[ If Aymeric had to describe how he felt his days passed while Alkaid and K'thisru were away, he would say that he felt as though he was going through each one as if he were asleep. And that is not only because he has been getting very little sleep when he finally returns home at night. Instead, it seems to him that he is counting every minute and hour that passes, waiting for some word from his betrothed that she will be coming home.
Naturally, he understands why there has been nothing but silence from her. Whatever it is that she is involved with, it must be quite important, and if his understanding is correct, the distance separating them has never been greater.
And so, in an attempt to forestall his loneliness and worry for her and her sister, he has thrown himself entirely into his work. He rises long before the sun and works long after it has set once more. And when he finally returns home, he only sleeps for the barest handful of hours before he awakens again to repeat the routine.
Of course, it has begun to wear on him despite his efforts to tell himself that he must carry on and keep their home safe and thriving, for whenever it is that Alkaid returns. The silence from her is also taking its toll, but he knows he has no room to express discontent or unhappiness with this separation. What she does is of paramount importance; what he does is important, but considerably less than the duties of the Warriors of Light.
Still, it wears on him to the point that he has begun carrying with him one of the bows that Alkaid wore on her person, and when he begins to desperately miss her, he takes it out and holds it in his hands or places it upon his lap as he works. It might seem strange and even foolish, but by doing so, he feels as though she is not so far away, and it bolsters his spirits just enough to get through the day.
Even so, the fact remains that he is not resting nearly enough, and no amount of holding onto Alkaid's bow can reenergize him. When he is at work, he manages to remain as alert as possible, because it would not do for anyone of the House of Lords or the House of Commons to see the Lord Speaker falling asleep on the job.
On this particular day, it has been one problem after another, but he has seen to each one as best as he can. He may be beyond tired, but his mind remains nearly as sharp as ever. Still, those with whom he works on a daily basis have begun noticing that something is not quite right with him. One or two of them have approached him with questions about his well-being, but he lightly rebuffed them all.
The hours seem to move at a crawl as the various lords and representatives gradually take their leave, returning to their homes and their beds. But still Aymeric continues to work until the very last person has left. It is silent in his office, and it is not until he jolts awake, pen in hand and a scribble of ink upon the report he was writing, that he concludes he will have to finish said report in the morning.
The path home is familiar, but his steps are slow and his armored boots scuff along the pavement as his exhaustion sweeps over him. Although he has long maintained that he is accustomed to the often frigid temperatures of Coerthas, and he is for the most part, there is no pretending that said temperatures do not aggravate his old wounds. As he walks, a hand presses to his side where only a healed scar remains, and yet the chill has caused it to ache once again. There is nothing he can do about it, however, and so he presses on.
Soon enough, he will be home, and he tries to think only of that and the dinner that is certain to be waiting for him. The house staff have been so faithful and helpful as always, and as he thinks about them, he feels no small amount of gratitude sweep over him. In so many ways, they support him when challenges come, and although they have their tasks and responsibilities, over the years, the line between their respective roles have become a little bit more blurred. He considers them friends and he does his best to treat them well.
Finally, he arrives at the old family home and he opens the door and steps inside. The steward is quick to approach him as he arrives, to welcome him home for the evening and apprise him of any important developments or occurrences from earlier in the day.
This time, however, he has something different to say, and as the words wash over him, it is all Aymeric can do to keep his shoulders from sinking as he feels the weight of the burdens he carries come to land on him again. ]
A visitor at this hour? They must come with dire news, or at least, important news, to have come this late in the evening. Very well, I will meet with them. A drink would be very appreciated, if it is no trouble.
[ He does not like to place undue hardship or burdens upon the faithful steward, even if one might argue that bringing the lord of the house a drink is the least of his responsibilities. True to form, the steward gives a brief bow and retreats, not to retrieve a drink because he knows full well that one has already been provided, but to give Aymeric and his visitor privacy. As always, of course, he will not be far in the event that either should need him, but he is well aware that this is one meeting that is long overdue.
Having seen the way Aymeric has pushed himself to his limits, he imagines that whatever scene is to come is certain to be fraught with emotion of all kinds.
For his part, Aymeric lets out a sigh before he steps into his study, resigned to what will certainly be a meeting that requires his full attention, and so he tries to call on what little reserves of energy he has left so as not to give a bad representation of himself and his position. ]
Good evening. What might I help you w- [ His words cut off mid-sentence as he realizes just who is standing there in his study.
