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At first, the idea of taking part in a grand celebration hosted by his family seemed a bit like overkill to Haurchefant. Fortemps son he may have been, but bastard he'd never been allowed to forget. And while he had attended more than his share of fancy balls and nameday celebrations and betrothal dinner parties, he had never truly felt at home there. Oft relegated to the sidelines at those thrown by his own house, and as for the others… well, it was only after he'd earned his knighthood by combat that his presence had been welcomed. And in turn, he had never refused a chance to rub it in their faces by attending. Knowing his manners were impeccable, his conversation engaging and warm, his manner infectious and delightful. In every way the veritable life of the party that many of them felt he shouldn't be at in the first place. And that same thought was exactly what changed his mind when Haurch - bless his namesake for a truly devious mind - and Honoroit - who he'd always known was shrewd beyond belief - suggested that it would be the talk of the century were he to remain in 'hiding' until he could be introduced as the unnamed guest of honour at the banquet.
Or, in devious layman's terms: wouldn't it be a right bit of fun to stroll into that ballroom as though he owned it, and watch the jaws drop on the faces of everyone around? A delightful surprise for friends and family, and a snide little bit of payback to those who'd always thought themselves his betters. At that suggestion, he'd congratulated both men on their superb idea, and Artoirel had heaved a sigh and begun making preparations as was his purview as the current viscount. When he’d explained the 'plan' to Francel and the children, Zouvant - or Z, as he apparently preferred being to his friends and family - had let out a bark of laughter and declared that it was entirely the most perfect form of payback that his father could come up with and that he couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone's faces. Imelle suggested he allow Gabi to paint him a wooden undead mask to wear, and Olette remarked that she was rather certain that Alwant and Kal Mhyk would drop him in the middle of the courtyard via dragon if he wished it.
As amusing as the suggestions were, he took his own advice instead; dressing as though he belonged there because he did belong there and it was time they understood that. Standing before the full length mirror, he took a moment to admire himself. It was certainly not the first time he’d worn finery, and the gunmetal gray doublet and fine leather thighboots were quite reminiscent of many he'd worn in the past. What was new, however, was the black alpine surcoat with its silver furred collar and the delicately embroidered crest of House Fortemps over his breast. Such things had always been reserved for the trueborn sons of the household, ever out of his reach. But he couldn't deny how right it felt. Even though that thought felt wrong. Smoothing gloved hands across the ebony wool, he smiled as another pair slid up over his shoulders and Francel's lips brushed the side of his throat. "You look wonderful, beloved. Every bit the lord you are."
Smiling as he did so, he turned to pull the blonde into a tender kiss. Combing fingers through wheaten hair as he deepened it with a stroke of tongue against Francel's. Smiling into the kiss at the soft whimper he swallowed down before pulling back. "Fret not… I have no intentions of starting something when I am unable to make good on the promise, my dear. No matter how mouthwatering you are in crimson." At his compliment, Francel's cheeks turned almost as red as the tunic he wore, and Haurchefant chuckled before stealing one more quick kiss. Red really was a good colour on Francel, and he took a step back to admire the deep red embroidered tunic, as well as the tiny pattern of black and green rose vines along the cuffs and collar of his darker red surcoat. "You truly do look delectable enough to eat, you know. Perhaps I should have an appetizer before the party…"
Francel gave a teasing swat to Haurchefant’s shoulder before allowing his hand to be caught. Drawing it in, the silver-haired man pressed his lips to the back of Francel's knuckles before tucking his lover's hand into the crook of his elbow. Chuckling at the startled look that came over the slighter man's face. "Why so surprised, my love? As if I would do this with anyone else on my arm?"
Blue eyes widened before they softened and dropped and he felt Francel's fingers tighten on his arm as the man gave a small smile and a nod. "Then shall we go?" Glancing at the door, he stood up straighter and sucked in a deep breath before nodding his head. "Yes."
