dragonsung | arranged marriage au.

Entry tags:

arranged marriage au.

It was not Ysayle's decision, but nor did she protest -- she'd be a fool to think that there was a better gesture of solidarity. Oh, she knew that Ishgard would have difficulty swallowing the fact they were marrying off their golden boy to Lady Iceheart, the heretic. But if they proved that they could forgive her (and oh, she wanted that forgiveness, even if she knows she does not deserve it) or at least let her walk amongst them a free and accepted woman, then the dragons would have another sign of the changed minds of the Ishgardians.

And she will do everything in her power to see peace between the two.

Which is why she is here, sitting across from the Lord Commander at a table that is startlingly large for the two of them in a building that seems needlessly empty. The dinner must have been his idea, for Vidofnir would never have thought to suggest it and Ysayle simply agreed to a wedding, not... whatever this is. Courtship, mayhap? But that would imply feelings, and she is certain that duty is their motivator here, not desire.

He is at least passable company, however, if the nature of the situation makes them both overly stiff and formal.

Ysayle cannot help but make it moreso. "I do not mean to intrude overly into your personal life," she says, mid bites of her dinner in a silence that had become increasingly more uncomfortable the longer it went on. "If you have other attachments you wish to pursue even after we are wed, I shall harbor no ill-will towards you or they." Unlike many Ishgardians who pretend that they are above such things. Was not Haurchefant Greystone one of the bastards that Ishgard had so readily dismissed? And Hilda, too, to say nothing of Aymeric himself. Ysayle has no plans to delude herself that such things were rare or uncommon, nor that she could expect fealty in a relationship with no romance.

If he could find joy apart from her she finds no reason to deny it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Few revolutionaries do. But there was nary a revolution that happened without it. Whether it was what you wished for or not, you knew the dragons did not come initially to sue for peace when they flung themselves at our walls," he shakes his head, "Don't misunderstand me, my hands are no cleaner than yours-- I was never naive enough to think the truth would only set people free and not confuse and terrify some. But such a sentiment, that bloodshed was never your intention, might be one best kept away from dinner tables that contain more than just you and I. The youngest Hallinarte in particular is not likely to believe you on such matters, since I hear he almost went off Witchdrop due to one of your men. I think he more upset about his family's good name and his own piety being called into question than nearly dying."

He says it lightly, perhaps, as close to nobleman's gossip as he ever gets, but the warning inherent is not quite so light as that. She will have to face down Francel, after all, and while for many people her involvement in the war is impersonal, there are a scant few who's lives she has directly ruined, or nearly so.

"Better to let men like him think you have had a change of heart, rather than that you would have preferred they not have to die at all."

A change of heart? For a moment Ysayle's expression darkens -- her eyes narrowing. It is not her who has had a change of heart, but... well, it doesn't matter now. Ysayle swallows her ire, although the darkness in her eyes doesn't abate for the moment.

"Then I shall remain silent on the matter entirely, until there is a time for me to confess." That, at least, she agrees to do without complaint. She won't shy away from facing those she has wronged, accepts it as both punishment and a chance to... move on, move forward. For a better Isghard. A frown, then, and Ysayle fixates on a point past Aymeric's shoulder for a long second before catching his eyes again.

He has tried, with her, and so she can give him something of herself. Something that may help him understand her more, help them navigate the tricky politics of their future together.

"Did you know that Ishgard turned my village away? After the Calamity we came to its gates seeking refuge. And we were denied." As were many others. Ysayle is not attempting to make her case a special one, simply putting a story to her name, heard from her and not any reports he may have read. "It was only after that all but myself perished in an avalanche, and I would have suffered the same fate if not for Hresvelgr himself."

A tap of a finger against the wood of the table in pointed thought, though there is no point she is trying to draw his attention to beyond that of understanding. "You have fought tooth and nail for the seat that you sit upon, I will not deny that. But you speak to me of the concern of nobles as if I should care for their reputations, of their plight, when none have cared overmuch for those of me and mine. We swear to strive for change, aye, but that change should not come at the cost of dignity, of pride, for those who have always stood at the bottom."

She will not beg and grovel for the approval of nobles, appeal to them for forgiveness when it is their society, their families and their reputation that is built on lies, on stasis and an intolerance for those considered 'lesser'. As much as she must prove herself to them, so must they to her. Better that he know that now than later.

"I did not know but it does not surprise me." He lets her talk, otherwise, lets her finish, and then lets the silence sit for a long moment while he figures out the best way to address the thing lying on the table between them.

"I expect for you to be able to make them believe you do, at least," he says, finally, "I have always needed them. You now need them. And they will not only not rally to your banners but actively desert mine if you do not. We must bridge the gap and if we cannot do that by making either side understand the plight of the other, we must stand balanced in the middle."

"You took your power, by virtue of who you were and what you believed in. I was elected to mine. I hold yours to be the truer power, make no mistake, but if I am immediately unelected because my wife poses an imminent threat to the nobility, there will be more bloodshed," it's said very matter-of-factly, though it's far more open than he would normally be with most anyone. It's becoming a bit more clear, throughout dinner, how he's managed to climb so high.

He's a shrewd man, and as much of a political tactician as he is one on the battlefield. That he doesn't dismiss her out of hand is a point in his measure, as is his honesty and openness. Ysayle inclines her head slightly in recognition of his points as she considers her words.

( His wife, and she never thought to be wed to anyone -- even before her misguided crusade. )

"For whatever worth you place upon my words," does he trust her? Does she trust him? Ysayle is quickly coming to respect Aymeric, his careful maneuvering and desire for change, but trust is earned. "I swear that I will not work to undermine Ishgard's future, this peace that we have gained. I know that you are its best hope -- do not try to pretend otherwise -- and I will not seek to undermine you or threaten your authority. Overtly and otherwise."

