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Speaker of the House of Lords. After arson, accusation, and attempted assassination, the citizens of Ishgard yet demanded that the bastard son Aymeric de Borel take the highest seat of the House after all. Tomorrow would be the first morning he’d wake as the de facto leader of his people.
Each day had already proved a series of ordeals, of calculated words and fierce battles with evil within and without the city, and this new position of authority would only increase the load. Still, his night would end the same, with the final arduous task: his armor.
He’d step into his closet and, step-by-step, remove every piece and layer. The weighted, scale-laden robe laid across his broad shoulders. The gloves. The tabbard which lay over the thick sweatshirt over the chainmail over the undershirt. His pants, his tights, his boots, his socks. An intricate web of the finest tailoring and armorcraft in Coerthas all to make sure he looked like a lord, a knight, and a leader. All on the floor. He’d often spare himself the task of assorting it all into the proper place and left it there in a heap, hoping his retainers would grant him discretion. Now in just his trunks, with a stretch, a yawn, a rolling of his lightened shoulders, he had laid down his final burden before sleep.
Rising at dawn, having carried thoughts of today and every day after it all through the night, he’d start again from the top. His preparation took at least an hour. Between the washing up, the hair, and the makeup, and reassembling his uniform. After fetching fresh, identical copies to most of the get-up, he wrestled out his robe from the pile he made the night before and slid it on.
Dressed and ready, Aymeric stepped down to the foyer and found Lucia waiting for him as expected. Her posture immaculate, arms locked behind her, she arrived thirteen minutes prior to exactly when she was supposed to. This was the final step to the morning routine, wherein she’d help lay out the rest of his day for him.
A deluge of political business of course, as if the work would be any different, between the Lords and the Commons and the paramount stability he and his allies strove to maintain. “Preceding the meeting with Hilda, however,” Lucia would begin to finish, “the Scions of the New Dawn would like to meet with you.”
Small pleasures were always welcome, and of all the forces at play in this, the Scions were the least heavy. He added a little nod as he accepted his morning tea from his retainer.
“Speaking of which,” Lucia continued as she turned towards the door, “The new recruit arrived quite early today.”
Aymeric stopped in place, mid-sip.
“You’ll forgive me for having taken the liberty of letting him in for you.”
Face flushed at once, Aymeric breathed in deep and held his cup steady. Words rarely frightened him outside of these scenarios, but there he stood, so he said only what he needed to. “You mustn’t think the uniform was my idea, Lucia.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to think of it at all, my lord,” she gave a small chuckle and took her leave.
He kept still while he waited for the door to close behind her. As soon as it shut, he quickly finished off his tea, passed it off to his retainer, and marched off to look for him.
There in the dining room, Aymeric found him. Up on the tips of his toes, to dust the mantle above the fireplace, stood the latest addition to the Speaker’s house staff. Hand on the doorway, the Lord’s voice stuck in his throat as he traced the form of him with his eyes. From the black heels, to the long legs coated in white tights to his … Trim. The white trim of his dress. Then, up to the headband placed neatly atop silver hair, glanced between two tall, fluffy, vieran ears.
Lavender Lune.
They had first met, as a matter of chance, during a banquet in Thanalan’s capital, Ul’dah. In fact they met several times over the course of that night. Lavender bounced from group to group in the expansive hall, his heart pounding at the excitement of all the famous, powerful people around. The perks of being a bonafide, primal-fighting Scion were being laid bare to him for the first time and in the bustle of it all he nearly crashed directly into the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. Stopping just a hair’s width away from the chest of a tall elezen, his ears twitched in the startle. Looking up, the shock got his mouth moving before his brain. “Oh my goodness, you’re…” the boy trailed off before picking a proper word, “ Tall! ”
Aymeric merely smiled, and said, “Makes it easier to reach the dragons. Thank you.” The bunny boy grinned up at him for several minutes, taking note of the little curls all about his hair and the shiny color of his eyes. He tried to turn his thoughts away to more words, but just realized how hot his face felt. Clearly left with no other option, Lavender turned abruptly away and started walking.
