in our youth, and it’s far less risky these days.” She smiled, either completely unbothered or very good at appearing so. A few maids entered the room carrying relatively modest breakfasts. Artoirel soon had a plate featuring poached eggs covered in hollandaise sauce, some toast, and a small green salad sitting in front of him. Stephanivien released his hand so he could use both knife and fork to kind of mix everything on his plate together.
“I really should apologize,” said Jehette, “staying for breakfast the next morning is common practice where I am from. I didn’t realize it would be different here.”
“Oh, hush, we’re happy to have you. Isn’t that right, Baurendouin?” The Countess flashed a sweet smile across the table at her husband, who was leaning forward to place his forehead in one hand.
“Yes, she… seems like a nice girl.” Count Baurendouin straightened his posture and looked directly at Artoirel. He froze, and could feel Stephanivien tense up next to him, despite the lack of physical contact. “I worry, what will the rest of the House of Lords say? They will think this a power grab.”
“I…” Artoirel coughed to clear his throat, “I’ve done little more of late than worry what others will think.”
“You’ll need to be more careful, if you’re to keep the nature of the relationship secret.”
“I do not want to keep it a secret, Father.” Something about Stephanivien’s energy changed and for a moment Artoirel thought he may well leap to his feet. “I love Artoirel and I wish to court him openly… if you give your approval…” Artoirel felt as if his heart had leapt into his throat. He turned to look fully at Stephanivien. Their eyes met. “If you give your approval… I’ll renounce my title, if I must.”
“You shouldn’t have to…” Artoirel could not possibly ask Stephanivien to give up a thing like that. He should not ask him to give up anything. He was not worth it. No one was worth it.
“Stephanivien.” Count Baurendouin sounded serious, but not angry. “There’s no need to make such a decision so hastily.”
“I would make for a poor Count anyway, you know I’ve no head for politics.”
Artoirel wasn’t sure he could fully agree. Stephanivien was brilliant, and kind, and knowledgeable in many areas that other nobleman were not. His egalitarian sensibilities would, at best, irritate many of the House’s more conservative members, and that was exactly why the House of Lords needed people like him. Ishgard could not move forward without forward thinking people at the helm. Artoirel lay a hand lightly on Stephanivien’s forearm. “I… I think I agree with Count Baurendouin. There’s no need to decide that right now.”
“But…” The determined look Stephanivien had had on his face faded to something far more worried. “What about Us? If two Counts cannot court one another, then…” One or both of them would have to step down, or they would have to split up, or...
“Then I will fight for our right to do so… I love you too and I refuse to capitulate to demands that haven’t even been made yet.”
Stephanivien’s smile returned, and a moment later Artoirel found himself being pulled into a tight hug. He allowed himself to lean forward and rest his forehead on Stephanivien’s shoulder. The declaration had been somewhat spur of the moment, but it hadn’t been a lie. Artoirel did love Stephanivien, and he was willing to fight the Houses of Lords and Commons both if that was what was required to be together. He just… needed find the courage to do so.
“You have our blessing,” came the voice of Countess Almette, “Isn’t that right, Baurendouin?”
Baurendouin let out another, more weary, sigh. “Yes… we’ll… we will figure things out.”
Stephanivien released his hold on Artoirel and quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Thank you, Father, Mother.” Evidently Stephanivien had been far more worried about this conversation than Artoirel had even guessed. Glancing across the table, Artoirel could see that Aurvael and Francel seemed visibly more relaxed too. Jehette, on the other hand, was leaning forward onto the table with her chin in her hands.
“You two are adorable.”
“Eh?”
Jehette laughed. “I hope you will consider me, should you need a singer for your wedding.”
