Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emmanellain,

I am heartened to hear that things are going well at your post. I hope it has given you the opportunity to grow further into the knight we both know you can be.

Things are busy in Ishgard, but hopefully headed in the right direction. The Lord Speaker only recently returned from a trip to Gridania. He has already thrown himself back into mountains of paperwork. Lucia and I are doing the best we can to take things off his plate, and yet, somehow he keeps finding more.

Father is keeping busy with his writing. He seems happy enough with it. When I informed him I would be writing to you soon, he asked specifically that you come back and visit when your station allows. The house is much quieter without you.

Although, it is no longer completely silent. When next you return, you simply must meet the newest member of our family, Lady Odette de Fortemps. I know not how she will react to your presence, but I am anxious to find out.

Keep warm,

Count Artoirel de Fortemps

Emmanellain reread the letter a few times. Not the beginning, he wasn’t in the state of mind to consider his brother’s approval or the state of Ishgard’s political scene, but the curious segment at the end. He was proud of the job he was doing at Dragonhead. That did not change the fact that he was dangerously devoid of gossip in the frozen plains of the Western Highlands.

Odette. It was a pretty name, but Emmanellain had no idea what Artoirel was implying. A new knight of the house? No, he would’ve used a soldier’s title and not one of status. And, upon second thought, it would be strange for her to share their last name.

…A daughter perhaps? He could not imagine a world where his eldest brother would have a child out of wedlock, and if he did, he would not announce it like this. Had their father revealed another child?

“Honoroit.”

The boy perked up, not even pretending he had not been tracking Emmanellain’s reaction to the missive. “Yes, my lord?”

“Read this. I would care to hear your opinion on the portion at the end.”

Honoroit took only a minute to make his way through the text. He hummed thoughtfully before returning the letter to its envelope.

Emmanellain folded his arms in a way that was certainly not self-conscious. “Well?”

“Perhaps she is a newborn.”

“That is exactly what I suspected, but it seems rather out of character for Artoirel and likely impossible for my father.”

“Adopted, perhaps?”

Emmanellain frowned. There had been an influx of orphan children in the city since the explosive end of the Dragonsong War. He didn’t want to think of the possibility that his father had adopted a new youngest child, and Artoirel…

“I still cannot imagine my brother would adopt without being married.”

Honoroit shrugged. “Maybe Artoirel has been married since you left.”

Emmanellain’s thought processes stopped. He may not be receiving the gossip he would like from the city, but surely he would’ve heard from someone if there was a new Countess de Fortemps. Surely.

“Maybe this Odette is his wife,” Honoroit offered.

Emmanellain rose from his chair before he could consider that any further. He motioned for Honoroit to take his place with a quill and parchment, then started pacing behind the high-backed chair. “I need to send a response posthaste. Would you mind recording my thoughts?”

Honoroit nodded, prepared as always to edit it down into a coherent chunk of text.

Dear Brother,

I am gladdened to hear from you. Things continue to go as expected at Camp Dragonhead. Mostly quiet, although the other day I had the opportunity to take on a pack of wolves myself! It was quite the way to start a morning.

I must admit that my chains of information do not yet have links this far away from Ishgard, and I find myself dreadfully in need of updates in the social scene there. I would also greatly appreciate more information of the Odette you mentioned in the last letter before I meet her.

Best of health,

Emmanellain

---

The next letter arrived a sennight later. Emmanellain tore it open, delighted to find it much bulkier than the last one. He knew it was a long shot, asking Artoirel to know anything of the more salacious happenings in the city, but perhaps the sheer length of the letter implied that his brother had decided to throw him a proverbial bone.

Emmanellain,

I hope the wolves did not disturb your schedule too much. Sometimes I miss my own days on patrol, and then I remember the wolves personified I must trade words with on a daily basis.

Emmanellain found he could not focus on most of the pleasantries and mundanities that started most of his correspondence with his brother. Instead, he found himself skipping to the name he had spent much of his last week thinking about.

What is there to say of Lady Odette? She has captured my heart at a rate I thought impossible, and already I cannot imagine life without her. She fits in quite well with the house with her elegant steps and regal disposition.