As a matter of manners, Aymeric would approach him, later, in a gap between the politics and diplomacies. “Pardon me sir, I’m afraid I might have offended you earlier. Forgive me for not introducing myself first,” he opened while Lavender mingled and made his way through his third glass of wine. The vieran froze up again, his mouth ajar and his body stiff-- particularly, his fingers were digging into his fellow Scion Yda’s shoulder. “My name is Aymeric de Borel, It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Lavender made a number of sounds under his breath and giggled into his cup. Yda tried to cover for him, but faltered in the midst of her own laughing fit. “It’s… He-- His name is Lavender,” she managed to get out. It was unclear, to Aymeric, whether she intended to jab her friend in the cheek as she did or just point at him, but she certainly didn’t intend to make Lavender spit his drink back into his cup.
Yda doubled over in an instant and Lavender swiveled around on his heels. Leaning over his table, propped up on his elbows, teeth clenched and eyes wide, he assured himself this wasn’t happening and the handsome knight wasn’t even real. Reprieve came only in the form of Papalymo, who stomped over to the scene in a cross mood.
“I am terribly sorry, Lord Commander, this improper behavior is entirely beneath their station,” he stamped his staff into the ground to affirm it.
“Oh, it’s truly nothing,” Lavender heard Aymeric say, “It is a celebration, after all.” The rest of their talk faded into garbles in the background, so he glanced over to Yda beside him, who kept motioning something about his face. He squinted, shaking his head to tell her he didn’t understand. When she pointed to his red wine and then back to cheek, he finally got the jist and mouthed back “I. Know.”
The third and final encounter of the night, Lavender initiated on purpose. The kind of clouded purpose that only three more glasses of wine might imbibe in you. While Yda sobered up using the tried and true method of a Papalymo Lecture, Lavender had kept his whistle wet and a distant vigil on one Lord Commander. Drunk enough not to think any better of it, he threw himself up to a standing posture and made a move.
Despite looking right at him this time, the viera marched directly into Aymeric’s chest. A quick stumble, Lavender pushed his arms into him to create proper distance, his feet sliding across the tile while the knight remained quite still. With his right hand, he quickly held the bridge of his nose, to make sure the collision hadn’t hurt it. With his left, he maintained balance by keeping it firmly pressed into the Lord’s abdomen. Now at arm's length, Lavender watched his hand and wondered if it ought to be where it was.
“Ahaha,” Aymeric chuckled brightly, himself a touch loosened up since they last met, “I seem to be making tonight remarkably difficult for you.”
“Oh. Yes, absolutely,” Lavender beamed, pretending to be sarcastic. Swimming in the drink, his mind had some idea of tidying up and seemed to translate that into tidying up the other man. His hands slid themselves down to pull the tabard more taut against him. Then, up and over the knight’s pecs, he adjusted the scarf in kind, and switched it over to the other side of him. He liked it better there.
Aymeric’s mouth hung slightly open in a smirk, and didn’t pay any thought to stopping him.
In a blurred focus, Lavender started chewing the inside of his lip, then grabbed each side of the Lord’s robe to try and pull it forward. “Whoof,” the boy exclaimed, “This is so heavy .”
“So many dragon scales will do that, though one can grow accustomed,” Aymeric explained. Placing his hands over Lavender’s, he gripped them and the robe together and helped him make the adjustment. “Like that?”
“Yeah,” Lavender gulped, his breath quickening. “Like that.”
Before the night was through, Aymeric would be called back to Ishgard due to Dravanian attacks. The news he’d be given about the end of the night would send shivers down his spine. The news he wasn’t given would place a weight he’d carry for weeks after.
Until one serendipitous day, a familiar face walked through his doors. Aymeric kept an office, as the Lord Commander should, within the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly in the foundation of Ishgard. Expecting the Warriors of Light and the boy, Alphinaud, he had only arrived when the unexpected came knocking at his door instead.
Lavender Lune.
Not having even taken his seat yet, Aymeric hung uselessly behind the desk, frozen as Coerthas at the sight of the angel-headed viera he’d met before. Lavender held his arms close, the coat and scarf doing little to acclimate him to the cold in Ishgard. Ironic that the sight of him beaming through the shivers would warm the Lord Commander’s disposition.
“Very sorry to trouble you unannounced, Lord Commander. I believe we’ve met once before-”
“Lavender, yes,” the knight nodded, finally taking his seat.
