#Ser Paulecrain

[lyrieuxsicons]

Who? // : Ser Paulecrain de Fanouilley From? // : Final Fantasy XIV Amount? // : 739 Size? // : 100 x100 px

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[veliara]

Junelezen2024 Day 3 - Breakfast

a breakfast that went really wrong

As Ciel had anticipated upon first meeting the warrior, all foolish thoughts were blown away. Ciel was peacefully eating breakfast in the empty Forgotten Knight. The morning hours were quiet and peaceful. Unfortunately for Ciel, the happiness didn't last long.

She heard heavy, unhurried footsteps coming down the stairs to the main hall, saw the tavern owner's face change. The footsteps stopped beside her and a moment later, a powerful, armoured hand came down heavily on her shoulder. She was nearly knocked off from her chair. "Oh, Shorty," came Dzemael's familiar voice, "you're just who we were looking for." Ciel noted to herself that she had prefer Grinnaux's tone of voice from the night. His faithful companion stood beside the berserker and scrutinised the empty room. The owner of the establishment looked warily at the two knights, then at the young man who was peacefully eatung his apple and completely ignoring Archbishop personal guards. "And good morning to you too sirs," Ciel replied politely, carefully ignoring the nickname that made her eye twitch, "to what do I owe the honour? "Tomorrow's lesson with the boys is cancelled, - the warrior grinned darkly. Leaning over, he whispered in Ciel's ear, "You'll be training with us. Ciel choked at the news. The lancer patted boys back helpfully.

"Why?" the young man wheezed. Dzemael almost laughed out loud. Paulecrain grinned and tried to calm the coughing boy. "Don't worry, they were just sent on an urgent errand. And you've been assigned to us. As the only available for the day." The weight of the hand disappeared from his shoulder. "Be there at five," Dzemael said over his shoulder. "And don't be late, I hate that." Ciel sighed heavily and rested her head on the bar with a sigh of misery. "Sir Gibrillont, don't expect me tomorrow" Ciel moaned sorrowfully, without raising his head "Ciel, what do these knights want from you?" the veteran asked worriedly. "I thought you met Sir Guerrique by chance, but it seems you know not only him." "Yes, sir I know not only him." Ciel mumbled to the side. -Someone seems want me to suffer. I don't know why else they've made them my mentors for tomorrow's training."

P.S. When Junelezen2024 is over I will post everything in chronological order. In case anyone likes my story.

[arcteris]

remember you are not alone

the encouragement wasn't necessary, but eris appreciates it nonetheless. rip ser grinnaux and ser paulecrain

[shadowed-vigil]

day 19: taken

verb: capture characters: warrior of light, paulecrain de fanouilley word count: 878 notes/warnings: a sort of continuation from sally; however, there is nothing explicit in this particular fic. the implications of noncon are still referenced.

Her lungs ache with the effort as she gasps herself awake, great glugs of air that burn fiercely in her throat, down into her lungs. Everything aches — it hurts to breathe, to move, every fiber of her being screaming in protest as she blinks blearily, once, twice. It hurts, but she has to move. It hurts, but as she finally begins to get her bearings, she feels the sense of panic muddy her thoughts, wincing through each fear-stricken huff as she forces herself up. 

It’s almost disorienting, how dark it is. The night is her birthright but this is oppressive, in every sense of the word as her vision adjusts, bit by bit. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s laying on some sort of cot — too dingy and dirty to be a proper bed, no sheet for her to slip out from under. It’s one of the only things she sees in the room with her — windowless, small, the air damp and cold. 

There’s a door, though. 

Trembling, she works to push herself up into a sitting position — freezes all over again when she hears the telltale rattle of chains, suddenly aware of the irons tight over her wrists; the awed horror dawning ever faster as she tries to swallow her panic, as it just twists up her spine anyway as she bites back a scream —

“Hello, darling.” 