Artoirel somehow survived breakfast not only intact but with a newfound determination. While his original plan had been to sneak out of Haillenarte Manor before dawn, so that no one would see him, it was now late morning and he was having difficulty tearing himself away. He’d fully redressed himself in his clothing from the night before, and now stood in their front foyer with his arms around Stephanivien and an intense reluctance to let go. Artoirel had to speak with his own father, and try to get at least some work done that day. Stephanivien needed to at least check in on the manufactory. He pressed his face into the crook of Stephanivien’s neck and slightly tightened his embrace. Previously he hadn’t been able the keep himself from running away, why, now, did he have such trouble not staying?
“Why don’t I call your linkpearl when the Manufactory closes?”
Artoirel nodded. “That sounds nice.”
“You could stop by then?” Stephanivien leaned down to whisper in Artoirel’s ear. “I still have that pull out bed in the office, if you’d like to try it.”
Artoirel had to let go of Stephanivien in order to cover his blushing face with his hands. “I- I’d like that.”
He’d thought, now that they’d slept together, that his lusts and curiosities would be sated. Instead all Artoirel could think was, When can we be together again? How long must we be separated before then? They needn’t even have sex, necessarily, though Artoirel wanted to do that again as well. It was more that... Artoirel had only just recently realized that he’d had a void in his life, and that Stephanivien fit into and filled it so wonderfully. Perhaps he, too, had fallen in love when they were boys, and had been too foolish to realize it until now.
The short walk across the street felt colder than ever. He only made it a few paces before a young woman he didn’t recall the name of approached him.
“Oh! Count Artoirel! How funny to run into you here.” She let out a small laugh. Artoirel didn’t get the joke.
“Oh, it is?”
“Visiting the Haillenartes this morning?”
“Yes? They are good family friends. Did you need help with something?”
“Well, no, I’m just out for my morning constitutional, and that I should happen to meet you...”
“Oh, well, I do live… here.” He paused halfway up the steps to his own manor while the doorman began to unlock the door.
“My Lord, if it’s not too forward, do you happen to be courting anyone?”
Artoirel turned and looked at her, then. The lady’s face was familiar, though for the life of him he could not recall her name or if they had spoken previously. He’d ask Emmanellain later if he remembered to wonder. “As of very recently, I think, yes. I am.”
The woman was practically forgotten by the time the front door closed behind him.
“Welcome home, my lord,” said the steward with a bow.
“Thank you, Firmien… do you happen to know where my father is at the moment?”
“In the library, last I saw, my lord.”
Artoirel needed to speak with his father. The conversation the night before hadn’t gone nearly as poorly as Artoirel had feared, but he knew there was a distinct possibility that the light of day and the fact that Edmont was not currently trying to escape a party with a woman on his arm might change how he felt. Artoirel needed change his clothes as well, but… no, best to speak with his father first before losing his resolve.
A great deal of fear had crept up Artoirel’s spine by the time he reached the large double doors leading into the library. Count Baurendouin may have given his blessing, but Stephanivien had always been a bit odd by nobility standards, he only followed the rules if he thought he had good reason to, a rule simply being not having been enough on its own. In a way, it may have been expected that he’d want to court someone unconventional. Countess Almette had even said she’d hoped for Artoirel to be there…
Artoirel, on the other hand… he knew what kind of person he was. Artoirel followed the rules, even those that weren’t written. He did what was expected, what he was supposed to do. He’d never, ever deviated from expectations, not if he could help himself, for as long as he could remember.
He gripped the handle tightly and pushed the door open.
Edmont was seated in one of the lounge chairs near the middle of the room with a book sitting open in his lap.
“Father?”
“Oh, Artoirel, welcome home.”
“H- how did you know I just got in?”
“You’re still wearing your clothing from last night, and its quite wrinkled.”
“Oh…” Of course.
“You’re wanting to talk, I’m guessing?” Edmont stuck a bookmark, an old faded ribbon like the sort a young lady might wear in her hair, into the book and set it aside. “Close the door and come sit down.”