Oh. Hearing his name in that voice stirred something fluttery in the bunny boy’s stomach. “Right. Yes, moving on--”
“Forgive me,” Aymeric put up a finger. The seconds preceding his coming statement gnawed at Lavender’s mind, but then, “Forgive me for leaving you to the wolves, that night.”
He dug the tip of his boot into the floor and fixated on it to keep him distracted from Aymeric’s face, “Oh, heavens. There’s no way you could’ve known what was to follow. You were needed here.”
“I had thought you gone. With the other Scions,” he confessed in a low tone, distracting himself with some complicated calendar he’d been scribbling on.
Lavender tried to answer that but his mouth hung open, wordless until a start: “Ahem. Um…” he tip-toed over his next words, “Fortune favored me that day. Favors me still, considering certain parties don’t know I made it out.”
“I am overjoyed to see you well, Lavender,” Aymeric looked up to him and smiled.
That name again, coaxing Lavender to glance up at his shiny eyes. The everything of it all. He began to consider that he’d grow all the more familiar with this feeling, of overwhelming electricity paralyzing his muscles, the more he’d catch himself seeing the Lord Commander.
Who, at last, decided to let the boy move on. “Do you come here on business?”
“Yes,” Lavender remained clutching his arms, “Actually, it pertains to the missing.”
“Oh?”
Interlacing his fingers, tensing his thumbs against one another, Lavender elaborated. “We haven’t the faintest clue where they are. So…”
Aymeric had shifted to learn forward, to rest his chin in his hand, and an unblinking stare displayed his undiluted attention.
Nose twitching, like only a viera’s could, Lavender tried to keep from fidgeting under the spotlight. “Someone suggested that a bit of divination might be in order?”
“You’re referring to astrology? We use it to read the sky and predict the dragons, yes, but the mystery of the Scions might be outside of its field.” The Lord Commander had his doubts, yet he maintained the same warm smile, the same inviting affect, all throughout them.
“Oh, but it’s derived from Sharlayan magic! If I could make off with an old tome, I’m sure all of us back in Mor Dhona could figure a thing or two out of it?” Lavender’s hands remained clasped together, one kneading into the other, distracting each other.
“But a tome? Are you in such a rush to leave the city?”
“ The thing is …” he trailed off. “I’m not exactly a ward of Lord Fortemps like the others. Truth be told, I’m not officially . Here.” Making his smile big and his body small, Lavender prayed that perhaps, being a little cute would play to his advantage when it came to the law.
“Hm. So you’ve no access to our Aetheryte here.” Aymeric leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms. He didn’t notice the way silence from him chipped away at Lavender’s thoughts and worries, that a crime he had every ability to enforce was just confessed to him. “Very well! I’ll have you escorted to the Astrologicum, so you might have your pick of its library.”
Exhaling in his head, Lavender curtsied on reflex. “My greatest thanks, Lord Commander.”
“If you could do me two favors, however?” he began to add more.
“Of course,” he nodded back, extra quickly.
“Before you make for the gates, could you return here once more? We’ve our duties to attend to, but I have more I'd like to speak with you on.”
A strange suggestion, considering he had been thought missing before this conversation, but Lavender’s curiosity peaked over any suspicion. “It would be no trouble, Lord Commander.”
“Secondly…” Aymeric raised a finger.
Lavender’s ears stood tall in attention.
“Would you call me Aymeric?”
He could feel his chest rising up, instinct driving him to breath deep to keep himself steady.
“Everyone here, as a matter of course, calls me Lord Commander. And while you wouldn’t think it, it does grow tiresome at times,” he clarified.
And then he breathed out, at last pulled his hands apart and clenched them. “Yes. Aym-...” he started chewing the inside of his lip, just like the banquet. Nearly laughing at himself, for Yda’s sake could she be here, he reached for the door instead. “I’ll be back tonight. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Certainly mine, Lavender.” Aymeric returned his attention to his desk for a moment, but was drawn back by the sight of Lavender’s small, puffy, bunny tail just above the waistline of his pants. He had never noticed it before, or even considered that viera might have tails, but it left him red in the confines of his own office. Cute , the knight affirmed to himself.
Clinging to the other side of the door, Lavender couldn’t help but consider Aymeric might be teasing him on purpose.
The walk to and from the Astrologicum had him buzzing. His steps hastened to the point his escort had fallen several paces behind at points. Accomplishing his job felt a special kind of chore, trying to pick out symbols and charts from books to match the intricate notes Urianger had jotted for him would be difficult in the first place, but Lavender’s mind kept running away from him.
