"Eh…."

Emmanellain gaped down at Honoroit, handling the situation with as much aplomb and composure as he could possibly muster. Which in Emmanellain's case meant: with none at all.

Artoirel, originally intending to retreat to his office after breakfast, sighed and slowed his steps. Emmanellain looked as if the boy had just told him that he was betrothed to a snow goobbue rather than the mere fact that he would go fetch his coat.

Acting casual, Artoirel turned to the window beside him and pretended to check if it was properly closed, sensing he ought to linger around in case he would have to intervene.

"You… you truly needn't come with me to the Jeweled Crozier, haha," Emmanellain spluttered, his fingers absently toying with Fortemps emblem on his coat.

Artoirel groaned. Had his brother just laughed without rhyme or reason? He would definitely need to intervene...

"Surely that would be much too boring for a young boy such as you. I know a lad your age is hardly interested in shopping of all things, eh?"

There was a distinct tremble in Emmanellain's voice and he made a lousy attempt at detracting from his awkwardness by nudging Honoroit's ribs. Unsurprisingly, Honoroit arched his eyebrows in blatant suspicion. The boy was too clever by half - certainly too clever for Emmanellain, anyway.

"My lord, I accompany you to the Jeweled Crozier well-nigh every day," Honoroit declared serenely. "While I must admit I'd be grateful if you shifted your attention to less… trivial matters, pray rest assured I do not mind joining you on your errands."

Emmanellain's fidgeting fingers froze.

"Eh…"

Artoirel let out a huff of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Gods, grant this man an onze of wisdom…

"Honoroit?" he called out, unable to stand by and watch his brother's ineptness any longer. "If Emmanellain doesn't require your services, pray could you assist Filibert and the rest of the kitchen staff today? Considering the many preparations still necessary for tonight's festive dinner, they could use every helping hand available."

"Oh…" A hint of disappointment flashed up in Honoroit's verdant eyes, but well-mannered as the boy was, he accepted the task with impeccable dignity. "Of course, Count Artoirel. I will seek out Master Filibert at once and ask how I can be of help."

He took a polite bow and set about heading to the kitchen, but at the threshold, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His forehead was lined with thought and he intently searched Emmanellain's face, but if he had any assumptions about what Emmanellain was up to, he refrained from voicing them.

When Honoroit had disappeared into the hallway, Emmanellain collapsed onto the nearest chair and let out a melodramatic gasp.

"You deserve my eternal gratitude, dear brother mine!" he chirped. He settled back, draped his arms over the chair's backrest and broke into a complacent grin. "That was a bit of a close call, hehe."

Artoirel forced a deep breath into his lungs, stoically reminding himself that he was a respectable, civilised gentleman and thus would not clout Emmanellain across the back of his head.

"You are aware that he knows you're going to buy his Starlight present now, are you?" he opted to point out instead. He leaned forward, propped one hand on the table and drummed his fingers against the dark wood. Emmanellain, for his part, stared at him with genuine confusion.

"You think so?" he whispered. Artoirel bit back an unbecoming curse. How on earth could his brother be so egregiously foolish?

"Yes. I think so. By the Fury, you couldn't have been any more obvious if you had tried, Emmanellain!"

Emmanellain crossed his arms in front of him and shoved his lower lip forward in an infantile pout.

"Technically, I 'bought' it two moons ago," he huffed. "I'm merely picking it up today!"

Artoirel straightened up, his jaw slack.

"How in the world does that make any diff…" He swallowed the rest of the sentence and passed a hand over his eyes. "Just see that you get it done, will you?"

Emmanellain commenced mumbling something under his breath, but fortunately rose to his feet and toddled off.

When the door fell shut behind him, Artoirel took a moment to collect himself. Gods, he loved his brother, but Emmanellain certainly was a handful…

The familiar sensation of an impending headache began pricking his temples - sadly an all too frequent occurrence when dealing with Emmanellain. Hoping for the quiet of his office to provide some relief, Artoirel climbed up the stairs. If he made haste, he could get a good amount of work done before Starlight celebration would start in earnest... While Father still helped him out on a regular basis, Artoirel was desperate to learn to handle his duties by himself. After Mother's passing, Father had exerted himself trying to help make Ishgard a better place. With the aid of Ser Aymeric and the Warrior of Light, his ceaseless efforts had finally born fruit and the Holy See of Ishgard had blossomed into the just, reputable city it was meant to be. But the years of political intrigues and petty power plays had taken their toll on Father: The shadows under his eyes had become deeper, his movements slower, his limp more pronounced. Father never mentioned any of his ailments, Heavens help that man and his stubborn pride, but his growing weariness hadn't escaped Artoirel's attention.

Artoirel's lips flattened into a thin, bloodless line. Father had done enough... It was upon Artoirel now to take up the mantle and let Father rest.

He drove the haunting thoughts far into the back of his mind and made his way towards the Eastern wing of the house. Headache or not, he would finish today's work, even if it meant he had to spend Starlight's Eve alone in his office. It was his duty, as a count as much as a son.

His plans were foiled within mere moments: As he passed the hallway that led to the family's private quarters, Artoirel jerked to a halt. His throat knotted, his entire attention fixated on that small, triangular sliver of light on the floor that was not supposed to be there. The door to Haurchefant's room stood ajar…

For a moment, Artoirel couldn't move, couldn't take a single step or utter a single sound. Then the pain of the past moons surged up in a wave of fury and broke the spell.

He charged forward, the world around him fading into colourless non-existence. No one was allowed into Haurchefant's room! After that fateful day in the Vault, Father had ruled that Haurchefant's quarters were to be left in their current state, an eternal memory frozen in time. Even cleaning the chambers was heavily restricted, and Father would personally oversee the servants whenever it couldn't be delayed any further.

His hands trembling with unbridled rage, Artoirel threw the door open and stormed into the room. He would destroy anyone who dared to sully his brother's memory!

Anyone but Father.

Artoirel froze. Father hovered in front of Haurchefant's desk, his normally imposing appearance frail and miserable. He stood motionless, gazing up at the portrait behind Haurchefant's desk with his shoulders sagged and his hands folded behind his back. Artoirel felt his anger evaporate, a dreadful sense of dismay taking its place.

The old man had heard him enter - of course - and turned to face him. A smile was plastered onto his face, but it was pale and artificial, and Artoirel didn't miss the wet shimmer in his eyes.

"Ah, Artoirel. I was only…" Father swallowed and composed himself. "Did you need something?"

Artoirel flinched, his heart sinking. What was he supposed to tell Father? That he had thought him an intruder disgracing his brother's memory? That he had been frantic to protect Haurchefant in death after he had so bitterly failed him in life?

He gave a small shake of his head, fearing he would not be able to keep his poise should he open his mouth. His gaze shifted to the painting Father had marvelled at. A family portrait featuring Father, Haurchefant, Emmanellain and Artoirel himself. It had been commissioned a few moons after Mother's death and was the first family portrait to involve Haurchefant - Mother had always forbidden for him to be included before. Haurchefant had adored the painting beyond description, begging Father for days on end to be allowed to hang it in his room. Father had initially wanted to hang it in the foyer for everyone to see, but ultimately hadn't had the heart to deny Haurchefant. It was only now, in what seemed a lifetime later, that Artoirel came to grasp the reason for Haurchefant's exuberant enthusiasm on the matter: It was the first keepsake Haurchefant ever had of his family and himself, of the people he loved and longed to be loved by.

Artoirel lowered his head. Loved by people like him...