(no subject)

[suitsahero]

There are many places that Lord Haurchefant has been in his life that have been unexpected but standing on an airship landing dock waiting for the arrival of his betrothed is close to the top of the list. It's certainly one of the most nerve-wracking ones.

He's not unhappy about it, exactly, doesn't bear any kind of sullen resentment or bemoaning of his fate. He'd volunteered, after all. It's just... like something from a storybook, isn't it? The High Houses do play politics over love in marriages for the most part, his very existence is proof of that, but he's never heard of the arrangement being arranged entirely by others and certainly usually the couples had met before. But this kingdom far across the sea has older ways, and when it was stated in no uncertain terms that the way they were to cement their alliance was to marry their princess to a member of Ishgardian nobility, the Archbishop had agreed.

There were reminders, of course, that the Ishgardians had no king and of course the Archbishop had forgone all worldly pleasures in pursuit of his religious ones (a fact every Ishgardian knew was not the case at all, but the pretense was enough to exclude certain other knights from the selection process) so there were no princes to be had, but surely a suitable groom could be found among the High Houses. Whoever offered one of their sons for this would be quite favored, after all.

One might be forgiven for thinking that that was why he volunteered, or that it was coerced or asked of him in some way, but really, it was sitting there, listening to them talk about this poor girl like she was an inconvenience that pushed him over the edge. That the practice was backwards, but necessary to the kingdom, that it was a sacrifice for a noble Ishgardian to be stuck with some foreign princess. A jeering sidebar about how she was probably ugly, another about the joys of foreign women not so frozen stiff as their Ishgardian counterparts, were the final straws that had him hunting down his father.

There are so many that he can't save. But he's pretty sure he can save this one.

And so, here he is, dressed in finer clothes than he usually prefers when he's not in armor, waiting in nervous anticipation for a woman he's never even seen so much as a picture of.

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[battlerina]

The truth is that she had not been first chosen for this alliance. Many months ago when talks began between her father's council and the Archbishop, her elder sister Griselda had been initially offered. Strong, beautiful, and powerful besides, she was much more worthy of the opportunity to elevate the alliance between their kingdoms. But their home has been plagued with war all on its own and Griselda had lost her life on the battlefield.

Her father had not once looked her way before that moment. Now, now... She supposes there's no other choice.

The valkyries of Odin's kingdom, his finest warriors, serve their purpose until they are retired from duty and given to the most powerful soldiers...in the hopes of producing strong children to carry the line. And so it is the same for her, to be taken from her duty and given to someone else. She does not protest, does not complain; this is the law her father's line has set many moons ago, something he will not change.

Her father is set to arrive in a day's time when he is able. Gwendolyn is sent ahead like a courtier, her very presence a testament to the binding promise made. He will appear by and by with the dowry, to sit with the Archbishop and finalize their terms. But she will be enough for now.

Without her spear or her armor, she feels terribly vulnerable. The dress she wears is the finest she owns - the only one she owns - and she can only hope it will be acceptable. The cold of his land does not bother her at all when she is escorted from the ship and across the yard to their keep, though she's been given a soft drape of velvet just in case. The guard walks her inside and she is grateful that there is no wild fanfare or anyone loudly announcing her arrival. Instead, there is only a mild-mannered courtier to step into the room where he waits, informing him of her presence. "Princess Gwendolyn of Nebulapolis to see you."

[suitsahero]

He's dressed in a level of grandeur he finds frankly completely ridiculous but that had been insisted on. He's not sure if it's the Archbishop himself or if it's the other nobles that don't want her to feel slighted that she's both not exactly marrying a prince and most definitely marrying a bastard, but they had been quite insistent that he present himself with all muster-able ceremony.

He would also have preferred to receive her at Camp Dragonhead. There's no expectation of him to abandon his post there and so it will be her home as well, but everyone thought it more meet for them to get to know one another at the House Fortemps manor, perhaps to further give him some legitimacy, since his father does actually recognize him as part of the family. The manor is warm and inviting, somewhat unassuming if she is used to palaces, but richly appointed through more than a thousand years of power and wealth and more than large enough to give them an entire suite of rooms to themselves.

"Well, don't keep her waiting. This is her home now as well," he says, and though the words are impatient, the tone is bemused, in good humor. The rest of his family have left him alone for now, to greet her in private, a courtesy he is grateful for, though they will be along later this same evening. (Perhaps it is merely that they wish to give him plenty of time to warn her about Emmellain. Likely not, but it amuses him to think it.)

"Lord Haurchefant Greystone, of the Silver Fuller," gets announced to her as she's led in, and he turns to greet her, a ready smile coming to his face. At least... that's the intention.

There are many things that Haurchefant is, but an accomplished statesman, capable of keeping his every thought from his face is not one of them and his eyes widen and his breath catches slightly when he first sees her and he's clearly caught utterly off-guard for a moment, words of welcome dead on his lips. He recovers quickly, however, still practiced enough to regain his footing easily enough,

"Your Royal Highness," he says in greeting, taking her hand and bowing over it to kiss it, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance. Please forgive me my rudeness. I must confess, I presumed the stories of your beauty were exaggerated, so great were they," he grins ever so slightly, "I see instead they hadn't said the half."

[battlerina]

It does not matter to her if he is a prince or a lord or a bastard. What is true is that their alliance will make her father happy and do well for her kingdom. That is what she tells herself, over and over, as she makes her way to greet him. Her father has said little of Haurchefant's people and has painted him as a good man, perhaps to assuage any lingering doubts or insecurities she might have had. But he, too, had never seen the man and she had only been told that he would be like any other Elezen. That is, he would be tall.

Seeing him for the first time, she is taken by surprise by the lavishness of his clothing first and foremost, his bearing softer than she imagined he might be. He is handsome, knightly, something she might once have seen in books. But he is quiet, staring, and she is uncertain. In silence, she dips into a deep bow just before he crosses the space between them to take her hand. No one has ever dared to touch her in such a way and the brush of pink that stains across her pale cheeks is noticeable, though she dare not draw attention to her embarrassment. "You are most kind, Lord Greystone. I thank you for your gracious welcoming to your homeland and for your hospitality."

[suitsahero]

"Please, if you feel you must stand on ceremony, Lord Haurchefant is perfectly fine. Though, truly, I would prefer just Haurchefant," all of the things he might say to a friend at this point seem ill-suited to a fiancee, namely that "Greystone" is one of a number of names given to bastards and, while he's never made any particular secret of his lineage, he'd rather have his given name spoken in such a way. But also simply that it is the custom for lower nobility to use their first names. Both seem a bit gauche to point out given the current situation.

"Would that I could have welcomed you at Camp Dragonhead instead. It is nowhere near as fine and a longer journey besides, but it seems cruel to give you time to get used to one home just to be spirited to another. Still," his lips curve into a slight smile, one she will come to learn is the one he uses when he is genuinely happy, but a more boisterous one is inappropriate, "I can't say I am unhappy to get to share my childhood home with you before we travel." It's likely more polite to be silent after that, but he can't help continuing, "I hope it is not too forward of me to say so, but I genuinely hope you will be happy here."

[battlerina]

Just Haurchefant? It seems so informal, especially for near strangers. But as they're eventually to be wed, she should become accustomed to it. She can't call her husband 'Lord Greystone' every day. "Haurchefant, then," she amends softly, tucking the information away. The sooner she might acclimate to being comfortable with him, the sooner she might accept the situation they've both been thrust into.

She doesn't even know his feelings on the matter. For all that she can guess, this arrangement is something he's pleased to consider.

Gwendolyn tips her head as she regards him, her attention fully upon him. "I do not mind. If this is to be my home now..." His kingdom, she means, not simply the keep they stand in. "...then I would want to see as much of it as I can. I promise I will adjust." The last bit seems earnest, hopeful, that if she repeats the words then she knows she will be able to be the wife he might want. But as for her happiness, Gwendolyn's expression seems to shutter from hopeful to hesitant. It is not fitting to speak her heart's truth, though she settles for something else. "It is not forward at all. I hope to be happy here as well." It isn't untrue, she knows, though she has yet to fully understand who she will be here and what kind of role she might fulfill for him and his kingdom. (And for her father, across the sea but ever knowing that she is serving as his daughter.)

But, again, all of that seems so formal and reined in. Gwendolyn offers him a smile that could be read as timid, but considering her restrained demeanor, perhaps that's simply how she is. "I did not realize this place meant so much to you. It's very beautiful."

[suitsahero]

"You will not have to do so alone, my lady, I promise you," he says, of her adjusting to living here, "If there is anything that might make you more comfortable here, I assure you I will do all within in my power to make it so." He pauses for a long moment, not entirely sure if he should say more. He reasons, however, that it will not be possible to conceal how (perhaps somewhat alarmingly) forthright he is if they are to be married.

"Truthfully," he says with a small sigh, "I am worried about having you at Camp Dragonhead and how you might find life there. It has never mattered to me that it was more fort than house or even keep, but," he smiles softly, gesturing down at what he's wearing, "clothing aside, I've never had much of a head for finery. I find it more comfortable than most of Foundation, this house aside, and I have ever done what I can to make a home of it, but..." he shakes his head, the smile growing a bit, "Ah, but listen to me. You'll hate the place before you even see it if I keep going. Suffice to say some of my greatest joys are in this house," he gestures around them, "and I am grateful to be able to show you more of my country than stone walls made solely for defense."

[battlerina]

The look he gets is a curious one, eyes bright with interest as she weighs his words. "The truth is that I am not very used to softer arts either." Is that safe to say? Will he think strangely of her now? But surely he must know with the kind of man her father is-- "I served my father in battle like any of the Valkyries. Fine skirts and dresses hold no part in our lives until we are given to marriage." When a Valkyrie's honor is stripped from her. "I do not mean to say I am not capable," she almost rushes to include, lest he think she is not able to do what is necessary. She is certain she can find someone to teach her to cook and clean and do what is expected of a wife. "Only that I am not unfamiliar with finding defense to be more important than comfort."

Ragnanival, resplendent and bright, is still a kingdom often divided by war and strife. The Demon Lord, as Odin is often called, has always been an entity of conquest and power. In his waning years, she has marked his drive for power as one fueled by a will to protect his people...but she is aware of the tales that have long marked the time before her birth. If Haurchefant worries she will be afraid of the danger here, he need not. "Will you tell me more of it? Of your home. I...will confess that I do not know as much as I should about your home and your people. My father's eye has often been cast inward at our own affairs." And she to see to his concerns and not those of neighboring continents or kingdoms unless necessary.

[suitsahero]

"You are... more familiar with the art of war?" his surprise makes it clear that, no, they have not told him this, presumably to sell her better as a gentle bride for a noble lord. Her envoy, after all, might at least somewhat be familiar with Ishgard's eternal war, but likely not the High House's role in it. Nor Haurchefant's. Still, them painting her as a delicate princess in the belief that that would be how an Ishgardian noble might wish her is hardly shocking.

His delight however, is likely unexpected.

"You shall have to show me, once we are returned to Camp Dragonhead. What weapons do you favor? If you have none of your own I shall send word ahead and have some waiting for us," he seems to catch himself again, but he only laughs, shaking his head, "Forgive me. I must seem a brutish schoolboy, ready for the amusements of the battlefield. I would prefer not to fight, I can assure you, but the dragons do not listen to reason and if fighting must be had, well, then I would prefer to both be good enough at it to fell them and gracious enough to enjoy the glory."

"I imagine you will find most Ishgardians the same. We worship Halone, the Fury above all other gods or goddess and, as such, nearly everyone here learns at least some rudimentary basics of combat, though not all serve as soldiers. The dragons attack without warning or mercy and, when they do, it is up to everyone to pick up arms to defend themselves, if necessary."

[battlerina]

Quite unexpected, enough that she cannot hide the surprise that writes itself across her expression. "I favor the spear, as all Valkyries do." Briefly, she looks away, her fingers curling absently in the dark folds of her dress. "I was left a weapon from my sister when she...fell in battle just a few weeks ago. My father bears it now and I have hope he will bring it with him." He isn't capable of wielding it, after all, its shape slender and small. Odin has his own weapon of similar caliber and strength. She clings to the thought that he will let her keep it as a parting gift, even if he will not return her armor to her. It is all she would ask of him in memory of Griselda.

Initially, she offers him the shake of her head, though what he speaks of quiets her. "There are few in our homeland capable of incapacitating a dragon, much less defeating one." The Shadow Knight was one of them, though he has vanished with the faerie kingdom, and she does not know what has become of him. "I did not realize they troubled you." Wagner and Hindel kept their distance, but Gwendolyn is aware of the prophecy of a terrible dragon that will be one of the marks of the end of days. "How often do your people find themselves under attack?"

And then she realizes-- "Have you taken down a dragon yourself, Haurchefant?"

[suitsahero]

"I am sorry to hear that," he genuinely sounds it, the tone in his voice one that only comes from also losing friends, at least, on the battlefield, though he has been fortunate enough to never lose family. That is a pain he can only imagine, thankfully, and he prays it remains that way. And then, a realization and, softer, "Only a few weeks and they have already sent you here? That's..." the only words he has might easily be insults, so he stops and takes her hand again instead, bringing it up this time rather than coming down to meet it, but brushing his lips against her knuckles all the same. It's a normal enough gesture here, one he just presumes is allowable, "You are very strong, to travel so." It is what he chooses, rather than comment on the cruelty of her people, without knowing the full extent of their culture.

"If he does not, I will have one crafted for you. I know it will not be the same, of course, but I would have you armed to your preference. Armor as well, if you wish it." He was worried, initially, about trying to provide for a princess. House Fortemps is wealthy and he has no small amount of coin himself, but he was unsure what demands someone of such high standing might have. He is much, much less worried about providing for a warrior.

He grows more serious to talk about the Dravanian threat, but he can't help but laugh at her question, shaking his head,

"Not alone, no," which implies he has done so with others, "Not one of the big ones. For the most part that falls to our Dragoons. Perhaps I can arrange an introduction to them-- you might find in them a common interest, as they all also fight with spears and lances. I have felled a number of the smaller ones, however. It is reasonably common to find smaller packs of them in Central Coerthas and Camp Dragonhead is there to protect Foundation from the South. Conflict is intermittent, but the threat lingers always."