The final guests had arrived not long ago, and the grand ballroom of Fortemps manor was a seething mass of people. Guests danced and conversed, ranging from the ballroom and out and down the halls, filling the house with warmth and laughter as they awaited the arrival of the ‘guest of honour’ whose identity they’d not been able to discern. Household servants in elegant livery weaving between silken gowns and velvet doublets with practiced ease as they proffered glasses of wine and small hors devours from polished silver trays. But where once a gathering of this sort would have been composed solely of the upper crust of Ishgardian society, the differences that time and change had wrought were all too evident in the increased flavour of the guests. Not only nobles, but a veritable melting pot of so many who claimed friendship with House Fortemps. The Ironworks was represented, as were members from across the Eorzean Alliance. Even the men he would forever be indebted to for the return of his son were there, Hades an intriguing mix of ‘get-me-out-of-here’ and the sort of easy grandeur of presence that ruled a room effortlessly while Zolik was the picture of social graces and conversation. His grandchildren - Greystone and Fortemps alike - mingled freely with the young men and women of the other noble houses but also warmly welcomed the sons and daughters of less lofty pedigree and he smiled inwardly at how far the world had turned from so many years ago. Furs and velvets from Ishgard mingled with rougher homespun linen and wool, mingling with the silks and gauzy veils from Radz-at-Han in a manner that would have been the height of scandal years before and Edmont de Fortemps was glad to be alive to see it. As he no longer held place as Viscount of House Fortemps, much of the planning for this gala had been Artoirel's work. But there had been one aspect on which he had insisted he retain control, and his son had been more than willing to accommodate him. Keeping to the fringes of the gathering, he watched Artoirel - with Rivienne at his side - making conversation with several of the Durrendaire nobles, Alderique alongside them. The boy was every bit the noble and honourable man that his father was, as capable a Lord Commander as Lord Aymeric had been, and Edmont allowed himself a wry chuckle as he wondered if Alderique knew that once he'd handled all his preparations… Artoirel was prepared to hand the reins of their family to the next generation. Glancing up at the chronometer, he took a sip of his drink to hide a smirk as the hand clicked to the 6th bell. Right on time, and he was perfectly positioned to watch the ripples that would doubtless spread through the crowd. As he settled himself into a comfortable chair in view of the grand staircase, a well dressed member of the household staff took up a position at the base of the stairs. Clearing his throat as the double doors at the top of the staircase opened and announcing the entry of their distinguished guest.
"May I present our distinguished guest of honour this evening… Lord Haurchefant Greystone."
The silence was so profound that you could have heard a pin drop as his silver-haired son descended the staircase, radiant smile on his face… and a bashful looking Francel de Haillenarte on his arm in a manner that put to rest any suspicions as to the nature of their closeness. Especially as Haurchefant paused halfway through their descent to whisper something to his companion before pressing a quick kiss to Francel's cheek. The silence lasted for all of a heartbeat from the impact of Haurchefant's boots with the polished floor before the room erupted in noise and chaos as everyone converged on the pair. Demanding explanations and firing off questions as rapidly as they could.
Haurchefant should have anticipated the reactions, and while the stunned looks on the faces of the other nobles brought a rather sadistic thrill, he also felt a twinge of guilt at the stunned looks on the faces of his friends. Perhaps he should have given some of them a bit of a warning, but there was nothing for it now as he and Francel were mobbed by their guests. It took rather a lot of repeating his story - edited, as it were, to place the responsibility on W'ynter rather than Hades - before things seemed to settle down at least somewhat and the festive atmosphere once again suffused the manor.
He nearly dropped his drink when he turned, having sensed the approach of another party guest come up behind him. Doubtless another person who desired to tender their congratulations to him. What manner of felicitations you gave someone for coming back from the dead… well, perhaps nobility had a list of appropriate phrases he'd never gotten around to learning. What he hadn't expected was to swivel about and find a diminutive woman in a blue silk gown staring up at him, blue eyes holding that same laser focused look that so often characterized Estinien. He'd not been introduced to Yasha Varlineau de Borel yet, but he knew of her from both Francel and W’ynter, but even with that knowledge it took a moment to get over the outwardly draconic Xaela features. If his momentary lapse in decorum was noticed, it hardly seemed to bother Yasha as she flashed a cultivated smile and slipped an arm through his. "I want to introduce you to someone, my lord Greystone."