She flinches so hard it hurts. She hadn’t even noticed him in the dark of the room, quiet as he was, as dark as it is.

“Paulecrain,” she gasps. 

Her heart leaps into her throat before she can even think — so blinded by the sheer relief of seeing something familiar amidst the dreadful unknown. He must be here for her, she thinks frantically, heart hammering in her chest as she sits up fully, as she —

Stops. 

It settles over her slowly, wariness trickling down her spine. Because she trusted him — like she’d trusted Grinnaux, and he’d —

She really shouldn’t cry. She can’t afford to break. 

Paulecrain notices anyway as he clicks his tongue, some low hum meant to soothe. She stares at him, wide-eyed in disbelief as he just — smiles at her. Pleasantly. 

She bristles. 

“Where am I?” she chokes. 

“Does it matter?” 

She glowers at him, hands curling into fists.  

“What of Ser Aymeric?” 

He shrugs. “What of him? Unless you mean to ask if your little rescue party was a success.” He sends her an unimpressed look as he gestures. “Which, again — does it matter?” 

She doesn’t realize she’s trembling until she hears the faint rattle of her chains, the sputter in her breath as she tries to self-soothe. He looks at her patiently, almost sympathetically, if not for the ghost of a smirk darkening his features. 

Her eyes narrow, bile rising in her throat. 

“I deserve some answers, I think,” she says carefully, her voice hoarse. “I’m owed that much.” 

“I don’t know that you’re in a position to be making demands, little warrior.” 

The familiarity is enough to bite, to have her wince. She scowls. 

“Am I in a position to do anything?” 

He regards her, some unfathomable expression on his face. Her heart continues to race wildly, confused, terrified — and then he sighs.

“The Lord Commander was regretfully allowed to slip from our hold, just as you and yours intended.” His smile softens and it’s — awful, ominous. “Unfortunate, but — well. It isn’t as if we came away with nothing.” He leans in, smiles worse. “Many thanks to Ser Grinnaux.” 

She stares at him, murderous, heart thundering in her chest. 

He stands, and it’s as if her body suddenly remembers how to move; she leaps to her feet, knees wobbling as she flattens back against the wall, anything to put space between her and the knight encroaching closer. He looks unimpressed at her sudden display, rolling his eye as he clicks his tongue. “Settle down,” he says, voice stern — like he’s scolding her for being rightfully afraid. 

She lunges for the door. 

She doesn’t make it far enough — the chains don’t allow her to even reach the handle before she runs out of slack, the irons halting her movement as they dig in sharply along her wrists. 

That, and the elezen that moves to bar her way. 

“Come now,” he scoffs, hands gripping her shoulders, “you really think it isn’t locked?” 

She flinches, tries to jerk away, her hands pushing off his chest to push him away, but there’s nowhere to run in the cramped room; the wall rushes back up to meet her, her head smacking back against it as she reels. There’s a scream building in her throat but it doesn’t quite form before he’s got his hands on her again, as he cradles her face in one palm and slaps her with the other. 

It’s enough to have her stop, dazed and swaying on her feet. Her pulse still races, so terrified it feels hard to breathe. 

“Settle,” he repeats, harsher. “We lost the Lord Commander. Who does that leave to question?” 

She blinks up at him wearily, her hands still flat against his chest. 

“He’s free. He’ll tell the truth, you know,” she breathes. 

His thumb brushes one cheek, her other still stinging from the blow. 

“So will you.”

[ainyan]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

I missed WIP Wednesday yesterday (and for a few months), but I really wanted to give you guys a bit of a taste of one of the pieces I'm working on.

