Summer fic challenge 2015, part 3.
Sep. 5th, 2015 06:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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volieredeatoriPrompt 4, despite the title. Order? What is order?
(I just wanted some Zephirin/Aymeric porn, shut up.)
"It is a shame," Zephirin says with measured calm as magic rises, a cold shine that spreads itself over the doorway like a spiderweb to form a flawless, impenetrable seal. "Is it not? That matters should have come to this...and with you at their very heart. A shame, indeed...not only that, but shameful, especially for one in your position. I am truly surprised at your actions."
A lie, Aymeric knows - but he aches badly from struggling, from the force used to subdue him, and quite frankly, he is not in any condition to contest Zephirin's words at the moment. It is hard enough to keep his head held high, to meet those arrogant eyes despite every fiber of his being desperate to look away, to hide away anything that could be construed as a sign of weakness. "Is that so," he murmurs, a soft apathy coloring his words, and despite everything, he manages to feel just a little pleased when his lack of reaction earns him the briefest hint of an irritated frown. "...Tell me, then. In my position, what would you have done?" A dangerous question, and he rues it the moment it falls from his lips, but--
By some stroke of luck, Zephirin does not anger at the words; he smiles instead, a cold and particularly unpleasant expression, and folds his arms, beginning to pace slowly back and forth before Aymeric's cell. "What would I have done, indeed..." but the way he trails off, scornful, proves it no agreement to the question. "I can hardly begin to imagine such a situation. Yet the answer is obvious - I would not have involved myself in matters not of my concern. I would not have presumed myself so arrogant as to think I could hold sway, only to falter at the crucial moment. And I would certainly not have involved myself so closely with an outsider." He pauses in midstep, turns an unreadable gaze on Aymeric, shaking his head distastefully. "Truly, I fail to understand you. A proud son of Ishgard, the venerable leader of her Temple Knights, and yet you turn to some adventurer to do what ought to be the job of our own warriors. I find myself quite curious - pray tell me why an interloper might intrigue you so, as to be given a duty not rightfully their own."
"Intrigue me?" Aymeric is caught off-guard by the words, the exclamation escaping him before he can even think to stop it, and he can feel any possible chance at getting some sort of advantage over Zephirin slipping rapidly away - it brings anger, and he draws on that fiercely. "I believe I quite mislike what you are insinuating. Talent, and nothing more...that is why I allow the Warrior of Light to walk alongside us. Surely you see the need for a warrior who has faced Primals and survived with nary a scratch to tell the tale - a warrior who, though not of Ishgard, poured heart and soul into the defense of her wards, so they yet remain strong against the Dravanians. 'Twould be sheer folly not to accept such aid, as I expect you realise."
Zephirin laughs, an icy sound that sends nervous fear down Aymeric's spine, and turns to fully face him, raising a hand to press against the shimmering seal in a seemingly absent motion. "I will not deny that this precious adventurer of yours has some talent," he agrees, but the predatory expression on his face says he has found a weakness he can exploit, a chink in the figurative armour Aymeric is so desperately trying to hold about himself. "Yet surely there must be some other reason you cling so helplessly to the assistance your Warrior provides? You, and everyone else..." Now his eyes narrow, his fingers curling slightly against the seal, a thread of tension evident in the set of his shoulders. "Your actions, your foolish actions, have caused your dear little adventurer to draw even the interest of His Eminence. Is this your plan, then - to put all of Ishgard in thrall to a stranger for whatever reason?"
Aymeric finds himself staring, only just holding back from an outright, open-mouthed gape, realisation washing over him in an unpleasantly bitter wave. "You are afraid," he breathes, again without thinking, and the way Zephirin's shoulders jerk tells him he is exactly right. "Afraid that His Eminence will favour the Warrior over you...that you will simply be thrown aside. And you are jealous, that an adventurer could display such talent as to interest the very ruler of Ishgard..." It seems ludicrous, really, and he can hardly stop laughter from rising up in him, but forces it back with a great effort. "Now I am surprised. Do you think so little of His Eminence that you would expect his favour to be so easily lost?"
Fury burns in Zephirin's eyes now; both hands are against the seal, curled into tight fists, and he is trembling, barely visible. "You are so arrogant as to presume you understand--" he breaks off, lets out a sharp bark of a laugh that sounds nearly insane, uncurls his fingers to press palms flat against shimmering energy. "You understand nothing - not even when to hold your bastard tongue! But no matter; I suppose there is no better time to teach you...!"
Despite the pain, Aymeric finds the strength to bring himself to his feet, to put up his hands placatingly and step farther back, away from the seal. If only the words existed to defuse this situation - but he knows he has gotten himself in far over his head now, and somewhat ironically, he agrees with Zephirin that it would have done far more good to stay silent. "Pray forgive my misunderstanding, then," he murmurs as a last-ditch effort, though he expects it will be about as helpful as throwing ceruleum into a flame. "It was never my intent to..."
"I do not want to hear a single word about your foolish intent!" Zephirin draws a hand back, then slams it forward against the seal; with a great rending shriek, it splinters away, and Aymeric hardly has time to register the sound before Zephirin is upon him, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. "You do not even understand what you have done - you fool, you ignorant, presumptuous fool! Would that I could simply destroy you right where you stand..." he takes a ragged breath, raises his head to stare into Aymeric's eyes, his own seeming to gleam with a strange sort of light. "If you...if you did not exist..."
Frozen before this onslaught of rage and despair, Aymeric can say nothing; he only looks wide-eyed back at Zephirin, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how close the other knight is, of hot, angry breath against his lips - he should not be thinking this, he thinks wildly, but he feels like he has no idea which way is up any more, no idea what is even happening, and the impenetrable tangle of emotion and comprehension leaves only the most primal, base instincts left to him...such as this one. "...If I did not exist," he manages, a bare gasp, dimly aware he has begun to tremble. "Then what...?"
Zephirin does not answer for a long moment, simply looking, staring - he seems almost spellbound, a strange, quiet contrast to his conflagration of fury, and little by little, his tight grasp on Aymeric begins to slacken. "...If you did not exist," he says finally, soft and somehow tired, the rage seemingly gone, though the odd light to his eyes does not fade. "That would be one less matter to trouble His Eminence. One less effort to uphold secrecy and lies..."
Understanding stings Aymeric, but he cannot bring himself to be angry about it; instead, he feels only a strange, hollow sadness, one that compels him to lift a hand and touch Zephirin's face, feeling a stab of guilt when he instinctively flinches. "I..."
"Be silent," Zephirin snaps desperately, his eyes flickering to the side in nervous reaction when Aymeric's hand cups his cheek, tension threading into his posture again. "Do you finally understand, then? The sheer magnitude of what you have wrought? You pitiful...ignorant...fool..."
Aymeric's throat feels tight, rendering him unable to answer; instead, he closes his eyes, brings his free arm up to wrap about Zephirin's back and sags against him, feeling suddenly exhausted. "We are both fools," he whispers finally, shaking his head, some part of his mind distantly amazed that he has not yet been pushed away. "Complete and utter fools."
"Who are you to call me a fool--" But Zephirin's voice trembles, and still he makes no effort to free himself from Aymeric's hold. "Have you even the slightest idea...how much I loathe you...?"
"I do," Aymeric surprises himself by saying, the words heavy with guilty understanding, opening his eyes and looking up at Zephirin's face once more. "And I wish it were not so."
"What...?" Zephirin looks just as stunned as he sounds, his eyes wide with confusion and his shoulders briefly shaking; the longer he looks at Aymeric, the more unnerved he seems to become, his breathing picking up slightly and his lips parting with nervousness. "How...how can you say such things...when you look at me with his eyes..."
It is then that Aymeric fully understands, and in his shock, he can only let his instincts react for him; wrapping both arms about Zephirin and pressing against him, he tilts his head up, breathes words hot and desperate against the other knight's ear. "Then I offer you this...let these eyes not pain you any longer - but let them offer you succor for a time."
Zephirin goes rigid in the tight embrace, shuddering once, and for a moment Aymeric is almost afraid he has been too forward, a feeling not assuaged when response finally comes. "You must be mad - you know not what you offer me..."
"I know full well what I offer you," Aymeric counters insistently, still little more than soft exhalations against Zephirin's ear, eliciting another shudder from him at the sensation. "Call me mad if you must, but I do not intend to withdraw this offer."
"You--" Zephirin's voice is little more than a gasp, and he draws away as much as Aymeric's hold will let him, staring at him with a wild desperation. "How do you know - I will not destroy you?"