He somehow wasn't at all surprised by the polite social graces - she was not only Estinien’s daughter, but Aymeric’s as well - but he'd seen enough highborn pageantry to recognize that the genteel actions were more of a mask than the true nature of the girl beneath. Returning her smile with a chuckle of his own, he shook his head. "No need to stand on propriety with me, girl. Had I been here I'd have gladly been an uncle to both you and your sister. Just Haurchefant is fine."
She smirked as he watched her visibly relax out of the constrictures of society. "Uncle Haurchefant, then. I grew up on tales of your heroism, you know." Vibrant blue eyes flicked sidelong at him as he gave a sharp bark of laughter. "My exploits, more likely."
"Those too, once we were a few summers older. You are quite a favoured feature in Papa's bedtime stories." She remarked with a smile. "We could always tell how good of a friend he considered you. He said you were a shining example to prove the aristocracy wrong: that the worth of a man is not in his birth but in his deeds."
That was most certainly an Aymeric sort of thing to say, and Haurchefant felt yet another swell of warmth for the man who had always seen the worth in people…even when those people didn't see it in themselves. "I was truly blessed in his friendship."
They reached the wide glass and iron doors that led out into the back gardens and Haurchefant frowned slightly as Yasha pushed open the doors and headed outside into the biting cold. Wasn't she planning to introduce him to someone? What manner of madman would be hiding out here in the gardens? Perhaps someone who wished to see him privately, and Haurchefant snorted inwardly at the fact that they would be disappointed. He'd walked into this soiree with Francel on his arm for a reason and if that hadn't made his intentions clear enough then he would be sure to clarify. Preferably with a ring, when he could acquire one he felt was suitable. "Yasha, who exactly are you planning to introduce me to?"
"To Dragon."
Her words froze him in his tracks and Haurchefant backpedaled as his blue eyes widened in a mix of apprehension and fear. He tried to yank his arm free, protesting that he thought he heard Francel calling his name, but Yasha tightened her grip and fixed him with a sweetly sinister blue gaze that reminded him of Aymeric at his most devious. "Now, now… as the guest of honour at this most notable event, you wouldn't possibly be intending to spurn one of the guests who is so excited to meet you. Would you, my lord?"
It was exactly the kind of calculated silver tongued honey that he’d heard Aymeric use in political situations and despite the fluttering of panic in his chest Haurchefant mentally gave a nod of approval. Obviously the former Lord Speaker had trained his daughter well. "N..no, of course not, however I fear that being absent from the festivities for so long would be a terrible breach of propriety… Yasha… Yasha please..." He didn't have his sword, but that didn't stop him from reaching for it as she whistled and he saw the dark bulk of something shift on the far side of the rose bushes. The panic escalated as the dark shape stretched and yawned, showing a maw full of razored teeth…only to drop away sharply when his eyes took note of the square head and night black fur. Yasha seemed to realize the shift in his mental state and she chuckled softly as his terror turned to wonder as the enormous beast padded out from where it had obviously been napping.
"Uncle Haurchefant, meet Dragon."
It was a full grown coeurl, that much was obvious from the long snapping tendrils sprouting from either side of its jaw, but he'd never seen one that was solid coal black like this one. Dragon - because now he could realize that she'd said 'Dragon' and not a dragon, and that must be this creature's name - regarded him with what seemed like curiosity, and Haurchefant stretched out one tentative hand only to let out a delighted gasp when the big feline ducked its head to bump at his hand. A familiar feline demand to be petted. "He likes you." Yasha commented with a chuckle as Dragon butted insistently at his hand, rumbling in approval when he scratched fingers behind one ear.
"He is…amazing. How in the star did you manage to acquire such a creature?" Laughing, she scratched Dragon beneath the chin and the enormous cat beast groaned and flopped back to the ground. "A suspicious fellow in the Crozier gave him to me when I was very small. Not long after Papa and Papastinien adopted me, in fact. I was too young to know that he wasn't simply a rather large kitten, so I happily brought him home." Her smile widening, she raised an eyebrow at Haurchefant. "I don't suppose you'd fancy a ride, Uncle Haurchefant?"