From the private journals of Lord Aymeric of Ishgard, as discovered by G'raha Tia in the ruins of Ishgard, Eighth Umbral Era

Word of her work in the Western Highlands and in the Sea of Clouds circulated amongst the families of Ishgard, and for once, the scions of House Dzemael spoke well of the foreign woman in our lands. House Haillenarte already thought the world of her, but Lady Laniaitte had been equally as impressed by the Warrior of Light as her younger brother. I must wonder if it was those accolades as much as the indiscreet questioning by her companions that led the Heavens’ Ward to accuse them of heresy. In hindsight, I realize that my father’s personal knights would not have taken kindly to a storied hero in their midst and not under their control.  I do not think then that they believed the rumors from Eorzea regarding the Warrior of Light. This does not surprise me overmuch; love overflowing have I for Ishgard and her people, but we have an arrogance that we have ill-earned at times. When she stood forth as the champion of Mistress Tataru, I could see the smirks in the eyes of those arrogant knights. Those smirks faded quickly when she began to move. Within moments of starting, it became clear that her azure Drachen armor had been fairly earned. Her lance was but an extension of her arm and the fury of Nidhogg swirled about her, lending a dark aura to her obsidian horns and glittering scales. She was justice incarnate; a breathtaking avatar of Halone Herself. She won handily, as one might expect from the woman who put an end to the Black Wolf’s reign. By the time that both Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain were kneeling in defeat, their flushed faces set in furious lines, Alphinaud was similarly winded, hands planted upon his thighs as he fought for breath. By contrast, she looked as radiant as the moment she had entered the arena, not even a sheen of sweat upon her brow as she gazed down upon the two defeated knights with a disappointed expression. When the Arbiter announced the outcome and acquitted the two unfortunate Scions, she turned and left in her usual silence. While most would not have had the fortitude to resist heaping remonstrations upon the heads of the defeated, she declined to do so, instead exiting the arena in dignified silence with her companions in tow. Once more, I found myself impressed with her all out of proportion to her diminutive size and retiring demeanor. Nor was I the only one; Lord Haurchefant gifted her with her very own black Ishgardian chocobo, direct from the Fortemps stables. Embarrassed though I am to admit it, I wish I could gift her with a similar demonstration of my approval. Alas. Perhaps I will be afforded such an opportunity in the future.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 5: Barbarous

“Just as I was beginning to doubt the efficacy of the Ishgardian justice system!” Alphinaud said with a nervous grin. “Come, my friend─let us put an end to this mummer's farce!”

Aeryn gripped the hilt of her rapier, teeth grinding as the judges nodded.

In her mind’s eyes she again saw young Lord Francel standing on the precipice, ready to leap into Witchdrop of his own accord at the word of a heretic masquerading as an Inquisitor.

It had been so easy, for the false Guillaime to pit faithful Halonics against one another, to sow discord among allies and friends, to send innocents to their doom. He had been believed, allowed whatever excess of cruelty, while any aid and kindness she or Cid or Alphinaud had offered had been scorned and met with suspicion.

This was no different. She stood here to defend her few remaining companions because of the supposedly unimpeachable claims of yet more supposedly holy authority.

The arena was set and Tataru separated from them by bars. Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain smirked across from her and Alphinaud. Her young comrade took a shaky breath, his tome at the ready.

A trial by combat, to “prove” her friends’ innocence. What sort of illogical nonsense gripped her father’s countrymen?

Games between the High Houses, Count Edmont had said. Powerplays between those who cared naught for who was caught in their schemes—just like in Ul’dah. This had nothing to do with the thrice-damned war!

Thank the Sisters her mother had had the wisdom to take them from this wretched place, to a homeland where both faith and educated reason coexisted.

The Judge held up his hands in supplication.

“O Halone, render unto us Your judgment! Raise up the righteous, and cast down the wicked!”

Fine. If they wished to resort to such barbarous methods as this, she would oblige. She fixed her eyes on Ser Grinnaux and his axe as she drew her sword.

Levin crackled in her hands, sparking down her blade. Icy wind played in her hair and clothes. She sensed the earth below her feet and fire behind her eyes, waiting to answer her call.

If her country of birth refused to be civilized, then she needn’t be, either.