Aymeric shakes his head, pushes himself closer still. "I will take that risk," he answers simply.
With no ready answer, overwhelmed with confusion, Zephirin cannot reply - he can only fall back on the instinct to act, and he does, bringing his hands suddenly up to seize hold of Aymeric's face and claiming his mouth in a crushing, needy kiss.
Just like that, everything is undone.
In the heat of the moment, everything blurs together, and Aymeric is not sure when or how exactly their garments come off; all he knows is the feel of bare, sweat-damp skin against his own, the heat of Zephirin's mouth at his neck as it works up a determined mark he rather fears he will not be able to entirely hide, and the insistent press of trembling, wanting fingers at his lips - a sensation that both frightens and thrills him with the implications of it, and he is unsure which will win out for a moment, but the yearning ache inside of him spurs his decision and he draws the fingers in, curling his tongue round them with an eagerness that betrays his desperation. How is he supposed to wait, he thinks - when he is so helpless, so empty, when he needs so much?
But then those damned wonderful fingers have left his mouth, and he cannot help a wild cry when they are abruptly in him, twisting and curling and opening him till he nearly sobs from helpless want, till his whole body seems to beg in and of itself with shifts of hip and demanding shudders - and he is so delirious from it all that he hardly realises sudden emptiness until he is then so full it aches, the sounds that now escape him swallowed up by Zephirin's hungry kiss, a gesture he cannot help returning as he wraps his arms tight about the other knight's pale back and digs his nails heedlessly into warm skin. It is so hard to think now, to do anything but breathe and let the quick, harsh pace drive him slowly but surely out of whatever mind he still has remaining, but even so there is one thought. This is everything, everything he wanted, needed, and somehow it even manages to still be more--
He will not last, he knows, and he cares not a whit.
It matters not, anyway. It is too frenzied an affair for control, for holding back, and it is not long at all after body-shaking release takes Aymeric that Zephirin follows him, burying himself helplessly into unbearably tight heat with a sharp snap of his hips and breathing curses as he shudders; there is a calm, then, perhaps the eye within the figurative storm, and as his coherency begins to creep back to him in fits and starts, Aymeric finds himself realising that he does not want it to end. He should not think these things, he understands, it is enough that he has allowed this to occur at all - no, that he has orchestrated this occurrence - yet fool that he is, he can do naught but wish, and that brings a bitterness that he cannot seem to will away, a sharp, discordant note that only goes stronger when Zephirin whispers yet another curse and draws away from him, out of him.
They have crossed a line, one they can never step back over, and he cannot make himself realise this for the damning sentence he knows it will be.
"...This will not happen again." Zephirin's voice, heavy with bitter guilt, pulls him from his reverie, and he opens tired eyes to see the other knight quickly and efficiently redressing himself, staring pointedly away at nothing in particular. "This should not have happened in the first place - I know not what you have done to me, but if you think you can possibly do it again--" the briefest of glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes are perhaps just a bit too bright with unconcealed emotion. "...I intend to forget any of this ever occurred. You would do well to do the same."
The words are like bitter poison to Aymeric's ears, but he sees the wisdom in them, and though it pains him, he forces himself to bow his head in agreement. "My apologies, then," he says, bites back a million other things he could possibly say and still one slips out unbidden. "I have only...caused you more pain, in the end."
Zephirin freezes at that, makes a tight fist and then forces it to loosen, slowly turning to face Aymeric as he drags himself upright enough to reach for his smallclothes. "You are a fool," he snaps, and there is a certain desperation in his words that makes their true meaning clear, speaking for him the thanks and the apologies his pride will not let him voice. "Truly - I would be quite hard-pressed to find one more foolish than you."
Despite himself, Aymeric cannot help but smile, but he hides it in the methodical movements which with he once more clothes himself, not meeting Zephirin's eyes again until he has schooled his expression into something more resembling seriousness. "I quite resent that remark, you know."
"Resent it all you want..." Zephirin heaves an exasperated sigh, shakes his head and turns away, quick, embarrassed strides carrying him from the cell. "...But I suppose that every once in a while, there may be...some sort of merit in pandering to a fool."
Aymeric does not hide his smile this time, even as the seal flickers back into being, even as Zephirin's footsteps quickly recede down the lengthy hall.