Artoirel did as he was told, settling onto the sofa opposite his father’s chair. Edmont pulled over a bar cart, uncorked the decanter on top and poured them each a glass of brandy. “Is… is it not early in the day for alcohol?”
“It’s fine to have some, from time to time, and you look as if you need help calming your nerves.”
“I shouldn’t…” Artoirel took the offered snifter and swirled the liquid around in it mostly to watch the small vortex that formed in the bottom of the glass. He didn’t taste it until after watching his father take a sip. It was a particularly strong vintage, and burned in the throat. “Ah, about last night…I...”
“That was Stephanivien I saw you with, wasn’t it?”
“Yes…” Artoirel could not bring himself to look his father in the eye. If he was to read anger or disappointment on his face… He kept his eyes locked on the bottom of his glass.
“Well, I am just a retired old man. You’re the Count now, and you don’t need my permission.”
“What if I wanted it?” Artoirel forced himself to look up, and found the look on his father’s face not to be anger, but surprise. “Not… not as the head of house, but as my father. I… we… Stephanivien and I wish to court one another properly, but if you disapprove… then…” Artoirel didn’t know what he’d do.
“Artoirel…” Edmont’s expression softened. “It is that serious, then?”
“Yes, I… I know it is not done, but...” Artoirel could feel that now familiar urge to cry forming in his chest and beginning to creep upward. He tensed and slowed his breathing in hopes that would keep the urge from climbing high enough to spill out.
Edmont sighed and put down his glass. “Artoirel, do you know why I have never tried to pressure you to take a wife?”
Fearful that he would weep if he spoke, Artoirel shook his head.
“Your mother and I, we were a poor match from the start. Even without my, ah, indiscretion, I would never have been able to make her happy.”
Artoirel nodded. They had not loved one another. He’d always been too afraid to ask, but perhaps he hadn’t needed to. He’d always known.
“But we were hardly unique. There are married couples all over this city who despise one another more than she and I ever could have. People wed for appearances and politics and family social standing… Many couples are able to learn to love one another, and many are not. I did not want to pressure you into a marriage you did not want.”
“Mother would have…” Artoirel choked out, barely a whisper.
“Well, you can take that up with her when you reach Halone’s halls, or I will argue with her on your behalf.” Edmont picked his brandy snifter back up and took a sip from it. “In the mean time she is not here, and I am, and I wish for you to be happy. Does Stephanivien make you happy?”
A sob began to form in Artoirel’s throat. He attempted to swallow it. He nodded.
“It will not be easy. Many people will not approve of such a relationship, but, if it makes you happy, if you think it worth the difficulty, then you have my full support.”
“Father…” The sob came loose and escaped Artoirel’s throat. He bent forward and wept into his hands and into his glass of brandy. “Thank you, Father.” He heard, and then felt, his father get up and move to the seat next to him on the sofa. Edmont laid a surprisingly gentle hand on Artoirel’s upper back and rubbed lightly. It was a somewhat awkward gesture, in that Ishgardians generally, and his father specifically, were unpracticed at parental affection, but somehow, it helped.
“I think you should take the day off. Clearly you need the rest.”
Artoirel nodded, and tried to compose himself and dry his eyes before retreating from the library and all the way upstairs to his own personal chambers. He opened the door to a cold room and, as he closed the door behind himself, noticed a small, silver object on the floor, just under the piano bench. When he knelt down and picked it up, Artoirel realized it was the hair clasp he’d misplaced the day before. How had it rolled so far from the vanity? He moved to sit down on his bed to weave the braid back into his hair and affix the clasp back into its usual place. His hair, at least, was back as it should be. The little metal orchestrion sat proudly on his nightstand, and in the morning light had taken on a slightly prismatic hue in places. Odd. Artoirel has never noticed that quality before. It must have required very specific lighting conditions. He reached over and turned it on.