His face must have been an open book, because Yasha burst out laughing. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then?" Patting Dragon's side, she said something to the coeurl and he obediently knelt down. The potential embarrassment of having not a clue how one mounted a dragon-sized coeurl was thankfully mitigated as Yasha vaulted up and then showed him where he could step on Dragon's offered wrist to get a leg up. Settling behind Yasha, he was unable to completely hide the excitement as she told him to hold on before they were off. Dragon pouncing over an entire hedge as she led them on a winding romp through the gardens. It was… indescribable, and he sent a fervent prayer for the Fury to bless whatever idiot had thought to give away coeurl kittens in the Crozier.
He was not ashamed to admit his disappointment when their ride came to an end, sliding down from Dragon's black furred sides on legs that felt like jelly. "Thank you, Yasha. That was… I have no words."
She smiled as she gave Dragon a scratch behind the ear before sending him back to his prior napping spot in the gardens. Turning towards him, she took the arm he offered with a chuckle. "I am glad that you enjoyed it, and I won't keep you from your guests any longer."
If he were honest, he hardly gave a coblyn's arse about his guests at the moment. He was too excited to share this amazing experience with Francel, though when he spied his lover, the blonde man was engaged in a lively discussion with his own family and Haurchefant didn't wish to impose. Though it was rather adorable to watch him be besieged by twin blonde girls of roughly nine summers. They could only be the 'surprise girls' that Stephanivien's wife had given him, and watching Francel interact so warmly and easily with them, he could well imagine the kind of life his own children had been blessed with.
"Met Dragon, have you?"
There was a warmth in that familiar voice, an almost teasing note that Haurchefant didn't think he'd ever heard before. Glancing up, he couldn’t help the delighted grin stretching across his face as he gave a nod to the approaching dragoon. He had indeed been introduced to 'Dragon', and the opportunity to ride the enormous black-furred beast had been indescribable. "Indeed I have, ser Estinien! Or should I be calling you 'Lord Borel' also?"
"Only if you wish this to be an incredibly brief conversation." Estinien scoffed as he took a long sip of his glass of wine. Leaning against the wall as he idly scanned the ballroom. Haurchefant chuckled at the retort, taking a moment to study his old friend. Well, they had been 'friends' only as much as Estinien had allowed at the time, but he'd never taken that personally. Only Aymeric had ever been able to truly insinuate himself into Estinien’s circle before Haurchefant had died, and everyone knew how that had ultimately turned out. But that had been years ago, and it took a few moments to take in the changes. His hair was longer, twisted into a thick braid that fell almost to his waist, and he looked surprisingly comfortable in his finery. Perhaps owing to the fact that his attire was more streamlined, lacking much of the fur and lace that remained the fashion in Ishgard despite the passage of time. He'd heard that Estinien still spent a good deal of time in Radz-at-Han, and there was a distinctly Thavnairian look to the heavy silk coat and the Borel blue embroidery at his shirt collar. A wordless acknowledgment of his place at Aymeric’s side, and one that Haurchefant heartily approved of. But what he was trying his damnedest not to stare at…were the other changes in his friend. The way his nails and teeth had a definite subtle sharpness to them, or the burning red of his once blue eyes. Not to mention the black horns that curved from his temples, or the scattering of ebony scales that Haurchefant could see running up the sides of his neck to disappear beneath white hair.
"Disconcerting for you, I would imagine." Estinien’s comment jolted him out of his inner cataloging of the changes and Haurchefant cleared his throat as he realized that he had been caught staring. "Apologies, my friend, I meant not to be rude."
His apology was waved off by the dragoon with a nonplussed expression and a shrug. "No harm done. It's been almost twenty years since I made a point of hiding it and I am quite beyond taking offense at staring. At least you're seeing me in 'polite company', so unless I decide to raise Aymeric’s blood pressure I shall keep the wings and tail put away."
Haurchefant could feel his eyes widening unbidden as he made every effort to process. Estinien… had wings? And a tail?! There were so many questions whirling around inside of his head, and he tried to mentally sort them and quantify how many would be rude to ask. A dilemma that Estinien seemed to understand as he chuckled and raised one white eyebrow. "Would it make things easier if I tell the story first and then you can determine how many of your questions I have already answered?" Before Haurchefant could answer, Yasha melted out of the crowd with another glass of wine for each of them, looking bored and as though she was merely resigned to the gown she was wearing rather than enjoying it. Handing them over before fixing her father with a look that suggested her rather poor opinion of the message she'd been tasked with delivering. "Papa says to please remember that you already scandalized the other nobles last sennight, Papastinien and if you would kindly refrain from showing off your wingspan to Uncle Haurchefant inside the manor."