And they would remember that in this realm, the Fury was her patron.

[mimble-sparklepudding]

7. Trial.

To the old and the infirm, the young and the weak, this right we allow. Very well. Who will stand for this woman?

Mimble was not much impressed with Ishgardian notions of legal procedure. Especially since the vaunted justice of The Fury appeared to rely upon the successful litigant being either too weak to fight for themselves, or too strong to lose in ritual combat.

He suspected that this arrangement quite suited the Ishgardian ruling class, since their access to better food and cleaner air tended to make them stronger and healthier than the poor, and their wealth and connections allowed them to take their pick of possible champions, should they require one.

Under such circumstances, the chances of an orphan from The Brume being willing to seek justice against an abusive noble seemed remote.

Consequently, whilst Mimble was conscious to be publicly respectful of Ishgardian traditions, he also rather relished the opportunity to chasten scornful bullies like Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain de Fanouilley.

That he did so bedecked in the symbols of Nophica was an entirely calculated touch.

[irisopranta]

FFxivWrite Prompt 5: Barbarous

How could they have done that. Arresting a young elezen and lalafell for asking questions about our allies. And now they have to deal with a trial of combat. “I, Taturu Taru, am innocent of these charges, but I cannot fight, so I want to name a champion.”

Iris was more than happy to stand up for Taturu. For her it just defending a friend in need. She arrived into the trial pit to fight two of the Heavensward that accused her friend of heresy. At least Alphinaud was with her in this fight.

The fight began. Iris, without hesitation, ran up to Ser Paulecrain. She took her lance and knock his out of his hand. Before he knew it, she had knocked him down to the ground. He surrendered before her.

Once he was down, Iris head towards Ser Grinnaux. No doubtly, Ser Grinnaux had been bullying Alphinaud. However, there was a glint of red in Iris’ eyes. One that dictate her murderous intentions. She tackled the knight before he could continue. And while she may not have her weapon in hand she did punch him a few times in the face before he surrendered as well.

The two were victorious in the end and it did bruised the egos of two of the Heavensward. This shouldn’t come back to bite them later in their journey.

[lunarosewood23]

FFXIVWrite2023 Prompt 2: Bark

Set a little after 3.0 in the Forelands. Raven laments over her talons and remembers those lost.