She will hold her tongue when it is required, though she knows herself well enough that she will taste blood in her mouth every time.

"'Tis a good thing I am already a villain to them. Even the slightest act of concession will be more than they expect."

"I trust your words wholly and in their entirety," he says it so easily, far more so than she might have been expecting, particularly since she herself is still figuring out where her trust in him lies. "What I have less faith in is your understanding of how Ishgard works and what, precisely, will be necessary for you to be able to keep your word," it's as harsh as the earlier words are kind, but it's honest, and he tempers it a moment later with a small, slightly warmer smile, though it's still a bit forced,

"But there's time enough for that later. I could not teach a lifetime of Ishgardian politics in a single night if I even had the stomach to try. This endeavor is as fraught with potential peril as any other, but I have faith in both of us-- not to weather it without any mistakes, but to be able to weather the mistakes as well as the triumphs."

"Tell me," he continues, after another sip of his wine, "is there anything you wish for in more practical terms? You'll have your own room, of course, but do you have other preferences? Books? A particular type of tea?" this time the smile is smaller, but it's probably genuine, "I spend so little time at home, I have always endeavored to make it a place of refuge when I do. I would gladly do the same for you."

How-- how can he say such things with ease and certainty? Ysayle knows the strength of conviction, of what it means to speak with the full belief of your cause and your actions. She knows where it comes from, but by the same turn, knows what it feels like to have that all ripped away, out from under you, and to flounder.

A small nod of her head, a hint of a smile, as she finally relents and lets him move the conversation away from politics. They will have time enough for that later.

"I--" A pause, as she looks at her hands. "Birds." Her eyes flick up to his, and there is something there in her gaze. Her voice seems to soften, to let her hard edges melt slightly. "When I was younger, I enjoyed falconry. It... has been many years since I tried my hand at it, but given the chance to begin again--" Well, she won't turn it down.

It is clear the request charms him, a kind of delighted surprise settling over him for a moment before he turns his mind to the more practical considerations of her request. House Borel has never been ostentatiously wealthy, but Aymeric also rarely spends money on anything aside from necessities and small, creature comforts. It is less a matter of can he grant that request and more how.

"You may well be relegated to the attic for such a thing, to give them the space needed. But perhaps the birds would prefer that. I don't think it would be terribly difficult to repurpose the space. I should think you'll likely find poor sport hunting in Foundation itself, but it is but a short flight to places where I daresay you will likely have better luck," it's a subtle joke, given the two most likely destinations from Ishgard by air.

"I must admit, though, I know little and less about falconry beyond the barest basics. I've no idea where one procures such things. You shall have to instruct me." He's not discounting her ability to do so herself, of course, but there's a willingness there, to learn, for no other reason than it interests her.

She does not understand why such a simple thing can bring out such a response in him, but at the same time Ysayle finds herself grateful for it all the same. He does not brush it off as self indulgent, or as meaningless.

"I have made do with less, and you have offered more than I expected. It does not go unappreciated," that he would be so willing to help in what way he can. The shock of his desire to learn is clear on her face -- wide eyes, surprise obvious, and pleasure too.

Setting aside her glass for now, she continues. "Finding a leatherworker will do for now. They will likely be easier found outside of the city -- Tailfeather, perhaps." That he wants to learn is a surprise in and of itself, but she does not discourage him. "If you seek to capture a bird from the wild we will need traps, or if you would prefer to purchase one bred for the sport they are no less skilled than their wild brethren. Provided we do not purchase one in Ishgard itself."

Ysayle has her doubts on the capableness of those.

"It may be that Tailfeather is the best place for gear and bird alike. I imagine they have some skill at such things, and some need. I confess, it's more a sport I would see the Gridanians interested in, though, than any of our current outposts," the current is important there. He's well aware that there used to be a great many more small settlements who would have practiced such things.

Actually, though...

"Perhaps I will flex some of our newfound diplomatic powers," he says, musing over what would be required. "I don't know how the Seedseer, herself, feels about such things, but I imagine that there's something to be said for introducing Gridanian falconry skills to Ishgard. Perhaps she would send a tutor. If such a thing would interest you, of course."

Everything is political with him, but politics and personal enjoyment aren't opposites.

Back when things were not covered in ice and snow. Ysayle knows that other parts of Eorzea have suffered after the Calamity, but Ishgard's situation has always struck her as unique. All at once things changed, but there was rebuilding to be done, time to recover. Ishgard is simply going to be cloaked in eternal winter until the end. "Those who remember will no doubt be willing to engage with it once more," Ysayle muses, but at the mention of getting someone from Gridania brightens her eyes.

"I-- yes. It would, immensely." Ysayle feels she can admit to that, at least. The ice in her eyes retreats for a moment, softening when she looks at him. "I see now why you have the position you do, Lord Commander. I do not mean it as an insult, only complementary. You are quite skilled at this."

He gives her a thin smile. It's genuine enough, but there is both much that he says in the not-saying and much that it says that he trusts her with that much.

"It has been a talent and a necessity both. It pleases me to be able to use it for something that is likely to be agreeable to everyone, for once," his eyes drop and there is something both genuine and practiced about the way it makes him look more demure, like he might deign to blush if he were someone else. It's as though the expression were practiced so thoroughly that it became a natural expression. "And, perhaps, to please someone of whom I think highly."

It's a bit more... guarded of a bit of flirting than some of his earlier, more honest but less flattering attempts had been. But this, too, is somewhat calculated, a small show that he can play the game when he needs to, perhaps, or perhaps some kind of leading by example. Even so, there is nothing about it that seems disingenuous.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

arranged marriage au.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject