#etienne greystone

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Count Baurendouin & Lord Francel, a Conversation in Approval

Rating: G Category: Gen Fic Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters: Baurendouin de Haillenarte & Francel de Haillenarte. Etienne Greystone mentioned. Summary: When hearing via rumor is all the information he gets in regards to his son and his beau, Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte has taken matters into his own hands to finally arrange a meeting. Here is what has happened after, in the wake of Etienne's footsteps leaving the manor, and Francel comes face to face with his lord Father, who means to exchange some few words.

Sneak peek: It was, or, would have, under most circumstances, been rather a nerve-wracking affair. But, Francel will find, as he sits in his chair, pulled up to his desk, a cold window at the rear, illuminating his paperwork with the setting sun, a chill overtakes him, a dreadful calm, at first. He knows his lord father, but will have perhaps… not given way for his lord father to know him. To keep such details as they had been, from the direct line of sight of his family, and–do not take that to mean he does not trust Etienne, oh but he does. Do not take that to mean he is embarrassed. For, lord Francel knows not how to be, on behalf of another man. In fact, there is nothing but pride, nothing but adoration, nothing but the fire in his fingertips when their hands touch, and the way his heart flutters into his throat to be looked upon by him. No. Francel will have, in some manner, yearned for this. The approval of such important men in his life, his father– his Etienne. For they to come together, a whirlwind of emotion, thought, ideas abound within him, such that calm will no longer hold sway over him now, and his heart will race in his breast and his ears will prick as if he could hear a modicum of their conversation from floors above, and rooms away. 

What more can he do, then, but to replace his quill, he had not been writing anyways, and push away from his desk. To glide with urgency to his door and swing it on oiled hinges in a way that had he any strength in his arms, it should have surely protested. The hallway is empty, the doors to both his brother's rooms are closed, and his sisters is ever vacant for her post in the Sea of Clouds. To traipse down the carpeted hallway, the flats of his shoes are silent, as he eases himself down the stairway, his hand marks a light trail down the banister, and his jaw nearly hurts for how tense his long ears are as he listens intently, as if, still there were anything to hear from here. The foyer is marked with pedestals of their high house gifts in front of the parlor, where Francel stands at a distance, watching eagerly. The door is closed, and a manservant is positioned patiently outside of it. His fathers. The man, a stately, older elezen, will look his way and offer no change in expression but to politely dip into a bow. Francel’s smile wobbles, and he bows his head in return. 

Francel will pass the parlor, begging to stop to listen at the door, but for the ‘guard’ stationed there, and will begin, on passage, to rub his forefinger and thumbs together at his sides, as he makes his way to the kitchen. With his back turned, and distance growing between he and the parlor, the manservant smiles.

Unknowing of the passage of time, for while it seemed quick, perhaps, as if no time has passed, it may also, within a blink, feel as though all the time has passed at once. And, indeed it will have, for Francel makes busy with a lady servant in the kitchens, together, for he had fretted, and she had seen it, to help knead the dough for sugar cookies for the lady mother. While he puts some of his weight into rolling it out, a cup of coffee is poured for him, and he will wash his hands and take it gratefully while the maid begins to cut out shapes.

“I hear, mi’lord, if I may be so bold as to bring it up, that we have a guest of some import.”

Oh, how he shall nearly startle, such that he must grasp his coffee cup with both hands, and the liquid within will ripple with the tremble that courses through his arms, and down his spine. He will raise it, to hide the way his mouth curves, in one moment, an upwards quirk, the other, a downward slide. He has, to this point, no clue what it is that is being spoken about, and what conclusion the count will come to. 

“To me.” Francel murmurs, unoffended. “So very important to me.”

She looks up, fitting a heart shaped dough piece unto a greased pan.

“It has been some time, my lord, perhaps you should go.”

He takes another big drink of the coffee, it does not steel his nerves, but it is hot, and it warms his belly. He sets it aside on the counter.

“I am sorry I did not finish your coffee, miss Olivette.”  

She smiles downwards, placing another shape of cookie. “I beg your pardon for making it so late.”

But Francel is gone, the door to the kitchens is slowly swinging shut, clicking with finality as Francel makes his way down the foyer again. At the far end, he can see the exit to the manor, and his fathers manservant is closing the door, behind, whom he will assume is Etienne. And his heart sinks. This whole time, Etienne had been so near, and yet, so far. He clenches his fingers at his sides, his hands empty of Etienne’s within his own, and his cheeks not graced by his warm mouth. There are no strong arms which would have taken him ‘round waist and drawn him into that inferno of heat… The manservant, from aside the door, and from a hook, takes an embellished cane, inlaid with a red gem, the body of it a sleek, stained black, and carries it back towards Francel whom has stopped right at the parlor door. For the manservant, he gently opens it, and the servant bows low, as Count Baurendouin steps without, hand held out, for which the servant will place the head of the cane within and Count Baurendouin will tap it a few times on the burnished red wood flooring of the foyer. 