Emmanellain’s mouth slowly fell open. Had Artoirel been wed without his knowledge? He flipped to the next page in the hopes it would enlighten things further.

I do sincerely hope you will love her as much as I do. I have never met one as clever and refined as one at her age, and I find myself anxious at learning who she could become with time.

…A daughter then? Truly? He turned another page, handing them to Honoroit one by one as he finished them.

Lady Odette, I have found, is quite fond of shiny trinkets. Just the other day, I discovered she had been stealing necklaces and earrings and hiding them away within her bed. She was quite cross when I removed them.

Every sentence only served to further confound Emmanellain. By the time he reached the end, he realized there was not a single mention of a scandal. All Honoroit held was half a dozen pages about Lady Odette and her silky mane, and her love of sweet treats, and her fondness of laying by windows. Despite the sheer number of words, he felt no closer to understanding anything about the girl.

Eventually, Honoroit’s face lifted into a smile.

“My lord?”

Emmanellain frowned harder. “What is it?”

“I think Lady Odette may be a cat.”

“What?” He blinked, then took the pages back from his pageboy. “Give me those.”

Sure enough, his protégé seemed to be right on the mark in retrospect. Passages about her love of imported seafood, the little bell she wore around her neck, her unfortunate dislike of clothing; they all started to make sense.

Ser Yaelle snickered, then returned to her work.

Emmanellain stood from his desk. “Honoroit, I need to compose a letter.”

Chapter Text

Four more letters arrived in that fashion. After the fifth letter in a row proclaiming nothing but the virtues of the Lady Odette de Fortemps, Emmanellain came to the conclusion that his brother must be doing it on purpose to spite him. He wasn’t even sure how Artoirel had the time to write this much with his near endless work. Perhaps this was Emmanellain’s penance for fishing for gossip.

He almost didn’t even read the next letter to arrive at Dragonhead for him, until Honoroit informed him it was from the Lord Speaker himself.

Emmanellain had messaged Aymeric a matter of days beforehand, in the hopes to talk to anyone from home about anything besides Odette. He also, perhaps foolishly, hoped Artoirel’s coworker might be able to convince him to be done with the farce.

Hope spread through him upon opening Aymeric’s letter. Even if he did not agree to Emmanellain’s humble requests, there were many topics Aymeric could broach that he was quite interested in. His dinner date, for one. He could not believe Aymeric of all people would come to him for courting advice, and he had not had the chance to return to Ishgard since they spoke last about it. The not knowing how it went was driving him mad. Of course his advice was sound. But had the dinner gone well? Was the most eligible bachelor in Ishgard now taken? Had Aymeric followed his advice about the coat? Even if things had gone poorly with the Warrior, that coat must’ve surely served him well with reeling in other proverbial fish.

Lord Emmanellain,

I must admit I was surprised to find correspondence from you amongst the piles of pleas I receive every day. I don’t think your brother noticed it, and I decided to wait to read it until I was home. I am glad I did so, for I fear my laugh may have given it away.

Emmanellain squinted at the page. What did that mean?

I am sure you hear enough about the state of Ishgard from Artoirel, so I will not bore you further on that front.

He gave a silent prayer to Halone in thanks. Aymeric truly was one of the most merciful people in Coerthas.

I do not have much gossip, as I have not been able to attend any functions as of recent. All I have to offer is news of the new Vicomtesse de Borel.

Emmanellain gasped. He knew his advice was the best around, but even he did not guess it would be effective so quickly. He-

His eyes widened as he moved on, seeing a name that certainly did not belong to their Warrior. He certainly wouldn’t have guessed that would happen so quickly. Things were certainly changing in Ishgard.

Vicomtesse Miette has been settling in quite well, in case you were wondering. Lady Reinette has mostly ignored her, but through persistence, I have no doubt Miette will worm her way into the old maid’s heart.

Honoroit giggled, alerting Emmanellain to where he was reading the letter past his arm.

“What is it?”

Honoroit did not even pretend to not be eavesdropping. Emmanellain had never stopped him before.

“My lord. Is that not the Lord Speaker’s cat?”

