#annabella simp no.1 right there doting on her every word

[floscaedis]

[from emberblooded] Every man carried two faces. That much was known. But who would have thought that behind the mask of a strong emperor was a soft heart? She had had an inkling of it the first time they had met and yet it was an unwelcome surprise nonetheless. Anabella stepped closer to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Olivier cried at Luncheon when you missed it today," she told him, placing a hand on his arm. A mild frown crossed hear features speaking of concern. "He is getting soft. I fear he might not be able to serve the nation if this will continue.... my love, do you not think you are too soft with him?"

@emberblooded / (( i lov u thankee for this owo ))

the night is young and yet he'd chosen to retire - take a much needed rest as he'd witness the sun drip gold unto the sea beneath it. in truth - peace had been a fortunate thing to bask in, seconds spent admiring the view before words ( and touch ) have his attention. slender fingers dancing their way atop his arm, a touch met with his own - a strong hand ( yet, one still soft enough to tinker with flowers ) entwining with her own. a slow graze that sees fingers stroke skin; admire the beauty he'd once fallen for (still yet to land ).

"oh - he did, hm?" it's a thought that had certainly crossed his mind before - his doting, the love he'd showered his sons with - perhaps a little too kindly. he had always been a soft touch when it had come to his boys; always embraced them rather than ever scold them.

he thinks back to when dion were a boy - a polite child but one, rambunctious, none-the-less. he can recall the time that the boy had shown him up in front of court. on the outside, he had been strict - firm. behind closed doors? not so much. in fact - he'd chuckled alongside the boy. told him ( in private, of course ) to never deter himself from his own values. to always fight for what he believes is right - even ( blasphemy! ) should it defy great greagor herself.

alas; annabella's words encourage a swelling in his heart, a dash of eyes from her to the balcony - a beauty he still admires. one he fears he shouldn't. perhaps he'd dwelled too long on the finer things in life - love and romance. perhaps he'd gotten soft in his old age; no longer the proud dragoon of yesterday but instead a weak emperor of today.

should great greagor have really been born again through him then surely she'd have blessed him with strength-?

"perhaps-" he mulls over her comment, keeps his hand gripped in hers but lessens his hold slightly. sighs silently as worry is roused - an ugly seed once pushed someplace deep, now budding - dared to be born by the woman before him. "perhaps you are right..."

dion, though he was the dominant of bahamut and as strong as anybody sylvestre knew - had an unfathomable softer side. a compassion unbecoming of the dragon; a sweetness surely left a stain by his father.

to think about it - to really think about -

has sylvestre quieter than usual. dion is strong enough to be kind, he thinks, olivier is not.

what if a soft touch made the boy weak? what if annabella's fears could come true?

he squeezes the grip he has on her hand; greets her gaze with her own, a press of lips against her forehead - and a whisper betwixt his kiss.

"once again - my love - you remind this old man of who he ought to be-" there's gratefulness in his voice; a genuine 'thank you' for the woman he adores "our child will grow strong-" pride curls the corners of his lips "as strong as dion - strong enough to take the throne."