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driselle-tempetielle · 6 months

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Coming To Ishgard

[MSQ-following WoLship fic because I wanted to write my WoL being stupid. I was going to sit on it for a bit longer, but I have the patience of a wet cat.]

“My lord, I have returned with the Scions.”

Driselle’s eyes remained fixated on the back of Haurchefant’s head as he spoke. Not out of nerves, surely—after all, she’d been able to sneak a bit of fogweed while Alphinaud wasn’t looking, back when they’d first entered the city. Nerves were no longer part of the equation, though her mind did keep wandering to whether or not anyone would be able to tell that her eyes were bloodshot.

She was overwhelmed—that was all. It was much easier to stare at all of the individual strands of silvery-blue hair on her good buddy’s head than it was to absorb the details of her surroundings. Fury’s tits, she hated meeting new people. It was easy enough when it was a casual interaction, but after how excited Haurchefant had been to introduce them all to his family, there was no way something couldn’t go terribly wrong. As a rule, Driselle was usually oblivious to how she was perceived, but for Haurchefant’s sake, she wanted to do this right.

Driselle stood off to the side and found herself quite content with studying the back of her knight friend’s ears now, watching how they moved when he spoke. Did her own ears do the same? She’d never paid enough attention to other elezen to find out. Part of her wanted to flick the back of his ear to see what happened. Luckily, she was too paralyzed by the gravity of the situation to do so.

“I hope your journey was not too taxing. I, Count Edmont de Fortemps, do bid you welcome.”

There he was in front of them, the Count Edmont that Haurchefant had spoken so highly of. When she eventually broke her gaze from Haurchefant’s hair, Driselle found that she quite liked the his little mustache. He was every bit the picture of an Ishgardian noble with his cane and fancy coat, though perhaps without the pompous air that Driselle had come to expect from these sorts. His voice was comforting in the way that her own father’s was—though Count Edmont appeared to be a bit more mentally present than her own absentminded sire.

After hearing so many things about House Fortemps from both Haurchefant and her cousin Adeline (of the far less prominent House Charbonnier), it was difficult to believe that she was here before them, standing in their parlor as an actual guest. Slaying primals and meeting with various heads of state were nothing to the girl who, only a few years ago, had been so terribly concerned with blending in with Ishgardian high society. If only Adeline could see her now.

…She probably would, as a matter of fact. That was a problem for later, and one that Driselle would rather not think too much about.

Count Edmont continued, “As wards of House Fortemps, you shall be afforded every courtesy. My home is your home.”

The count was certainly a generous man—far more than her own aunt, whose own manor was not far from that of House Fortemps. Unlike the home of House Charbonnier, however, there was a sort of sophisticated ease in the air of this place. There wasn’t a speck of dust, nor was it cluttered with old artifacts of generations gone by. No oppressive aura of desperation lingered here, or, at the very least, not one that she could detect.

Where the streets of Ishgard had been dark and gloomy, the warm lighting within the manor almost burned her eyes. They would have to adjust slowly. That Duskwight heritage never ceased to resurface with new inconveniences. What she could see, however, was quite grand. Even her aunt’s house hadn’t been this big, let alone so well-decorated. Everything was so deliberately placed—a far cry from Aunt Eugenie’s tacky attempt at opulence.

Were Alphinaud and Tataru nervous at all? Not that she herself was, at any rate. Absolutely not. No, she was simply overwhelmed.

’And higher than dhalmel tits. Fury’s frigid snatch.’

The young Leveilleur was probably fine, high society type that he was—and so used to conversing with political leaders and war heroes alike, even at the young age of sixteen. His posture was formal, but so confident.

’How is that even fair? He hasn’t even hit his growth spurt yet.’

Tataru simply looked on in awe. She was certainly the adaptable sort.

“My companions and I are deeply honored, Count Fortemps.” The little white-haired shite was the first to respond. Go figure.

‘Ah. Alphinaud's speaking for us again. Amazing. Brilliant. Have at it, I guess.’