Emmanellain tried to remember the ancient thing always lounging about Borel manor. “Reinette… I believe it is. Good catch.”

Honoroit smiled. “I am not speaking of the venerable Lady Reinette, my lord.”

“What?” He asked, struggling to hold in his frustration.

His page pointed to a line later on in the letter, speaking of Miette’s tendency to catch mice around the house.

Emmanellain let his head fall onto his desk. “Miette is a cat.”

“I believe so, my lord. Do you wish to compose a response?” He heard the shuffling of more parchment being drawn from his desk drawer.

“I- yes. But I have a new recipient in mind for now.”

Chapter Text

Francel,

I do hope this letter finds you well. I know we do not speak much, but things have grown rather dire in Camp Dragonhead, and I do not know who else to contact about the issue.

As you well know, I have not been able to attend any of the soirées in Ul’dah in moons, Firmament business or not. I also have not been provided leave to visit Ishgard proper. The knights at Dragonhead have not seen fit to tell me of any spats if such things are occurring. We do not interact much beyond what is required to keep the camp running. I feel as a man dying of thirst without talk of the scandals anywhere.

Please tell me there has been some drama within the Firmament. I will take anything. Has the House of Lords been stirred up about any of your endeavors? Have there been any more attempts to sabotage Skysteel and the Hounds? Any recent attempted assassinations or torrid affairs? What do they talk about in the balls since I have left?

All I have heard about the city is every coming and going of Artoirel and Aymeric’s cats. It is to the point I am beginning to wonder if the two of them are under some sort of thrall. Are there magical qualities to the felines? Are the two of them being blackmailed? I am concerned for their well being and the use of their free time.

Please write back with anything you know,

Emmanellain de Fortemps

---

Another sennight passed full of correspondence from his brother and the Lord Speaker, every page speaking of Odette and Miette. Emmanellain found himself flabbergasted. It wasn’t like he disliked cats, he had always considered himself a cat person! But he was coming to realize that perhaps he was not.

His subordinates had taken notice of his exasperated reaction to every letter, and Emmanellain suspected Honoroit had been telling them of all contained in them. More and more knights found reason to be in his office when the post came into the camp. Emmanellain couldn’t pretend he didn’t care for the extra attention. If he made his reactions a little more animated for those gathered, no one called him out on it.

Emmanellain prepared for another pleasant afternoon with his knights when the next set of parcels arrived. He wasn’t prepared for an actual response from Francel. He wasted no time in devouring the letter.

Lord Emmanellain,

It breaks my heart to hear things are so desolate in Dragonhead. You must be going through unimaginable suffering. I certainly cannot imagine it, at the least.

Do not fret - there is no blackmail nor magic surrounding Lady de Fortemps or the Vicomtesse de Borel that I am aware of. An unknown party abandoned a litter of kittens in Empyreum a moon or so ago, and prominent figures in the city have been adopting them. All of the adoptees have been given formal titles and become the pride and joy of their respective houses. The hefty adoption fees have also made quite the contribution to subsidizing the Firmament. It has done much for the mood in the city, and I’m quite happy with the way the initiative has been expanding.

I myself took one of the kittens under my wing, Lord Galette de Haillenarte. He looks quite dapper in his bowtie.

If you are worried about the Firmament’s presence in Ul’dah, do not be. Lucia and Artoirel unilaterally decided that Aymeric would simply have to go to the soirées in your stead.

I wish you the best with your trials, but you will get nothing from me. :)

Take care,

Lord Joacin Charlemend Francel de Haillenarte

Emmanellain flipped over the paper, hoping for an explanation for the package attached to the thing.

P.S. I have also sent portraits of Odette, Miette, and Galette, commissioned by a Firmament artisan for display at Camp Dragonhead. I was not able to visit Dragonhead as much as I liked, but I know several of the knights that used to be stationed there made a point to care for the strays that made it there, your brother foremost among them. I think he would like nothing more than to have his portrait surrounded with pieces like these.

Unwrapping the butcher paper, Emmanellain found the three portraits promised. They were made in a thick paint that was styled to have a texture imitating fur. They had little gold plated placards on each with the cat’s full name and title.