CW: Mentions of Death, Mourning

Word Count: 673

~~~

It had been harder to hold pens and other writing instruments since her inheritance awakened.

Raven stared down at the black talons that extended from her fingers, her once blunt nails that she would bite on when anxious turned into long claws, a permanent mark of what Nidhogg’s blood had done to her. She couldn’t really make a proper fist, though she damn well tried on several occasions, and she needed to learn how to get used to a pen in her hand again.

Still, Raven felt a need to make it to where those lost on Azys Lla were remembered. Their names etched into something to signify that they were people who were loved and were mourned.

So she went out hunting and in addition to her meal for the night she found a huge piece of bark that had come off of a tree and began to carve their names into the surface. It would be crude and ugly, but she felt as though she needed to preserve their names. Preserve them as people, not tools. She felt tears begin to sting in her eyes as she used her talons as her quill, what she knew of them sprung to the forefront of her mind.

Ignasse de Vesnaint - A dragoon, though she wasn’t sure of much else about him other than he and Ser Vellguine were close.

Vellguine de Bourbagne - The oldest among them. Silent, but kind.

Hermenost de la Treaumaille - A man of deep faith and a mage who passed along to her how to imbue magic into weapons as he did with his battleaxe.

Grinnaux de Dzemael - Brutish arsehole who bullied her when she was small, but Raven knew that his fate wasn’t one he deserved. 

Paulecrain de Fanouilley - Raven didn’t know much about him, other than that he was a former knight of House Fortemps that had been dismissed, and that he seemed close with Grinnaux.

Noudenet de Jaimberd - A bookish sort who liked magic. He seemed to be interested in Mingxia’s, and to some extent her own.

Haumeric de Peulagnon - Coronette’s dearest and the one who taught Mingxia Coerthan ice conjury. She remembered how Coronette had passed Serella her sword to do a blow for her when she was told of his fate.

Adelphel de Chevraudan - A notorious flirt and one of the fastest swordsmen she’d ever seen. She remembered the family of older sisters he was leaving behind and her heart squeezed.

Janlenoux de Courcillant - Always seen with Adelphel, the moon to Adelphel’s sun. And a wonderful culinarian. Were he not on duty he would be volunteering in her mama’s kitchen.

Guerrique de Montrohain - A sweet one, if a bit loud. A soft-spoken Raen named Yitsuge liked him. One of Zephirin’s most loyal, and to her knowledge they were close friends.

Zephirin de Valhourdin - Raven knew him to be a noble and just soul. Mingxia’s sister Kaia was in love with him and he loved her. She remembered having a small crush on him as a teen, but he was focused on his own goals to notice her.

Charibert de Leusignac Cross - Raven let out a sob as she wrote the name of her brother. She lost him once already when she was seven summers, and then she hadn’t seen or heard from him for a score. And of course the fates would be cruel to her by giving him back only to take him away again. The one who would sit and teach her words and scripture and answer her questions about the faith. She dragged her talon across his surname and replaced it with her own. Even though he was never formally adopted, he was a Cross, and damn anyone who would try arguing that. She knew he did horrible things, but she wanted to believe there was more to it than pure cruelty. Their mama taught them all better than that.

She set the bark aside as she hugged her knees, weeping for them, as she knew their families would be back home.

[jefarawol]

I was just in time, as Tataru claimed her right of a champion, the relief in her face was evident and I greeted Alphinaud with a determined nod. Together we faced Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain, confident and cocky with their stations. But they had not met me. Not the first, and not the last to scoff at the size of my body. I would show them how very wrong their thoughts of me were.

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Six Sentence Sunday

They do not have plates, for none had been sent up with them, and Mother Miounne's knowing smile as the three stood so near to one another, that perhaps she may have been tempted to send them away with one fork instead of three. But, with his single knife, he will cut three pieces, and by far they are phenomenally uneven, with intent to take the smallest for himself. He will tear off a piece of parchment so he has something to hold his pie slice with, back still turned on his companions so he can examine the food. The filling is dark, and seems to spill from the cut edges of the pie, it wafts with a slightly peppery and salty scent now that is is no longer confined by the flaky crust. Something about it seems creamy, bits of white chopped meat floating in the pooling, thick sauce. Ser Grinnaux, and Ser Paulecrain take the remaining seats, making them seem rather small compared to their bulky forms. The pie might not be enough.