[battlerina]

Haurchefant's lips grace her knuckles and she stiffens just slightly. It isn't enough to make her pull her hand away, though she feels as if he's burned her. Are touches, so freely given, this acceptable? It might be in poor taste to pull away. "My sister would not have wanted me to mourn her long. She died a valiant warrior on the battlefield in service to her king," is what she says, somber in tone, though her eyes remain dry. Her grief is a private thing, though she shed her tears and held her sister long after the life had left her body. She had once thought to follow her sister, to give her life for the cause. Now, she is standing where Griselda might have, speaking to the very man she might have been betrothed to had negotiations continued at the time. In a way, she is giving herself to her father's ambitions, as Griselda once would have.

Her heart aches, though, and she does not know if it is in grief or if it simply weighs heavy in her uncertainty. Where is the line between what is best for her kingdom...and what is best for her well being?

She chooses to focus on the rest, on his offer, and the thoughts of dragons. "I would be more grateful...for all of those things. To meet your lancers and to be outfitted to fight with you, if you shall allow me." He will be her husband; she must do what he wishes, after all. "I would do my best to protect your home." A pause. "...Our home." It will be hers, too, after all.

[suitsahero]

He feels her stiffen and he releases her hand immediately,

"My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to offend," he doesn't seem put out, just seems warm, expressive, as though there is something that shines out of him that refuses to be entirely contained, though he is well mannered enough to shutter it in turns. He smoothly moves back to the subject of dragons, combat, the grin coming back as he does,

"Of course, it would be my pleasure to provide that for you. And there is little need for gratitude if it please both of us, I think. If the tales of the Valkyries are true by half, I should be honored to have you fight by my side in Ishgard's defense. Perhaps tomorrow we can see about taking you for an armor fitting. For tonight, my family returns soon, and I would fain warn you about my brothers..." his eyes sparkle with mischief as he says it, clear that he loves them dearly, "Artoriel will pretend not to like you, but pay him no mind and Emmellain will doubtless like you overmuch," the grin increases, "You have my full permission to slap him if it becomes necessary. We will all believe you that he deserved it."

"My father is..." he pauses, has to, and tells more with tone and posture than he could with a thousand words, "a great man, perhaps one of the last truly great men. He has led our house for most of his life and all of mine and he is strict and fair, a better statesman than I could ever hope to be. I have hope you will find him as admirable as I do."

[battlerina]

His warmth is missed almost immediately, the kindness from his touch that still baffles her. She settles her hands together in front of her, one cradled within the other, as if she might mimic his thoughtfulness.

There is a light that grows in her eyes, interest and hopefulness written on her face nearly as plainly as his own earnestness. "You are most kind. It would please me to see what armor Ishgard has." It is a point of pride and honor to be deemed worthy of battle. That Haurchefant has so easily bestowed what she has thought lost once more upon her stirs a quiet feeling in her chest, something more than gratitude. It even coaxes a smile to her features, a real one, one that grows wistful as he speaks of his brothers and father.

"He sounds to be a man worth of your esteem, Haurchefant." The words she says do it justice; in his tone, she hears the heartfelt praise that seems to glow like his own smile. He must be a very good man, indeed. "If I may... What is he expecting of me? And of us?"

[suitsahero]

Haurchefant smiles plenty all on his own, but he positively beams when it's clear he's made her happy and more at ease. It is more than mere kindness, he just genuinely enjoys seeing the people around him in good spirits and, if he can do something to assist that, it's a trifling matter to give it.

He's a bit confused about her question, though, and it shows on his face. Not that he hasn't always lived under his father's expectations for him. If anything, he has had to fight even harder to be worthy of what he's been gifted, but the way she says it leaves him a bit lost for words for a moment, as though the Count might have more exacting instructions than he's used to.

"He has ever impressed upon us the importance of our duty to Ishgard and to House Fortemps. We stand on the shoulders of so many great and noble men and he would not have us disgrace that, only add to their number. To be honest..." for the first time, his eyes drop from hers in an expression that reads as either a certain amount of shyness or shame, "ah... very little was ever expected of me. What I have done, I have done in defiance of that." He looks back up and the moment passes, his smile warm again,

"As for you? I imagine only that you do not make me unhappy or go around causing scandals. He'll be delighted to know you think to take up arms for Ishgard," he shakes his head, "I don't doubt that there are political dealings moving around us even as we speak, but it is rare my father orders much of anything. If he has specific expectations, he often keeps them to himself until such a time as he can suggest them to you in a way such that they seem like your own idea," it's said ruefully, but clearly with love.

[battlerina]

She is silent, struck by the way he smiles, the light that exudes from his presence when he is pleased. Gwendolyn has met no one else like him in all of her years, save perhaps Myris who has only ever wanted for her happiness. It is such a strange thing. Or maybe she is the one who is strange, who thinks only of outcomes and more pressing matters. Haurchefant has welcomed her just shy of literal open arms and all she can think of is doing what is right, doing everything in her power to make her father and his family happy...for the sake of their people. It seems like something to worry over.

But here, he speaks of his father and what they will need to do with conviction and care in equal measure, borne out of love for his father and what he can do to prove himself. And it is this she resonates most strongly with.

"I do not intend for either of those things to happen," she tells him, and that is very formal. Gwendolyn shakes her head. She tries once more: "My duty has always been important to me, no matter it be in service to my people as princess or to my father as his daughter. I will not cause you dishonor." There is another pause, one that is decidedly thoughtful over her next few words. "...I do not wish to cause you any unhappiness, Haurchefant. I would not under any other circumstances," she explains, for she would not. "But as...as my husband, your happiness will be important to me." Another pause. "Is important to me. I swear this to you."

[suitsahero]

"I've no doubt you will be more than capable of it. Just being able and willing to fight by my side is more than I thought to ask of you. And it will please me to see you happy," he seems a little flushed, but the way she just talked about him being her husband like that... He'd known that was what was happening, of course, but there's just something about hearing it spoken aloud by her that turns his cheeks a bit pink.

"You are the one who is leaving her home," he says, impulsive, but heartfelt, "The one leaping into the unknown. It is I who need to make sure you have a safe place to land. Pray only allow me to do that, and I promise that you will never find it difficult to make me happy." Perhaps sensing that might be a bit much, he shakes his head slightly with a small laugh,

"Here, though, we speak of the future when the present's business hasn't been concluded. Let me show you to the room you'll be staying at, here. If you find it to your liking, it can be yours-- Camp Dragonhead is not far and I often find business to bring me back to Foundation. My father keeps a room for me here and, if you do not mind the travel between the two, I am certain he would be delighted to keep yours for you as well. Though, admittedly, right now it is simply a guest room," he moves to offer his arm, but then pauses,

"Is it not customary to touch, where you are from? In Ishgard, I would not call us an overly physically affectionate people, but..." no, he doesn't want to insult her, "Ah... forgive me, I simply do not wish to cause you undue distress, is all."

[battlerina]

It is a comfort, in truth, and he has her confidence. Even while they have been alone, he has been kind to her and is trying to see to her every worry. He sees how strange it is and how difficulty it will be for her to be away from her home. What else could she ask for from anyone?

