The stormy blue eyes that stared back at him seemed - madly, he thought - as reflections to the old elezen, like peering into a looking glass. Alas, it was not so. Gone was the strapping warrior of Gridania, lost to the sands of time and in his place - well, me. One corner of his timeworn lips curled, almost sardonically, at the unbidden thoughts. Of dragons and ixal, corrupt lords and would-be assassins; he had outlived them all. Had lived to see his children grown, free from the lives he and his wife had led so many cycles before. He reached out to touch the oil-based painting with long, deft fingers, following the strokes of the brush. When he brought his hand back to touch his own face, he had more than a few lines of his own to trace.
Yvelont tore his gaze away at the sound of footsteps approaching. He smiled to see his son, Arturioux, and smiled all the brighter at the sight of the bundle the younger man carried, coming into view as the proud grandfather drew near. "She has the look of your mother," he remarked in his gravelly voice as his fingers brushed the babe's cheek. Curious eyes of liquid gold stared up at him as the babe cooed in her father's arms.
"We've named her Melodie." Arturioux grinned brightly, rocking her in his loving arms. The old elezen fought back the tears that he felt welling up, instead chuckling.
"Ah, listen to her. A fine songbird she'll make, too," Yvelont murmured as he gingerly took the infant from his son's grasp. He looked up to give Arturioux a pointed glance, arching a single brow. "You will come to visit us, yes? Your mother will be quite jealous, back on the farm, to hear I saw her granddaughter without her present." But Arturioux was already chuckling and lifting a plaintive hand before the sentence had fully left his lips.
"Aye, father, you have my word--ah, do not eye me so gruffly! 'Tis a long road from Gridania to Owls' Nest." It was true, and Yvelont knew it, but he replied with a derisive snort anyway.
"Your mother and I," he began grandly, leveling his finger toward his son. "Used to travel the Highlands and back to the Twelveswood in raging blizzards and twelve feet of snow with naught but the clothes on our backs and a pair of stout longbows." He was fond of exaggeration and, above all else, of rattling his son's chain but he laughed aloud at the realization that it wasn't far from the truth.
Arturioux wore the patient smile of one who was used to such japes and merely shook his head. "I suppose our generation, my dear father, is simply not made of stuff as stern as you and Mother." His lips twisted in the way that Yvelont knew meant he was struggling to hold back a laugh. The older elezen snorted again and turned his attention back to his granddaughter.
Only because you don't have to be, he thought as his arms gently wrapped the girl in a protective embrace. And thank the Twelve for that.
Yvelont tore his gaze away at the sound of footsteps approaching. He smiled to see his son, Arturioux, and smiled all the brighter at the sight of the bundle the younger man carried, coming into view as the proud grandfather drew near. "She has the look of your mother," he remarked in his gravelly voice as his fingers brushed the babe's cheek. Curious eyes of liquid gold stared up at him as the babe cooed in her father's arms.
"We've named her Melodie." Arturioux grinned brightly, rocking her in his loving arms. The old elezen fought back the tears that he felt welling up, instead chuckling.
"Ah, listen to her. A fine songbird she'll make, too," Yvelont murmured as he gingerly took the infant from his son's grasp. He looked up to give Arturioux a pointed glance, arching a single brow. "You will come to visit us, yes? Your mother will be quite jealous, back on the farm, to hear I saw her granddaughter without her present." But Arturioux was already chuckling and lifting a plaintive hand before the sentence had fully left his lips.
"Aye, father, you have my word--ah, do not eye me so gruffly! 'Tis a long road from Gridania to Owls' Nest." It was true, and Yvelont knew it, but he replied with a derisive snort anyway.
"Your mother and I," he began grandly, leveling his finger toward his son. "Used to travel the Highlands and back to the Twelveswood in raging blizzards and twelve feet of snow with naught but the clothes on our backs and a pair of stout longbows." He was fond of exaggeration and, above all else, of rattling his son's chain but he laughed aloud at the realization that it wasn't far from the truth.
Arturioux wore the patient smile of one who was used to such japes and merely shook his head. "I suppose our generation, my dear father, is simply not made of stuff as stern as you and Mother." His lips twisted in the way that Yvelont knew meant he was struggling to hold back a laugh. The older elezen snorted again and turned his attention back to his granddaughter.
Only because you don't have to be, he thought as his arms gently wrapped the girl in a protective embrace. And thank the Twelve for that.
Yvelont Navarre
Parn Paparn
IC Blog for Yvelont: http://never-your-pawn.tumblr.com
OOC Blog: http://navarre-again.tumblr.com
Parn Paparn
IC Blog for Yvelont: http://never-your-pawn.tumblr.com
OOC Blog: http://navarre-again.tumblr.com