He said his name three times. Lavender, yes. Flipping through pages, skimming, balance and spires and stars. I am overjoyed to see you well, Lavender . Searching and searching, what’s a bole? Overjoyed! An ewer is a… Certainly mine, Lavender . The whole conversation, over so fast, played over and over in his brain.
“Ugh!” Having perused half the books in the building, he gathered the few tomes he wagered might be useful and stopped dead in his tracks when he exited the building. The blistering, sunless air hit him first, and secondly: the sight of the night sky. The hours had abandoned him, and he had precious little time to see Aymeric and still catch the last chocobo out, if any chance remained.
Thank the twelve for blessing viera with long, powerful legs- perfect for sprinting across the cobbled streets of Ishgard, tomes and scrolls clutched tightly to his chest. A hop over a railing, an improvised shortcut, a passerby or two dodging his long strides down from the pillars, through the foundation, up to the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, several stray star charts cast to the wind in his trail.
As his race neared Aymeric’s office doors, he felt his whole body pulse in time with his heart. The chill of a Coerthas night pricked at his skin in severe contrast with the heat bubbling behind his cheeks and in his chest. Sweating from head to toe, he made as much peace as he could muster with it before throwing himself in.
“By the twelve, are you alright?” he said, with immediate relief he had something better to look at than parchment and reports.
Palms on his knees, heaving air in and out his lungs, books scattered on the floor, Lavender pushed himself up and then fell back against the nearest wall. “I…” he huffed, and huffed, and huffed, “I don’t have… What did you wish to speak to me of?”
Lavender’s head pounded the walls of his skull. His legs screamed and his chest tightened, he cursed himself for not skipping this embarrassment, for letting his curiosity drive him over better senses. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hoped to catch the information Aymeric had as soon as possible so he could promptly move past this scene.
Instead, he felt his hand pull away from him, then looked to see Aymeric guide him over to the seat by his desk. The knight had offered his own in fact. Resigned to let whatever the night had for him unfold, which at this point certainly wasn’t Camp Dragonhead and an aetheryte home, Lavender slumped onto the chair and focused on regathering his breath.
Aymeric leaned against the desk and kept both his hands on one of Lavender’s. He was, as observed, tall, and he stood still and measured over a rattled and exhausted viera. Beautiful, and towering, and overwhelming. Yet from his seat, Lavender could look from the Lord Commander’s kind smile, down his arm, to the gentle fingers still clutching his own. And as his eyes slipped across the threshold from Aymeric to himself, he watched his arm stop shaking, and they were both steady.
“Are you alright?” Aymeric asked.
“I’m stuck here, but yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Did you find anything useful?”
“Hm?”
The knight looked to the books scattered on the floor, but remained by Lavender’s side. “Will those do?”
Lavender sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Urianger can figure something out but I could scarcely make heads or tails of them in time.”
“Ah, but we could surely arrange that?” Aymeric assured him.
“... What did you wish me back here for?”
Starting to circle around his desk, Aymeric first returned Lavender’s hand to his side in a gentle grace. Then, he began sifting around through some papers and resetting the quills and ink around the space. “I didn’t want to put you in a compromising position earlier, and I had to make sure I had the means to put this together prior to asking you.”
“... Asking me what?” His heart had returned to a standard beat, but Lavender remained in the thick haze he brought through the door with him.
“What is the precise position you hold with the Scions?” Aymeric asked, happy to skip the context.
“We don’t quite do... That. I help when necessary, sometimes that’s fighting a primal, sometimes that’s helping Tataru arrange the flowers around the Stones,” Lavender answered.
“Flowers!” he raised an eyebrow slightly, “That’ll do just fine.”
“With all due respect, Lord Commander, you’ve left me a bit out in the cold”
A brisk and confident stride back round to the chair and Aymeric handed him the slip of paper. “On the contrary,” was all he said to accompany it. Lavender read it and, though he struggled to exactly parse the legal jargon peppered through every sentence, pieced together exactly what the offer was.
A job at the Borel Estate.
“‘Flowerist?’” he scrunched his face up.
“It would merely be a stand-in title. Of course, I could stand some assistance brightening up the place, it is a touch dreary there as of late,” Aymeric chirped, his attitude brimming with pride.
