“listen to your big brother and make some friends.” For Steph and either Chlode or Francel. Gimme brothers
Scarcely out of mourning, Francel looks nearly a corpse himself, pale and drawn - as though losing Chlodebaimt has killed something within him, as well, some vital piece of his soul. Never the brightest flame in their family, his brother’s death has left Francel a guttering ember, sure soon to flicker out and go cold.
Not the ideal commander to send to Skyfire Locks. Left frigid by the Calamity and remote by design, the Locks make for a dismally lonesome posting… and they are within a day’s march of the Steel Vigil. Or what remains of it.
Mama wept when Francel insisted upon it.
There has been, Stephanivien decides, enough weeping. If he cannot be merry, at the very least, he supposes they’ll all be best served by some cheer: it will not do to send Francel off as though his own family questions his aptitude. ‘Tis more than clear now that the gentlest of his siblings will not be swayed from this course - stubbornness befitting a man of House Haillenarte, after all, dismaying though the cause itself may be.
And so he smiles, ignoring Francel’s look of wariness at his approach (for nearly all the family has tried to persuade him to remain home, to seek a safer post, to not throw his own life after Chlode’s, to be less determined to follow in Chlodebaimt’s ill-fated footsteps), and Stephanvien claps a hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder with a grin.
“To the highlands for you, then, is it?”
Caution, like a rabbit sensing a snare. “The Locks require a new commander, after-”
“After the previous commander’s retirement, of course! Of course.” The man couldn’t bear to keep the post, after learning what had befallen the Vigils. So close, so close, and unable to help, unable to save more lives, too snowbound and blizzard-blinded to reach either fortress in time. “But the garrison is still much unchanged, of course, and do you know what that means?”
“I… I hesitate to hazard a guess.”
Stephanivien grins. “Why, friends, of course! You’ll need to make friends among the soldiers and suttlers of the Locks, dear brother, and not merely your own men, but those of the other settlements in the area. Lord Haurchefant holds the command at Camp Dragonhead - I’ve no doubt he’ll introduce you to his men, as well.”
Something like life surfaces in Francel’s deep-shadowed blue eyes, and for the first time in what feels like years, ages, eternities, he smiles.
Stephanivien considers that progress, for now.
