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[Felix had been against this from the start, but no amount of arguing or fighting would change Rodrigue's mind. He had been at his marriageable age for years now, every candidate leaving the Fraldarius estate in tears whenever his father had offered him up for his Crest and family name. And for years he had narrowly avoided such a suffocating prison.
Felix never wanted to marry a woman, and if he had it his way? He never wanted to marry at all. He didn't have a paternal instinct, nor did he want to saddle any offspring of his with a mountain of responsibilities and a fate that they cannot escape. It was no way to live, and he had plenty of experience to be steady and stalwart against his father's wishes. Their relationship had always been strained since Glenn died, it grew strained still when Felix refused to do his noble duty.
Apparently marriage was a duty.
It had been arranged without his consent, and it was Rodrigue's last attempt to do something for the Fraldarius name. So his son could leave some kind of legacy.
Bah.
Legacies were for people who cared enough.
...
Now here he was, agitated and being ushered towards one of the sitting rooms of the estate. One of the house servants frowning and trying to fix his hair, whispering to him that he should have wore something nice to meet his betrothed. Felix didn't plan to linger after forcing a greeting to this stranger in his home. No, he planned to go hunting right after, so he was in his leathers and tunic.
He had to shoo well-meaning hands away, buttoning the sleeves to his shirt on his own. He was a man grown and hated all the fuss.
He was going to be meeting a man. Instead of shunning him for his preferences, his father grew creative. Felix supposed he could be thankful for that, but he held too much anger in him to be happy about the decision. He didn't even remember the name of the man he was supposed to meet. An Almyran.]
Would you stop touching me!
[He hissed at prying hands, tucking his tunic into his trousers and smoothing down any wrinkles. Felix still cut a fine and intimidating figure. He may not have grown tall and sturdy like Dimitri, nor tall and stalwart like Sylvain. Instead Felix was made for speed, with an impressive core strength and a trim build. 'Handsome' could be a word to describe him, yet beautiful fit him far better - though he would hate to hear anyone say so.
Frowning at the door, he could hear the muffled sounds of his father entertaining their guest. Felix was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to toss this one aside. So he rebelled how he could, in his white tunic and leather trousers. His belt hung loose across slim hips, with his sword sheathed and nestled against his side. It was passable, but definitely not the outfit Rodrigue had laid out for him.
With his palm on the door, he let out a slow breath.
Stoic, shoulders squared back and looking strong, he opens the door and took long strides inside the room.
It was a lovely room, with a stone fireplace and a roaring fire casting a warm and comfortable glow. The furniture was classic in design, creams and golds. He could smell the tea that had been brewed, with a platter of sweets and a plate of sandwiches. It all really was quite lovely, but nothing felt better than the sigh he heard, heaved from his long suffering father. If he wasn't so intent on keeping the passive scowl, he would have smirked.
Felix also made a point not to look at the man he was supposed to meet. Whether it was nerves or the fact he didn't know how to approach this situation, but he instead crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a hip against the nearest window. His sharp stare focusing on the impressive gardens that were so meticulously maintained by their staff.]
I'm here.
[Felix's tone was flat, whereas Rodrigue's was apologetic. He could hear the man getting to his feet, introducing his son to the other, whilst also approaching him.
"I will leave you two to get to know one another," came the friendly tone, yet Felix could hear the terseness in the man's tone. The grip Rodrigue put on his shoulder wasn't painful, but firm as he leaned in to whisper a word of warning to his son.
"Please. Behave." Was all Felix received, before Rodrigue left the room and shut the door behind him.
The absence of the man caused Felix's shoulders to relax, but not by much. Instead he scowled in a sour way, glaring at a poor rose bush, fully in bloom. Probably the last bloom of the season, as the weather was starting to grow cold. Their warmer seasons never seemed to last long, before the chill and the snow settled.
He was being rude, he knew he was.
So... finally he turned to look at his betrothed, fingers subtly curling into his sleeves as he does.
Now, what manner of man was he to marry.]
Felix never wanted to marry a woman, and if he had it his way? He never wanted to marry at all. He didn't have a paternal instinct, nor did he want to saddle any offspring of his with a mountain of responsibilities and a fate that they cannot escape. It was no way to live, and he had plenty of experience to be steady and stalwart against his father's wishes. Their relationship had always been strained since Glenn died, it grew strained still when Felix refused to do his noble duty.
Apparently marriage was a duty.
It had been arranged without his consent, and it was Rodrigue's last attempt to do something for the Fraldarius name. So his son could leave some kind of legacy.
Bah.
Legacies were for people who cared enough.
...
Now here he was, agitated and being ushered towards one of the sitting rooms of the estate. One of the house servants frowning and trying to fix his hair, whispering to him that he should have wore something nice to meet his betrothed. Felix didn't plan to linger after forcing a greeting to this stranger in his home. No, he planned to go hunting right after, so he was in his leathers and tunic.
He had to shoo well-meaning hands away, buttoning the sleeves to his shirt on his own. He was a man grown and hated all the fuss.
He was going to be meeting a man. Instead of shunning him for his preferences, his father grew creative. Felix supposed he could be thankful for that, but he held too much anger in him to be happy about the decision. He didn't even remember the name of the man he was supposed to meet. An Almyran.]
Would you stop touching me!
[He hissed at prying hands, tucking his tunic into his trousers and smoothing down any wrinkles. Felix still cut a fine and intimidating figure. He may not have grown tall and sturdy like Dimitri, nor tall and stalwart like Sylvain. Instead Felix was made for speed, with an impressive core strength and a trim build. 'Handsome' could be a word to describe him, yet beautiful fit him far better - though he would hate to hear anyone say so.
Frowning at the door, he could hear the muffled sounds of his father entertaining their guest. Felix was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to toss this one aside. So he rebelled how he could, in his white tunic and leather trousers. His belt hung loose across slim hips, with his sword sheathed and nestled against his side. It was passable, but definitely not the outfit Rodrigue had laid out for him.
With his palm on the door, he let out a slow breath.
Stoic, shoulders squared back and looking strong, he opens the door and took long strides inside the room.
It was a lovely room, with a stone fireplace and a roaring fire casting a warm and comfortable glow. The furniture was classic in design, creams and golds. He could smell the tea that had been brewed, with a platter of sweets and a plate of sandwiches. It all really was quite lovely, but nothing felt better than the sigh he heard, heaved from his long suffering father. If he wasn't so intent on keeping the passive scowl, he would have smirked.
Felix also made a point not to look at the man he was supposed to meet. Whether it was nerves or the fact he didn't know how to approach this situation, but he instead crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a hip against the nearest window. His sharp stare focusing on the impressive gardens that were so meticulously maintained by their staff.]
I'm here.
[Felix's tone was flat, whereas Rodrigue's was apologetic. He could hear the man getting to his feet, introducing his son to the other, whilst also approaching him.
"I will leave you two to get to know one another," came the friendly tone, yet Felix could hear the terseness in the man's tone. The grip Rodrigue put on his shoulder wasn't painful, but firm as he leaned in to whisper a word of warning to his son.
"Please. Behave." Was all Felix received, before Rodrigue left the room and shut the door behind him.
The absence of the man caused Felix's shoulders to relax, but not by much. Instead he scowled in a sour way, glaring at a poor rose bush, fully in bloom. Probably the last bloom of the season, as the weather was starting to grow cold. Their warmer seasons never seemed to last long, before the chill and the snow settled.
He was being rude, he knew he was.
So... finally he turned to look at his betrothed, fingers subtly curling into his sleeves as he does.
Now, what manner of man was he to marry.]
