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"I spent much of my youth playing together with Lord Emmanellain, but now...I fear he still clings too tightly to memories of our youth. Though I admit it is sometimes to my benefit." Laniaitte sighs, but gives a small smile to the Fortemps guard, waving the rose colored letter a bit before tucking it into her satchel. She'd read it later, get a few chuckles and maybe compliments out of it, and then not write back. She never did. She didn't have to - Emmanellain would continue to write her anyway, and send her little gifts, and there was nothing at all she had to do to encourage him. He was as dumb as he was when he was a kid - she could remember always getting him to buy her a sweet cake at the Crozier just by smiling at him. Now she doesn't even have to do that much. He's stuck in those happy childhood days where all he had to do to make people happy with him was to keep his clothes clean and smile charmingly at them. So if he brings with him enough of those little cakes to last her a month, every time his father sends him to Camp Cloudtop to assist with duties, because it helps him stay in those old days...well. Laniaitte saw no reason to refuse them.
She was often asked why she didn't outright tell the Fortemps brat to get lost. Yes, she responded to his flirtation with rather cold indifference but she never told him to stop. Quite simply, she saw no reason to. No, she didn't like Emmanellain, but she liked the constant gifts, and the showering of compliments, and the...well. The general self esteem boost that came with being wanted so desperately. At the moment she didn't have any suitors waiting in the wings, because her focus was her duties. Some day she would meet a man that she wanted to pursue, and she would - Emmanellain could either resign himself or throw a fit, but it wouldn't be her mess to clean up. After all it wasn't her fault that the idiot had never grown up.
The noble woman shakes herself out of her thoughts and notices the distressed expression on the Fortemps guard's face. "...is aught amiss?" She asks.
"...n. No, my lady. I apologize for…" He trails off, and then excuses himself, leaving towards a nearby building and stepping inside. Laniaitte squints, but shrugs and sighs, returning to her duties. The lingering scent of rose oil follows her around for the rest of the day, keeping an amused smile on her face.
"She's often too busy to write me back, and I'm sure she feels dreadfully guilty about it...oh, I know! I'll follow along and wait nearby, to hear her read it. Then I'll come out and surprise her and we can have a nice little chat…"
The Fortemps guard stumbles into the small hut, which is mercifully empty, except for the Elezen noble sitting at the table. "M-my Lord…" He falters.
Emmanellain is staring at the wooden surface under his elbows, holding a hand over his mouth as tears fall silently from his face and onto the table. The bouquet of daises (her favorite) were sitting next to him on the bench, the stems clearly having been crushed in someone's fist.
The guard's shoulders fall, and with it all his hopes that maybe somehow Emmanellain had been unable to overhear the conversation. The moment Laniaitte had apologized for Emma's 'shameless' behavior, the knight knew it was going nowhere good. For once, Emmanellain is at a loss for words. Clinging to childhood memories…? The way she spoke about him...did she see him as just a silly child like everyone else? He knew his father did and Artoriel did but Laniaitte...they'd grown up together. Played together. Made plans for the future and talked about how they'd be together forever, and-
"...my lord?"
Emmanellain clenches his jaw, turning his head away. He's not sure if he wants to scream or cry or just shut right down and never make another sound for the rest of his life. He certainly doesn't want someone looking at him right now, but he'd come without his armor or weapons and so he had to be escorted home by the guard. Because clearly he's just a stupid child that needs his hand held... everyone else, even his best friend since he could talk, had grown up and considered him a mere nuisance.
"...we're going home." He finally forces out, standing up and keeping his back to the guard. "...and... it should go without saying...not...not a word of this to anyone. I'll have your job and...and you'll never work for another in Ishgard, I'll see to it! Do you understand?!" His voice cracks, and he quickly starts walking, flowers abandoned on the bench as he leaves out the back door, where Laniaitte won't see him, and he starts running for the airship.
The poor nameless guard runs after him to make sure he's not beset by any wild beasts, though at the moment the biggest danger to Emmanellain is himself. He's barely looking where he's going and Camp Cloudtop is hardly the safest place to be running around blind.
At least the guard is sensible enough to not say anything. He also doesn't look at the humiliated and broken hearted noble on the ride back, allowing him to sit in miserable silence without trying to comfort him or make idle chat.
Emmanellain lets out the occasional sniffle but for the most part does his best to not show his feelings to anyone. He doesn't want to cause a scene...to add further disgrace to his name and the name of his house. Crying over a girl was what children did, after all, and damn them all if Emmanellain was going to prove them anymore right than they already were.
Artoriel was the only other person who'd been aware of what Emmanellain's plans had been. He'd rolled his eyes and said basically nothing when his youngest brother boasted about his grand romantic plans, sending a silent prayer for Laniaitte's patience, same as he did for anyone who had to deal with his nuisance of a sibling for extended periods of time.
He raises his head from the letter he's reading as Emmanellain comes home much earlier than he expected - typically he harasses Laniaitte for a good few hours before she can finally convince him to go home. Artoriel already has an 'I'm busy right now' on his lips, prepared to have Emmanellain try and babble excitedly about his 'wonderful afternoon'.
Only to have Emmanellain march right past him at a concerning pace, practically running up the stairs without even glancing at Artoriel.
There's the sound of his bedroom door slamming a second later. Artoriel waits, hearing faint voices, and then the sound of tiny footsteps descending the stairs. He looks at a bewildered and concerned Honoroit standing there holding a small coin purse.
Artoriel just raises his eyebrows at the page expectantly.
