The Moon on the Snows

“You must be freezing!”

Magnai snorts derisively. He does not turn his attention from the snows of the Eblan Rime — unlike some he could name, he takes his watch shift seriously. “I know not what you mean,” he replies. “The burning light of the sun is all the warmth I need.”

Well… he is perhaps a bit cold. He’s not as exposed as a certain fool of a khatun he could name (but won’t, because he is above such pettiness), but his furs were made for the chilly nights of the Steppe, not the harsh freeze of Garlemald. But still. Magnai is the sun itself, and the sun does not—

He doubles over and sneezes.

“By the Fury, look at you!” The speaker moves around in front of him, and now he can see it’s one of the Ishgardian contingent, and he’s— perhaps Magnai is cold, because his brain freezes up at the sight of the man.

His soft, gentle face is perhaps the most beautiful thing Magnai has ever seen.

The Elezen sighs. He holds out a thick jacket. “Take this. You’ll thank me.”

Face warm and flushed despite the chill, Magnai snatches the jacket and shoves his arms into the sleeves. “I appreciate your kindness,” he grumbles.

“Oh, think nothing of it, khatun! We’re all in this together.” His smile is as though the full moon itself shines down upon the snows. “I am Emmanellain de Fortemps, at your service should you have need of aught else.”

“You know of my station?” Magnai peers down at Emmanellain with a renewed curiosity.

“I make it a habit to know everyone,” Emmanellain replies with an offhanded shrug. “Ah, but if you’ll excuse me, Sadu khatun has watch to the east, and I do believe she is perhaps more in need of a good Ishgardian coat. Until next time!” He bows and takes his leave, abandoning Magnai to his confused and muddled thoughts.