“So if not a florist, what would my real job be?” Lavender’s mind had started to return, enough for him to remember to be embarrassed. He wondered if his face was lighting up again like the banquet. “Why do this at all?”
“I count the Scions as treasured allies to myself and Ishgard, and I cannot stand by and do nothing after what happened.” As if to protect him from thinking of that night again, Aymeric lifted up Lavender’s hand again to hold it just as he did before. “If you’re a ward of the House Borel, you could return here, legally, and study at the Astrologicum whenever you please. Granting you every opportunity to find them is simply the least I could offer.”
“A ward of…” he considered. Like the Warriors and Alphie. “So you would have me stay…?”
“In my estate, correct. There’s no simpler solution to it all.”
As if struck all at once by an ethereal train, the wind flew out of Lavender’s stomach and he sat there in awe. Static seemed to surround him, but his whole body ached in simultaneous agreement; ached to say yes. He’d be doing his job and living with Aymeric de Borel.
“That is, if you find that agreeable, Lavender.”
Lavender.
“I would love to, Aymeric.”
Lucia would insist they put the guest up at the inn for the night, and allow him passage back to Mor Dhona in the morning so to settle his business with the Scions and prepare for the move in the coming weeks. A far cry from staying in the manor Aymeric did, but Lavender got by on an excitement to tell his friends everything that had happened to him that night as soon as possible.
That would be how they both came to the present day, Aymeric de Borel’s first day as the Speaker of the House of Lords; and Lavender Lune’s first day as “flowerist maid”, student of the Astrologicum, and ward of House Borel. How a Lord Commander of Ishgard’s Temple Knights would find his eyes wandering about the maid boy cleaning his mantle.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever cleaned that before,” Aymeric commented, strolling up behind his maid, who remained focused on his task. The boy’s legs were conveniently eye level for him, and if he let himself glance up-- and he did-- he’d catch a glimpse of the cute tail he’d been thinking of since last time. “You needn’t be so thorough, I promise,” he added while his eyes were busy.
“I was bored and wanted to keep busy,” Lavender kept mindlessly slapping the duster against the wall, more or less pretending to work at this point. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not as well as I might’ve, I’m afraid.”
Allowing himself to turn around, Lavender found himself pleasantly looking down, for once, on his Lord Commander. Seeing him down there, a touch flushed, made him wonder if this is how Aymeric saw him every time. Then he dropped his butt down on top of the stool, to answer him face to face. “Oh no,” he simpered, “Nightmares?”
Aymeric scoffed, “Just the pressures of my oh so rewarding work.”
Never having been so close to Aymeric’s face, Lavender’s compulsive hands got to work again. He brushed the tips of his fingers through the soft, dark curls clinging to his cheek. “You poor thing,” he breathed through his teeth, his grin betraying his words.
Bringing his hand to rest on Lavender’s knee, he said “Oh, I think I might just survive,” and lightly brushed his thumb against the fabric of the viera’s tights and the crook of his leg.
These small physical firsts created a thrumming potential energy yet untapped between them, like they could topple over onto each other at any moment and go who knows how far and how fast. However, and without a word, they both agreed to sit there, basked in suffocating need, for as long as they could muster.
The clock on the mantle chimed at the hour, and Aymeric spoke again. “I have far too many obligations today,” he confessed. It pained him to even pull away, so he took Lavender’s hand to help him off the stool and led him over to the dining area proper.
“Oh!” Part way there, Lavender took off on his own, prancing over to the end of the table and lifting a shiny silver food cover off a plate of breakfast. “Look at this!” he said, cocking his head and his hip to present the most important meal of the day.
“Hah!” Aymeric took his seat in front of it, “My compliments to the chef.”
“Whoever that is,” Lavender took the seat next to him, “I lifted the dome though, so credit to me, right?”
Breakfast went by in a breeze, with simple chatter to catch up on the storied events that took place in the time between. All the while, on the occasion that Aymeric would look down at his plate when eating, Lavender would gently scoot his chair closer to him.
“So your studies proved useful then?” Aymeric asked after a drink of water.
“Yes,” Lavender affirmed, “Urianger managed to discover ‘Shtola’s peculiar circumstance with some study. I merely tried to follow along.”