"I am a fool, indeed," he tells himself, the barest murmur, and settles in to await his fate.
(I just wanted some Zephirin/Aymeric porn, shut up.)
"It is a shame," Zephirin says with measured calm as magic rises, a cold shine that spreads itself over the doorway like a spiderweb to form a flawless, impenetrable seal. "Is it not? That matters should have come to this...and with you at their very heart. A shame, indeed...not only that, but shameful, especially for one in your position. I am truly surprised at your actions."
A lie, Aymeric knows - but he aches badly from struggling, from the force used to subdue him, and quite frankly, he is not in any condition to contest Zephirin's words at the moment. It is hard enough to keep his head held high, to meet those arrogant eyes despite every fiber of his being desperate to look away, to hide away anything that could be construed as a sign of weakness. "Is that so," he murmurs, a soft apathy coloring his words, and despite everything, he manages to feel just a little pleased when his lack of reaction earns him the briefest hint of an irritated frown. "...Tell me, then. In my position, what would you have done?" A dangerous question, and he rues it the moment it falls from his lips, but--
By some stroke of luck, Zephirin does not anger at the words; he smiles instead, a cold and particularly unpleasant expression, and folds his arms, beginning to pace slowly back and forth before Aymeric's cell. "What would I have done, indeed..." but the way he trails off, scornful, proves it no agreement to the question. "I can hardly begin to imagine such a situation. Yet the answer is obvious - I would not have involved myself in matters not of my concern. I would not have presumed myself so arrogant as to think I could hold sway, only to falter at the crucial moment. And I would certainly not have involved myself so closely with an outsider." He pauses in midstep, turns an unreadable gaze on Aymeric, shaking his head distastefully. "Truly, I fail to understand you. A proud son of Ishgard, the venerable leader of her Temple Knights, and yet you turn to some adventurer to do what ought to be the job of our own warriors. I find myself quite curious - pray tell me why an interloper might intrigue you so, as to be given a duty not rightfully their own."
"Intrigue me?" Aymeric is caught off-guard by the words, the exclamation escaping him before he can even think to stop it, and he can feel any possible chance at getting some sort of advantage over Zephirin slipping rapidly away - it brings anger, and he draws on that fiercely. "I believe I quite mislike what you are insinuating. Talent, and nothing more...that is why I allow the Warrior of Light to walk alongside us. Surely you see the need for a warrior who has faced Primals and survived with nary a scratch to tell the tale - a warrior who, though not of Ishgard, poured heart and soul into the defense of her wards, so they yet remain strong against the Dravanians. 'Twould be sheer folly not to accept such aid, as I expect you realise."
Zephirin laughs, an icy sound that sends nervous fear down Aymeric's spine, and turns to fully face him, raising a hand to press against the shimmering seal in a seemingly absent motion. "I will not deny that this precious adventurer of yours has some talent," he agrees, but the predatory expression on his face says he has found a weakness he can exploit, a chink in the figurative armour Aymeric is so desperately trying to hold about himself. "Yet surely there must be some other reason you cling so helplessly to the assistance your Warrior provides? You, and everyone else..." Now his eyes narrow, his fingers curling slightly against the seal, a thread of tension evident in the set of his shoulders. "Your actions, your foolish actions, have caused your dear little adventurer to draw even the interest of His Eminence. Is this your plan, then - to put all of Ishgard in thrall to a stranger for whatever reason?"
Aymeric finds himself staring, only just holding back from an outright, open-mouthed gape, realisation washing over him in an unpleasantly bitter wave. "You are afraid," he breathes, again without thinking, and the way Zephirin's shoulders jerk tells him he is exactly right. "Afraid that His Eminence will favour the Warrior over you...that you will simply be thrown aside. And you are jealous, that an adventurer could display such talent as to interest the very ruler of Ishgard..." It seems ludicrous, really, and he can hardly stop laughter from rising up in him, but forces it back with a great effort. "Now I am surprised. Do you think so little of His Eminence that you would expect his favour to be so easily lost?"
Fury burns in Zephirin's eyes now; both hands are against the seal, curled into tight fists, and he is trembling, barely visible. "You are so arrogant as to presume you understand--" he breaks off, lets out a sharp bark of a laugh that sounds nearly insane, uncurls his fingers to press palms flat against shimmering energy. "You understand nothing - not even when to hold your bastard tongue! But no matter; I suppose there is no better time to teach you...!"