"I am not afraid of the unknown, only that a mistake on my part might harm you." Or this alliance. It is not something she admits lightly. With the soft reminder that they cannot look so far into the future, she only nods when he speaks of the room. It will be nice to wander and to see what his old home has to offer, to take in its beauty. Gwendolyn's gaze falls to his offered arm, lifting once more to his face. She frowns. "Not customary at all," she says, though her voice is one that holds uncertainty, not condemnation. "I was only surprised at how..." Ah, what's a good word? "At how openly affectionate you were." Kissing someone's knuckles is a deferential kindness that seemed to far exceed what was needed. But if he finds it natural, something he wishes to do...

"It is more that I am not used to such things." Open affection of any kind, much less of a physical one. "It is not unwelcome," she adds earnestly, reaching out to touch his arm. "But it is something I...would like to grow accustomed to."

[suitsahero]

"I've made enough of my own," he says it almost flippantly, but there's clearly some stories there. He is not a man without demons, after all, "And I am still here. I am not worried about you harming me or whatever reputation it is that I have to harm. If it can be harmed by a trifling error made by someone honestly trying their best, it was worthless to begin with and I have no need of it." Oh yes, there's definitely a story there, though perhaps one for when they are better acquainted.

He listens then, as she talks about her customs regarding touch, and then nods, a small smile touching his face again. He'll patiently move her hand into position on his arm, curling his opposite fingers over hers, the gesture clearly warm and instructive. It's not that he doesn't think she knows how, exactly, but more that he wishes to show her what it's like, to give her a moment to compose herself in the doing, rather than catching her unawares with it.

"This is, admittedly, perhaps a bit forward," he explains, to his fingers resting on hers, "and might be cause for complaint, if you were unhappy with it. I would hope it is not so, with me. But you must tell me if I overstep my bounds. I am..." the curl of his lips says this is something he has been chastised for, before, "often a bit over-enthusiastic in my affections. I would not put you ill at ease. But I would gladly help you grow accustomed to such things."

He pulls them into motion and takes her through the house to the bedroom that's been prepared for her. House Fortemps is one of the wealthier and more prominent of the High Houses and the rest of the house is as ornate and warmly lavish as the rest. Still, though it is a manor, it is likely smaller than the palaces she would be used to and seems to favor warmth over space in it's design. Still, the merits of this are not likely to be lost on her if she's a mind to look for them-- the fireplaces are small, here, and the house stays a comfortable temperature even as they move from one room to the next, no hint of draft.

[battlerina]

Eyes alight with curiosity, Gwendolyn knows better than to outright ask. Not now, anyway. Her gaze is drawn to the gentle touch of his hand as he moves hers into a better position, to then hold his hand there. So far so good; she maintains her composure and doesn't seem distressed in the slightest. His guidance isn't demeaning to her, only kind. She can only imagine the sort of thing her sister might have said or insisted on. To her, this is an opportunity. How else would she ever be able to grow closer to someone if she did not at least allow them the chance to try?

There is a faint pink to her cheeks, noticeable more so because of her skin tone than anything else. While it's not quite a smile, a little too shy to be such, there is a curve to her lips that suggests her agreement. "I would very much like that," she admits softly, to his offer. "This... This is good."

And so it is that she follows him as he shows her around the home, Gwendolyn grown silent save for the quiet few questions she has about the make of things, how long the building has stood, and anything else Haurchefant might indulge her with. But as they go from room to room, allowing him to show her where she might find things and where to go, the more she seems to open up. This is not the resplendent castle of Nebulapolis. This is a home, full of warmth and a coziness that is undeniable, one she would never find within the halls of the castle. It's comforting, the kind of thing that leaves her at ease.

"Your home truly is beautiful," she tells him as at last he brings her to the guest room to look within. "I think it would be easy to grow comfortable here. It feels..." She struggles for the right words. "Inviting." Somewhere where a family would be, not the rank and file of soldiers.

[suitsahero]

He beams at her when she says that she would like that, when she accepts the warmth of his fingers on hers, putting actions into the words he's previously spoken about how her happiness is his. He does not seem like a man of empty words.

He falls to his role of tour guide with vigor and delight, showing her around the manor and answering her questions. The house itself is old, generations and generations old, dating back to the founding of Ishgard itself. The other High Houses the same. House Fortemps has rarely been the "favored" house out of the four, but it also has rarely fallen out of favor either. It's members are seen as loyal, trustworthy, fair, and valiant and seem to have managed to hold onto that reputation for hundreds of years, generation after generation. It's clear that this has been strongly impressed on Haurchefant and that he's taken it to heart, but she can pick up no note of resentment or hurt in his tone.

He flushes slightly in pleasure as she compliments the house as though it is a personal pride of his,

"Truly, you should make sure my father knows you hold that opinion. He will be delighted. I can only hope that you find Camp Dragonhead a different kind of welcoming, though if you end up wishing to make this your primary residence, I would not think to stop you. Here, this room is yours, if you desire it. If you wish to continue to talk, I would be happy to continue to entertain you, but I thought to give you a moment to yourself before dinner."

[battlerina]

There will be time enough for her questions about the other High Houses and their influences, as well as their role in the system of politics here. If there are so many of them, who holds power and how is it decided? Is it only about favor or who does not have it chief among their number? It's something she's certain will come up later and so she makes no mention of it. It's better to let Haurchefant guide that conversation, focused more on what he has to say about the house and its history as well as the reputation of House Fortemps.

"I would be glad to tell him as much when I see him," she assures Haurchefant. The prospect of seeing a whole other part of his land and the place he calls home is not necessarily overwhelming to her - some part of her is even curious to see it - but she's also just arrived. She smiles a little more. "I'd like to see it." It's important enough to him, after all, and it doesn't feel right in this moment to think that she should live apart from him. If they're to be together...

...but that's another discussion to come at another time. When Haurchefant shows her the room, she steps inside to take a look, sweeping her gaze around. Warmly lit and well furnished, its comfort is well stated even from where she stands. But for all of its comfort, it seems to draw the point home again and again that she is no longer in her kingdom, and she is on unsteady footing.

Still, she smiles when she turns back to him. "Just a few minutes? I won't be long. I'd...just like to look around. Where should I go when I'm ready?"

[suitsahero]

"The manor is not so large you could wander without running into a servant, once dinner preparations are underway. But if you're concerned, I can have someone come get you?" his lips curl softly, "Or come bring you myself, of course."

Dinner will eventually pass with no major international incidents, though perhaps not without Emmellain trying for one. Days pass as well and it's not much longer until they are riding back to Camp Dragonhead on the backs of a pair of black chocobos. Haurchefant's is clearly his bird and the way he dotes on her is a little ridiculous, but it's never bad to take the measure of a man based on how he treats his animals. Her own seems to have been selected to be particularly docile. Riding on a giant horse-ostrich is never a settling experience for someone who has never ridden one before.

"I usually fly," he says, when they set out, dressed not just more simply but armed and in armor, "but I think we shall save flying lessons for when you are more comfortable with chocobos in general."

