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housedeaubemarle · 2 months ago

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Les Yeux d'Une Mère (The Eyes of a Mother)

It is uncharacteristically late when Oudine arrives home. Unable to find the man she’d tried to chase after, she’d meandered back in a confused state. By the time the front door opens to her, and she heads upstairs as quietly as possible, her confusion has become a strange roiling mass of embarrassment, frustration… and melancholy.

Her brother meets her at the top of the stairs unexpectedly. One look at her face tells him the evening hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing. “What happened?”

Oudine gives him a tired look. Her voice is flat. “Everything.”

“What?”

Some minutes of explanation later finds Remont trying to suppress laughter since his mother’s bedroom is just some yards away. His sister slaps him on the shoulder at such amusement.

“It’s not funny!” she hisses. “He could have been called out for a duel, and for what? Being a fool? It’s not worth it!”

Remont has to take a few moments, despite the sting in his shoulder, to calm down enough to ask, “Did you catch any names at all?” When she shakes her head, he says, “At least tell me what these noblemen looked like.”

The description - whatever Oudine can remember past the haze of humiliation - is enough to trigger a memory of Remont’s. An acquaintance who spent more time at Le Renard had pointed out the man in the street one day; it wasn’t difficult to remember that distinguished figure.

“That sounds like Viscount Armand de Courcelle, which means the man whom Ross… propositioned was likely Le Renard’s owner, Evreux Mouraut. Makes sense why my lord became upset - they’re lovers.”

“What?” A cold fear runs through her entire body; she groans. “By the gods Rem… I shouldn’t have interfered…!”

Remont pats her on her shoulder gently. “You weren’t to know. You just wanted to save Ross from a potential duel.”

“He saved himself! He literally turned and bolted, and just left me there, so I ran too!”

Remont presses his lips together to hold back a smile. His sister running is a rare thing, and thus in this light, amusing.

Oudine’s voice is almost a wail at the sight of Remont’s face. “It’s really not funny!” she says again, as if that would get through to her twin.

“Calm down, Dine. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“I just embarrassed myself for nothing in front of a viscount and his lover–”

“You’re also a viscount.”

“That’s not the point-”

The sound of a door opening sends nearly the fear of the Fury shooting into both Aubemarle twins. The sight of the Dowager Viscountess does send the fear of the Fury directly into their respective bloodstreams.

There is an unnerving pause, before the older lady says, “Ah Oudine my love. You’re home. A word with you if you please.” She heads back into her room before either of her children can say anything.

Oudine barely stops herself from a wince. She throws an alarmed look at her brother who shakes his head, trying not to smile. They both know that tone – disobey and at least four out of seven hells would break loose.

“Courage, ma soeur,” he murmurs, a grin escaping him as he does so.

The alarm in her face instantly becomes an annoyed glare before she turns around to enter her mother’s bedroom, schooling her expression into something more neutral.

Inside, the dowager is already sitting in a comfortable armchair by the fire, the Enchiridion on the side table next to it. Oudine prays quietly not to be read a homily; she doesn’t feel equal to the task. Not tonight. The dressing gown her mother wears, and the silk cap on her head, signals the dowager is close to retiring for the night. Or at least, she would have been if she hadn’t clearly been waiting for the viscount to return from whatever gallivanting she’d been doing.

As Oudine approaches, the Dowager looks up with a (deceptively) pleasant smile. She holds out a hand, which Oudine takes gingerly. She leans forward to kiss her mother’s cheek.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now, Mamma,” she says, keeping her voice light as can be, as she sits at her mother’s feet like she usually does.

“How could I possibly do so when my darling girl sent a message at the eleventh hour of the day, saying she wouldn’t be home for supper? When the same child of my bosom returns to the house smelling of whiskey and cigars?” The older woman wrinkles her nose at her. “It is entirely one thing when Remont does it, but it is not done for one of your status.”

Oudine does not sigh outwardly though she does slip her hand from her mother’s hold. “Because he is a man?”

