THE WORLD WAS LEFT IN THE BRINK OF WAR, yet one should not forget the simple joys in life — breaking bread with your fellow knights, the warm caress of a nights fire or even welcoming a friend home once more. Life had been plagued by lies and betrayal and yet Ser Aymeric saw nothing but joy upon spying the very visage of his long since friend. Luckily enough the weather seemed calm enough for him to adorn the other elezen with a warm smile and a gentle welcoming nod. Events had been far between since they last saw each other properly, even on the field of battle it afforded them little leisure to speak, let alone catch up on what had transpired in Distra’s adventures.
The noblemen who had half stood poised behind him had taken a moment to realize the Lord Commander’s focus had shifted, their words silenced and their bodies bowed in accession before they backed to disappear within the warm confines of their offices. What ever matters of state could always wait, he mused to himself.
❛ The Warrior of Light, ❜ Aymeric spoke familiarly, the godly title slipping from his lips perhaps sounding like a tease but also an official address to anyone who may be overhearing them. ❛ — pray tell me the honor of this occasion, have you news from Gyr Abania? ❜ A preemptive assumption perhaps that his appearance meant anything other than a friendly visit, the attendance of such Warrior often lead to something far more serious than the petty politics of old men. To which surprisingly enough the Lord Commander would much prefer.
Though word had spread so far even to Ishgard that the Warrior of Light and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had been wholly absent as of late, Aymeric had hidden his own worry on the subject quite thoroughly. Buried deep within what he had mastered long ago since taking the mantle of knight, to keep both his heart and mind calm when he needed it the most. Should anything serious were to befell his comrades, the Empire would be sure to be announcing such a victory in high heaven. Or would they? // @naeglingheir
THE DUST HAD SETTLED UPON ONE WORLD, and in the other, his home, does Distra return to bask in this one saved. The land a home he walks silently between towering manors and nobles who greet with a bow as he welcomes this ‘warm’ day. Upon stone he sees a home of twenty years past, and thinks of her reflection of red flowers and fairies. Frankly, the Warrior of Light does not know which he prefers.
Vague unease sets upon the still chilled air as he gazes upon the city. Worries burden, but not too heavy a mantle to carry. Though not comfortable, there is comfort enough to step inside the manor of the Fortemps and be greeted as family without feeling sick to his stomach. It is progress.
He stands apart from the nobles, awaiting a patient turn to speak to his friend. A posture small, and a ambiance even smaller. Even if he knows that is impossible for such a character like himself. When their eyes meet and the noblemen bid a farewell Distra approaches with an equally warm smile. And this time it seems more peaceful than the last. “Lord Aymeric,” he greets in return. Titles were unnecessary between friends, oh but did Distra know so intimately how nobles can be. And how nosy especially. It still does not keep him giving a huff of protest. Wordless annoyance, but not quite vocalizing it.
There is a shake of his head. “I bare no word from the front line. Rather I come to see if all is well in Ishgard. And how you are doing besides, it seems ages since we had last spoke.” After several near death experiences on the First, it seemed as if years had past since the two had last spoken. “But if you are busy I can come at another time. I would not wish to take you away from more pressing matters.”