With that, they're off. It's a short trip in good weather, less than half an hour, and Haurchefant gives tour commentary as they go. They pass down the Steps of Faith, a long, warded bridge that protects Foundation from Dravanian incursion, through the Gates of Judgement, which are more intended to bar more pedestrian entry into the isolated capitol city and then into the Coerthas Central Highlands, where suddenly, everything is blissfully, sweetly quiet. It is her first time through any of the actual land of the nation and the snow here is beautiful and lonely, some strange beasts eyeing them warily from hills, but otherwise they and their small entourage could be the only people in the world.

Camp Dragonhead rises out of the snow as they move closer and it is easy to see why Haurchefant might have warned her. There's a beauty to Ishgard's construction, though the walls are built to withstand dragons and snows alike, but Camp Dragonhead, while clearly designed to try to have some kind of aesthetics to it, is much more brutal and functional. Ugly, even, in comparison with Ishgard's spires and statues. Everything here is more simple, effective than in the city, from the place they stable their birds to the hall they move into, clearly designed to be both an office and an HQ of sorts. Even so, the entry hall is warm, firelight turning it welcoming, the wood and rugs bringing a touch of color to the place. Like Foundation, it is clear this building has been here a long time and it is also clear that, unlike House Fortemps, Haurchefant has something to do with the interior here. There is something about it, more than anything else, that feels like a refuge, safe from the bitter cold outside.

[battlerina]

"I'd like that," she says, of him bringing her down. And it is the start of an evening that passes well enough, with her meeting his family, with Odin's arrival the following day. There is little he presents to his daughter, most of his discussions with Haurchefant's household heads and few others. He has been sure to leave her the armor she once wore and the spear that she has inherited from her sister. To say he has given her any indication of favor or love, however, would be too far from the truth; instead, Odin is there and gone in a matter of days, a man hollowed by loss despite his crown, though he holds his head high.

In truth, she is somehow glad that he is gone for the time being. It means she can let the wounds on her heart heal by finding new things to see and do in her new home, and to become acquainted with the people who will soon be her family.

Today, it means taking a trip to Camp Dragonhead, swaddled partially in her old armor and partially in armor given to her, just enough so she can be fitted later. What began as wide-eyed uncertainty and delight over the chocobo has melted into a budding fondness for the bird, and for Haurchefant's, and she is glad that hers is a particularly calm creature as she is not as used to guiding one along. The land is beautiful, dusted with snow, and there is such a stillness to the world that Gwendolyn would only describe it as peace.

She doesn't know what to expect on seeing Camp Dragonhead. It draws her up short in some ways, realizing it is much more like a fort than a manor or home. While she wouldn't call it ugly personally - she has seen her father's abandoned castles, fallen to disrepair, and at least this has the distinct feeling of being lived in and loved for its usefulness - it isn't what she expects, though she isn't disappointed. It simply reminds her that Haurchefant and his people are used to being besieged by danger, and they are not a people who are idle. She follows him within, still gripping her spear but holding it lightly as they walk, its crystal swept up in cloth to as not draw attention. But it's here that she absolutely sees Haurchefant's touch and what he has tried to do to make it feel like a home and not solely a place to step outside of the chill. She smiles a little, her expression a little warmer every day she learns something new. "You made it seem like it'd be terrible here," she tells him quietly, commentary on the way he'd spoken so highly of House Fortemps. "It feels like a fortress but...cozier." That might not be the right word but, truthfully, Gwendolyn is simply relieved by how warm his people always keep their homes and how they do not seem to love the cold the way she might have believed before.

[suitsahero]

He beams at the praise, delighted by her assessment and then bows low,

"Thank you, my lady, I have but done what I can, but I am glad you think so. I... must confess that I still worry that this will be... far plainer and more utilitarian of a life than you might be used to. I will not be offended in the slightest if you choose to pass your time more frequently in Foundation. You would not be the only person to choose to do so and none would think it amiss." It's formal, but there's a warm smile in the moment after, a slight flush to his cheeks, "I... cannot say it would not delight me if you chose to stay here, however." He clears his throat, straightens,

"Ah... let me show you to your room, here. There's usually much to do when I return from Foundation, but I would see you settled before I attend to it."

There is a second floor and this building becomes even more plainly a building of war when she realizes it is a garrison, the other men and women fighting under the Fortemps banner also living here, in addition to whatever other quarters there are. However, there is a much, much smaller third floor, clearly up a tower, that he leads her to and, up here, things suddenly are much quieter. It is a small series of rooms around a central hallway, with a more ornate door on one wall and three plainer ones on the opposite.

"These rooms are more for distinguished guests to stay in than to live in, I'm afraid, but if the one is too small, you may take over the others if you wish," he flushes again, "Ah... my own quarters are yours as well but I... that is..." he clears his throat, "Only if you are comfortable with such a thing. There is no expectation on my part that you share them."

He means the quarters. He means a whole hell of a lot more than the quarters.

[battlerina]

"Ragnanival is brighter," she confesses, often choosing not to speak of her lost home. "But a bright and beautiful castle is only decoration if its halls are empty and silent." Odin took counsel and strategized for war; he did not throw gatherings or invite people to his abode without considering their usefulness in his efforts. But Camp Dragonhead still seems populated by people who are trying to live, who use this place as their refuge happily. The tone of it is distinctive to her.

And besides all of that, it's his home. Whether it is glamorous or not, it is his and he finds it important. She can see that much clearly.

Gwendolyn follows him up, admiring the winding stairs and the tower. It becomes so quiet and peaceful up here, and she stops once to look out the windows they pass to admire the view. Her gaze briefly turns to the doors and then to him, another brief passing of pink over her cheeks. Fingers curl around her spear, holding it in contemplation. "Those are...ah...many rooms to give. I don't think I need all of those." Yep, that was smooth. "Where are your rooms?" she asks him first, because addressing the rest is going to take a moment, especially with the heat rising to her face for such a forward question and the connotations behind it.

[suitsahero]

It's forward, but they're going to have to discuss it eventually. He has little desire to force either the discussion or the outcome, but while the wedding itself will not take place for some short time, to prepare the decorations for the chapel, to complete her dress, everything needed to do this with due ceremony, they are to be married, and there are certain... expectations that come with that. Haurchefant would just as soon get his own expectations out of the way.

"This one," he points to the more ornate door, "Unlike the other rooms, this one was designed to be lived in," he opens the door wide in such a way that invites her into the space, but doesn't presume she'll follow him in.

It's a very large bedroom, easily the largest single room for a single person she has seen so far, but it is equally immediately apparent that it is also his office, private sitting room, and private dining chamber all in one, a fact which brings it back down into a more reasonable size for a set of quarters, if not truly more on the modest side. The bed looks large and piled with pillows and there is a fireplace near it that lays cold, but it's very clear that the sitting area, with it's secondary fireplace, is the place where he mostly spends his time.

"If I am not out in the field or down in the main room overseeing the day to day operations here, this is usually where you can find me," he confirms, gesturing at the sitting area.

