(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.

Comments

[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.