“Ah. My son.”

Francel dips into a bow, as his father leans upon his cane, and while not necessity, provides ease of existence, in his bid to not show too much weakness. Francel is another story. 

“Lord father.”

Count Baurendouin turns, and with his cane by his side, a slow, and steady tap upon the wood of their manor with each step.

“And so, to scurry about, like the little manor mouse you are, your nose twitching away, your big ears a’swivle.”

Lord Francel flushes, as he steps in behind the Count, only slightly behind, and to his left. 

“Please my lord, do not think less of your son for his curiosity, for his… worry.”

Had Francel been any more anxious, he surely would have been kneading his hands together, his fingers twisted into a knot, and the circulation, poor as it was, cut off for how he worries himself into a bundle. Instead, his hands remain by his sides, but for his thumbs and forefingers rubbing together.

“Ye who should know nothing but composure.”

Chastised again, Francel chews his cheek unseen, looking straight ahead as they walk, the Count as his guide. The Manservant a respectful trail behind them. 

“As you know,” count Baurendouin begins again, “Your eldest brother, Stephanivien eschews tradition with a certain finality, and it should be said that he and I do not see eye to eye on this.” Francel peeks over nervously. “But, whom was it, then, that caved to see his happiness restored?”

Francel dips his chin, without looking away.

“You, my lord father.”

Count Baurendouin nods resolutely. “And, I am curious, lord son of mine, with whom you chose as your closest, and only companion since childhood. Of which accompanied us hither and thither to our guest home in the Lowlands, on hunting trips and adventures.”

“Ser Haurchefant…” It was hard to say, but it comes out, strong, resolute, without stutter.

“Ser Haurchefant…?” The count seems pedantic in that moment.

“Greystone.”

The count opens his mouth, making an ‘ah ha’ sound. 

“So he was, even after all he did, to only be knighted, and, never recognized fully as son of House.”

But here the Count looks over finally, stopping outside of a door at the end of a winding hallway. He turns to Francel. Because he knows this could be a sore spot. It has been years, but the loss of what had been ones only friend, can be a hard pill to swallow when forced to open ones mouth repeatedly for it.

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

The Count sighs, and the manservant comes forward then, opening the door to what appears to be an office, great walls of books on either side, a plush leather chair, a fireplace smoldering in the distance, a dark, starry window. Francel looks instead to his lord father.

“I want only the best, only the best, for my children. Maybe then, maybe before the War, it would have been different, but not now. Now, I can see, you have done well for yourself. And in him–well, he is interesting.”

Francel feels light, as his lord father speaks, a lightheadedness that makes him rock onto his heels, and then back onto his toes, regaining his bearings. A smile begins to flutter at the corners of soft lips. 

“I asked him to return for Starlight.”

Francel will jerk his head so quickly back onto the count that his neck kinks, and he almost hisses. Dark blue eyes wide, mouth a soft ‘o’. 

“Now that is a look unbecoming a young lord.” The Count raises one groomed brow. “I trust you shan’t let bad habits rub off on you.”

Francel immediately straightens his back, 

“Nay, my lord father.”

With one last resolute nod, the Count turns to enter his office, leaving his son in the doorway. The Manservant bows to him, and then passes him by to attend his Count. Francel, the smile he returns is giddy indeed.

And in the end, it would be blessing enough, for now.

[allycryz]

Master Chouxchotement’s Illustrated Daily

News for Ishgardians of Discerning Minds and Tastes

The following articles are from MCID's FFXIV Write 9-15 Prompt: Crane. The content therein is rated M for Mature and hints at several pairings. Please direct your questions and comments to the nearest PostMoogle with our refined periodical's name.

“Artisans of Amorous Aides Seeing New Trend” by Master S. G. D. Chouxchotement

Our own Ishgard has long been home to artisans who direct their skill and expertise towards Amorous Aides. One such person has an exclusive and private clientele who pays for one-of-a-kind items as well as for her discretion. Not all people are as Modern as this paper and our dear readers, who do not shy from frank conversations about the body. Thus your understanding reporter has agreed to pseudonyms and the excising of certain identifying details.

Mistress X— crafts ingenious harnesses for those who wish to don a phallus. Her creations of leather, cloth, and sometimes precious metals are available only to those with deep pockets. Her chief delight is to create new devices which heighten carnal pleasures. I was allowed to examine one such item which uses aether to heat and pulsate in such a way as to stimulate a partner. Another allows the user to feel penetrated as they penetrate through ingenious design and not a little spellwork.