Driselle knew she couldn't complain, of course. Far better to have the boy speak for them than herself—though she would have just as gladly have taken Tataru. Really, maybe Driselle herself was the only Scion worse at conversation than Urianger.

’At least Urianger can form a bloody coherent sentence, funny words and all.

...Or, well, could. He could form a bloody coherent sentence. Had been able to. Funny words and all.’ 

In a rare moment of giving a shite, she hoped that Urianger was alright, wherever he’d gone. Driselle found her mind wandering to some unfortunate possibilities, and decidedly shifted her focus back to the topic at hand. The fate of the other Scions could wait.

She had to give Alphinaud credit, however. He was a lot less of an insufferable goobue-arse after being horribly betrayed by his own army. That sort of thing did have the tendency to humble a person, and it had worked wonders on the little diplomat.

Count Edmont smiled warmly. “The honor is mine, Master Alphinaud. Consider it an expression of our gratitude for your service to Ishgard.”

Driselle found herself forgetting for a moment what the old man was even referring to, until she happened to glance at Haurchefant and recall the entire series of events that had led up to the confrontation at the Steps of Faith and the defense against the Dravanian horde. Ah, right. Load of horseshite that was.

She should have known that entering Coerthas again would lead to something like this. Nothing ever could be easy anymore. ‘Oh, Warrior of Light, you’re here! I do hope you enjoy entrenching yourself in everyone else’s politics. Now be a dear and go slaughter some dragons while you’re at it.’ Bollocks, that. You do one job for the Adventurer’s Guild and suddenly you’re everyone’s bitch.

Then there was that whole thing with Midgardsormr, which was yet another fever dream that’d been thrust upon her. She hadn’t fully absorbed that one, and was loath to do so. That would mean acknowledging the tiny whelp that was supposed to be the voice of the enormous corpse in the middle of Lake Silvertear. How many others had to put up with this mindboggling rubbish? Hydaelyn must be trying to do her in.

It was quite amazing how, when so many bizarre and terrifying events happened on the regular, one could simply put them out of their mind as easily as the social faux pas committed at some gathering a week before. Easier, even. The fogweed likely didn't hurt.

Maybe she'd just begun to dissociate during all of it. That was plausible enough.

“Forgive me, my lord, but…are you not concerned? To accept foreign guests at such a juncture—especially ones with our…reputation…” As usual, Alphinaud certainly had a point. After all, the Pillars were always rife with gossip, and they were not only a group of those dreaded outsiders, but fugitives besides. It couldn’t possibly be a good look for House Fortemps to be harboring their type.

‘It’s a load of shite, s’what it is. I didn’t do a damned thing,’ Driselle thought with some bitterness. This was what she got for not knowing how to say ‘no’. And it was unlikely that this trend was going to stop anytime soon. She really needed to grow a backbone one of these days.

Count Edmont shook his head. “Do not worry yourself on my account. ‘Tis true that Ishgard’s first thought has ever been the war effort, hence the closing of our borders…”

To Count Edmont’s immediate left were his two other sons (recognized as such solely due to Haurchefant mentioning them in passing), nearly identically dressed and standing at attention. Something about them looked a bit familiar, but it was hard to be sure. Perhaps she’d seen them in passing the last time she’d been in Ishgard. After all, she’d spent quite a lot of time in this part of the city. It wasn’t impossible.

“…Yet it is in troubled times most of all that men should seek allies, don’t you think?” The count cast a glance to the two, who dutifully nodded in agreement. This seemed practiced, as if they’d been trained to do so from boyhood. It wouldn’t have been surprising. Nobility had such odd little nuances to their behavior.

Count Edmont continued, “Granted, my decision will have raised eyebrows in the Vault and in the halls of the other High Houses. But so long as you continue with your altruistic endeavors, I doubt my honored peers will feel moved to voice their concerns.”

As he spoke, Driselle found herself once again looking back to the two young men beside him. She was trying desperately now to remember where she’d seen them before. Had it been at mass, back when Adeline and Aunt Eugenie had still insisted that she attend the services at Saint Reymanaud’s?