[battlerina]

She does follow him in, actually, once she's placed her spear almost delicately against the wall outside the room. A few steps in only allows her the initial rush of inevitable surprise to see how large the room is. But then, looking closer, she realizes it's much more quaint than one might have immediately believed. His space - that is, where he is Haurchefant and only himself, allowed respite - is small in comparison to the sitting area and office space. It paints a picture for her that might not be true at all, but some threads of it ring certain in her mind: Haurchefant is a man who takes his duties seriously and who takes what he's given and makes it functional for the person he is supposed to be.

In this case, he has turned a chamber that might have been decadent into a place of function, someplace that seems very private to him alone. More than that, it feels so much like he spends his time working rather than resting.

I wonder if he must be lonely sometimes up here. No one else is on the third floor. It is only the two of them. If no one else comes up this way, then he truly must spend most of his time on his own when he is not tending to his duties in the garrison below. Gwendolyn looks over her shoulder to him. "You must have such a beautiful view," she says, and realizes it is likely not the view that he ever concerns himself with but the work he must undertake for his people and his family. "You said I could stretch out and use multiple rooms," Gwendolyn begins, but she is not thinking of herself. "Why haven't you done so?" He has the space. Why confine himself?

[suitsahero]

He's about to give an answer about the view, the thick curtains are pulled at the moment against the chill with no one in here. But her question comes on the heels of it and it's clear it draws him up short, very plain in how openly he reacts that he's never once considered it until this moment. Still, while it's not quite true to say that he's embarrassed by that, he does seem to want to give a better answer.

"Why would I?" he answers, honestly, "This is space enough for everything I need." He considers her, standing there, and all she represents, "Have needed," he corrects. "There has never been any reason to take over any additional space. And we do sometimes have guests, though they are usually simply members of the Adventurer's Guild, passing through for one reason or another. This is the only place in Coerthas they are truly welcome. It would seem a shame to make them sleep in the barracks."

Truth be told, they don't always sleep in the guest room, either, but then, he'd never thought he would marry. There was little need to save himself. He supposes he might grow to miss it, in time, if this does turn out to be more of a partnership than a political assignment, but truthfully, it's less that he's been unable to resist such allures and more that there's never been any good reason to, and now there's one standing across from him.

[battlerina]

She does her best not to look too surprised (touched, even) by his amendment and is, instead, quiet as she considers his justification. "No, they shouldn't sleep in the barracks. There is plenty of room for them here," she agrees, but that really isn't the point, she thinks. But it gives her something else to linger on, even if she doesn't speak to it right away.

"Would you prefer your own space?" she asks, and the question is completely innocuous despite what it might imply. It isn't that she doesn't want to share a room with him, only that she recognizes that this is, by and large, a disruption to his life and his routine even if they've been friendly and amicable towards one another. "It's a great deal of change in a short amount of time." Even if she were to choose not to share his room with him, this space that was his and solely his now has another occupant, someone else in his orbit. Gwendolyn knows Haurchefant enough in these past few days to know he has been earnest and kind and forward in his opinions. She has no reason to think he has misgivings or that he would offer something he does not want to provide.

All the same, she does want to address his needs, whatever they are.

[suitsahero]

He considers that for a long enough moment that she can tell he's not just giving the "correct" answer, but truly thinking about the question. Too, the answer itself draws close to some things that aren't in any way a secret but that he's not aware of how her culture talks about them.

"Even as a child, I recognized the serenity of solitude," he starts with, but that's not quite where he wants to go with this. "This position, here. It is very important to Ishgard's defense, to Foundation's defense. Short of being the Lord Commander himself or serving in the Heaven's Ward, there are few higher honors than being given this post." He looks away from her, into the fire,

"It's also an undesirable one, even as everyone knows full well it's crucial. To live in a fort instead of a castle or a manor, to be so close to both the natural threats of the world and the threats of the war. Far better to be a lowly knight but get to stay in the capitol, than take a commission and move here. Now, I found out, some knights clamor to come here," he smiles softly, "If there is a legacy to be left, perhaps that will be mine." It's not immediately apparent what this has to do with the question, but he's getting there, looking back at her with a soft smile,

"There is no law that says because somewhere is a military installation it has to be cold and lifeless. I want this to be a place where the hearthless can always find warmth. I do value what small solitude I am allowed, here," he finally admits, "but I would not want it to come at the cost of someone being left in the cold, least of all you." There's a beat and then he grins, because all of that is entirely too somber and he wished to answer the question, not give in to melancholy,

"Besides, I think I would need to be both blind and a fool to turn you down if you wanted to stay here-- and that's even before seeing you fight."

[battlerina]

It takes her longer than it should to understand the depth of what he means by hearthless and, when it does, she turns away for a time to hide an expression of clear shame upon her face. It takes her several moments to allow it time to fade before she feels ready to give him her attention once more, to look him in the eye.

"You should be proud to have made this place such a veritable home for them, one where they feel welcomed and safe, no matter the dangers outside of these walls." She means every word of it, admiration written clear upon her visage. "It is a worthwhile legacy, Haurchefant." One that far surpasses blood rights for titles like lord or even princess. To be a good leader, to care about the people you take under your wing... That is more important, she thinks, than the grandeur of a castle or a manor, and well worth the time and the energy spent to create it.

But that also isn't addressing the rest of it or the real reason this conversation is happening. Gwendolyn steps a little further into the room, closer to him. "I asked because this is your home and your space. I know we're to be married," and that's said without turning red this time, thankfully, "but I also understand if it would be...jarring to have someone always here, always in the place that's been yours." There's hesitation again, just for a moment. "I do want to spend more time with you, though. And to know you better. I'd like..." This is the hard part. Gwendolyn looks at this space, his home, before she's able to look at him again. "I'd like to be a part of your life." Whether that's to be as a political associate or a friend or a true partner and wife, that will come later, but she doesn't solely want to be a political accessory that he has to look after in some sense, or someone to help carry the bloodline. She doubts that's how he'd ever see her, but she knows it isn't an outcome she wishes for either.

[suitsahero]

"You are welcome to whatever parts of it you would like, my lady. And of me," it's a little risque in tone, but it's so jovial it's far easier to take it as a lighthearted jest than a hard attempt at flirting.

"Truly," he says, after a moment, "I appreciate your thoughtfulness in the matter. No decisions need to be made at once, however, save perhaps whether you would like to rest a while or head back out to see the grounds, small though they are," he pauses, reviews his words and isn't sure if he's been clear, "You are a part of my life now. And I wish to know you better as well. There is much and more that only can happen with time. There is no reason to make decisions that are forever and always."

The grin he gives her is a little more open and the tone a little more openly flirtatious to go with it, though he does seem genuine about the sentiment behind it,

"Or perhaps, if you'd prefer I speak more plain, if there's an arrangement you would like to sample, I'll not hold you keeping it, if you find it's not to your fancy."

[battlerina]

That gets her red-faced, though at least Gwendolyn smiles despite it. It feels silly to be so flustered by the choices he gives her or to even feel this way around him. Very few ever dared to speak to Odin's daughter in such a way and it had always been gentle and teasing, if anything (all but for Brigan, a thought she won't entertain now). Even this little moment, flirtatious as it is, is still swept up in gentleness.

"I'd like to see more of the grounds, first. And if there's someone to speak to about the armor my father provided me." It's not wholly suited to the cold, though she thinks the pieces she has can be woven into something more resilient. She will need to figure out the wings as well...