[pumpkinmagekupo]

I'd like to think during the battle with Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain, Mizuki just off loads a lot of pent up anger and general emotions.

They arrested the last two friends she has. She's still blaming herself for everything leading up to Heavensward and not being strong enough to protect the Scions.

Mizuki puts Alphinaud behind her and the thought of both knights being blasted through the arena wall by a small really ticked off lizard amuses me.

Mizuki is the Fury.

Mizuki just having the chance to go feral.

afterwards being like: yeah..I feel a bit better.(◕‿◕)♡

[veliara]

It's okay

Ciel was already used to the oblique stares of the locals. The Brume dwellers didn't pay much attention to him, but in the upper city, it was a different story. They pointed their fingers at him, sniggering behind his back.

"It's okay." It was the members of the noble houses who annoyed him the most. ‘Look at that half-breed Millie, isn't that a sad sight?’ ‘Yes, Mistress. It couldn't be sadder.’ The girl from an obviously noble house laughed melodiously. ‘ And yet he's called a man. What a joke.’ ‘Calm down. Ignore them.’

‘Rumour has it that he's a charge of the Heavens Ward, Mistress.’ ‘I don't understand why distract their attention with this wretched creature. He won't be accepted into the Ward anyway.’ ‘It's all right, don't pay attention to stupid folk.’ However, such behaviour ruined the mood. Staying in a dejected mood, the youth still reached the Heavens Ward building. Once he entered the common room, the warm air and the aroma of tea hit his face. ‘Charibert must be drinking tea by the fireplace. Hopefully at least the second half of the day will go smoothly.’ He hoped faintly.

‘Ciel, you're just in time. Tea is almost ready.’ came the familiar voice of the inquisitor. ‘Hello,’ Ser Zephirin said quietly. ‘Why are you so gloomy kid?’ Ser Ignasse inquired. ‘I'm sorry, I was just thinking. Everything's fine!’ ‘Good, good,’ muttered Сharibert taking a sip of tea. ‘Hey little fella!’ The ever-cheerful Guerrique tussled Ciel's blond hair. ‘Look at what we found for you!’

‘Enough Guerrique!’ Сiel laughed for the first time that day. ‘What is it?’

‘Ta-dam!’ Guerrique pointed triumphantly at a stool standing off to the side. ‘Next time you argue with Grinnaux, be sure to use it. At least you won't have to crane your neck so much.’ Paulecrain's laughter sounded nearby. ‘Now you're on equal footing, at least in height.’

[angelic-din-mortem]

@dcminium: From Here

❝ stir your filthy eyes away from me. ❞ he knew that look all too well and the thought brought a spread of light red upon his cheeks, neck and ears.

------------------------------------

Parts of him were yelling for him to pull back, to not push this further. And yet, this man oozes and screams with potential. He can smell his emotions and oh, so so sweet to him. How can he resist? Besides, would he not be doing all a favor if he acts now? His humanity screams no, yet his Titan side...it was hungry for new meat.

"Now now, such cruel and cold words, have I not been kind and entertained you enough to gain some trust ser?" His voice was gentle, and oh-so warm and sweet and comforting, with just a hint of pain. Ah yes, such a sweet sweet splash of blush. Walking slowly to the other, Angelic wraps his arms around the man, one hand sliding up his stomach to his pecks, and about from stomach to a side of a thigh, long nails gently dragging about the fabric and body before them. Cold to the touch. "I would never come here to hurt you ser, oh, but the opposite ~." Leaning in, he nuzzles the man's side. "Have I done anything that your body did not approve and ask for? Even the red on your cheek says otherwise. But, if you insist, I can simply leave you to fill the hollowness in your chest to fill yourself~<3."

Gently he pulls away, hand on the elezen's thigh dragging up and across the man's ass before the small pulls away. However, the hand on the peck slides down an arm and takes hold of Paulecrain's hand as Angelic shifts and leans about to kiss the back of the hand and knuckles gently before letting go. "Alas...and here I was hoping to serve your pain and loneliness, even if for a bit~." Eyes glow a bit with a playful gentle warmth, but there was something more to them.

[shadowed-vigil]

day 30: two heads are better than one

idiom: used to say that it is easier for two people who help each other to solve a problem than it is for one person to solve a problem alone. characters: grinnaux de dzemael, paulecrain de fanouilley, warrior of light word count: 929 notes: endwalker spoilers. there’s something to be said for surviving the end of the world.

Not to say that there’s a problem — not anymore anyway, thank the Fury — 

It still takes time for her to wake up, after. It’s an agonizing period of touch and go, even after Thancred finally sneaks them into her room at the chirurgeons’. Grinnaux can only imagine what the first few days after the Ragnarok’s return were like, when he and Paulecrain were still left threatening whatever mage or Scion they could hunt down for information.