The device woke up and began to turn and a moment later the song inside began to play. He hadn’t changed out the roll inside since first using the untitled piece with Stephanivien to test it. What word had Stephanivien used? Nostalgic? Artoirel supposed it was apt, and struggled to remember how he had felt when composing it. He knew he had written it, but now could not recall when or under what circumstances. It must have been some years ago, since he’d scarcely written more than a few notes since becoming the count. Even the song he’d written for the Skyrise Celebration had largely been based upon an older piece. He decided to leave the song playing while he got up to light the fire and strip off his clothes. Ordinarily, Artoirel was fastidious about ensuring his clothing got hung up properly, or else handed off to a maid immediately if it needed to be laundered or mended. Today he just tossed everything into a pile by the wardrobe before heading to the bathroom to wash his face. The floor was freezing.
Artoirel’s reflection was different, somehow. The dark circles beneath his eyes weren’t much improved, and his cheeks streaked with dried tears, his hair, apart from a single neat braid, was something of a mess as well. He quickly washed his face and began to comb out his hair. It wasn’t so bad… he couldn’t have looked any better last night, especially after crying, and Stephanivien said he was beautiful. Stephanivien said he loved him. Stephanivien would not lie about such a thing. Artoirel exited the bathroom and crawled into bed without bothering to get dressed in anything first. He wasn’t even feeling tired, but there was something soothing about pulling the duvet snugly around himself and watching the sunlight reflect off the orchestrion as it played. The song ended, and, being the only one in the device, started over from the beginning.
What had he been feeling when he’d written this song? Artoirel closed his eyes and tried to listen as if it were new, as if the song had been written by someone else. Nostalgic had been a good choice of word. There was a sort of melancholy to it, a longing for something beloved but mostly forgotten, or perhaps something that hadn’t ever truly existed. Artoirel reached out to turn the orchestrion off. He then sat up and removed the music roll from the device. He’d thought of a title.
Artoirel could not wait the full number of bells before the manufactory would close and Stephanivien would call him. It should have been at seven, but by five he was pacing in anticipation and from nerves. The ink on the orchestrion roll was long dry and he’d rolled it neatly and fastened it closed with a nice red ribbon. He was now doing small laps around the parlor while he waited for the kitchen staff to prepare the ‘nice meal for two that can be carried across town’ that he had requested.
“You are going to make me dizzy if you don’t stop.” Emmanellain was currently stretched out on one of the sofas, still wearing his, somewhat disheveled, clothing from the night before. He’d somehow gotten back even later than Artoirel had. Haurchefant and Thilan only returned briefly earlier before heading back out to go furniture shopping for their new apartment. Artoirel did not ask what they had been doing all night in an apartment that, presumably, had lacked any furniture.
“I’ll stop when I’m ready.” Artoirel didn’t know when that would be, probably when he left for the manufactory.
“You’re going to miss dinner, then.”
“Most likely.” There was even a chance that he may not return home that evening, now that the biggest fear of explaining things to his father had been faced.
“I’m going to have to dine alone with Father…”
“You could invite that boyfriend of yours, he was at the ball last night, wasn’t he?”
“Wha- ah…” Emmanellain sputtered for a moment. “How did you know?”
Artoirel stopped pacing. “Stephanivien chanced to spot you. Will he be in town long? I’d like to meet him.”
A maid entered the room carrying an old, but still in good condition, picnic basket. The weather hadn’t been good enough for such things since the calamity. Artoirel accepted the basket, and upon opening it discovered an array of sandwiches with a variety of fillings, some small pastries, and a mixed green salad of some sort. There was even a bottle of wine. Emmanellain took the opportunity to flee the room.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
Artoirel’s pace as he walked to the manufactory was probably a bit quicker than it needed to be, and the building was still alive and awake when he arrived. He entered through the front door to find most of the staff still working, though some had begun to shut down their machinery and clean their workstations.
“His lordship’s in his office, m’lord.” The maid Artoirel had seen the night before, Joye… that was the name Stephanivien had called her, shouted over the din of machinery.
