#rosaire ledigne

[rose-in-the-stone-moved]

FFXIVWrite 2020: II - Sway

Three blessed years had passed.

Three years that, if one were to ask Rosaire, could only be called miraculous. Gwenneth saw it in the way his looks lingered when she passed him; in simple gestures and the strength of each “good morning” and “good night”. She saw it in the reverence with which he beheld his daughter, as if despite all the once-Inquisitor had seen, he couldn’t comprehend the existence of Alysse and the idea that he’d helped bring her into this great, wide world so full of surprises.

Three years had passed since he and Gwenneth departed Saint Reymanaud’s, arm in arm as husband and wife, mounting a carriage of borrowed time and praying they might be afforded more.

For what seemed the thousandth time since that day, Gwenneth sent a prayer up heavensward. The gratitude must have shown on her face as plain as the sun in the sky. 

“Is aught troubling you, love?” The words left him in a baritone chuckle, his right brow and the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, and the careful, swaying steps of their mock-waltz gradually slowed and stilled. He was so much steadier without his cane these days; more comfortable with the weight of him balanced away from his left side. Gwenneth knew he was proud of the progress, even if she expected no less from such a phenomenally stubborn person.

Whatever he said, the fires that lit his soul still burned so brightly.

“No, nothing,” she answered, grinning. “I was but thinking of how handsome you looked today.”

And he did, smartly dressed in a tailored coat of deep blue, pale curls falling over his shoulders. He smelled strongly of ink that he masked beneath rosewater, and she knew without asking that he’d been working all morning. He smiled at her, a mischievous thing that caused the crows-feet at his eyes to deepen — it was the same boyish look she knew from so many a gossipy tête-à-tête.

He adopted a look of feigned offense. “Only today?” He laughed when she began to protest, squeezing her hand in assurance where it rested in his. Gwenneth took it as a signal to lead again, wrinkling her nose at his teasing as she eased them back into the orchestrion’s would-be quadrille.

Three years had passed, yes, but she could be content with three more days of their happiness, long fought for and held onto as tightly as one another’s hands. Borrowed time, maybe, but never taken for granted — locked in a dance that they’d made all their own; thankful for each movement and every step.

ft. @heavens-light-and-hells-ice

[hasty-touch]

                                              Little Ladies’ Day.

  FFXIV © Square Enix; Rosaire Ledigne is mine; Gwenneth Ledigne is @rose-in-the-stone's.

[onwesterlywinds]

Ashelia Riot: Most of us here know of the Autumn War - a brutal conflict that ravaged East End and pitted the whole of Aldenard against Ala Mhigo's newly unified army. This tale begins on a night much like tonight, nigh a century ago - as the fight was nearing its most bitter, and the days were among the shortest of the year. Ashelia Riot: A small platoon of Adder troops and Ishgardian knights were dispatched to the front lines. Their mission was to intercept any Ala Mhigan activity, for the snows that night were brutal, and the enemy were more accustomed moving about in such bitter conditions - this was, remember, before the great freezing from the Calamity - and they were thought to be preparing an all-out attack against the civilians living on the borders of the Twelveswood. Ashelia Riot: After hours of creeping through the forest in the bone-numbing chill, the scouts came upon the Ala Mhigans. But they were not preparing for battle - far from it. They stood before a single pine tree in a clearing - a lone tree, of the sort that has long been revered as sacred in the barren Gyr Abanian highlands - and decorated it in observation of their own beliefs. Ashelia Riot: The Ala Mhigans cut strands from their own clothing to create a long, multicolored garland and draped it across the evergreen boughs. They removed what few pieces of jewelry they still possessed and hung those from branches. Before that tree, they removed their gauntlets and cesti and other warmaking devices - and they gathered the heavy snow around them to create Father Frost: a massive snowman that Ala Mhigans believe will keep their loved ones safe during Winter's Knell. Ashelia Riot: The Gridanian forces watched as their enemies, shorn of their weapons and armor, used the last of their precious matches to light candles. They tied these candles to the tree with great reverence and joy, and placed the remainder around their Father Frost as though he were a saint... and then, in that silent moment, some misplaced Gridanian footfall snapped a twig. Ashelia Riot: The Ala Mhigans saw that they were surrounded, about to meet their deaths. Yet the Gridanians hesitated, for they had never imagined that Ala Mhigans, their mortal enemies, could create such a beautiful scene within the Twelveswood - that they could care about the land and what became of it. And the sight of the tree was so beautiful in the midst of their seemingly endless war that they could garner no will to fight. Ashelia Riot: And so they chose to break their bread with the very women and men they had been sent to kill. They laid down their own arms, shed their own armor, and built a campfire. Though few of them spoke the other's languages, they communicated as people do: through song, and food and drink, and laughter. Ashelia Riot: Perhaps this tale can be thought of as an aberration - that it reflects more on the circumstances of one night. But it happened again the following year - and in the next, and the next, until the war was at last over. They lost plenty among their number in the battles in between, but each Starlight, they set aside their nationalities to mourn and hope and celebrate as friends rather than enemies. Ashelia Riot: I know that this story is true because two of the Gridanian soldiers who bore witness to this event were my maternal great-grandparents. Upon the last of their Starlight meetings, one of their Ala Mhigan friends invited them to return to his home, where they lived out the rest of their days in the Peaks as one family. I believe, then, that this same capacity for love is within all of us, whether or not we so choose to use it. Ashelia Riot: On behalf of myself and the Riskbreakers, and of Ser Rosaire and the Institute, we hope very much that you will take this day as a means to do good for your fellow man. And above all else, if you have nothing to give, know that a kind word alone may change a world.