"When we come back..." She tries to be bold. It's so much easier to be brave on the battlefield; why is this so difficult? "When we come back, I'd like to join you." If he's offering an arrangement to sample, then the least she can do is take him up on his offer. He says he won't hold her to it and she wants to believe that's true. They've already spoken about her fears of disappointing him. "And..." And? She doesn't quite fidget, though she shifts her weight. "I'd like to stay with you tonight."

[suitsahero]

She's rewarded for her boldness with a flush across his cheeks, a brightness to his eyes that reads with both desire and delight,

"I'd be honored to spend the evening with you, my lady," he says, bowing slightly, the tone warm but decidedly not a stab at further innuendo, as though he can sense her own discomfort with talking about this and doesn't wish to make it worse. "I usually take my dinner in the hall downstairs, with the others, but I doubt anyone will begrudge me this, tonight." He's outright grinning now, and after a moment he seems to not be able to wholly stand still and converse, sweeping her out along with him back into the hall,

"I'm already having your armor sent to our blacksmith, here. She's delighted to work on a new project with unusual armor. She's perhaps a bit more given to functionality than art, but she'll do good work, once you talk with her. Come, let me show you around and we'll end with her."

[battlerina]

She's about to protest that they could simply eat downstairs, she isn't terribly picky about that, but he's already escorting her out the door, and she thinks it's best to just let it go. Having more time with him was the goal, wasn't it? She'll strike this as a victory, just the same, that she could speak on it without sounding too foolish.

Gwendolyn is quick to tuck the spear into his room, behind the door, before following him out and down the stairs. "Function is better," she agrees with him regarding the armor. "The only thing I need is room near the hips and sides for the wings."

...She might've not mentioned the wings before. But considering Gwendolyn's fashion seems to favor them, whether they are tucked into her hair behind her ears or swept downward, it's hard to say if she's speaking now of art or function. Surely she means the latter, since she's emphatic about it?

[suitsahero]

Wings don't seem odd to him. She's a lancer, after all, and he's used to Dragoon armor, which seems completely ridiculous until one remembers that the most likely death a Dragoon faces is being swallowed whole or bitten in half by a dragon. He just figures there must be a reason for them if she's talking about them like a forgone conclusion.

He does, however, privately thank Halone that if she's going to have a thing about wings, they're not bat wings, easily mistaken for dragon's. He would hate to have to ask her to wear something not to her preference, but they'd bring her no sympathy here, either.

The tour of the fort doesn't take long. Everyone regards her with a sort of cautious warmth and open curiosity. This is not generally a place known for it's love of outsiders, but Haurchefant's welcome of adventurers means they're all a little more used to such things. Still, there's a difference between someone from the neighboring kingdoms and someone from across the sea. Even so, it's clear from the first that everyone seems to respect Haurchefant well enough and seems to mostly be curious about her because she is with him, not because she is strange on her own.

The armorer is delighted to be working with her, coos over her, marvels over her armor and takes every possible measurement every which way on her. They discuss what she's looking for while Haurchefant talks over something else with another soldier near the door. The garrison never sleeps, after all, and there's work to be done that he's missed while he was gone, but every time he looks up over at Gwendolyn while she works with the armorer, it's hard to miss the warmth there, clear that he's enjoying watching her get fitted.

[battlerina]

As always, Gwendolyn walks with him in mostly-silence, asking only when it seems appropriate. Despite the garrison being less lavish and decorative than the manor, she still seems quietly enamored with all that it offers and the plethora of people whom they pass by. If she is perturbed or concerned with the way others look at her, she certainly doesn't show it; instead, anyone who stops to look gets a dip of her head in acknowledgement but, otherwise, she pays them no mind. It's not in arrogance but just in silent understanding, as she is an outsider, and she had actually expected a frosty welcome on arrival (no pun intended). This seems kinder by far.

But the real admiration comes at the armory. While not used to being attended to in such an outward manner, she is quietly vocal about the works that the armorer has on display. The sort of armor being made her makes anything in Ragnanival look foolish in comparison. Here there is fashion and function, whereas her old armor had been more suited towards maintaining Odin's motif and heralding his arrival.

The armorer discusses the work of Dragoons as she takes Gwendolyn's measurements and examines her old armor, explaining the uses for their weaponry and what pieces of the armor work in their favor. Now and again, she looks to Haurchefant, and while she doesn't always catch his eye...when she does, she smiles a little.

There are plenty of questions to be asked about her own pieces, though in the end... "It won't be very useful in the cold." It's an easy conclusion to make, one she'd already decided on well before the discussion. "And I must confess I've never worn a helmet." The other Valkyries did, though it was often just a visor. But when she gets a good look at the armor itself, despite all of its tines and spikes on the edges, the glossiness of the dark metal looks beautiful in the glow of the fires, and she cannot deny how beautiful it looks. "I thought it would be bulkier, if it must be used against dragons."

[suitsahero]

The armorer laughs for a moment as though she's told a joke, but it's Haurchefant who explains,

"It has to be light enough for them to still be able to jump. The largest of dragons are the most vulnerable in their head and jaw area. Indeed, it is one of the only places they can be harmed. But they are not usually so obliging as to lower their head down to the ground. It is up to the dragoons to go to them. Well, that is the idea, at any rate," he says with a small smile, "The truth is, for all but the Azure Dragoon, such a thing would likely kill the dragoon as well as the dragon. And while I would hazard a guess most of the dragoons would do such a thing if called, it's unlikely most would need to, or would ever face a dragon that large. Still, the fighting style emphasizes extreme mobility and momentum. It is brutal and beautiful both. I've always wished a had more of a knack for it."

"But then, I'd not like to compete against Estinien for anything, let alone to be a top ranking dragoon," he shakes his head. "At any rate, I rarely wear a helm in battle, I find the better field of vision more helpful than the protection it offers, and as you are not a dragoon, I doubt it will be necessary, if you do not wish to wear it."

[battlerina]

"I see," she comments quietly, considering this information. The Psypher she wields has been helpful in her own battle against a dragon but to hear the way they speak of it, she realizes the creature she fought must have been paltry in comparison to the dangers Haurchefant and his people face. It's a sobering realization, one she takes to heart. She might not be a dragoon herself but it does not mean she will not come to blows with a dragon here if she seeks to defend these people. Her people, one day. "I will go without a helm for now," she decides. She has not used one before, after all, and will carry this until it's necessary.

Once she faces a dragon, she'll make that determination.

"Estinien is the Azure Dragoon?" she asks now, because this is the first she's heard the name and the title. There's a certain tone in Haurchefant's voice that she can't quite place, whether it's exasperation or admiration or both when he speaks the name. "He sounds skilled." Enough to kill a dragon and not perish even the worst circumstances. It makes her wonder how often that's happened to him.

[suitsahero]

"He is. He's... intense," he decides on, after a moment, "It's strange, I believe him and the Lord Commander and Ser Zephirin of the Heaven's Ward were all in training together. I was a bit behind them, but still knew the lot of them before they rose to prominence. We've fought together numerous times before before, though we were never wholly close. I'm not convinced he's not some ancient Allagan piece of technology more than a man. He was almost supernatural even before becoming the Azure Dragoon. I've always looked up to him-- I think most people do--" the armorer nods vigorously as Haurchefant continues, "but he's also a bit terrifying."