Despite the pain, Aymeric finds the strength to bring himself to his feet, to put up his hands placatingly and step farther back, away from the seal. If only the words existed to defuse this situation - but he knows he has gotten himself in far over his head now, and somewhat ironically, he agrees with Zephirin that it would have done far more good to stay silent. "Pray forgive my misunderstanding, then," he murmurs as a last-ditch effort, though he expects it will be about as helpful as throwing ceruleum into a flame. "It was never my intent to..."
"I do not want to hear a single word about your foolish intent!" Zephirin draws a hand back, then slams it forward against the seal; with a great rending shriek, it splinters away, and Aymeric hardly has time to register the sound before Zephirin is upon him, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. "You do not even understand what you have done - you fool, you ignorant, presumptuous fool! Would that I could simply destroy you right where you stand..." he takes a ragged breath, raises his head to stare into Aymeric's eyes, his own seeming to gleam with a strange sort of light. "If you...if you did not exist..."
Frozen before this onslaught of rage and despair, Aymeric can say nothing; he only looks wide-eyed back at Zephirin, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how close the other knight is, of hot, angry breath against his lips - he should not be thinking this, he thinks wildly, but he feels like he has no idea which way is up any more, no idea what is even happening, and the impenetrable tangle of emotion and comprehension leaves only the most primal, base instincts left to him...such as this one. "...If I did not exist," he manages, a bare gasp, dimly aware he has begun to tremble. "Then what...?"
Zephirin does not answer for a long moment, simply looking, staring - he seems almost spellbound, a strange, quiet contrast to his conflagration of fury, and little by little, his tight grasp on Aymeric begins to slacken. "...If you did not exist," he says finally, soft and somehow tired, the rage seemingly gone, though the odd light to his eyes does not fade. "That would be one less matter to trouble His Eminence. One less effort to uphold secrecy and lies..."
Understanding stings Aymeric, but he cannot bring himself to be angry about it; instead, he feels only a strange, hollow sadness, one that compels him to lift a hand and touch Zephirin's face, feeling a stab of guilt when he instinctively flinches. "I..."
"Be silent," Zephirin snaps desperately, his eyes flickering to the side in nervous reaction when Aymeric's hand cups his cheek, tension threading into his posture again. "Do you finally understand, then? The sheer magnitude of what you have wrought? You pitiful...ignorant...fool..."
Aymeric's throat feels tight, rendering him unable to answer; instead, he closes his eyes, brings his free arm up to wrap about Zephirin's back and sags against him, feeling suddenly exhausted. "We are both fools," he whispers finally, shaking his head, some part of his mind distantly amazed that he has not yet been pushed away. "Complete and utter fools."
"Who are you to call me a fool--" But Zephirin's voice trembles, and still he makes no effort to free himself from Aymeric's hold. "Have you even the slightest idea...how much I loathe you...?"
"I do," Aymeric surprises himself by saying, the words heavy with guilty understanding, opening his eyes and looking up at Zephirin's face once more. "And I wish it were not so."
"What...?" Zephirin looks just as stunned as he sounds, his eyes wide with confusion and his shoulders briefly shaking; the longer he looks at Aymeric, the more unnerved he seems to become, his breathing picking up slightly and his lips parting with nervousness. "How...how can you say such things...when you look at me with his eyes..."
It is then that Aymeric fully understands, and in his shock, he can only let his instincts react for him; wrapping both arms about Zephirin and pressing against him, he tilts his head up, breathes words hot and desperate against the other knight's ear. "Then I offer you this...let these eyes not pain you any longer - but let them offer you succor for a time."
Zephirin goes rigid in the tight embrace, shuddering once, and for a moment Aymeric is almost afraid he has been too forward, a feeling not assuaged when response finally comes. "You must be mad - you know not what you offer me..."
"I know full well what I offer you," Aymeric counters insistently, still little more than soft exhalations against Zephirin's ear, eliciting another shudder from him at the sensation. "Call me mad if you must, but I do not intend to withdraw this offer."
"You--" Zephirin's voice is little more than a gasp, and he draws away as much as Aymeric's hold will let him, staring at him with a wild desperation. "How do you know - I will not destroy you?"
Aymeric shakes his head, pushes himself closer still. "I will take that risk," he answers simply.