Honoroit picked up the piece of Galette, smiling at the tiny tabby cat with a yellow ribbon tied around his neck.

Emmanellain turned behind him to really look at the portrait of Haurchefant. He avoided thinking about it as much as he could, to hide from the weight of the thing. Haurchefant’s imprint on Camp Dragonhead was everywhere, in the people that adored him, in the drinks made in the kitchens, sometimes it felt like his spirit lived on in every wall. Taking up his post was a daunting notion. He was hardly a knight, how could he possibly measure up to that?

Everywhere he went, people expected him to have Artoirel’s decorum or Haurchefant’s charm. Not to say that he didn’t have those things, of course, but his were a different brand that never seemed to fit in with what people wanted. He never really cared for the sense of duty either of his brothers had in spades. Emmanellain had understood, logically, when Artoirel reassigned him to Dragonhead. He just didn’t think it would be so hard to connect with the people here in any way he knew.

When he turned back around, Honoroit had laid the other two paintings out on the desk. The conspicuously gathered knights glanced over them with stifled grins of their own. Maybe Francel was onto something after all.

Chapter Text

It became something of a routine, reading The Letters. It had been awkward the first time Emmanellain sat on the desk and loudly read their contents, but before long, it became a regular and well attended event. Enough would-be attendees started arriving that they had to move the readings to the mess hall before dinner. Emmanellain came to anticipate the days where he got to perch on a table, his feet on one of the benches, and narrate every detail he received of the cats (along with his own color commentary, of course).

Emmanellain finished Aymeric’s letter, then bowed out to return to his office for the day. He nodded at the portraits on the wall, as had become custom for all entering and leaving the room. The bright colors of the kittens truly brought out the warmth in the room’s light and Haurchefant’s smile.

Honoroit cleared his throat once Emmanellain sat. When Emmanellain raised an eyebrow, the boy pulled out another sealed envelope. “This arrived as well, but… well. I wasn’t sure what the contents would be. I thought perhaps it would be one best read in more privacy.”

Emmanellain blinked at the name emblazoned in the top corner. He had… never received a missive from Laniaitte, not in the lifetime they had known each other. There was no way of knowing what would be contained within.

Emmanellain dismissed the knights stationed in the room and worked up the courage to break the seal.

Emmanellain,

I heard you have come into command of your own camp. Treat your soldiers well.

He had never even considered that his position put him on the same playing field as Laniaitte. It might be the first thing she has ever been willing to speak with him about outside of their families in… a decade at least.

I also heard that there’s been quite a stir at Dragonhead in regards to the thing with the cats. Francel spoke with me about your plea for help, and I decided I simply must reach out.

Emmanellain held his breath. This could go many directions, and he wasn’t sure which one was the worst. His admittedly hyperbolic letter to Francel might’ve been taken in a very disrespectful light. Surely Laniaitte wouldn’t be willing to send anything Francel wouldn’t, maybe she wished to ridicule him for even asking. He certainly hadn’t intended for her to find out.

You see, the other kittens are all well and good, but I simply must tell you about the newest employee of Skysteel Manufactory. I had the opportunity to meet her last time I visited. You simply must make time when you next return. Ricotta de Haillenarte is an unparalleled delight. Clever, friendly, talkative; she’ll be taking Stephanivien’s job in no time.

Emmanellain took a long slow breath. He wasn’t sure if this was the worst outcome or if a sigh of relief was caught in his throat. Maybe it was good, after all. More content for his readings of course, if she continued sending them, and…

He had been meaning to make things up with Laniaitte. Emmanellain knew that if she ever had any interest in him, it was quite solidly destroyed when they went to Ul’dah together. She told him in no uncertain terms she wanted him to stop attempting to woo her. Emmanellain had been trying, truly, but every time he found himself face to face with Laniaitte he got so nervous that his old habits were all that was left in his mind. It only seemed to get worse every time they interacted.

Maybe, though, maybe if they started exchanging letters, he would have the time and space he needed to stop making a fool of himself. Maybe they could be friends again. Maybe they could talk about the stresses of command, and Emmanellain could get advice from someone who knew what she was doing.