"I'll see if I can arrange an introduction," he adds a moment later, with a grin, "If you truly wish to improve your spear fighting, there's no one better to give you pointers and meeting him might give you some more insight into our struggle, here. Just make sure you're ready before I do."

[battlerina]

"Terrifying because he's intense?" she asks, though the question is largely rhetorical. The way they speak of him lends so much to the admiration the both of them feel for this man, even if it sounds couched in an unknown awe. Gwendolyn briefly turns to Haurchefant. "I would like to meet him," is what she says first, wholly unabashedly, though quiet. "But please do not insist on my account. I would like to improve. If this is to be my home now, I wish to protect it the way its people do." With her life.

The armorer turns back to Gwendolyn to take a few more measurements, now perhaps a little more surprised at the same sort of intensity in someone who seems soft-spoken. And while there will be armor to adjust and create just for her, what they can offer is something temporary. Her own armor, as lovely as it is, is still of Ragnanival make and it would be better if she had something to wear that not only suited the climate better but would lessen the stares she might get.

The armor she is given is sleek and form-fitting, open for range of movement and for being quick on her feet. There is a helm that's provided - in case she changes her mind, of course - but the armorer is quick to assure her that given some time, they can work out something that will fit her new role (and aesthetic) perfectly. Haurchefant is, likely, shooed away for a short time while her temporary armor is fitted on and secured to allow her to move around in it and to see where she might require adjustments. It is sleek and form-fitting, with places at her sides to allow for the wings she has spoken of, though the armorer gently admits that they weren't entirely certain how to accommodate them and will require a demonstration for that as well, if only to take measurements.

She returns to test it, to walk, to move, and it's clear she's pleased by even this temporary allowance. Dresses have never been for her, though she admires their beauty and their softness, something more unknown than familiar to her. But this feels right and purposeful, and she gives Haurchefant a smile when she returns. "Do you think this would be all right for now?"

[suitsahero]

"He does as he wishes," he shrugs slightly, "Rest assured, if he decides to heed my request, it will be because he wants to meet you and see what spear fighting is like in your country." He's very clearly pleased as punch, meanwhile, to see her so adamant about fighting for Ishgard.

Haurchefant allows himself to be shooed, though he boyishly looks over his shoulder as he goes, like he might catch a last glimpse of her just about to do something scandalous. Still, he does actually give her plenty of space and it's not until she speaks that he even so much as turns around, even though he'd also moved off as well.

And then he turns around and sees her and his jaw near hits the floor.

For one, insane moment he thinks about just crossing the distance and kissing her right here and now. She looks perfect, beautiful and shining and smiling and he's struck dumb for a moment with both an aesthetic appreciation and carnal desire at once. He doesn't always have the most impressive command of his emotions, but he does manage to not ogle her, though the desire to do so paints pink across his cheeks. Instead he looks transported for a moment,

"You look exquisite, my dear. I think that will do nicely," and then, his mouth runs away with him and he suggests something he would have the tact to bring up more privately normally, considering this is his fort and his men, "If you wanted to test its fit, I'd be happy to oblige you. I'm certainly no Azure Dragoon, but I should still prove at least a fine enough challenge to put the armor through it's paces."

[battlerina]

She's struck by the look he gives her, uncertain initially how to interpret it. But when he turns pink, so does she, and she smiles just a little more. Her hands fidget without a spear being held in them, a simple tell when she's been taken off guard by something, and she uses them now to uselessly smooth down the corners of her armor as if that might do something. It gives them something to do, though, until she lifts her head to meet Haurchefant's eyes. Her smile grows a little, even brighter this time.

"I would like that. I'd like to see how you fight." Gwendolyn realizes just a moment later how scandalous that sounds, quickly recovering to amend: "I would like to see how our fighting styles compare." That's what she meant. Clearly.

The armorer gives the both of them a bit of a look, though crosses to provide both with practice spears to be used to put the armor through a thorough test, if only to see how she moves in it and what will need natural adjustments. No dragoon is she and though she might one day better understand the art, it's better to have armor be able to work now and keep her alive than to be faulty. "Is there a training area?" she asks. "Or--" Would that be too public and noticeable?

[suitsahero]

He beams when she says she'd like to see how he fights and it's a little dizzying, to see how quickly he can turn from the serious young man he's seemed in places, the Commander here, to something entirely more enthusiastic and boyish,

"You're going to draw the eyes of the entire garrison regardless. May as well give them something to watch," he actually takes up a practice sword and a real shield, emblazoned with the Fortemps unicorn. "This way."

There are enough wide open courtyards here that practice is often just in one of those, with everyone giving the participants a wide berth. He leads her out there, heedless of how public the entire thing is. He does have enough political know-how, however to make plain and clear, loud enough to be heard without it seeming like he intended for it to be,

"Now, you much promise not to go easy on me, my dear. 'Twas I who was fool enough to issue the challenge," it lets the men and women here know that this is no serious match, that they are allowed to cheer for who they wish. He does turn when they get there though and grin at her, "That said, I don't intend to go easy on you, just because you are the fairest thing to grace these grounds in many winters."

[battlerina]

The spear is passed gently from one hand to the other, gauging its weight, and she lets her eyes linger there far less than she should; for much of it, she's looking at him and the smile that could light up a room - has lit up every room since she first arrived, and she almost numbly follows him out to the courtyard. It takes a few more moments to really focus, only for it to be shattered again when he quite deliberately calls her the fairest thing to grace these grounds and she nearly loses that focus all over again.

How can he be so free with his compliments and his affections? It's baffling. (And endearing.)

They have the attention of the people wandering outside, those who had been already gathered for their own practicing and now come to rest.

"I don't think I will learn much if I go easy on you. And you would be disappointed besides," she says, because she knows she would be most frustrated if he treated her like glass. She will afford him the same courtesy. "Please don't hold back." That garners a few more glances, a murmur or two. Gwendolyn steps away from Haurchefant so she can take her place, holding the spear lightly and almost close to her chest, her entire stance a bit of an antithesis to the Dragoon and Lancers of Ishgard. It almost looks casual, though she does eventually hold it out just a bit further. This spear isn't enchanted the way hers is; naturally, she knows she's at a bit of a disadvantage, even if she wouldn't have wanted to see harm come to him as it is. "When you're ready."

[suitsahero]

He nods, salutes, and then immediately leaps into action. It's easy to see how he could be dangerous in a real fight, full of zeal and vigor, but it's also just as easy to see that this is not a real fight. He's a commander and the point here isn't to win or lose, but to test the armor, and so he doesn't start any kind of tricky maneuvering or even really attacking her dead side or anything. It's literally a testing blow, but it comes fast all the same-- he presumes she will be able to catch it or leap away, making it clear he's not above bruising her in the name of this test with the strength behind it.

Truth be told, he's more expecting he's about to go on the defensive. His preferred fighting style is more suited to it, incorporating a combination of his shield and the ability to parry with the other hand, turning a foe's attack to his advantage.