For a moment, he stands there frozen, hands having dropped to his sides as astonishment sweeps over him. A moment later, he finds his voice again, but when he speaks, his tone is hushed and if she is listening, she will be able to hear how his voice shakes. ]
no subject
Naturally, he understands why there has been nothing but silence from her. Whatever it is that she is involved with, it must be quite important, and if his understanding is correct, the distance separating them has never been greater.
And so, in an attempt to forestall his loneliness and worry for her and her sister, he has thrown himself entirely into his work. He rises long before the sun and works long after it has set once more. And when he finally returns home, he only sleeps for the barest handful of hours before he awakens again to repeat the routine.
Of course, it has begun to wear on him despite his efforts to tell himself that he must carry on and keep their home safe and thriving, for whenever it is that Alkaid returns. The silence from her is also taking its toll, but he knows he has no room to express discontent or unhappiness with this separation. What she does is of paramount importance; what he does is important, but considerably less than the duties of the Warriors of Light.
Still, it wears on him to the point that he has begun carrying with him one of the bows that Alkaid wore on her person, and when he begins to desperately miss her, he takes it out and holds it in his hands or places it upon his lap as he works. It might seem strange and even foolish, but by doing so, he feels as though she is not so far away, and it bolsters his spirits just enough to get through the day.
Even so, the fact remains that he is not resting nearly enough, and no amount of holding onto Alkaid's bow can reenergize him. When he is at work, he manages to remain as alert as possible, because it would not do for anyone of the House of Lords or the House of Commons to see the Lord Speaker falling asleep on the job.
On this particular day, it has been one problem after another, but he has seen to each one as best as he can. He may be beyond tired, but his mind remains nearly as sharp as ever. Still, those with whom he works on a daily basis have begun noticing that something is not quite right with him. One or two of them have approached him with questions about his well-being, but he lightly rebuffed them all.
The hours seem to move at a crawl as the various lords and representatives gradually take their leave, returning to their homes and their beds. But still Aymeric continues to work until the very last person has left. It is silent in his office, and it is not until he jolts awake, pen in hand and a scribble of ink upon the report he was writing, that he concludes he will have to finish said report in the morning.
The path home is familiar, but his steps are slow and his armored boots scuff along the pavement as his exhaustion sweeps over him. Although he has long maintained that he is accustomed to the often frigid temperatures of Coerthas, and he is for the most part, there is no pretending that said temperatures do not aggravate his old wounds. As he walks, a hand presses to his side where only a healed scar remains, and yet the chill has caused it to ache once again. There is nothing he can do about it, however, and so he presses on.
Soon enough, he will be home, and he tries to think only of that and the dinner that is certain to be waiting for him. The house staff have been so faithful and helpful as always, and as he thinks about them, he feels no small amount of gratitude sweep over him. In so many ways, they support him when challenges come, and although they have their tasks and responsibilities, over the years, the line between their respective roles have become a little bit more blurred. He considers them friends and he does his best to treat them well.
Finally, he arrives at the old family home and he opens the door and steps inside. The steward is quick to approach him as he arrives, to welcome him home for the evening and apprise him of any important developments or occurrences from earlier in the day.
This time, however, he has something different to say, and as the words wash over him, it is all Aymeric can do to keep his shoulders from sinking as he feels the weight of the burdens he carries come to land on him again. ]
A visitor at this hour? They must come with dire news, or at least, important news, to have come this late in the evening. Very well, I will meet with them. A drink would be very appreciated, if it is no trouble.
[ He does not like to place undue hardship or burdens upon the faithful steward, even if one might argue that bringing the lord of the house a drink is the least of his responsibilities. True to form, the steward gives a brief bow and retreats, not to retrieve a drink because he knows full well that one has already been provided, but to give Aymeric and his visitor privacy. As always, of course, he will not be far in the event that either should need him, but he is well aware that this is one meeting that is long overdue.
Having seen the way Aymeric has pushed himself to his limits, he imagines that whatever scene is to come is certain to be fraught with emotion of all kinds.
For his part, Aymeric lets out a sigh before he steps into his study, resigned to what will certainly be a meeting that requires his full attention, and so he tries to call on what little reserves of energy he has left so as not to give a bad representation of himself and his position. ]
Good evening. What might I help you w- [ His words cut off mid-sentence as he realizes just who is standing there in his study.
For a moment, he stands there frozen, hands having dropped to his sides as astonishment sweeps over him. A moment later, he finds his voice again, but when he speaks, his tone is hushed and if she is listening, she will be able to hear how his voice shakes. ]
.... Lantaa?