“You’re… everywhere, aren’t you?”
“Sure am!” She had both hands on Artoirel’s back and was steering him towards the office before he could ask any follow up questions. A moment later he found himself being shoved through a door and it was closed behind him.
Stephanivien was seated at the drafting table and staring at him wide eyed. “Artoirel?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“I wanted to see you too.”
“Sorry if I’m interrupting your work, I just… I got impatient.”
Stephanivien turned slightly pink, ripped down whatever sketch he’d been working on, and began crumpling up the paper. “You aren’t. I wasn’t doing much of import. What’s in the basket?”
“Oh, um, a light meal. I thought, if we’re courting I should attempt the odd romantic gesture, and maybe you’d be hungry.” Artoirel set the basket on the desk and crossed the room until he was close enough to reach out and touch Stephanivien’s hands, and the paper they were holding. “Can I see what you were working on?”
“Er, well it’s just a silly thing.”
“But can I see it anyway?” Artoirel’s hands closed around the paper. Stephanivien hesitated but released it.
“Don’t laugh.”
Smoothing out the paper revealed a rough sketch of a unicorn in profile wreathed in roses. The flowers were stylized, but meticulous, the unicorn was… recognizable as a unicorn. Artoirel didn’t laugh, but he did crack a smile. “It’s adorable.”
Stephanivien’s blush deepened. “I was… daydreaming about what a combined house crest might look like… and unicorns are difficult to draw.”
“Well, if you were going to throw it out anyway, I should like to keep it.” Artoirel folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his coat’s inside pocket, where his fingers met another paper object. “Oh, it’s not much, but I have something for you also.”
Stephanivien stared at the rolled up sheet of paper for a moment before untying the ribbon and unfurling it. “For Steph,” he read the title aloud, “Is this…?”
“It’s the song we used to test that the orchestrion was working, I… won’t ever be able to hear it again without thinking of you, so I thought the name…”
“I love it.” Stephanivien rose from the drafting table’s bench. Artoirel stepped into his open arms and leaned up to kiss him.
“Do you want to eat the meal I brought first? Or stress test that fold out bed of yours?”
The following months settled into a surprising sense of normalcy. Artoirel spent his days much the same as before, writing and reviewing law proposals, attending House of Lords meetings, and maintaining the business relations of House Fortemps. Unlike before, he now had motivation to stop working on occasion. He was surprised how easy it was to slip down to the manufactory or across the street to Haillenarte Manor, or to sneak Stephanivien into his office or bedroom. Artoirel even found the time to play his piano, if only a little. He’d grown a bit rusty from a lack in practice, but was certain he could overcome it. Stephanivien, at least, said he could not hear the difference.
Artoirel was… happy? Or at least, happier than he had been in some time, perhaps ever. The anxiety over potential judgments of others never quite left him, but everyone close to them now knew and were accepting of the situation, and, when Stephanivien kissed him, he knew he would not trade him for anything or anyone.
It was a particularly cloudy, windy day, and Artoirel paused on the stairs just above the airship landing to pull his coat a bit more tightly around his neck. On days like this the clouds rolling by almost gave the illusion that all of Ishgard was a massive airship, flying toward some unknown destination. Artoirel used to stand out here and watch the clouds often, though at the time he hadn’t really known why. Now, he felt like, someday, Ishgard may eventually arrive wherever it was headed.
“Everything alright?” Aymeric lay a hand on Artoirel’s shoulder and they turned and began to descend the stairs together.
“Yes, I think so, just feeling wistful, I guess.”
“Good, I was worried you had changed your mind.”
“It’s a bit late for that now, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint him.” Artoirel turned slightly to catch Aymeric’s gaze. “You… aren’t planning to take on extra work to make up for my being gone, are you?”
“...no?”
“If I arrive home to find out you haven’t been taking any time off, I shall be very cross.”
“Ah, you won’t.”