As Haurchefant's eyes flicked back and forth between the two while he debated teasing the other man about his rather adorable 'title', he watched Estinien roll his eyes and scoff as he handed his empty glass to Yasha. "Tell him I will take the matter under careful consideration and determine whether doing so is worth the consequences. Also, if that vapidly determined Dzemael boy continues to bother Adara for a dance in spite of being turned down, you have my blessing to see if he looks as fashionably foppish in brown trousers as he thinks he does in green, Hatchling." Yasha's grin widened and she nodded before slipping silently away with a rustle of midnight blue silk.
"She seems to take after you. Will Aymeric agree with you about that permission you gave her?" He joked as he took a sip from his new glass and almost choked on a laugh as Estinien gave a nonchalant shrug. "Publicly, not likely. Privately, he'd give her the knife himself to threaten the fool with. Now, I believe I promised you an explanation."
He nodded, and turned his focus back to Estinien as the dragoon gave a brief yet concise overview of the events that had brought the Dragonsong War to its conclusion, as well as the changes that his possession by Nidhogg had wrought on his own person. Haurchefant listened with rapt attention, feeling not a small pang of sadness and regret as he learned the entire scope of the truths Aymeric had brought to light. Small wonder his friend had been imprisoned for his attempts, and he hoped Aymeric realized that none of it had been his fault. When Estinien began to detail some of his journeying in the moons afterward, Haurchefant could begin to understand how his friend had changed so profoundly. It was a good change, and he commented as such with a smile. Rather pleasantly surprised when rather than a scoff or a defensive denial he instead received a soft chuckle and an acknowledgment that though it had taken more time than he might have liked… he was happier than he'd ever expected to be.
"You know, I never would have taken you for a family man, Estinien. But it would seem that being a husband and father suits you." He gave a nod across the room to where the gray haired Adara was playing the part of charming attendee to Aymeric, looking far more comfortable in her finery than her elder sister, and it was warmly amusing to see hints of both men on the mannerisms of the two young women. Yasha very obviously took after Estinien, that much had been evidenced in the short time he’d spent with her meeting Dragon. And watching Adara effortlessly charm and delight the entire room, there was no need to guess who had taken Aymeric’s example to heart. Estinien gave a warm chuckle as his eyes also found his family and he shared a smile with Adara. "If you had told me, before the war ended… before Thordan's fall… that I would have anything close to this, I would have taken you for a fool or a madman. My entire life, my everything…was rage. Revenge, hatred… even after Aymeric showed me that I could have more, I was still so afraid of it. Afraid it would prove no more substantial than a mere fantasy. Until I walked in on a toddler girl wearing my helm…trying to stab her own nightmare with a fireplace poker as a lance. And I realized that if I allowed my fear to continue to rule me… then I would fail in the duty that the Fury placed before me in handing me a chance to change the pattern. And so I did. And in doing so, I found the answers that I'd never realized I needed."
It was a far more profound explanation than he'd expected, and Haurchefant could only imagine how seeing his own legacy of rage and revenge play itself out in a child must have affected Estinien. Reaching out, he rested a hand on the dragoon’s forearm with a squeeze. "For what it's worth, you seem to have done a magnificent job of it. Everyone who speaks of your daughters has nothing but praise for them both. Rumor has it that Adara's wit puts Aymeric’s to shame, and that Yasha is Azure Dragoon in all but name."
"A name she will never have. A name that died with the war, as did the need for it. But aye, she's the skill for it." Estinien agreed with a grin of paternal pride. "And Adara is wickedly skilled with Naegling and talks circles around half of the Sharlayan Forum every time she visits them. And takes as much smug pride in doing so as Aymeric ever did in the House of Lords. She'd have gone after his old posting if he'd let her, but she'd not wanted it for herself but rather because she thought taking it would make us proud. As if we weren't already. But what of you? I imagine adjusting to fatherhood is a mite more difficult when you suddenly find yourself with a half dozen or so and they're already grown."