“Because none of the Twelve have seen fit to equip my son with the proper sense of sobriety and propriety of his station, despite all his natural and nurtured advantages,” says her mother without missing a beat. “You on the other hand have. Or at least ought to have.”

The viscount looks up at her with some restrained annoyance. “I have been out many nights before, Mamma. And at twenty seven, I don’t believe it warrants such critique.”

The Dowager’s smile disappears, replaced by a disapproving frown topped with a raised eyebrow. “Mais Le Renard Argenté, ma chérie? C'est aller trop loin.”

Oudine stares at her, in disbelief first, then dismay, before finally resignation. There are only so many ways her mother could have found out, and all of them are named Remont de Aubemarle. This betrayal would be remembered. “It was your son’s suggestion, mamma. He would never send me into danger.”

“Danger, never. Impropriety, usually. You are not obliged to take up those suggestions which are unsuitable, brother or no.”

“It wasn’t unsuitable. He was just… trying to cheer me up,” she says, eyes moving to the fireplace. A weariness has settled in - the whiskey and its accompanying artificial bravery has long since receded.

The ensuing silence speaks volumes about how absurd the older woman finds this statement. The Dowager’s eyebrow, which has gone impossibly higher, adds a crescendo of incredulity.

Oudine doesn’t see it since she keeps her eyes on the glow of the fire, continuing with, “Mamma, it is a perfectly legitimate establishment – beautifully appointed, filled with people of titles galore, and all above board.” She pauses for a moment. “Even if it isn’t exactly the kind of place you would patronise.”

The Dowager sniffs. “My dear girl, there are a dozen hundred places in this city filled with the creme de la creme of Ishgard I would never step foot into, yet I have never deemed them unseemly. What I hear of this Le Renard has me fearing for Ishgard’s future.”

“One would think the revelations of the Holy See’s lies would have done that already,” is Oudine’s dry answer.

“There is no need to be blasphemous, child,” says the Dowager with some severity.

“It isn’t,” retorts her daughter, finally looking back at her mother with obvious annoyance. “Why does it matter? I am Viscount Aubemarle, and I ought to be able to go where I please.”

“You are Viscount Aubemarle, thus you ought to go where you must.” The Dowager’s lips thin into a grim line. “What business could you possibly have at Le Renard? It could hardly be to find a prospective husband.”

“Don't think me such a fool as that!" snaps Oudine in sharp exasperation. "Of course I had no business being there at all! That’s precisely why I went-” She sees her mother’s eyes widening by a fraction and abruptly stops. The last time Oudine had raised her voice at the Dowager was before her coming of age, many summers ago when there had been plenty of fighting to do between a young woman and her headstrong mother.

“I…” She visibly deflates, sinking her face into one hand. “I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m just tired.”

The Dowager looks on for a moment, then with a quiet sigh, rests one hand on her daughter’s head. Those who didn't know her would have said it was done far more gently than thought possible. “There is more to this, yes? Tell me.”

The touch on the crown of her head makes her look up. The weariness is written all over her face now, along with a frustration that she could not allow herself to show beyond the walls of Aubemarle manor.

“This propriety you speak of, the position in which I stand, ought to be of more use. Yet I feel so helpless, and clumsy… and ineffectual. Papa did so much, and I have done so little. I am twenty seven – five years have I been viscount, and what have I to show for it?

“I am so inadequate, Mamma. I fall short of so much – there are people I ought to be able to help, yet I cannot. There is so much I don’t know, and cannot see – for Fury’s sake, I can’t even see Moogles. The world has so much to offer… and I haven't enough wit to grasp them.”

She bends her head again, but rests it against her mother’s knee. The dam has broken now, and the waters come forth in waves. “I went tonight… to try and prove something. To prove to myself that I could take what I’d learned in the East - the ability to hold myself up comfortably in such a different environment - and bring it here. Apply it here at home, where there are places as foreign as Othard to me.”

