( thememcry )
delicate hands worked themselves into knots, fingers twining and twisting until they came undone and repeated themselves. teeth worried at her lesser lip and aerith found it difficult to keep her attention on any one set thing. this place was so foreign - it was easy to display the calm act of confidence when she was before any member of the court. there was only one man here who knew of her nerves, knew how ill-at-ease aerith could work herself. in the privacy of her quarters she confided in him now, desperate for any form of contact that could ground herself.
“ what if this was a mistake? ” her voice is soft, hushed so that the knights posted outside of her door wouldn’t hear. the wind is gentle through the open-faced balcony, the small table aerith is perched at facing the marble banisters so that she may overlook her view at any point. but her attention is on her most trusted, a man she insists take a seat across from her and share in her peckish snacks. sentry. alric. her father away from home, the only person on the planet to know her in’s and out’s, her deepest fears and greatest accomplishments. her closest friend.
“ what if i’m not received well? what if the prince pecks the ear of his father and recants the alliance? i’m worried, alric. ” his name falls from her tiers in a hush, gently spoken or acknowledged only between them, in these quiet moments. with a sigh she finally pulls her digits from themselves and plucks at a grape instead, dallying in tearing it from the bunch and slipping it into her maw. she busies her free hand with tangling into the fabric of her skirt - anything to keep it occupied.
“ and it’s so warm here … ”
He stopped from his picking at his own digits, from the perpetual dirt that seemed to manage itself under his nails as if his occupation was far more dishonest and devious than it truly was and returned to reserved stance as she spoke, hands folded in front of him. But it barely lasted a second before his posture became lax and slowly joined her, steadily lowered himself to the view and edibles, as if moving too quickly would add to her internal tension.
“If it was a mistake, it was one made with the best intentions, and you’ll put your foot down at the appropriate moment. And you will be received well." Rejecting her would be untactful politically, and certainly morally, though he doubted the latter crossed their minds oft. Still, his words came out sure and unwavering, even if they were laced with a bias of witnessing the lady’s first steps to the growth of woman she was sitting beside him. The woman she was-- fidgeting with the fruits like children with flies and their wings, yet that was what brought his assurance: Aerith was the spark of life that brought joy to whomever she spoke, the warmth in fields of frost covered crops. He hadn’t a doubt she’d be received well, it was a question of whom would take advantage of her shining light.
“I know you are, and your worries are founded in a reasonable fear... but not only have they not happened, they are not worth your focus or energy. Be worried you have to pretend the food is good. That will be the test of your talents.” His proffered smile was light and encouraging, brows raised high to see if she’d take his lead and ease her thoughts to save her lip from further bruising. While it was best to be always be wary, the worries were his responsibility, for now, even if his reflected hers with a mirror image and grave imagination that made his hand subtly and subconsciously grip the hilt of his sword for a threat not yet present.
“Honestly, it’s a delight to be in the warmth again. The cold can certainly make a man frigid,” he sighed, free hand reaching for a grape and popping it into his mouth.