That was quite true, and he agreed as much with a laugh and another sip of his wine. "Indeed, though I seem to have missed the phase of tantrums and nappies, so I shouldn't complain." His expression softened with a shake of his head. "In truth, they are…amazing. Such wonderful and talented and good men and women that it humbles me to think I had a hand in their creation."
Nodding, Estinien nursed his glass as well. "Speaking of talent, I've a mind to give your boy command of his own squadron at Bregne. He's certainly earned it, and considering that the only dragoon I have who is more skilled is Yasha and she wants nothing to do with command… it would be a potential first step into my shoes. See how he handles himself in an authority role. He has the skill, and if he can temper his anger…."
There was no possible way to disguise the surge of fatherly pride he felt at hearing such praise of Alwant's abilities, and Estinien snorted in amusement. "Almost embarrassing, isn't it? That we can feel so foolishly proud of their accomplishments. It was the same for me when Yasha got her first proper lance, or when Aymeric gave Naegling to Adara."
"Yasha said you cried."
"A blatant falsehood, and one I will not suffer." The retort was so obviously false that Haurchefant had to bite back a snort of laughter at how affronted Estinien looked at the mere suggestion he had teared up over his daughters' achievements. He'd have to get the story from Yasha later on. "Obviously, I should have realized. But back to my progeny… what do you mean, temper his anger?"
He knew what the phrase meant, obviously, but there was some niggling feeling - perhaps it was that 'parental instinct' that Francel talked about - that made him crave more of an explanation. Especially as he observed the way that Estinien paused in consideration before he spoke. As though choosing his words carefully. "He is…different from the others. Darker, more driven. Francel has said that he has always kept others at a distance, that he doesn't trust easily. I do not know the details, but I know that something happened during his dragoon training, before he came to Bregne. Something that apparently damaged what little trust he had in others and brought fuel to the flames of his anger. I've seen what comes of allowing that to fester, and I would not see your son consumed by it."
Haurchefant swallowed with a nod, all too easily able to see what Estinien was speaking of. Even now, his dragoon son was tucked into a corner of the room. Back braced against two walls, blue eyes shrewd and focused as they scanned the room. Like a soldier on patrol even here among friends and festivities, and he felt a pang of guilt and regret that he hadn't been here for whatever had made Alwant so distrusting. Estinien seemed to understand where his thoughts were leaning and shook his head. "We can never protect them from every hurt, and I did discreetly inquire as to the cause. It seems to be rooted in a failed love affair of some sort, but I do not know the details. You'd do better to ask your eldest, as he seems the only one who Alwant truly allows close to himself emotionally."
That made sense; though they were as different as night and day, Z and Alwant shared a closeness that was almost on par with the bond between the twins and he resolved to bring the topic up with Z at some point later. Any further musings on the matter were dissuaded by his lover, who sidled up to him and slipped one red garbed arm through his with a smile. Handing him another glass of wine as he did so, and flashing an apologetic look towards Estinien. "My deepest apologies for interrupting your conversation, but I fear my lord's presence has been requested."
Estinien waved a hand in dismissal as he finished his own drink. "Bah, go see to your societal requirements. He won't ask it of you, but Aymeric expects you for dinner sometime in the next sennight."
"An invitation I could scarce refuse, my friend." He replied with a laugh before allowing Francel to lead him away and back into the crowd. They were engaged in good-natured banter with Stephanivien and his son when the sound of a spoon tapping against glass rang out across the room and everyone turned their attention to where his father had stood from his chair. Clearing his throat, the aged patriarch cast his warm gaze around the room before he began to speak.
"It has been too long since last I beheld the entirety of my family here beneath this roof. Too many years mourning the loss of one: my son, Haurchefant. A hero not only to our family, but to Ishgard as well, and a man who has brought nothing but honour and joy to this household. And now, I am blessed by the Fury to have him returned to me again. But the rectification of this mistake has also brought to light a mistake that I made, many years ago. A mistake that I would rectify on this day of celebration." He caught Haurchefant's eye with a smile as he raised his glass in toast. "To my son. A son of house Fortemps as truly as any other… and who should have never been made to go through life in doubt of that. I gave you life, a home, a family… but I kept from you one thing that should have always been yours; the name that you deserved and have more than earned countless times over. The name I give to you now, before all assembled here, that they might know the pride and love I have in my son. To Haurchefant Greystone… de Fortemps."