With no ready answer, overwhelmed with confusion, Zephirin cannot reply - he can only fall back on the instinct to act, and he does, bringing his hands suddenly up to seize hold of Aymeric's face and claiming his mouth in a crushing, needy kiss.
Just like that, everything is undone.
In the heat of the moment, everything blurs together, and Aymeric is not sure when or how exactly their garments come off; all he knows is the feel of bare, sweat-damp skin against his own, the heat of Zephirin's mouth at his neck as it works up a determined mark he rather fears he will not be able to entirely hide, and the insistent press of trembling, wanting fingers at his lips - a sensation that both frightens and thrills him with the implications of it, and he is unsure which will win out for a moment, but the yearning ache inside of him spurs his decision and he draws the fingers in, curling his tongue round them with an eagerness that betrays his desperation. How is he supposed to wait, he thinks - when he is so helpless, so empty, when he needs so much?
But then those damned wonderful fingers have left his mouth, and he cannot help a wild cry when they are abruptly in him, twisting and curling and opening him till he nearly sobs from helpless want, till his whole body seems to beg in and of itself with shifts of hip and demanding shudders - and he is so delirious from it all that he hardly realises sudden emptiness until he is then so full it aches, the sounds that now escape him swallowed up by Zephirin's hungry kiss, a gesture he cannot help returning as he wraps his arms tight about the other knight's pale back and digs his nails heedlessly into warm skin. It is so hard to think now, to do anything but breathe and let the quick, harsh pace drive him slowly but surely out of whatever mind he still has remaining, but even so there is one thought. This is everything, everything he wanted, needed, and somehow it even manages to still be more--
He will not last, he knows, and he cares not a whit.
It matters not, anyway. It is too frenzied an affair for control, for holding back, and it is not long at all after body-shaking release takes Aymeric that Zephirin follows him, burying himself helplessly into unbearably tight heat with a sharp snap of his hips and breathing curses as he shudders; there is a calm, then, perhaps the eye within the figurative storm, and as his coherency begins to creep back to him in fits and starts, Aymeric finds himself realising that he does not want it to end. He should not think these things, he understands, it is enough that he has allowed this to occur at all - no, that he has orchestrated this occurrence - yet fool that he is, he can do naught but wish, and that brings a bitterness that he cannot seem to will away, a sharp, discordant note that only goes stronger when Zephirin whispers yet another curse and draws away from him, out of him.
They have crossed a line, one they can never step back over, and he cannot make himself realise this for the damning sentence he knows it will be.
"...This will not happen again." Zephirin's voice, heavy with bitter guilt, pulls him from his reverie, and he opens tired eyes to see the other knight quickly and efficiently redressing himself, staring pointedly away at nothing in particular. "This should not have happened in the first place - I know not what you have done to me, but if you think you can possibly do it again--" the briefest of glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes are perhaps just a bit too bright with unconcealed emotion. "...I intend to forget any of this ever occurred. You would do well to do the same."
The words are like bitter poison to Aymeric's ears, but he sees the wisdom in them, and though it pains him, he forces himself to bow his head in agreement. "My apologies, then," he says, bites back a million other things he could possibly say and still one slips out unbidden. "I have only...caused you more pain, in the end."
Zephirin freezes at that, makes a tight fist and then forces it to loosen, slowly turning to face Aymeric as he drags himself upright enough to reach for his smallclothes. "You are a fool," he snaps, and there is a certain desperation in his words that makes their true meaning clear, speaking for him the thanks and the apologies his pride will not let him voice. "Truly - I would be quite hard-pressed to find one more foolish than you."
Despite himself, Aymeric cannot help but smile, but he hides it in the methodical movements which with he once more clothes himself, not meeting Zephirin's eyes again until he has schooled his expression into something more resembling seriousness. "I quite resent that remark, you know."
"Resent it all you want..." Zephirin heaves an exasperated sigh, shakes his head and turns away, quick, embarrassed strides carrying him from the cell. "...But I suppose that every once in a while, there may be...some sort of merit in pandering to a fool."
Aymeric does not hide his smile this time, even as the seal flickers back into being, even as Zephirin's footsteps quickly recede down the lengthy hall.
"I am a fool, indeed," he tells himself, the barest murmur, and settles in to await his fate.