The eldest, she presumed, stood closest to his father. He was a very dour-looking man, his brow almost permanently furrowed. ‘Gods, what a forehead. Could play a game of tic-tac-toe on tht thing. Does it work like a mirror if he gets sweaty?’ His ears were almost as long as her own (which she already considered to be absurd), and she couldn’t help but find him to be a bit silly-looking despite his apparent serious demeanor. It was a genuine struggle not to imagine various things written across that forehead of his, given how wide and open the space was. Perhaps he could rent it out for advertisements or religious propaganda. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t take kindly to the suggestion and decided to keep it to herself.

Now, the younger one, she immediately found herself with a bias towards—perhaps because he seemed closer in age to herself. Though he clearly was attempting to come off just as composed as his brother, he couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting, occasionally bouncing on his toes or trying to toss his long, black hair out of his eyes. He was shorter than his brothers, and considerably rounder, at that. He had, in Driselle’s opinion, the prettiest face she’d ever seen on a man, with pudgy cheeks that she so desperately wanted to squish.

Driselle had to remind herself that doing so was probably frowned upon. Shame, really—she’d never wanted to touch someone’s face so badly in her life, and this was coming from a woman who didn’t care much for other people on any conceivable level. The fogweed must have truly been doing a number on her.

Were she not so averse to eye contact, she might have noticed the younger one’s bug-eyed stare in her direction.

Driselle was snapped out of her near trance by Alphinaud’s response to Count Edmont, as she’d long stopped listening in favor of staring at his sons in a way that she vaguely hoped wasn’t too disconcerting.

“Then there is naught to fear,” Alphinaud said, his mood brightened considerably. “Though our numbers are much reduced, we are no less determined to carry on our work.”

’What do you mean ‘we’? I bet you reminded all of the professors that they’d forgotten to check for last night’s homework, too, you little shite.’ There was no malice in these thoughts, but a teasing that’d slowly begun to emerge after the initial distaste for the boy had given way in the past few months. Even if it was partially his fault that they were here to begin with.

Count Edmont nodded with a measure of satisfaction. “—Ah, but before I forget: allow me to introduce my other two sons. Artoirel, my eldest—”

The one with the enormous forehead bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“—And Emmanellain, my youngest.”

'Wait a godsdamned minute—'

She’d heard that name before, without a doubt. This was the one that Adeline had so often derisively referred to as “that peacockish twit”. So they’d met before after all, then. More than that, even.

The young Lord Emmanellain de Fortemps was the one who had taken pity upon her and taught her to dance. She’d been so content to play the wallflower, expecting no one to speak to her at all. And yet, he’d approached. When she’d claimed to have no skill in dancing whatsoever, he’d offered to show her how, and she’d accepted on a whim (against her better judgement). Adeline had been almost comically furious about the whole thing, calling it a ‘spectacle’ and chewing them both out afterwards.

Gods, he’d been so patient with her, too. He was a silly, foppish boy, but he'd also been so kind to her. How could she have forgotten his face so easily?

’Probably because I was too afraid to look him in the eye.' She did recall staring at the top of his head an awful lot whenever they’d met, and especially during that night. Most of the time, the sight was accompanied by Adeline chastising the boy for following them around. ‘This is almost worse than he is with Laniaitte,’ she’d once said, referring to a friend of hers that Driselle had met on occasion. She had to wonder if that had ever worked out for him. Maybe the two had gotten engaged by now. That would’ve been a funny pair.

Alas, when she looked up at him, he was staring off to the side, far more interested in the damask of the wallpaper. Perhaps he didn’t remember her. It would have made sense. He was a young noble, after all. He had plenty of girls to dance with. Why would he recall anyone so plain and dull as herself?

’Adeline had a point. I was likely a passing novelty and not much else.’ Surely, she should have expected as much. She couldn’t allow herself to be disheartened. That would be silly. Who had time for such things, anyroad? Not her, in the least. Though it would have been nice to have a friend in Ishgard for once.

The best thing to do would be to forget about it, lest their stay at Fortemps Manor be a painfully awkward one.

Driselle forced herself to look back to Count Edmont, who was still conversing with Alphinaud.

