[francel's hand continues shaking beneath aymeric's. he hates himself, suddenly; he wishes that he could exert control over himself, that he could stop himself from trembling like some lovelorn lamb under the weight of aymeric's gaze.]

...Is there?

[he doesn't quite meet aymeric's gaze.]

...I have never been good at anything, Ser Aymeric. If ever I had dreams or ambitions, they are now long gone. I know not what to do in this... this peaceful world.