Chapter Text
Day 1: Esoteric
Pairing: Honoroit & Emmanellain (Platonic), Sicard/Emmanellain (lightly implied)
Rating: General
"Honoroit," Honoroit looked up from his book as Count Artoirel approached him, "is Emmanellain out?"
"Lord Emmanellain is in the washroom." Honoroit explained, closing his book. "If it's urgent, I could fetch him."
"No, no need." Artoirel waved him to stay seated and appeared relieved. "I actually came to speak with you."
Honoroit's face showed some surprise. Though he was quick witted enough to suspect what Artoirel wanted to speak of. Or specifically, who.
Lord Emmanellain was a difficult man to understand or make yourself understood to. Many times had Honoroit been approached by others that wanted something from his lord. Those seeking favor would ask of the pageboy what his lord liked as presents or subjects he was passionate about.
Normally, one could go to the person directly for such information... But none of those sort were ever willing to speak with Emmanellain longer than necessary. His manner of speech was flowery. Unfocused and without much merit for the listening party. Unless that party was drunk or else wanting fuel to use against Emmanellain, of course.
Though Count Artoirel had no ill will towards his brother, he dedicated no time for him. Their father had been no better. Though Honoroit had only been living with the family for five years, he knew the youngest son better than anyone in all of Hydaelyn.
"This morning Emmanellain came to volunteer as the new commander of Camp Dragonhead." Artoirel sounded wary. When Honoroit acknowledged this without surprise, he continued, "I fear his participation in the grand melee may have gotten to his head."
"Undoubtedly," Honoroit confirmed, "since the grand melee, my lord has seen fit to mention it to anyone who will listen."
"I see." Artoirel exhaled softly.
"Not to say he has shown any lack of enthusiasm or effort in his preparations for the role." Honoroit pointed out, with some muted pride. "I've not had to remind him to attend his lessons either. My lord has not been late to a single one."
"That... Is good." Artoirel said haltingly. "But I don't understand why."
Honoroit said nothing, waiting for the older man to expand on his words.
"Why would my brother, Emmanellain the Lofty," Honoroit's mouth twitched at the hand motion accompanying the title, "one of Ishgard's foremost carefree gossips, suddenly want to take on such a responsibility?"
Again Honoroit kept silent. It sounded like he doubted Emmanellain, and yet Honoroit knew that he had already approved the request. So he did not truly doubt Emmanellain's abilities. Artoirel doubted his brother's motivations. But much like how Emmanellain's words rarely matched his inner thoughts, Artoirel also spoke only a fraction of what he truly thought.
"What really troubles you, Count Artoirel?" Honoroit coaxed. "My lord is willing to take up your late brother's mantle. Is that not what your father hoped?"
"It is," he admitted with a frown, "though he doubts Emmanellain will perform well enough..."
"Do you harbor such doubts?" He asked, despite suspecting the answer.
"No. Of course not. As foolish and flippant as my brother is, I can see he's changed. But why? What is he hoping to gain? Father's approval... Mine?"
"Maybe in the past," Honoroit replied with a small smile, "but no. My lord Emmanellain volunteered because he wanted to. Not because you or your father wanted him to." It was just as Emmanellain had told the Warrior of Light, after all.
Artoirel studied Honoroit for a moment and his posture relaxed. Yet before he could say another word, the door opened and out stepped the subject of their conversation.
"Honoroit, have you--oh! Brother, what brings you to my room?"
"Ah," Artoirel awkwardly averted his gaze as Emmanellain wore only his bath robe, "sorry for intruding. I merely wanted to inform you that you'll be leaving for Camp Dragonhead first thing in the morning."
"Yes, my lord." Emmanellain snapped to attention, causing his brother's pale face to color.
"I need to get back to my paperwork." He excused himself and closed the door behind him.
"So Honoroit, What did my brother really want?"
"To know why." And just like that, there was nothing more that needed saying between the two. After all, no one understood Emmanellain and his reasons better than Honoroit.
... Until Emmanellain returned from the frozen wastes of Galemald, that is...
Honoroit sat on a crate that was yet to be loaded aboard the Astalicia. Perplexed, he watched her captain and his lord bicker. He had never seen Emmanellain so quick to pick a fight with anyone. Yet he contradicted this show of hostility when the captain was absent by speaking so highly of him.
These days, "Sicard" left his lips far more frequently than even more than "Lady Laniaitte." If Honoroit did not know his lord, he would think he even fancied the captain...
"What's got your lordship's bloomers in a bunch this time, cap'n?" One of the roegadyn Executioners called out as he carried freight.
"Bloomers!?" Emmanellain gawped.
Honoroit felt sorry for his lord, having to deal with these pirates' insults. He moved to get off the crate, only for someone to speak up first.
"Oi, he'll have you know they're pantaloons, not bloomers." Sicard drawled, moving to stand at Emmanellain's side with his elbow reaching up to rest on his shoulder.
Honoroit expected his lord to swat the captain away. Instead, he lowered his shoulder and pressed against the hyur's side.
"Now get your arse movin'. These crates ain't gonna move themselves."
Once the roegadyn disappeared into the ship, Sicard's arm fell from its perch. Emmanellain gazed down at him, but jerked back when Honoroit moved to better read his lord's expression.
"Are you alright, my lord?" Honoroit called out in concern.
"Hm? Oh, quite alright. Thank you, old boy." He answered distractedly.
"He's just embarrassed." Sicard snickered.
"I am not!" Emmanellain denied.
"Sure ye are," Sicard invaded the other's boundaries once more and once more, the other allowed it, "yer voice went all pitchy like it usually does when yer lyin'."
"A gentleman doesn't lie-" Sicard's brow rose and Emmanellain hastily continued, "don't you dare finish that thought, you... You..."
"'Bilge rat'?" Sicard laughed and shrugged. "Aye, you'll just be hearin' it later anyways."
Honoroit awkwardly returned to sit on his crate. It seemed that Captain Sicard had learned much and more about his lord... Honoroit would need to do some studying to remain the one best-versed in the esoteric tastes and mannerisms of Lord Emmanellain.