I commissioned one of my family’s artists to make a portrait of her ladyship to be delivered with Francel’s next parcel. Every time you look upon her soulful eyes, I hope you remember that you should think before you speak. Or write.

Ser Laniaitte de Haillenarte, Commander of the Rose Knights of Camp Cloudtop

Honoroit looked at him anxiously, waiting for some sort of reaction. Emmanellain nodded, causing the boy to stop holding his breath.

“You did good, holding this one back. But if she messages again, which she might, feel free to hand it over with the other reports.”

Honoroit’s shoulders relaxed. “Very well. Did you wish to compose a response, my lord?”

“Yes, definitely.” Emmanellain looked at the wall behind him, trying to figure out the best place to put Ricotta, when her likeness arrived. “...Later. I have some matters to work out first.”

Chapter Text

“My lord!” Honoroit nearly sprinted to his desk. “A moogle just arrived with mail from Mor Dhona for you!”

Emmanellain pushed aside his half done report. He had messaged the Warrior of Light sometime a moon ago in desperation to hear about anything other than the cats, and honestly, he assumed she forgot by now.

It turned out there were two letters, neither of which were from the Warrior.

If Emmanellain were to make a list of all the people he would assume wanted to talk to him, Thancred Waters would be very near to the bottom. They hadn’t spoken since the end of the war. Emmanellain’s nose still sometimes hurt when the weather turned cold in the aftermath of Thancred’s punch.

Well. He was only going to find out what the letter said by reading it.

It started with no introduction, no greeting of any kind.

My contacts in Ishgard said that people are tormenting you with descriptions of cats, for some reason, and I had to get in on that.

I don’t know if you ever met Alphinaud’s sister, Alisaie, but she has decided to feed every animal that walks into Mor Dhona. Two particularly insistent cats have figured out how to sneak into the Rising Stones. We can’t get them to leave, but we also can’t take care of them permanently. Alisaie is starting to consider sending the poor things all the way to Old Sharlayan to live with her mother.

You’ll be meeting Alisaie soon, from what I hear. It’ll be good for you to have someone around who is willing to remove your head from your ass.

Alphinaud decided to send a letter on his own accord when I said I would be contacting you. I don’t know what it says, but I was the one that told him to send his sketch of the strays, so don’t hold that against him.

And with that, the first page ended. No signature or anything of the sort.

Emmanellain passed it to Honoroit. He… hadn’t heard anything about this Alisaie. Alphinaud had been perfectly pleasant as a houseguest, and if she was anything like him, he wouldn’t mind such a visitor. Although.

He reread it over Honoroit’s shoulder with a healthy amount of suspicion. It wouldn’t be the first - nay, it wouldn’t even be the fourth time someone tried to pass off a cat as a human to him. Nothing that he could see seemed to point strongly in one direction or another.

“Ah,” Honoroit said. “Alisaie is a person. Lord Alphinaud spoke of her from time to time during his stay in Ishgard. They are twins.”

“Wh- How long has Alphinaud had a twin?”

“Since birth, my lord. I assume.”

Emmanellain sat back in his chair. He never heard Alphinaud say anything of the sort, but… well. He also hadn’t made much time to spend with the boy.

“The strays mentioned are cats though,” Honoroit continued. “I am almost certain.”

“Right.” Emmanellain returned to the task at hand. “Was there another- ah, thank you.” He took the letter from Honoroit and began to read.

Lord Emmanellain,

I pray this message finds you well. I plan on visiting soon, if that would be acceptable. Tataru and I are grateful for the offer to make use of the intercessory there for Scion business. We're considering what would be involved in possibly making the Falling Snows a reality, and turning that building into a less official third base for our organization. Ishgard, after all, will always be a second home to the two of us.

I don't know how the cards will actually fall in that endeavor with our need for neutrality, but I am looking forward to visiting nonetheless. I apologize in advance for my sister's behavior. As brusque as she may be, I do hope you find her tolerable. She's been antsy as of late, and if we are indeed able to establish the Falling Snows, I believe the change of scenery would be good for her.