He'd begun to tremble at the beginning of his father's speech, a lump rising up in his throat as his mind began to make the connections that he could scarce believe were real. He could feel Francel's arm through his as his lover squeezed his elbow and said something. What it was, he didn't know; there was a roaring in his ears that matched the roaring of the cheers that rose around him, and he vaguely registered the congratulatory words before he found himself outside the ballroom and being gently maneuvered into a chair by Francel.
The blonde knelt down in front of him, combing fingers slowly through his silver hair, and Haurchefant realized that the sainted man had taken him away from the crowd to allow him a moment of privacy to take in the overwhelming emotions that threatened to bury him. With a whimpered sob, he yanked Francel into a tight embrace, burying his face in shoulder. Allowing himself that moment of emotion as gentle hands rubbed his back and soft voice whispered encouragement while he struggled to regain his composure.
"It's alright… we'll remain here as long as you need, love…" Francel's voice was soothing, and a part of him would have liked very much to do just that; remain tucked away in their own little world, but Haurchefant shook his head. Wiping away the remnants of emotion from his eyes before flashing a smile at Francel. "Wouldn't do to disappoint all of my adoring fans, now would it?"
Francel shook his head with an indulgent smile as he got to his feet to allow Haurchefant to stand up again. Going more than willingly when he was pulled into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Francel." Twining his fingers through Haurchefant's, he allowed the taller man to take the lead as they strode back into the ballroom. Haurchefant meeting the crowd of concerned looks with a nonchalant smile and a shrug. "Apologies, all. It isn't every day that a man finds himself given a new name. Takes a few minutes getting used to it."
His joke served as the perfect thing to break the tension as a ripple of laughter spread across the room and several guests moved forward in a bid to congratulate Haurchefant. Who, to Francel's shock and surprise, held up a hand to forestall them before turning his attention to Francel himself. And it was his turn to feel lost amidst the roaring in his ears as Haurchefant slowly sank to one knee on the polished marble. Taking Francel's hand in his, gloved thumb rubbing over knuckles for a moment before he spoke.
"I know that I have ever been an inconstant man in the eyes of many. Quick to bestow my affections and equally as capricious in the manner in which I choose to express them. But one thing that has been ever constant… is my regard for you, Francel. Despite how often I made outward evidence to the contrary, you have always held a place in my heart. And though it took death itself to give me courage to accept that… you have given me the greatest gift of all; your heart. Where any other man or woman would have moved on… would have found another home for their heart to roost… you welcomed me back as though I had never left. Giving me a home, raising my children into the proud men and women they are today… loving and accepting me for everything that I am, whether good or bad. I once thought that I had nothing to offer you… a bastard's name and a legacy of scraping and clawing for whatever I could earn. But you helped me to understand that I am more than that. And I love you more dearly then I could ever hope to express to you." He raised his head to meet Francel's teary eyes with a smirk. "I had fully planned to offer you that name and that legacy, but it seems I now have an even better one to offer you. So tell me, Francel de Haillenarte… would you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life at my side? I don't have a ring for you, yet… but I don't want to wait any longer to ask you to be mine."
Words had escaped him when Haurchefant's knee hit the floor, and it was only the hand he had pressed to his mouth that held back the emotion as he blinked back tears and shook his head. "You…ridiculous, perfect, wonderful man… I don't care what your name is, what your legacy is, or if you wrapped a strand of grass around my finger. I love you for the man you are… the man who has shown me nothing but the quality of himself since that day you saved my life and I would love nothing more than to walk through life at your side." Unable to say more without choking up on emotion, he gave a wordless tug to Haurchefant’s wrist, inwardly grateful when the silver-haired man surged up from the floor to capture Francel into a kiss. Someone let out a cheer - he rather thought he recognized Stephanivien's voice - and then the room erupted into loud raucous applause as numerous hands hammered against their backs in congratulations. Laughing into the kiss as he held his lover - his fiance - close and Haurchefant peppered his face with more kisses.
"I love you, my lord de Fortemps… for the rest of my life and forever after."