The edge of Aymeric’s lip perked up, “Oh I know the feeling. I’m really not much of a politician, and I’ve been trying to catch up in time for my new position for months . It’s a miracle I haven’t driven Lucia mad.”
“Is that so?” Lavender crossed his arms on the table-- elbow rules be damned-- and leaned in, his attention undivided and ensuring the Lord’s face stayed in view. “It’s hard to imagine you having trouble at… Anything.”
“You clearly have never spoken to anyone else in Ishgard,” he joked, and Lavender watched the funny way he puffed his chest out when he laughed. “I’ve always managed, I hope to continue.”
“Let’s say we both do, then,” Lavender said, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder for a moment of affirmation, if only to tide him over. To answer, Aymeric returned his hand to rest on his knee beneath the table.
“Have you been to the Astrologicum yet? You’ve still three missing Scions.”
“Yes sir, they gave me a brand new star globe, too.”
“Oh, those things make absolutely no sense to me, how do they work?”
The conversation kept at pace. A slow and warm pace, and Lavender noticed how simple and familiar it felt-- as though this was just another morning for them to share their stories of work and troubles, as expected as the rising sun. It tickled him, the contrast between this steady flame and the building electricity between them prior, yet he craved both in equal measure.
Unfortunately, the Speaker of the House of Lords has to work.
Though ideally Lavender would devote his downtime to personalizing his new room, behind the stairs, or maybe his astrological studies, he found it impossible to sit still at all. Time and time and time again, he’d come close to a real day, his day with Aymeric de Borel only for it to give way beneath his feet. The anticipation blanketed him in a wonderful way, but the funny feeling of being simultaneously spoiled and absolutely robbed muddled his stomach and pulled on his mind.
Recalling the seconds he’d been gifted atop the stepstool, above a waiting Aymeric, some devious direction came to him. Sitting there in his tights and not much else, between outfits and mindsets, he decided not to put away the uniform just yet.
The Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly again, like everyday. Aymeric met with Hilda, with Lucia, and with what felt like anyone in Ishgard who might have a bone to pick with him. His reprieve was an arrangement to speak with the available Scions of the New Dawn, particularly Thancred and Tataru. The break from dense jargon was a balm to Aymeric, and he counted his blessings that Urianger doesn’t oft travel.
In the midst of discussing some ne’er-do-wells Thancred ran into in Dravania, a fourth presence made way into the room.
Lavender Lune.
Still clad in his work uniform, he strutted into the office in measured, determined steps. He put off addressing Aymeric directly, looking elsewhere for fear of the paralysis he’d found in public with him, instead reconnecting with his usual friends.
“Well aren’t you quite the sight,” Thancred smirked as Thancred did, pointing to the boy’s get up.
“Fits perfectly too! If I do say so myself,” Tataru chirped in with pride, “And I do.”
“Of course,” Lavender presented himself in pose, “My thanks again, Tataru.”
“I take it we’re all happy with it then, eh?” Thancred turned to the Speaker in his chair.
More than a little stunned, Aymeric sat upright and rigid and obviously beside himself. “Oh. Of. Of course! You all know, my…” he motioned uselessly to Lavender. “Flowerist. Heh.” he finished, sounding defeated. “Your talent with a sewing machine precedes itself, Tataru.”
Lavender made his way over to the desk and spoke in a small voice, “I thought it right to ensure your office is also up to standard.”
“Yes. Thank you. I mean…” he turned towards his guests like a cornered dog, “That is. Very well.”
It was not without guilt that Lavender created this scene, but the sight of a flustered, stammering Aymeric made it all worth the effort. Cathartic. Adorable. Though it also made him feel bad, so after pretending to fix the desk by rearranging the quills, he placed his hand over Aymeric’s and reminded him, “We’re with friends. Take a break.”
An unnatural idea for the Aymeric behind the desk, but he was all too aware of how much weight bore down on him. With Lavender leading by example with a coy, easy attitude, and the clear observation that Thancred and Tataru were amused-- not scandalized-- Aymeric managed.
Right before Lavender took a seat on his lap.
Aymeric’s face lit up like a Grenade while Lavender put his arms around his neck, dropping Tataru’s jaw. “So what are we discussing today?” the boy pressed onwards.