Oudine closes her eyes, awash with shame and discontent at her conduct. “I think I failed. And it makes me feel…”

The Dowager waits, gently brushing her fingers against her daughter’s hair. It is still in the braid she had returned from the East with – and hadn’t pinned back up. The older woman had naturally voiced her doubts about it but Oudine had persisted.

“It makes me feel like Papa would have been disappointed.”

There is a moment filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire. Then the Dowager speaks, firm and assertive.

“Your father would have been proud of you.”

Oudine doesn’t raise her head, shaking it instead. The Dowager reaches down slightly to tweak her ear. That gets her to look up at her mother with some distress. “Mamma.”

The Dowager lifts her eyebrow admonishingly again. “Listen well, my girl. Your papa has never been anything but proud of you. And to see you trying something new would have given him more reason to feel that way. I doubt he would have allowed me to scold you as I have tonight if he were here. Just as I doubt very much if he would have allowed you to wallow in your self-pity.”

Oudine doesn’t quite know if she’s being comforted or being reproached again, but then, that’s par for the course with her mother.

“Whatever transpired in that place is hardly worth mentioning. I do not wish to know. However,” she settles back into her chair. “I can see you’re trying to be your father again, dearest. And that will never do. You must be Viscount Oudine de Aubemarle. If you insist on anything else, it will only backfire, as I suspect it did tonight.”

Her daughter stares up at her, absorbing this strangely encouraging advice. “...Papa would have tried to help a stranger in distress, Mamma.”

“I’m sure he would have.”

“He would have succeeded too. Instead of… embarrassing himself in front of nobility.”

The Dowager shakes her head. “That I would not be so quick to decide, my dear. The fact of the matter is that he isn’t here, and thus we will never know.” She raises an eyebrow. “Which nobility?”

A very faint, utterly humourless smile touches Oudine’s lips. Here it comes – the mortification of looking like an ass in front of an influential member of the ton wouldn’t be complete without a reprimand about said mortification. “Rem tells me one of them was likely Viscount Armand de Courcelle.”

Yet instead of the reproach she expected, the Dowager snorts expressively. “My lord Armand at Le Renard? I should have guessed.”

Instantly, Oudine's eyes widen to their fullest; she sits up to stare at her mother. “You know him?”

“I know of him, to be precise. We come from the same generation after all.” She tilts her head at her daughter. “His late wife was a Dzemael, you know, and his mother a de Borel.”

The colour seems to drain from Oudine’s face. Gods save Ross; he’d offended more than either of them had anticipated. “Then… why are you so calm?”

“Because,” says the Dowager dryly, “your brother is a newborn babe compared to that man’s proclivities. He’s not let dragons, war or embarrassment stop him for over sixty summers now. If he himself doesn’t acknowledge the emotion of shame, I doubt he’d bother about it in others.” She shakes her head. “A handsome enough man in his day – handsome still for some, though he reserves it for his paramours.”

“...paramours? I only saw the one earlier-” Too late. Her mother has already heard the words.

The Dowager rolls her eyes but refrains from comment. Clearly her ladyship has seen and heard more than her children expected of her. “Don't worry yourself about them. ‘Tis more than likely Armand de Courcelle and his… partner have forgotten you by now.”

“...I can’t tell if that’s good or not,” says Oudine with a slightly stronger smile now, and some reassurance within her heart.

The Dowager smirks. “Discretion is the better part of valour, my treasure.” She chucks Oudine under the chin. “Ma cherie, I did not want you visiting Le Renard not because I think you incapable. I did not want you visiting because you are not yet settled.” Dark brown eyes meet grey ones head on.

“I am not yet such a doddering old fool that I do not see your restlessness. Your body is home – your soul is not. Not yet. And to fling yourself into such a place as Le Renard – it is aptly named, look you – when you are not wholly yourself is foolhardy behaviour (which explains why your brother encouraged it). Of course you tried to be your father tonight. You always do when you do not feel you can be yourself.”