"...m'lord gave me this and told me to take today as a holiday." He explains, clearly uncomfortable holding such an amount of money. "...I don't understand my lord, wasn't he to spend today with Lady Laniaitte?"
This didn't bode well.
Sighing, Artoriel gets up and sets the letter aside. "He's your lord. Take a holiday as he ordered. I suspect you'll need the break, to weather the upcoming days."
"...as you say Lord Artoriel…" Honoroit seems worried, but if Artoriel seems to think it best he stay uninvolved, he won't question the wisdom of the decision. He watches the eldest brother climb the stairs, and reluctantly heads off to find something to do with himself for the rest of the day.
Artoriel knocks on the door to Emmanellain's bedroom, and pointedly ignores the 'go away' that's yelled at him, opening the door and stepping inside. He surveys the bedside table, which used to hold a framed photograph of Emmanellain and Laniaitte as children, clinging to each other with full sincerity and beaming at the camera. The table is now empty, and Artoriel's calculating gaze sweeps to the side and sees it resting in the waste bin. As for his disaster of a brother himself... Emmanellain is face down on his bed, clutching his pillow and shaking with muted sobs.
"...what happened." Artoriel sighs. This was going to take some serious damage control.
"As though you care." Emmanellain says bitterly, voice muffled but audible through the pillow.
"I do." Artoriel says, and he's actually sincere.
Emmanellain sniffs, turning his head to the side, but to look at the wall, not his brother. He doesn't feel he can stand to look at anyone right now. "...I...overheard what she s-said, to my escort...bec-cause of course she'd never say it to me…"
"What did she say…" Artoriel's brow furrows. Laniaitte has complained to him directly about his brother before, and he knows she can be...unkind. However every time Artoriel asked if she wanted him to intervene, she always waved the offer off, and he never understood why.
"She…" Emmanellain struggles to take in full breaths, because gods he doesn't want to be crying right now, it feels and looks ugly and makes him feel childish. "Sh-she apologized to my escort for my 'shameless act' of...having him deliver my letter...she said I was... clinging to memories of our youth…"
Artoriel couldn't disagree with that.
"And...a-and she said 'but it was to her benefit' sometimes…"
Artoriel's eyes narrow imperceptibly. "What?"
Emmanellain gives a helpless shrug, clearly not knowing what to make of the statement. Or perhaps he's trying not to think about it.
Artoriel looks off to the side. His assumption with Laniaitte refusing his offer to speak to Emmanellain on her behalf was that she wanted to handle the matter herself, to figure out a way to let him down gently, perhaps. Artoriel had also been under the impression that she had talked to Emmanellain about this, but that his brother was being stubborn and refusing to acknowledge her requests for him to stop. But if overhearing what Emma did was enough for him to understand that Laniaitte wasn't interested...did that mean she hadn't talked to him about it at all? Artoriel had witnessed their interactions as adults plenty of times, and of course it was plain as day to him, just through how the noble woman conducted herself, that she wasn't interested. But Emmanellain was an ever hopeful, ever eager young man that had demonstrated blindness to such social cues before. And Laniaitte had grown up with him, she knew he needed to be outright told things that were obvious to everyone else.
So then why…
"... I'm… I'm such an idiot…" Emmanellain whispers. And he sounds so broken that Artoriel can't help but clench his fists a little. "I...i-it's one thing to be rejected but...sh-she's my friend and...and this whole time I've just been...emb-barassing her and myself, with…with...all these letters and flowers and gifts…"
"Gifts?" Artoriel's eyes narrow.
Emmanellain nods. "...I even...saved up to get her a new sword commissioned directly from the guild, once...a-and she still uses it but...but probably only because it was such an expensive gift and she felt bad-"
"Unbelievable." Artoriel mutters, finally putting the pieces together in his head.
Emmanellain flinches and puts his face back into the pillow. "I… I'm sorry, I-"
"Not you."
Emmanellain looks up in confusion as Artoriel takes a seat on his bed.
Artoriel sighs, closing his eyes. "You...will likely tell me that I'm wrong and yell at me to get out and never talk of her this way again. But I refuse to say nothing and allow you to hate yourself for... generosity." Artoriel keeps a steady expression and looks at Emmanellain. "She was using you. She took your affection for her and warped it into a tool for her convenience. Laniaitte knows you. She would have known that she had to tell you outright that she doesn't return your affections. But she enjoyed your gifts. The way you would dote upon her in an effort to court her. Perhaps she even simply liked the attention."
Emmanellain's eyes grow wide. "...no, she...she doesn't...she wouldn't...not to me, I'm… I'm her friend…"
"She stopped seeing you as a friend that moment she decided she'd outgrown you." Artoriel's brow furrows, briefly betraying sympathy. "... people are not the same as they were as children."
"... everyone except me, apparently." Emmanellain's voice shakes. "... knowing that this whole time she just saw me as a child, wanting...wanting romantic attention from her…" His eyes well up, face burning in humiliation. "...why did she let it continue...w-we could have still been friends! I could still give her gifts, she wouldn't...have to... I…" His voice starts to break, breath hitching and picking up pace again.
"... Emmanellain…"
No longer able to hold it in, Emmanellain bursts into tears, sitting up and grabbing hold of Artoriel. The older man startles and nearly shoves Emma away, but he stops himself at the last second.
Hesitantly and awkwardly he wraps his arms around his brother, sighing silently as his vest is soaked through with tears. Later, he'll have to talk with Emma about damage control, about not letting his broken heart lead to damaged relations with house Haillenarte, and other such cold and logical talk. He ever has to be the voice of reason, after all. But for the moment...he just does his best to be a brother, and lets the man cry until there's no tears left.