Thancred requested I send a picture of Camille and her brother (they are refusing to let her name the other one until a proper home is secured for them both). I did not have much time to complete it and it has been a while since I practiced art, so please forgive the quality.

Best Wishes,

Alphinaud Leveilleur

Emmanellain felt some sort of emotion bubble in his chest. He honestly didn't know if he had the authority to approve something like that, but he found himself looking forward to seeing Alphinaud too. He really should've reached out sooner.

The art was, in a word, art. Two very well fed cats curled around each other in sleep. The greyscale charcoal would not exactly match the layered paint of the others, but Emmanellain decided it might be good to put it up as well.

Chapter Text

Moons passed before Emmanellain received the Warrior’s response. Between drinks with his knights, his correspondence with Laniaitte, establishing the Falling Snows, and one notable visit by his brother and the Lord Commander, Emmanellain found himself sated in a way he could never have seen when he was sent to Dragonhead. He almost forgot- nay, he did forget that he was waiting on a response from the Warrior until it arrived.

Emm-

I am so sorry it took so long to write back! I promise I didn’t forget, things have just been busy (as always).

Emmanellain would’ve been fine with her forgetting, with all she has to keep on her mind, but he preened at the knowledge that she didn't. She once said that he was like a brother to her, but Emmanellain wasn't sure how seriously to take that.

Congratulations on your new post! I know I probably haven't known you long enough to say this, but you've already grown so much since I met you. I have full faith in your ability to step up to the challenge. Also, Francel said much the same thing, and I trust his judgment more than my own.

What have I been doing? The same as usual, for the most part. Aymeric has been taking me to these parties in Ul’dah and they've been an excellent breath of fresh air.

Things have been going well on that front. He's very grateful for your advice on the alpine coat. Artoirel is hilariously annoyed with the topic.

I've also been continuing my work as Francel’s business partner in the Firmament. We just threw a celebration for Francel, you should make time to come to the next one! Maybe we could even have it there!

It was so refreshing to hear about something different. The Warrior did have a knack of always saying what he needed to hear. He could learn to be okay with missing out on the glorious Ul’dahn soireés if it meant she and Aymeric could get both a break and a date.

That's all I really have to say, but I hope we see each other soon.

Sincerely,

Savior of Ishgard, Slayer of Eikons, Stealer of Pants, et al, the Warrior of Light

It wasn't until he handed it to Honoroit that he noticed the postscript on the back. He promptly took it back.

P.S. Please tell Alisaie that Tataru plans to visit soon for an inspection.

P.P.S. Have you met Vicomtesse Miette yet? I've heard your days have been filled with some wondrous tails :)

Honoroit giggled. Emmanellain's groan was followed by a sleepy noise of disapproval from the cat in his lap. It walked in a circle before settling again, effectively trapping him in his chair. Emmanellain scratched the place between his ears in apology.

Alisaie and the cats had certainly made a splash upon their arrival in Dragonhead. Alisaie was open and unafraid of sharing any and all of her opinions, which turned several Ishgardian heads. She made quick friends with Honoroit, and near instantly, they worked on making Emmanellain’s life a living hell. He never wanted for younger siblings. It didn't quite seem fair when the antics were happening to him.

Camille took to the camp like a duck to water. She could regularly be found walking from post to post to receive the affection she was due. If the stories were true, Emmanellain hoped Camille would never have the opportunity to meet Odette. He doubts the scene would be pretty.

Camille’s little brother was a runt, apparently once small enough to fit in Alisaie's hands. He was friendly and polite for an alley cat. He would surely become a menace once he gained the constitution to scamper wherever he pleased.

Towards the end of a campwide dramatized update on the lives of Galette and Ricotta, one of his men brought forth the idea to hold a poll to decide what to name Camp Dragonhead’s newest knight. A wide array of ideas were thrown out to very vocal cheers and jeers. The buzz continued on through dinner and the customary cocoa, until one idea received unanimous agreement.

Ser Greystone was… Emmanellain felt he could write a thousand words on what the cat sleeping in his lap meant to him. Not that he did, of course. No, he paid Honoroit a hefty sum to draft a few lengthy, lengthy letters to be sent to Ishgard posthaste.