Oudine blinks. She hadn’t realised the Dowager had noticed. “...Mamma… how could you know all that?”

The answer is so matter-of-fact, the question seems almost ludicrous. “You are my daughter. Of course I would.”

Oudine’s smile stretches. “And about Le Renard. If you’ve never been…?”

“Do you really think this manner of gentleman’s lounge is anything new?” The Dowager snorts again. “They went by different names and much more subtlety when I was younger.”

“...are you saying you went-”

“I do not pretend to understand the draw of such places,” says her mother out loud, bowling over Oudine’s would-be question. “But then, it is not meant for me to understand; that is perfectly clear. To demand comprehension would be the height of impertinence. Whatever they do behind their beautifully appointed walls is their business. But if it affects my daughter, then it becomes mine.”

Oudine smiles amusedly at that. Sometimes – just sometimes – her mother had her own charms. “I think I’ll be alright now, Mamma. I promise.”

The Dowager eyes her for a moment, then gives a decisive nod. “Very well.”

“And regardless, I don’t think I’ll be visiting again anytime soon. Even if my lord de Courcelle wouldn’t recognise me.”

Her mother shakes her head. “It is his loss.” When her daughter’s grey eyes twinkle at that, she smiles at last. “Ah, la voilà enfin. C'est mieux. Now, it is high time we were both in bed. Goodnight, child. I will see you in the morning.”

Oudine rises, kisses her mother on her cheek, then on the other. “Merci beaucoup, chère maman.”

She steps outside, walking down the corridor to where she knows her brother waits in her study. Remont looks up with some concern and contrition at her entrance. He can already guess some of the conversation, which is why he starts to say, “Now, Dine, before you harangue me, Mamma would have had my head on a spike if I hadn’t told her-”

“Traitor,” says his sister, crossing the room to swat him on the shoulder. It’s a light hit however and he blinks at this lack of force compared to earlier, and the absence of heat in her voice. In fact, her expression has lightened up quite a lot from before.

“...what did she say?”

Oudine smiles fondly. “She knows I’ve not been myself. And that’s why she didn’t want me to go.” She grins, a particular light stealing into her eyes. “Did you know there were gentlemen’s lounges like that back in her day?”

Remont stares at her for a moment then also grins – a mirror of his sister’s. “Do tell.”

End.

Note: To be very clear, IC =/= OOC. I for one find LRA very cool, and its patrons exceedingly intriguing. Also whatever is written here about my lord Armand is based on their carrd, and past conversations in the Discord I happened upon. Not to mention the Dowager doesn't know him well, if at all, so what she has are general impressions, not certain knowledge. She's also blatantly biased towards her own children as much as she reads them the riot act regularly. Which all means to say: take her with several pinches of salt. God knows I do, as do her kids.

Though to be honest, this Dowager of mine surprises me with her nuances each time she insists on talking (which she did today after Oudine's little escapade to Le Renard). Unfortunately, her nuances only emerge when she's with her family. Otherwise, she's a cantankerous, difficult noblewoman for all the world - but that's also the kind of image she wants to project so I can't quite say no to that.

Oudine is beginning to uncurl; Remont is starting to become more careful. I look forward to what this family shows me in the future.

@escherstrange-ffxiv's Ross is - and I say this with nothing but affection and well-wishes - so unhinged, you may as well rip off the door and install curtains instead. Especially when he's spiralling and has no idea how to deal with Emotions (big mood honestly). Long may he keep his skin intact for us to enjoy his antics.

#ffxiv oc #ffxiv rp #ffxiv oc lore #philomene de aubemarle #oudine de aubemarle #remont de aubemarle #vouloix would have just laughed #a lot #remont takes after him in that sense #though as her father he'd have said take someone with her rather than go alone #it was a learning experience to be sure #she goes back to her braided updo after this #a reminder that she's home #and to keep control of herself #...but also with an implicit determination not to fear change so much despite herself

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