“Hah!” Thancred beamed, a welcome natural in this environment, “A handful of problems , drumming up primals around these lands. They gave Alphinaud’s sister a bit of a scare.”
“Is everyone alright?” Lavender asked, taking over the conversation from his boss.
“No worries there,” Thancred elaborated. “We wanted Ishgard’s new Speaker to know about them in case they put your people in any danger.”
Tataru added, “And I came to say hi!” and she and Lavender waved to one another like the old friends they were.
“I’m glad to see everyone’s keeping busy. I’m sure Lord Aymeric will see fit to notice any primals around.”
“When he comes up for air,” Thancred joked, then speaking directly to the knight, “Just as well friend, it’s not as though we haven’t caught wind of the little dance you two’ve been having.”
“Oh really now ,” he leaned back and looked into Lavender’s eyes, “You’ve spoken of me, Lavender?” An instantaneous turning over the tables, putting Aymeric back in control of the room.
Lavender replied. “No.”
“ Alright then!” Thancred interjected. “We shouldn’t burden you two any longer. Give us a word if you see any ‘Warriors of Darkness’ and we’ll be by.” He had to coax Tataru away on his way out, though she gave a look of serious intent to Lavender before her leave. He’d have to catch her up on everything as soon as possible.
In the silence of their absence, Aymeric watched him expectantly and Lavender shrugged. He made his smile bigger and his body smaller, in hopes that being a little cute might give him slack again.
“I wanted to see you,” Lavender defended himself. “... I wanted people to see us.”
Aymeric drew him closer in a slow, smooth motion that shifted the boy’s body right up against his chest. “Not exactly what I expected from today, for sure.”
Being pulled up against him, face-to-face, would reassure Lavender that no one was mad. Yet, it cornered him, surrounded him even. “Should I be sorry?”
“Hardly. It wasn’t exactly a relief but… I’m happy to see more of you.”
“Everything keeps getting in the way,” Lavender pouted.
“Truly, and I can’t neglect my work today, of all days.”
“... I know.”
“Though I could give us tonight. If you’d have me?”
His voice carried such a weight, an implication, it sent a bolt through Lavender’s spine and made his hair and ears stand straight up.
“Please.” Aymeric insisted, setting it in place.
“I’ll be waiting.”
The sun eventually made its journey below the horizon and another frigid night fell over Ishgard. Lavender had actually managed to clean half the manor in the frenzy he’d been trapped in since returning, pacing throughout the parlor in a tight circle to keep near the fireplace’s heat.
Aymeric practically leapt out of his seat after the final grueling obligation, and flew out of the Congregation like a dragon out of an icy hell. Lucia tried to flag him down with some sort of urgent news, but the Lord merely smiled and waved and kept marching down the road.
The clicking of the front doors opening felt like gunpowder igniting in Lavender’s stomach. He sprung away towards the foyer to greet him but was met with Aymeric de Borel turning the corner and scooping the bunny boy straight off his feet.
Legs wrapped around his waist.
Hands clinging to his face for dear life.
Lavender Lune.
Easily carried by arms built for swords twice his weight, by hands gripped tightly beneath his thighs, Lavender felt as though he hovered there through the sheer will of their kiss. He felt his warmth spread into him and the outside cold held in his face melted away. The taste of his Lord Commander as perfect as he’d imagined for months. It flooded his senses and smothered his breath away, and he happily drowned in it.
His hands jumped from his face to tight grasps on the back of the knight’s hair as he was flown away from the entryway, to the couch by the fire, where the two coalesced onto one another. Small sounds of want and joy hummed in the back of Aymeric’s throat, and the sheer fact they were for him, and from him, made Lavender ache enough to moan.
With a hushed gasp they finally pulled away, Lavender’s ankles locked together in a desperate need to keep him close to him. Their breathing in a heavy sync, they enjoyed their faces painted with shared satisfaction in one another.
“Finally,” Aymeric sighed into Lavender’s neck.
Before Lavender could find his way back to his lips, he felt himself lift up into the air again. Carried like a bride, Aymeric’s eyes faced forward as he strode confidently out to the foyer, Lavender watching him in saturated bliss and adoration. Aymeric took Lavender upstairs, to see his bedroom for the first time.
There was only one final obligation left to threaten this high, to stifle the two again. Aymeric’s final arduous task of each night: his armor.
They would make short work of that, together.