“Full glad am I to hear it. Ah, but before you return to your labors, why not take a tour of the city? You would do well, I think, to acquaint yourselves with your new surroundings. After all, you may be here for some time.” The old man looked the Scions over and gave them another one of his gentle smiles.

It certainly wasn’t a bad idea. And Driselle quite suddenly felt as if she needed some air. However, when Alphinaud looked to both Tataru and herself, she felt as if she was about to be voluntold once again, and she wasn’t sure she much cared for that.

“Though our friends in House Fortemps have been generous enough to extend us their protection, we must take care not to impose too much on their hospitality,” Alphinaud explained, as if it actually needed explaining at all. “It is only proper that we learn about our new home, so that we might become more self-sufficient.”

Driselle decided not to mention that this wasn’t her first time in Ishgard. It would be funnier this way. She had to wonder how long she could keep the ruse up. She’d already mentioned it to Haurchefant, but if she’d said as much to Alphinaud, it wasn’t unlikely that he hadn’t been listening. The boy just liked to hear himself talk.

Tataru responded, “It'll take a while to learn the lay of the land, but learn it we must. Then there's the markets and taverns—we'll need to know where to shop and where to hear small talk.” Smart girl, that Tataru was. There was something to be said for being small enough to stay underfoot and eavesdrop, too. If Driselle tried to do that sort of thing, she’d have to put a shade over her head and pretend to be a lamp, lest she stand out too much.

“'Twould seem a tour of the city is indeed in order.” Alphinaud nodded and looked back to Count Edmont. “I thank you for your counsel, my lord. My companions and I shall of course do as you suggest.”

---

As the Scions exited into the foyer, Driselle could hear bits and pieces of the conversation that was to follow in their absence. It began as hushed whispers, but quickly escalated into bickering between the three brothers, from what she could hear with her absurdly long ears.

“—Ow! What the devil was that for?!” Emmanellain’s voice came out as a strangled squeak.

“Stop gawking!” It sounded as if Artoirel had elbowed him or something along those lines. “Have you no self-control?”

Next came Haurchefant’s voice, cheery and ever-so-teasing. “Why, Emmanellain, I’ve never seen you so shy--and quiet--in the presence of a fair lady before! Perhaps I should have brought her home sooner!” There was the sound of a slight struggle and the jingling of chainmail as Haurchefant presumably moved closer to pester his baby brother.

“That's rubbish, and you know it! I was only wondering why she was so...uncommonly tall!” Emmanellain protested, his voice suddenly muffled. He was trying to fight Haurchefant off by the sound of it.

Well, that was less than flattering. It was, however, not an uncommon response. She was a very long woman, after all. The implications of anything that came before Emmanellain’s comment on her height were completely lost on her, baked as she was.

  ---

Alphinaud looked up at Driselle with a squint. He’d picked up on her behavior far more easily that she’d thought he would, even though he’d been so focused on his conversation with the count. He really was too observant for his own good. “What was that all about? You’ve been making strange faces since we’ve arrived.”

Driselle’s response came drily. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tataru was already talking the poor manservant’s ear off as he led them to the front door. If nothing else, this tour would give them all some time to absorb their new circumstances, and she did quite like hearing Tataru’s commentary on things, so it wouldn’t be an entire waste of time for her, either.

She only hoped that she wouldn’t run into anyone that she knew. Especially her cousin. She hadn’t exactly written ahead of time to warn her family that she was returning to the city, and she hadn’t been in contact since she’d left.

“…As you say, then.” Alphinaud frowned, an eyebrow raised. He really did look like a petulant child. Before he could ask another question, Driselle reached down to ruffle his hair with her gauntleted fingers. This was met with a small cry of surprise from the boy, which Driselle completely ignored. It was funnier to not give a response, after all. Frustrating Alphinaud was becoming a bit of a game in itself.

And in but a moment, they were back out on the street, into the cold Ishgardian air. It would be a welcome respite for the time being, if her ears didn’t freeze and turn to dust first.

#WoL verse #gpose verse

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