[heavens-light-and-hells-ice]

Namedays

  Six-and-fifty winters is he, when his daughter is born into her very first. 

No one recalls. Even he had not recalled, not till now, long after the nurse carried her up the stairs, wrapped her up tenderly and lay her down in the quiet of the nursery for a few bells' sleep. Not till now -- when, having hauled himself up after them and crept in through the door, he looks down at her pink and tiny, impossibly tiny face -- does he realize that all of Heavensturn's come and gone, and that the sun that now rises over Abalathia is the second of Halone's moon.

"You must get some rest, milord," says Nurse Berthoise from the couch, herself groggy. "You've been up more than twenty bells." 

"I will," he lies, and he stands there, his knuckles white on the cot's railing. 

The babe, though, sleeps; eventually, so too does the nurse. He at last sits in the chair beside, to relieve his lightheadedness -- but he continues to watch. For one bell, two bells, he watches, almost without blinking, hand tight on his cane, till she just begins to rouse. At her first murmur, he stands straight up, startling the nurse awake -- and so she is swiftly borne away, back downstairs, before she even gives her first cry for milk. 

Rosaire is left behind. 

He looks after them long after they've departed, then sits down again, slowly, in the chair. 

Fifty Namedays ago, he was playing by the pond at the country estate with his two siblings nearest in age. His own nurse and a footman had meant to keep an eye on them, but their eyes proved too full of each other, and soon he and the girls had ventured, against instruction, onto the ice.

He does not remember the moment he went in -- nor, truthfully, does he remember much of what happened after, save being bathed and made to give thanks to Halone (though not to the lowborn who rescued him) that the water was shallow -- but he remembers the feeling: the shock of cold, the flood of overwhelming fear, his head emptied of everything else. Time became immensely slow, seconds stretched out into years and years -- and yet in all that luxury of time there was nothing he could think of, nothing he could do but sink down, down into the numbness, down into himself, powerless. 

It is the same feeling he has now, and has had for these past twenty bells. 

Not at first. At first he was afraid, yes -- but he was also Rosaire Ledigne, the logical, the Staid. He simply had Helenne summon the midwife and bid the maids make ready, set the book-cradle at the bedside and lay in it his codex open to the relevant page, then sat down next to his lady to murmur encouragement and wait. Such was his duty and his role: to be calm and remain calm, to stand out of the way but ready to assist -- to put the nightmare out of his mind, to pray without speaking, and to give no evidence of aught but a placid heart. 

And so he remained, steady and dutiful, keeping his countenance as she suffered and wept. He even flattered himself with the thought that he might be able to feign tranquility and comfort her through her screams -- until, a mere few bells in, the midwife drew him aside. 

"You'd best call the chirurgeon," she murmured. "The local one -- then ring your specialist in Ul'dah and give the linkpearl to me." 

"Is something wrong?" he asked, like a fool. 

She looked at him, weighing an answer, then shook her head. "For now, just call them," and she turned to go back into the room. 

It was then that he began to feel it, and felt himself sink down, down into the cold and dark. 

One chirurgeon became two, when Doctor Tristelle arrived from the south. They timed Gwenneth's pulse, put an ear-trumpet to her chest, inspected the swelling of her feet, then shook their heads and argued in whispers in the corner. For a long time he could not persuade them to enlighten him, but at least the heat of his frustration provided some sort of relief from the numb fear; but he tamped it down and held her hand when he was not gently cooling her face and neck with a cloth. 

When they finally offered her the option of a draught for the pain, she didn't answer; words, if they were words, came from her mouth in a jumble, and she looked at Rosaire only a moment before her eyelids fluttered and her cloudy gaze went back up to the ceiling. 

Some time after that -- minutes, bells, years, he was no longer sure -- he was taken aside again. 

"You'd best call the priest, my lord." 

The words he'd prayed, bargained, and begged not to hear. 

He listened to the Reconciliation and observed the anointing, though he could hardly hear or see. 'He' was there, listening and watching and even taking Mother Judithe aside to grasp her hand and thank her, but he -- he did not quite feel present in his body, as it went through those movements and spoke those words mechanically. He was somewhere else, floating in the ice-cold water, looking down at the scene as it unfolded with painful slowness.

Miolleane, though acquainted with the Ledignes for just one sennight, broke down crying in the hall; Helenne sent her home, then ushered Clavis into his carrying-cage and took him to the Fortemps aery, leaving Berthoise in charge. She brought Rosaire a cup of strong coffee; it rattled so much in his hand he had to drink it at the dining table. 

For lack of elsewhere to look, he fixed his eyes on the Starlight Sentinels, still bright and in good needle: the first, in bluish-green, slim and delicate -- the second, in silver, tall and thick at the middle. And then, between them, the miniature, less than a fulm tall -- the representation of a wish they'd made at last year's Starlight, both her little hands enfolded in his. 

How could I? 

His throat tensed around the slug of cold water he'd breathed in; his eyes stung. But he was stopped from drowning by one of the chirurgeons rushing in. "Well, if you think you're still able to help with the physicking -- 'tis the time now." 

At first he knew her only by her cry -- less a cry, he later thinks, than a hearty and rather indignant exclamation of surprise. Though she was borne away immediately to receive the attention of the priest -- to whom he barely remembered to mumble the name they'd chosen -- she was soon returned, brought before him in the arms of the smiling Berthoise. "She is much improved already, milord -- a strong and healthy daughter." 

He must have looked at her face then, but his eyes were too full of the blood on the sheets to see it. 

"Bring the babe here -- 'twill help stop the bleeding --" 

"This is a task for a conjurer -- pray, stand aside!" 

Someone's hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back to make room for the bustle of healers. He looked at Gwenneth's face -- pale and wet -- a worse sight than the blood -- and feared for a second his knees might buckle. They didn't -- he couldn't let them -- so instead of sinking to the ground, he sank further into himself, down, down. 

When it was not his turn to channel physicks, he stood silently at the side, looking at the statuette of Nymeia they had placed at the bedside just a few suns before. The Weaver, friend of laboring mothers, smiling beatifically -- the promise of health and fortune, threatening to be broken -- and prayed.

He prayed to Her -- cursed Her, in a moment of rage, then prayed again -- to Nymeia, to the Twelve, even to Nophica. And he prayed, desperately, to Halone: Fury, please spare Gwenneth. Fury, please save Gwenneth. O Fury, I will serve you faithfully -- only let her live, so she may serve you far better than I. O Fury, I will do penance -- I will make pilgrimage -- anything, Fury, anything, anything, anything, only give her strength. Let her live. Let her live. I beg you -- let her live. 

The gods were slow to answer. The bleeding did stop, but the chirurgeon's faces remained grave. She had faded to an awful pallor -- he wished, in sick despair, she might begin again to scream in pain, for that sound was easier to bear than the sight of her arm falling limp from one of their hands. But a bell later, they were less solemn. The Ishgardian chirurgeon went home, to sleep a few bells before dawn; Judithe followed, though not before pressing his hand in hers and telling him to have faith, be strong. 

"She's made it through this night," the midwife told him. "If she stays strong through this fortnight, she will be out of danger." Unspoken, the obvious corollary -- that till then, she was not safe. He nodded dumbly, sent her home as well. 

Helenne -- Fury-sent Helenne -- took watch in the bedroom till the chirurgeon returned, bag full of potions from the apothecary. It was then that Berthoise suggested taking the babe up to the nursery, to let her rest a little away from the commotion, and the chirurgeons permitted it -- and soon insisted that Rosaire go up, too, to rest and replenish his energy. 

But he sits in this chair instead. 

Since the date of their marriage two summers ago, they have a few times slept apart -- once due to the pressing business of the Bellworks, a few times when Institute affairs took him to southron Eorzea and Gwenneth was too ill to join. He managed, but hated it; so many years a bachelor snoring away contentedly, yet after holding her only once, gently and chastely, he could not bear to be apart from her -- her warmth, her soft skin, the scent of her hair. 

He cannot bear to think of it now. 

But, when Berthoise returns to lay the babe down and smiles at him compassionately, he looks down into the cot, at the child who lies there -- sleepy features squashed like all newborns', little ears with little points still flat against her head, wisps of honey-brown hair on her head -- and realizes that he must, even if fitfully, in this chair. 

He -- and Helenne, and Berthoise, and Clavis, when he returns -- must watch over her and keep her warm till the fortnight's end, when Gwenneth rises, and the time at last comes to celebrate their Nameday.

[houseshadowstar]

Within the small bag left by Ceridwen during the Institute tea party, is a stuffed black chocobo in blue Ishgardian barding. There is a letter included.

To my friend, Lord Rosaire Ledigne, and his right worthy wife, Lady Gwenneth Ledigne, be this gift passed to, and may its contents bless them greatly.

My dear, dear friend. How I wish I could articulate my joy in your new blessings. Ah, but I’m sure you know of my love of children, surpassed only by my daughter’s of course. It brought me much comfort to hear that they are recovering and doing well. I pray daily for all three of you. And it was my great privilege to turn to my cards for our newest soul, brought to our company. If you’ll pardon my indulgence, I will relate to you what I read in their turnings.

It always fascinates me, the cards I draw in my readings for newborn children. For any other living person, it's interesting, but expected. But with children, and their limitless potential, the cards seem to defy my every consideration, until they are read. And your Alysse was no exception.

Today, the cards give warning and solace both. A child born in a time of strife and change, born of the love of two different worlds. The Bole in Reverse shows parents who are worried and strive to protect their child from the hardships ahead. It is only natural that a parent wishes to smooth their child's road. But with the Bole upended, we must remember that we cannot walk our child's path for them. Guide them, but be wary lest you encase them in tangling roots, instead of lifting them up on growing branches.

The Ewer in reverse speaks of deafness to other voices, and staring too hard at the reflections in front of us, instead of turning to see the world for itself. There are those who will be a boon to your family. Some who've expected the fruit of your love with great anticipation. And some who become enlightened by such compassion and heartfelt joy. Of course, uncovering our ears allows us to hear the dangers coming, just as much as the songs of cheer that surround us. The wisdom of the Ewer guides us just as it does the river of life.

And lastly, The Spear in Reverse. Halone's own card. She gives warning to beware stubbornness and undue fury. She wrestles with her own sister, Menphina, giving us light to the struggles we face in our own world. And as they do argue, we are shown that we must seek the positive forces of light and life. It is in those places we will find the sanctuaries for the struggles ahead. 

And lest you find my words a bit dire, please do not take it so harshly. The cards guide us. But of the major arcana, I personally believe that for The Bole, The Ewer, and The Spear to be present in conjunction is a blessed sign. Protection, Knowledge, and our very own Halone each appeared to guard and guide. I fully believe your child will be a blessing to you and your wife. And even to everyone else around them.

And so, with this reading concluded, I light a candle in prayer. May Halone guard and guide your family, towards places of joy and comfort.

My heart overflows with excitement and cheer for you, my friend. I know it has not been an easy road. But I celebrate the kindling of a life in your arms. Sentimental I may be, but my delight is yours to have. May Halone’s spear continue to ever strengthen your family.

To you my friend - In her Mercy,

Lord Integris of House Shadowstar

@heavens-light-and-hells-ice @rose-in-the-stone

[state-of-beeing]

A Distraction

[yvainethorneathidrial]

Note to Rosaire

To the honorable Lord and Lady Ledigne-- to be delivered promptly the Pillars, Ishgard, House Ledigne.

Twelve bless you and your wife for wishing my family and kin well. My husband and I welcomed a son half a moon ago and he is thriving as one of his health is expected. For that we both feel so blessed and it warms our hearts to know you share this with us though you are not able to be here as an extension of our family. It has been my mother’s belief that family is not just by blood but by friendship. There is a saying that blood is thicker than water but what some fail to see is that water is the blood the land we all dwell upon and brings us together.

To be able to join you and the many who support the efforts to bring attention to the need to restore a sense of stability to the growing of crops of Coethras coming to the Floral Festival was my support to my extended family. Being able to share my own knowledge of flowers however it pales to the others who were present along with sharing my talents with cooking and apparently tea brewing made me happy. It was a nice moment to take time away from home and allowed my mother to dote on Ewan. It was also a welcomed respite from the need to still seek the final components to cure my brother of his memory loss. As I write this I have been made aware of efforts to finally take those steps to free my brother of the Belladonna’s trance and finally rid me of these shaking spells I have occasionally. I am hopefully we will all be made right again soon and I promise my brother will be at your next meeting. He will likely feel he needs to make up for the time lost but I will assure him as well as I know you and Lady Gwenneth will that it is not necessary.

Your inquiry about my shop is very kind and as we have only had three days of being open fully with days that others can simply walk in to see two of our hard working full time employees there to assist business has been doing well. I have seen to your request for the items you have asked for personally as I can create them within my own home while watching Ewan or at least Renias can watch him as he has taken leave to help me for a few moons to bond with our son.  So enclosed in the parcel that is with this letter, Twelve willing the kindly Delivery Moogle has not misplaced the parcel, you should have your soaps and oils with spares you can keep or gift to anyone you wish to share these with. If at any time you require more simple send me a letter and I will make it so. In addition I have also included some thumbprint cookies with freshly made apricot jam. I hope they make it to you safely.

Thank you again for taking time to write to us. We hope to see you at the next festival and perhaps at any other gatherings that may have our joint interests at heart. Until then my you be protected and ever walk in the light of the Crystal. Twelve bless you and keep you both.

With high regards, best wishes and everlasting friendship,

Yvaine Athidrial

(( @heavens-light-and-hells-ice  & @rose-in-the-stone ))

[halonic]

the other letter

Rosaire Ledigne,

The pudding was not a lie.

With affection & happiness, P. Pepin

PS: Ask Miss Oleander.

@heavens-light-and-hells-ice

[traiteur-to-ishgard]

Starlight Feast 12/27/17

Bill of Fare for Rosaire and Gwenneth Ledigne, for a private Starlight Feast

Appetizer

Foie gras or caviar on toast Coerthan oysters

Aperitif

Champagne Rosemary tea Drinking vinegar

Dinner

Roast dodo stuffed with chestnuts Pottage of snurbleberries in red wine and almond milk Salad of beet and turnip greens dressed with white wine vinegar Coerthan crab in cream sauce Lamb mince and cyclops onion pie Manchet rolls Buttered peas

Beverages

New Bacchus red Coerthan perry Strong or small Starlight ale with clove and cinnamon Apple juice

13 Desserts

Starlight pudding with hidden trinkets Vanilla sponge and chocolate buttercream Starlight bûche, topped with rolanberries and meringue decorations Marron glacés Candied citron Wine-poached pears Lemon-lavender shortbread biscuits Count Grey-flavored macarons with bilberry buttercream Marzipan in the shape of fruits and vegetables Black nougat with honey and hazelnuts White nougat with sugar and almonds Gingerbread family Puff pastry with mirror apples Olive oil and orangewater galette

Digestif

Apple brandy Fortified wine Bavarèisa of ⅓ coffee, ⅓ drinking chocolate, and ⅓ milk

(( As with last year’s Starlight feast I drew on a variety of inspirations, including some more modern ones than my usual late-Renaissance sources, to evoke what felt like a holiday atmosphere to us 21st century RPers.

We once again had an English Christmas pudding and again had our guests roll /random for their trinket. I used the same trinkets and fortunes as last year:

unicorn (a wish granted)

rose (happiness)

bell (betrothal)

tower (safety)

boot (travel)

pig (abundance)

ring (marriage)

chocobo (honor and glory)

and a silver coin (prosperity)

... however, we might stop including the ring and/or change the meaning of the bell, because we’ve got a lot of married couples and determined singles at the table these days. Or maybe we’ll throw in the thimble (spinsterhood)?

And we again adapted the Provençal custom of Thirteen Desserts, in this case for King Thordan and the Knights Twelve.

The new challenge I tried this year was to select beverages to go with each phase of the meal and to include non-alcoholic options that were setting-appropriate, “period” (whatever that means in a fantasy game,) and had similar qualities to the traditional alcoholic options.

ICly, the main menu was again devised by Denisot Bonnefon with input from Rosaire Ledigne, and now with additional input from Gwenneth Ledigne. (Gwenneth is serious about Starlight and Rosaire is serious about dinner.) This year they attempted to set a generous table but as they were expecting fewer guests, toned it down a little from last year, and also chose desserts that would be easier to make in small batches or ship to friends. As always, the Ledignes prefer to use mostly Coerthan ingredients with a few flavors from abroad. ))

[farendaire]

#2 Synthesis

Aronaux gazed quietly towards the fireplace of his bedchamber, a smoking pipe placed to his lips and a steadily falling glass of wine to his side as the time approached near to midnight; blessedly, there would be no session in the House of Lords the next day, and he needn’t rise early for talk of taxes, foreign wars or the plights of lowborn and cleric.

But he paused at the end of that thought, taking a long drag from his pipe and rising from his chair, passing the hearth to stand at the window overlooking Coerthas; it was not a tempestuous day, and some part of Aronaux compelled the viscount to open the window and feel the brisk night air upon his face.  He stared out into the expanse, almost forgetting his pipe as he lost himself in reflection.

Matters concerning Ala Mhigo had been unavoidable in the House for several sennights - though Aronaux, having openly stated his interest and knowledge and foreign affairs, had taken that burden up as his own and regretted it not; still, the most recent news from Gyr Abania was most troubling to the Viscount and many of his peers, both in their committee and the House of Lords as a whole.  The new Ala Mhigo, born of a nation freed from despotic tyranny, should have been the joy of Ishgard - a sister republic, so soon!  Yet nowhere could be seen a happy Peer of the House of Lords, discouraged by this turn of events in Gyr Abania - and Viscount Aronaux had been among them.

Almost everyone Aronaux had spoken with looked upon the new Republic and saw nothing but approaching anarchy, despite the respected Raubahn Aldynn among them; in this more democratic republic, with no certain aristocracy as found in Ishgard, few believed that the Ala Mhigans could so soon govern themselves whilst they knew nothing of governance.  The viscount was among them - he, more than many in the House of Lords, professed to understand that all republics still required an enlightened aristocracy, one that genuinely acted for the perceived betterment of the nation and was learned in the ancient lessons of their forefathers in pursuit of a more happier nation.  Perhaps in the distant future, long after anyone alive had passed, gil would become so little an object that a good education could be the right of everyone, highborn or low; but the present was no such day.

Yet Aronaux was reflective enough to understand all professed concern about Ala Mhigo stemmed in part from the nobles’ own anxiety; accusations of hypocrisy since the Revolution still rose at the nobility from the streets, with the House of Commons ordained as their pulpit.

The more socially conscious of the lower house - merchants, lesser priests, and the better artisans - knew well enough to keep quiet and work with the system as it was, always awaiting the chance to obtain title, but others emboldened by Ala Mhigo‘s example were now in force crusading against what inequalities remained. His mind turned to that letter, written so long ago yet still shaking Ishgard to its roots - “The End of Nobility,” the most famous work on one Rosaire Ledigne he now counted as friend - if only through the former inquisitor’s marriage to Gwenneth nee Gilrouis; now, that was an unlikely match indeed, the darling revolutionary and he.

What had he said? Suddenly, Aronaux turned away from the window, shutting it behind him as he hurried to the chest, emblazoned with the symbol of House Farendaire, at the foot of his bed; finding Rosaire’s letter quickly - having recognized its importance many moons before, he kept it easily found - the viscount remembered again all the highest, the most revolutionary principles of the Revolution that once had been.

Many of my fellows will protest that we now do not – that now the House of Lords stands on equal footing with the House of Commons and thus all people of Coerthas have an equal say in their country’s governance. I say that if this is not a lie, it is self-delusion.

But to shrink from our duty here would make us cowards; let us not pretend that self-sacrifice is only for the battlefield and make peace our excuse for becoming fat and idle aristocrats.

Rosaire had recognized that the nobility could not be done away with in but a day, a moon, a year, but his indictment had been scathing and absolute, irrefutable without betraying everything that the Revolution was. 

It would weigh on the Viscount Farendaire’s conscience every day and night, even as - especially as - he betrayed the revolution.

—

((Excerpts from “The End of Nobility” from @heavens-light-and-hells-ice))

[gwenneth-in-wonderland]

They keep (accidentally) dressing to match but I think I’m okay with this.

[rose-in-the-stone-moved]

Flowers, Flours

“You’re covered in flour, kupo.”

This was a statement of such indisputable fact that Gwenneth Ledigne-once-Gilrouis was unable to find a retort.  As was plainly apparent without the moogle’s observation, a fine dusting of the stuff covered her almost from head to toe, and had been such a tragic mess that it somehow -- somehow -- found its way into her hair, despite her having plaited it back and out of the way to avoid this very thing.

“Is it tradition to bake yourself into the cake too, kupo?”

“It was only a little accident,” Gwenneth said. “And already cleaned up before Miss Helenne could know it’s happened at all.”  Or so she hoped. While the sun hadn’t yet risen, the sky was growing lighter, and so she knew that the secrecy of her of precious pre-dawn bells was drawing to an end.

Kumo Kopli, caring little for the Ledignes’ housekeeper being inconvenienced, simply  looked from his powdery charge, to the disarray of the countertop in front of her, to a certain cupboard, still opened, that loomed most menacingly over her head.  

“You can’t even reach half the shelves in here, kupo.” Another astute assessment, really.

“That’s what the stepstool is for,” Gwenneth muttered, indignant. “And now I’ve you to help me, so there shan’t be a problem at all.  --Would you fetch me that bottle of extract just there?”

The moogle bristled. Gwenneth could tell without looking that he’d puffed out his chest in that self-important manner of his, and so should really have anticipated the beginnings of an inevitable, squeaking tirade.

“I came here to make sure that you were out of trouble, kupo, not to slave away for the sake of that stuffed-up--”

“‘Momo, please, they’ll hear you!”  Gwenneth’s voice was a desperate whisper, and she leaned back from her place atop her stool to ensure that the sitting room was still vacant; listened for the creak of distant floorboards and the light step -- or the shuffling one -- that they’d serve as an alarum to.  The coast was still clear, however, and to her great relief, and so pushing up her flour-caked sleeves, she gave the moogle a look of complete exasperation as she once again picked up her spoon.

The moogle sighed, deflated, and fetched her the blasted vanilla.

It was something she’d longed watched her father do from that very first year they retreated from Ishgard.  For all his rakish, wild exterior, she could never forget the extent of his gentleness; his consideration for her mother.  And so, though she was no great, gangling giant as he was, and while she lacked his crooked nose, she was still her father’s daughter, and so kept this dear little thing for safe-keeping: a simple gesture for a rainy -- no -- snowy nameday, warm at home.

And so she left a note for Helenne to explain what she’d done, and that she’d hasten to tidy what mess was still left, and that she’d prepare for them their own breakfast once the lord of the house had been served.  It was, after all, the very least she could do for the trouble.

And so, too, once the moogle was shooed from the kitchen, did she creep into their bedchamber, carefully bearing a tray in her hands and praying to every one of the Twelve that she wouldn’t drop it in her clumsiness.  

She smelled of vanilla and so many good intentions, setting down her handiwork on the bedside table and surreptitiously brushing some of the flour from her hair; forgetting the way it was smeared across her cheeks like soot and grease on Eliane’s engineers.  Still, as those workers did, she looked down at her accomplishment with pride -- simple, modest fare though it was: a sage omelet and mushrooms, toast and bilberry jam.  An orange was peeled -- sectioned into the shape of an opening flower -- and a cup of black tea, freshly poured, steamed merrily off to the side.  

There was none of the fine presentation her husband had seen from his traiteur the sennight before, but Gwenneth Ledigne-once-Gilrouis couldn’t bear to leave things unadorned.  Finding it impossible to bury old habits in the wake of new traditions, a ribbon-tied bundle of baby’s breath and vivid blue violets was laid out on that tray with the rest.

And a cake wait out in the room just beyond -- sweet vanilla and rolanberry, small and woefully lopsided. A nameday cake nonetheless, and one thankfully intact.

...And one that, perhaps, provided an answer to an earlier question.  While it may not have been her intention to bake herself into that cake in the manner that Ser Kopli implied, a piece of her seemed to go in regardless:

A loving desire to make up for lost time.

@heavens-light-and-hells-ice

[hasty-touch]

Inventory checklist: Rosaire Ledigne

always | sometimes

➳ BAG backpack | messenger bag | pockets | satchel | wristlet | purse | duffle bag | briefcase | pouch | drawstring bag | fanny pack

➳ WEAPONS sword | dagger | knife | axe | mace | warhammer | staff | spear | throwing knives | darts | shortbow | longbow | crossbow | arrows | bolts | enchanted weapon | poison | firearm | bullets

➳ APPAREL light armor | medium armor | heavy armor | underclothes for armor | enchanted armor | mage’s robes | uniform | casual clothes1 | formal clothes | cloak | scarf | hat | helmet | gauntlets | bracers | gloves | shoes | boots | socks | hood | mask | sunglasses | belt | coat | jacket | necklace | bracelet | ring | earrings | watch2 | flower crown | undergarments

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC health potion | mana potion | stamina potion | attribute potion | alchemy equipment | herbs | chemicals | ingredients | bandages | burn cream | antidote | moisturizer | medication | scrolls | crystals | enchanting equipment

➳ STEALTH lockpicks | probes | trap-making tools | trap-disarming tools | disguise kit | forgery equipment

➳ TOOLS pen | ink | pencil | charcoal | parchment | paper | compass | ruler | saw | hammer | nails | shovel | pliers | needle | thread | utility knife | art supplies | fabric scraps | kindling | magnifying glass | fishing rod | matches

➳ PROVISIONS rations for themselves | rations for others | fork | knife | spoon | serving utensils | pot/pan | water | alcoholic beverage | non-alcoholic beverage | pet food | drugs | sweets | coffee | tea

➳ PERSONAL small amount of money | large amount of money | map | soap | comb | brush | cosmetics | hair ties | hair product | journal | razor | nail clipper | religious paraphernalia | tent | sleeping bag | blanket | pillow | sentimental item | comfort object | musical instrument(s) | toys | eyewear | identification | important document(s) | torch | books | plant | cigarettes

TAGGED BY: @elegant-etienne

TAGGING: Open tag! Steal it if you like, and please do tag me back so I can see what you wrote!

Comments:

Rosaire OWNS and uses many many of these things, like “hair product” and “tea”, but he carries little with him, since he rarely strays that far from his well-appointed home.

1Rosaire, who in fashion is a conservative Ishgardian, may have a different idea of “casual clothes” than some other Eorzeans.

2Pocket watch of significance.

[faucheux-investigates]

for Miss Gilrouis, re: G.S.

Tucked into a desk drawer to which a new secretary now has access, a short note:

Miss Gilrouis,

I regret to say that I do not know our new acquaintance, M. Giroux Sauveterre, much further than as a name and a face. But as he may be dealing with the Bellworks I thought I ought to share what little intelligence I do have, which is only that he is indeed, as he represented, a naturalist and New Nymian Scholar (alike to M. Hardesty or Lady Ceridwen Shadowstar whom we both know,) originally of Vylbrand but on occasional assignment elsewhere, doing work for the Arcanists' Guild or other researchers of natural history. This 1st Umbral Moon Inquisitor Ledigne summoned him to his offices in the Tribunal to discuss some matter, but though I saw M. Sauveterre inside I was not privy to the details of their exchange. I gathered the Inquisitor had some sort of inquiry or favor to ask of him.

If aught useful blows my way regarding this man or the Vath's Adventurer's Guild -- a thing I did not learn of till today, and what a curiosity! -- I will see it passed on to you.

Faucheux

(( @rose-in-the-stone @giroux-s ))

[heavens-light-and-hells-ice]

To the shareholders, advisors, and friends of the Alpine Greening Institute, warm greetings and prayers for your good health. 

It has been my wish, as well as that of the Chairwoman, to commence this new turn with a meeting to discuss the affairs of the Institute, to share our hopes for its direction this year, and to hear your thoughts in turn. But as you may already have heard, my lady was, by the grace and mercy of the Twelve, delivered this moon of our firstborn daughter; and though I may report, with praise and gratitude to the gods, that their health recovers, we are unfortunately not well able to stray far from home during this time. 

For this reason we invite you to no grand assembly but instead to a late and informal tea on the 27th Sun at our humble home in Ishgard, at which we may have the great pleasure of not only introducing the Institute's plans for the coming moons but also the Institute's friends to one another. We pray that, though the winds may blow bitter cold outside, there may be refreshment and camaraderie to warm you at our hearth. 

I do, however, strenuously request that if you feel even the slightest hint of illness, you remain at home, as my lady and daughter, while hale now, remain in a sensitive state of health, and must needs be protected from all evil miasmas. Whether ill health or weather prevents your attendance, minutes will be made available to you, and I promise that many more occasions will arise as the moons grow warmer; therefore I will and heartily pray you understand and comply. 

Till we meet, may Halone have you and all yours in Her keeping.

Written at — in the Pillars of Ishgard, on this, the —th Sun of of the First Astral Moon of the seventh year of the Seventh Astral Era.

Your servant, Rosaire Ledigne, the Secretary.

[houseshadowstar]

Friends Old and New - Sasamu

@mostdangerouspotato ( @heavens-light-and-hells-ice for mention)

To Sasamu Samu of the Dufresne Bellworks, be this letter promptly handed.

Madam Samu,

I am Lord Integris of House Shadowstar, a long time friend of one upright Rosaire Ledigne. My dear friend recommended you to me, in his most recent letter. He stated that you had expressed curiosity of the arts of the stars and futures. As an astrologian and archivist for the Aetheneum Astrologicum, I would be most thrilled to host you for a time, to field any questions you wish to ask.

If you wish to come to Ishgard proper, I can prepare a guest room within my home, which is but a few moments walk from the Aetheneum. We have room enough and fires warm. I maintain a library trust within my manor, where I notate and archive readings and star charts of the Coerthan night skies. I would be happy to show it to you.

If that is perhaps a bit far, I can also meet you at the Observatorium in Central Coerthas, just a short ride south of Camp Dragonhead. The work being done there is more up to date, than the library at my home. The observatory atop their tower is also more impressive than the small one I keep in Ishgard. Either option is amenable to me, and I will gladly arrange either particular visitation.

Of minor, unrelated note, my Marta has told me that her granddaughter, one Norhi Morovine-Stormshadow, is your fellow within the Dufresne Bellworks. While no astrologian, she can help you contact me via linkpearl, if letters take too long.

I will light a candle and pray for your safety and success in your coming days. And I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Written at Shadowstar Manor, Ishgard, on this the fifteenth sun of the Fifth Astral Moon of the eleventh year of the Seventh Umbral Era.

With Halone's Blessing, Lord Integris of House Shadowstar