But then thankfully, finally — 

(It really is damning that she can’t believe that she’s alive — that even she cries once it sets in that she’s safe, that she’s home. He tells himself that he’ll scold her for it later, when he isn’t so blinded by sheer relief.) 

“You could return, you know,” she tells them weakly one afternoon, still bedridden. “I don’t know if Thancred told you, but —” 

“Yes, yes. We know all about your little contingency plan,” Paulecrain cuts in dryly. 

She smiles, sheepish, near guilty in response. “...I told you I make good on my promises. Better to have a contingency than nothing at all, what with the possibility of — well. You know.” 

Grinnaux, for once, hums in lieu of the more scathing remark that lingers on his tongue. She still gets the message regardless as she clears her throat, continues, “I hear Ser Aymeric announced the pardon a few days prior. So, if you’re eager — or just bored, I know this can’t exactly be riveting —” 

“Arcelia.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel — obligated —” 

Another set of unimpressed looks is enough to have her concede, warmth rising to her cheeks. 

(Because they’ve already talked about it a few nights prior, while she had been fast asleep. The question of what now for once something full of promise, the opportunity finally afforded them after so many years. The fact that things are different now, as Paulecrain absently cards a hair through her hair, as Grinnaux smoothes a thumb over her bandaged knuckles. They both watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the assurance of it all, and inherently know.

Besides, they’ve waited this long to return home. They can wait a little longer.) 

It’s all the more different when she’s finally given permission to leave her bed at the chirurgeons’, finally able to return to her own room at the Annex. No longer bedridden, she’s quick to make plans to travel, just as she’d promised — but only after the celebration to be held at the Leveilleur’s in a few days time, finally able to be held now that their champion is well enough recovered to enjoy it.

But, until then —

The first few nights are almost bafflingly tender. There’s a certain sort of amusement in the sheer role reversal as they cross the threshold into her room, both a continuation of what was and the mark of something irrefutably new. She seems to notice as much, too, wringing her hands and fretting like there was anything to fret over, like it wasn’t nice — like they weren’t content tangled up together in bed, finally able to while away the time and talk. (Her bed is bigger than anything the chirurgeons had offered her, thank the Fury. Not that they were doing much else in it, considering her recovery, the mutual decision to not push, that first hurdle in the aftermath more daunting than any of them expect.)

The celebration itself is a return to form, at least.

Perhaps they all just needed a little drink to take the edge off. Perhaps habit was still habit in the end, Grinnaux thinks, as he locks the door to the first spare room they manage to find, as Paulecrain has her pressed up against it a moment afterwards. Some part of him reminds that they really should treat her gently, considering; that they should be quick, shouldn’t even be doing this at all, because to slip away during an Ishgardian affair is a far different task than whisking away the Warrior of Light at her own party, but —

(Like she wasn’t the one to tug on their sleeves with insistence; the unabashed hunger, the soft please —

The louder please, now, as Grinnaux tangles a fist in her hair and yanks.) 

There’s enough clutter in the room to make it work — like they wouldn’t have made it work regardless, having done more with less before; a spare desk that they spread her over, frenzied, rucking up her skirts because yes, of course, they won’t get cum on her dress —

(She really should be more used to this, he thinks; it isn’t as if being the center of attention is new for her. He greedily licks the whine from her mouth when Paulecrain takes her first; cradles her jaw in one hand and coos in her face as she fumbles with the clasp of his pants, seemingly already dizzy with promise before she even takes him in hand, before he even pushes past her lips —) 

It’s another memory unearthed, after. Altered, though, as they fuss over her in the aftermath, stepping in to smooth her hair, helping to readjust her skirts, keeping her steady all the while as she wobbles on her feet. 

(She seems to realize it, too, seemingly disarmed by the memory, a moment of pause as she blinks up at them both. Grinnaux just kisses her again, an answer to a question she should really know by now.)

“Shall we escort you back?”

Paulecrain offers his hand to her, just like the first time.

This time, with a smile, she takes it.

[knights-of-ishgard]

HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY HEAVENSWARD

let's celebrate this fine day with the knights of the heavens' ward