“Good, then it won’t be a problem when my father checks in on you.”
Aymeric paused, falling a few paces behind. “What?”
Artoirel could not bring himself to worry. He tightened his grip on the handle of his travel trunk and hurried the rest of the way to the airship landing, where Stephanivien was waiting. Soon, they’d board an airship bound for Limsa Lominsa, and from there they’d board a ship bound for Kugane. Aymeric was just coming to see them off.
He’d seen Stephanivien just that morning, but couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the man once he was close enough. Stephanivien hugged him back, and when they separated, Artoirel reached down to take Stephanivien’s hand in his. He laced their fingers together and did not let go.
“Are you not worried someone may see?” Stephanivien asked, though he was smiling.
“I am, but… I’ve decided it worth the risk.”
Notes:
It's finished? It's finished. Holy shit.
This is definitely the longest prose thing I've ever completed. I usually do long form comics. When I started this fic there wasn't even a tag for the ship on AO3 and now there are several more fics with them, that makes me so happy!
Anyway! Thank you so much for reading! I definitely want to do more with Steph and Arty, maybe in more bite-sized forms, but at the moment I have a webcomic chapter to draw, another fic, and several other projects I'm working on, so I don't know when that will be.
Pages Navigation
SophieDeus on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 03:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 04:57PM UTC
Comment Actions
Iximaz on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 08:23PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 09:00PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aygeia on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 10:05PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Aug 2022 02:28AM UTC
Comment Actions
Jullus (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 21 Aug 2022 10:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Aug 2022 02:28AM UTC
Comment Actions
thornweaver on Chapter 1 Mon 22 Aug 2022 11:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Tue 23 Aug 2022 12:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
steelthighsvoideyes on Chapter 1 Tue 23 Aug 2022 03:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Tue 23 Aug 2022 08:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
steelthighsvoideyes on Chapter 1 Wed 24 Aug 2022 04:14AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Sun 28 Aug 2022 04:35AM UTC
Comment Actions
siyrean on Chapter 1 Thu 22 Sep 2022 10:19PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Mon 10 Oct 2022 10:18PM UTC
Comment Actions
scatteringmyashes on Chapter 1 Mon 12 Jun 2023 07:37PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Wed 21 Jun 2023 06:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
KoalatyDM on Chapter 1 Sun 30 Jul 2023 09:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 1 Tue 01 Aug 2023 12:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
ZZ_Bottom (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sun 28 Aug 2022 02:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Sun 28 Aug 2022 04:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
Iximaz on Chapter 2 Sun 28 Aug 2022 06:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Sat 10 Sep 2022 07:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
darkrose on Chapter 2 Sun 28 Aug 2022 08:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Sat 10 Sep 2022 07:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
steelthighsvoideyes on Chapter 2 Mon 29 Aug 2022 03:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Sat 10 Sep 2022 07:57PM UTC
Comment Actions
Urbiezira on Chapter 2 Mon 29 Aug 2022 05:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Sat 10 Sep 2022 07:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
scatteringmyashes on Chapter 2 Mon 12 Jun 2023 07:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Wed 21 Jun 2023 06:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
KoalatyDM on Chapter 2 Sun 30 Jul 2023 11:10AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Tue 01 Aug 2023 12:07AM UTC
Comment Actions
ScionSmoocher (chiastica) on Chapter 2 Tue 30 Apr 2024 07:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 2 Wed 04 Sep 2024 12:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
thornweaver on Chapter 3 Sun 11 Sep 2022 03:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 3 Thu 22 Sep 2022 05:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
Iximaz on Chapter 3 Sun 11 Sep 2022 07:40AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 3 Thu 22 Sep 2022 05:31AM UTC
Comment Actions
Urbiezira on Chapter 3 Sun 11 Sep 2022 08:10AM UTC
Comment Actions
Kytri on Chapter 3 Thu 22 Sep 2022 05:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation