Ficlet: Show of Hands
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finalfantasyxivfanworksTitle: Show of Hands
Characters: Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warnings: None
“This is strictly voluntary,” Aymeric said to the room at large, critically eyeing the gathered (green) knights that looked as if they were bracing themselves for a death sentence, “But it is highly advised you attend. It is a rare opportunity to observe the proper methods of dispatching Behemoths from a renowned expert in a relatively safe environment and will serve to strengthen Ishgard’s overall security and combat effectiveness.”
The gathered knights all exchanged looks heavy with meaning, and around the edges of the room his more seasoned knights did the same, except they didn’t bother concealing their grimaces. Aymeric had no idea what their problem was. Many a knight had succeeded in killing Behemoths before, granted at great cost to life and limb, but Aza at this point was a veritable master at killing them in droves. He had a wealth of knowledge and tactics to impart on his knights, and luckily Aza was willing to teach them, to protect them as they put their lessons into dangerous practice. Aymeric would have been leaping at the chance in their shoes.
Though, perhaps Aza was putting them off. From the corner of his eye he could see his partner studying the knights with a very amused curl to his mouth, like the very notion of a simple knight slaying a Behemoth positively tickled him. It probably did, Aza’s martial confidence flirted very closely with off-putting arrogance most of the time.
“So, show of hands,” Aymeric continued briskly, before the room’s meaningful looks became something more mutinous, “Who volunteers?”
No one moved.
Aymeric heaved a sigh that whooshed a bit too loudly in the tensely silent room, “We are all soldiers here,” he said a mite sharply, “So, we are all aware that when something is stated to be voluntary…”
“It’s mandatory,” Someone mumbled right in the back, and judging by the squeak that followed afterwards, the speaker hadn’t expected his voice to carry that loudly.
“Exactly,” Aymeric clasped his hands behind his back and paced before the gathered knights, seeing how everyone was now avoiding looking directly at him, “Not all of you will be going, but some of you will, even if I have to handpick you at random.”
The aggressive eye-avoiding somehow intensified. One particularly lanky knight was staring directly up at the ceiling, as if hoping Halone herself would descend through the grey stonework and bodily lift him out of the room.
“Again,” Aymeric said mildly, stopping and pivoting on his heel to face them directly, “Show of hands.”
There was quite a bit of feet shuffling, shoulder jostling and muffled mumbling, a ripple of uneasy negotiation sweeping through the room in a way that only occurred when a group of knights were trying to select who to sacrifice for a very shit tasking. Aymeric patiently waited it out.
Until one, skinny arm rose up above the group, followed by a knight’s chainmail coifed head peeking over his fellow’s shoulder, “Um, Lord Commander, sir? Why’s it so important that we learn how to fight Behemoths? They’re not too, um, common ‘round these parts.”
The knights muttered their agreement at that.
“Because Knight-” he paused, quickly scrounging the young knight’s name from memory (Adrian, from the Brume, barely twenty summers), “-Adrian, during the battle of Ala Mhigo we demonstrated a weakness that was absent from our fellow Alliance soldiers.”
That caused a stir, several knights frowning and puffing up as if in insult. If there was one thing Ishgardians were prickly about, it was their martial skill being called into question. A thousand years they had fought their war with grit and determination, and to be told that they lacked compared to their ‘softer’ neighbours was like a cold slap to the face. Good. Hopefully it’ll galvanise them.
“We have overspecialised,” Aymeric said firmly, “Throw us against an army of dragons, and we would excel head and shoulders above anyone else on this star. Throw us against an army of men, of Magitek, of beasts of war, and we flounder. Dragons are no longer our sole enemy, so we must change and adapt to prepare for our next one.”
He began to pace again, making sure to catch each and every gaze that would meet his own, “Ishgard has the most organised and well established army in Eorzea,” he said, “To cripple ourselves clinging to outdated tactics for outdated foes is unacceptable. The world is changing, we are changing, and our strength should change with it.”
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Instead, Aymeric heard the scuff of his boots as he stopped in front of his knights once more, staring them down. Beneath his hard stare they drew themselves up, quite a few looking cowed or abashed for their earlier reticence.
“So,” Aymeric’s voice was clipped, “Show of hands.”
This time there was no hesitation. Every hand rose.
Behind him, Aza let out a sigh, and Aymeric turned to him with a victorious tilt to his smile. Aza had said he didn’t expect a single knight to take him up on his training offer, and now he had approximately thirty knights to train, who would in turn impart their experience to the rest of the Temple Knights, so it wasn’t as if Aza could half-arse it either.
“Fuck sake,” Aza groaned, eyeing the assembled knights with none of the amusement he held earlier, “All of these?”
“You did say you would teach any I could convince,” Aymeric said, his smile widening at the flat look his partner slanted his way, “Unless it’s too much for you?”
“I’ll show you too much, you smug, little…” Aza grumbled, but his mouth was twitching into a reluctant smile, “You owe me for this.”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I mean it,” Aza swept his gaze over the gathered knights, every single one of whom tried to pretend they weren’t openly staring at this exchange, “Thirty chickens to shape into Behemoth killers. Fuck.”
“Chickens?” One affronted knight yelped.
“Chickens,” Aza drawled, “You had to be shamed into doing this, which is just… weak. Aren’t you all meant to be brave knights, able to stand up against fire-breathing dragons? Aren’t too impressed right now, I tell you what.”
Instantly, the room erupted into activity, the knights all puffed up and angrily yelling that of course they weren’t chickens, and a Behemoth is fucking nothing compared to a Wyvern or a poison-spewing dragon! They’ll show the Warrior of Light what Ishgardian Knights could do against a Behemoth!
Aymeric heaved a sigh as he was slowly forgotten amidst the chaos. Maybe he should’ve had Aza pitch this from the start, with how quickly he got them all riled up and ready to go. Though, he was a little worried someone was going to get unfortunately eaten, with all these boasts and dares getting tossed about. A competition to hunt Behemoths? Now that was just dangerously silly.
“Alright, alright, if you’re so eager, go and get your shit together!” Aza barked, the room now filled with impatient, restless energy, “Meet me outside in five minutes!”
The room cleared out in record time, and soon it was just Aymeric and Aza, with himself staring at the open door wondering if he was going to regret this whole thing come next morning.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asked aloud, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah,” Aza admitted, playfully smacking him on the back, “Don’t worry, I’ll get most of them back in at least two pieces.”
Fury help him, “Aza.”
“I’m joking!” Aza laughed, sweeping past him with a confident sway to his hips. He paused by the door, and glanced over his shoulder at him with a rather wicked curl to his mouth, “Maybe.”
“If anyone gets eaten,” Aymeric said flatly, “You’re sleeping on the sofa for the next month.”
That quickly swept off any mischief from Aza’s expression, “Aw, what?”
“I mean it. A single person eaten-”
“But-”
“Or a single dismembered arm-”
“Oh, come on-”
“And it’s the sofa,” Aymeric finished, “No ifs or buts.”
Aza was quiet for a moment, then, “Okay, but if someone lost a leg-”
“Aza.”
“Alright, alright!” Aza threw up his hands, like being asked to safeguard the lives of thirty young knights was an impossible hardship unfairly shoved onto his shoulders, “Not a hair shall be out of place on a single one of these chickens. I promise.”
“Good,” Aymeric relaxed, “Now have fun babysitting.”
“Urgh,” Aza started to stomp out of the room, “I demand a full box of chocolates for this and a full body massage!” he yelled over his shoulder, and Aymeric chuckled at the childish display.
Yeah, it’ll go fine, he was sure.
Characters: Warrior of Light/Aymeric de Borel, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warnings: None
“This is strictly voluntary,” Aymeric said to the room at large, critically eyeing the gathered (green) knights that looked as if they were bracing themselves for a death sentence, “But it is highly advised you attend. It is a rare opportunity to observe the proper methods of dispatching Behemoths from a renowned expert in a relatively safe environment and will serve to strengthen Ishgard’s overall security and combat effectiveness.”
The gathered knights all exchanged looks heavy with meaning, and around the edges of the room his more seasoned knights did the same, except they didn’t bother concealing their grimaces. Aymeric had no idea what their problem was. Many a knight had succeeded in killing Behemoths before, granted at great cost to life and limb, but Aza at this point was a veritable master at killing them in droves. He had a wealth of knowledge and tactics to impart on his knights, and luckily Aza was willing to teach them, to protect them as they put their lessons into dangerous practice. Aymeric would have been leaping at the chance in their shoes.
Though, perhaps Aza was putting them off. From the corner of his eye he could see his partner studying the knights with a very amused curl to his mouth, like the very notion of a simple knight slaying a Behemoth positively tickled him. It probably did, Aza’s martial confidence flirted very closely with off-putting arrogance most of the time.
“So, show of hands,” Aymeric continued briskly, before the room’s meaningful looks became something more mutinous, “Who volunteers?”
No one moved.
Aymeric heaved a sigh that whooshed a bit too loudly in the tensely silent room, “We are all soldiers here,” he said a mite sharply, “So, we are all aware that when something is stated to be voluntary…”
“It’s mandatory,” Someone mumbled right in the back, and judging by the squeak that followed afterwards, the speaker hadn’t expected his voice to carry that loudly.
“Exactly,” Aymeric clasped his hands behind his back and paced before the gathered knights, seeing how everyone was now avoiding looking directly at him, “Not all of you will be going, but some of you will, even if I have to handpick you at random.”
The aggressive eye-avoiding somehow intensified. One particularly lanky knight was staring directly up at the ceiling, as if hoping Halone herself would descend through the grey stonework and bodily lift him out of the room.
“Again,” Aymeric said mildly, stopping and pivoting on his heel to face them directly, “Show of hands.”
There was quite a bit of feet shuffling, shoulder jostling and muffled mumbling, a ripple of uneasy negotiation sweeping through the room in a way that only occurred when a group of knights were trying to select who to sacrifice for a very shit tasking. Aymeric patiently waited it out.
Until one, skinny arm rose up above the group, followed by a knight’s chainmail coifed head peeking over his fellow’s shoulder, “Um, Lord Commander, sir? Why’s it so important that we learn how to fight Behemoths? They’re not too, um, common ‘round these parts.”
The knights muttered their agreement at that.
“Because Knight-” he paused, quickly scrounging the young knight’s name from memory (Adrian, from the Brume, barely twenty summers), “-Adrian, during the battle of Ala Mhigo we demonstrated a weakness that was absent from our fellow Alliance soldiers.”
That caused a stir, several knights frowning and puffing up as if in insult. If there was one thing Ishgardians were prickly about, it was their martial skill being called into question. A thousand years they had fought their war with grit and determination, and to be told that they lacked compared to their ‘softer’ neighbours was like a cold slap to the face. Good. Hopefully it’ll galvanise them.
“We have overspecialised,” Aymeric said firmly, “Throw us against an army of dragons, and we would excel head and shoulders above anyone else on this star. Throw us against an army of men, of Magitek, of beasts of war, and we flounder. Dragons are no longer our sole enemy, so we must change and adapt to prepare for our next one.”
He began to pace again, making sure to catch each and every gaze that would meet his own, “Ishgard has the most organised and well established army in Eorzea,” he said, “To cripple ourselves clinging to outdated tactics for outdated foes is unacceptable. The world is changing, we are changing, and our strength should change with it.”
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Instead, Aymeric heard the scuff of his boots as he stopped in front of his knights once more, staring them down. Beneath his hard stare they drew themselves up, quite a few looking cowed or abashed for their earlier reticence.
“So,” Aymeric’s voice was clipped, “Show of hands.”
This time there was no hesitation. Every hand rose.
Behind him, Aza let out a sigh, and Aymeric turned to him with a victorious tilt to his smile. Aza had said he didn’t expect a single knight to take him up on his training offer, and now he had approximately thirty knights to train, who would in turn impart their experience to the rest of the Temple Knights, so it wasn’t as if Aza could half-arse it either.
“Fuck sake,” Aza groaned, eyeing the assembled knights with none of the amusement he held earlier, “All of these?”
“You did say you would teach any I could convince,” Aymeric said, his smile widening at the flat look his partner slanted his way, “Unless it’s too much for you?”
“I’ll show you too much, you smug, little…” Aza grumbled, but his mouth was twitching into a reluctant smile, “You owe me for this.”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I mean it,” Aza swept his gaze over the gathered knights, every single one of whom tried to pretend they weren’t openly staring at this exchange, “Thirty chickens to shape into Behemoth killers. Fuck.”
“Chickens?” One affronted knight yelped.
“Chickens,” Aza drawled, “You had to be shamed into doing this, which is just… weak. Aren’t you all meant to be brave knights, able to stand up against fire-breathing dragons? Aren’t too impressed right now, I tell you what.”
Instantly, the room erupted into activity, the knights all puffed up and angrily yelling that of course they weren’t chickens, and a Behemoth is fucking nothing compared to a Wyvern or a poison-spewing dragon! They’ll show the Warrior of Light what Ishgardian Knights could do against a Behemoth!
Aymeric heaved a sigh as he was slowly forgotten amidst the chaos. Maybe he should’ve had Aza pitch this from the start, with how quickly he got them all riled up and ready to go. Though, he was a little worried someone was going to get unfortunately eaten, with all these boasts and dares getting tossed about. A competition to hunt Behemoths? Now that was just dangerously silly.
“Alright, alright, if you’re so eager, go and get your shit together!” Aza barked, the room now filled with impatient, restless energy, “Meet me outside in five minutes!”
The room cleared out in record time, and soon it was just Aymeric and Aza, with himself staring at the open door wondering if he was going to regret this whole thing come next morning.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asked aloud, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah,” Aza admitted, playfully smacking him on the back, “Don’t worry, I’ll get most of them back in at least two pieces.”
Fury help him, “Aza.”
“I’m joking!” Aza laughed, sweeping past him with a confident sway to his hips. He paused by the door, and glanced over his shoulder at him with a rather wicked curl to his mouth, “Maybe.”
“If anyone gets eaten,” Aymeric said flatly, “You’re sleeping on the sofa for the next month.”
That quickly swept off any mischief from Aza’s expression, “Aw, what?”
“I mean it. A single person eaten-”
“But-”
“Or a single dismembered arm-”
“Oh, come on-”
“And it’s the sofa,” Aymeric finished, “No ifs or buts.”
Aza was quiet for a moment, then, “Okay, but if someone lost a leg-”
“Aza.”
“Alright, alright!” Aza threw up his hands, like being asked to safeguard the lives of thirty young knights was an impossible hardship unfairly shoved onto his shoulders, “Not a hair shall be out of place on a single one of these chickens. I promise.”
“Good,” Aymeric relaxed, “Now have fun babysitting.”
“Urgh,” Aza started to stomp out of the room, “I demand a full box of chocolates for this and a full body massage!” he yelled over his shoulder, and Aymeric chuckled at the childish display.
Yeah, it’ll go fine, he was sure.