But as of late, more and more of her commissions are based upon the notion of mimicking Draconic Sex. Naturally, Mistress X— confided to me, there were products of that sort in the past. Such exchanges could only be created in the most discreet and trusted of places. I for one, dear reader, understand that one’s sensual fantasies needn’t reflect real life behavior. Alas, such was not the belief for most; and many who dreamed of such delight feared too much the Inquisitors’ sword.

In this new enlightened age, many are now free to seek aides that mimic a dragon’s ridges and scales. I am unable to describe her grandest commission as it will be so unique as to be a threat to the client’s anonymity. Suffice to say, it proves the fascination many might have with aspects of dragon procreation.

Editor's Note: I am told that dragons do not reproduce as we do and instead only bow to carnal desires simply for the pleasure of it. I suspect many believe our new allies assume they are rather like the pet lizards they encountered as youths.

Harnesses and their accompanying phalluses remain Mistress X—’s chief business. However, she is experimenting with a sleeve that may be fit to the customer’s flesh phallus, so as to simulate the sensation of a dragon member when they take their partner or partners. She has explained that such a trend is starting in other shops and she would like to provide her own version.

We will follow up, should this sleeve become a popular notion in discreet shops of Ishgard. Until then, I remain your humble reporter,

S. G. D. Chouxchotement

Seen and Heard: Dispatches from the Inner Circles of Ishgardian High Society

Item 1:

Last week, a certain lady stayed at her family’s home for a short rest from military duties. A certain young lord was seen throwing pebbles at her window at an outrageous hour of the night. No response was made until the lady’s father emerged to shoo him on his way.

Item 2:

Once again, a certain lord’s manservant is reported to have ordered enough food to serve three people. It is known the certain lord lives alone besides said manservant and a yet undetermined number of cats. Our source noted the purchase of breakfast ingredients as well as other goods.

Incidentally, it is said that a long-standing friend of this certain lord has recently returned to Ishgard. This friend, another son of our fair city, has yet to be seen by our sources but the rumors of his presence are from reputable people who would have such information.

Item 3:

A renowned Mor Dhona merchant has set up shop in Ishgard with her comely employees. The merchant was seen in a dress of brilliant honey yellow at Lord X—’s ball, dancing with every available lord and some who were unavailable. Mayhaps she shall add “Lady” to her name in the future?

Item 4:

Reports came of a famed songstress and a mistress of Thavnairian dance both visiting Ishgard. Neither seemed here to perform and so they must have simply desired to see the glorious sights of our home. They were seen dining with a certain retired lord, a widower of several years who greatly enjoyed their company. If he favored one over the other, no one was able to tell.

Last-Minute Addition:

We have halted printing to include this recent item: a certain lord and his long-standing friend were seen embracing most intimately with a third party. Details are scarce but observers agree that this third party was a Hyur man in a long white coat. Mayhaps a visitor caught the eye of these two esteemed sons of Ishgard?

Discreet Advice from M. Flauvien Fleur, Expert in the Sensual Arts

Dear M. Fleur,

I am in a predicament. My lover (a fine lady) and I (a man of limited experience) have arranged a private evening of pleasure with a gentleman of our acquaintance. She is quite excited.

As for me, I am also eager. But I have not ever been with another gentleman and do not want to burden them both with my inexperience. How shall I go about this?

-Mystified by Menage

Dear Mystified,

Congratulations on the splendid happenstance of a dear partner and a friend willing to share pleasure with you. I remember well my first menage, the glorious exploration of how multiple bodies might bring new and exciting bliss.

Everyone is a beginner in a thousand different ways. You are no burden. Rather, it seems you are extremely concerned with their enjoyment. I am sure they feel the same and would like to know how to better ease your way.

Before the evening, have an honest talk with both. If they are as kind as I hope, they will agree to ease you into the play and teach you as you go along. There are few things better than teaching a lover a new way in which to achieve new heights.

I suspect that you may like some practical advice. If you are able to get your hands either on M. Giroux's Pleasures of the Other Man or M. Etienne's Encyclopedic Guide to The Bodies and Its Senses, they will offer more mechanical details.

I suspect however, that your love and your friend will be more than willing to show you the way.

With love,

M. Flauvien Fleur

A note, from Lord Aymeric de Borel

My dear Haurchefant,

I suspect I know the answer but have you by chance taken on a second career; wielding the pen as you do the sword?

Yours,

Aymeric

A note, from Lord Haurchefant Greystone

My lovely Aymeric,

I am a man of many talents. By the by, what delights did you two get up to with Thancred and will you invite me next time?

With love,

Haurchefant