jumpygrumpy | RP Catch all

[ The road to Camp Dragonhead is blessedly quiet, save for the occasional footfall of a Highland Goobbue or the sound of a tree branch finally giving to the weight of the snow that has accumulated on it. Only the gentle sounds of nature that have prospered against all odds, acclimating to the freeze of their home. The road is clear and empties the further he strays from Ishgard's walls, something of which Aymeric appreciates. There is too much on his mind and he welcomes the simplicity of the chill air and crunch of old snow underneath his boots.

A missive and messenger could have easily been sent in his stead, but in light of Haurchefant's untimely passing, Aymeric thought it would be a good show of faith and comradery to address the Fortemps Knights there in person as they work to coordinate their efforts with the Temple Knights proper.

Against his better judgment, Aymeric had opted to make the trek alone. Lucia had made several reasonable arguments as to why it was unwise, including the only too recent attempt on his life that still caused him moment of discomfort when he twisted the wrong way, but he had insisted. The journey from the Gates of Judgment to Camp Dragonhead was not long when the weather was clear and the fauna along the way were manageable for the most. Aymeric would have liked to believe it was his own sound counterarguments that won the day, yet he knows that in the end it was Lucia understanding his desire for solitude and peace of mind that she relented despite her own concerns.

Or so he thought until the moment where he arrived at the Gates he found two Temple Knights waiting to accompany him on his trek.

Aymeric had been more than tempted to turn them away back to their posts, but finally relented to the escort. As much as he preferred to be left alone with his thoughts for a bell or two, he does understand that essentially being the only acting Head of State comes with its own risks. (Said risks are ones he is clearly willing to face head on.) At least his impromptu guards heed his request for it to be a quiet trip, speechless. Quiet save for the sound of their march, the movement of chain mail and swords shifting against their hips.

It is when the quiet goes to silence that Aymeric starts to feel off. He stops on the trail, holding his hand up, halting his escorts a few steps behind him. ]

[The fauna knew when there was something amiss. The birds went silent, the karakul had long since scampered away. Even the wind seemed to somehow still, the deathly silence of the trail like that of a frozen tomb.

Save, now, for the heavy crunching of snow and the clink of plate mail. A familiar sound, made alien and wrong by an underlying sound of scales, slithering beneath the metal, and by the noise of leathery wings shifting softly against each other. Those eyes, now grown into the armor of the compromised dragoon like tumors, swiveled and blinked, their baleful gaze locking directly upon Aymeric and the accompanying knights.]

A pity for you, that when your dragoon is not there to speak sense to you, you abandon all of it.

[There was dark humor in that tone, the vengeful spirit that had claimed Estinien sounding nearly smug.]

[ No matter how simple or quick the errand, any step outside of Ishgard's walls must be taken with caution. That they be ready for an ambush now more than ever is not far from mind. There is something in the air itself that makes the hair stand up on the back of Aymeric's neck, that simple instinct of wrongness of it all. He would rather those fears go unfounded.

Yet even he had not anticipated this. Blue eyes widen as they turn towards the sound to see Estinien--nay, the ancient wyrm that has taken his dear friend's form as its vessel approaches. The Knights at either side immediately draw up their weapons, sword and shield at the ready.

It has gotten worse, he thinks, swallowing down on the sordid realization that yet more of the dragon breaks through on the otherwise Elezen silhouette.

Aymeric steels his gaze and stiffens his hand in another short wave, signaling the Knights to hold. ]

Indeed. I don't suppose you would see fit to return him?

[The look sent towards the Knights was dismissive and disinterested, not a shred of concern to be had in it. And indeed, why would there be? Even before Nidhogg had taken the Elezen's body, Estinien alone would have been more than a match for them.]

Not barely a shred of him remains to return.

[Barely a shred, and it was impossible to read whether or not the wyrm was actually lying, his face impassive, his tone revealing nothing but cruel scorn.]

And what little does remain will die today, with you, his final, crumbling pillar of stability.

[And not an idle threat either, the lance already in one clawed hand as he spoke, the wyrm advancing as the very last syllable left him, heedless of the other two Knights.]

[ It plays to his worst fears, that there is truly nothing salvageable of the dragoon left in his own body. Nidhogg had consumed his entire being in one dramatic flash during the conference, as if exploding into existence from Estinien's very essence. Even at the onset Aymeric had been willing to do what he must even if it meant taking the man and dragon down himself, yet that does not mean he wants to do it.

Aymeric's frown deepens. Despite his lack of confidence, the steadiness of his voice does not betray him. ]

You were felled by his hand once before. Should you continue this quest, you will meet the same end here!

[ But wants hardly come into account in battle. Instinct alone is enough for Aymeric to draw his sword, Naegling shining bright blue in the crisp sunlight. He can only hope that Nidhogg relies on Estinien's own skills and movements--those, he knows well, and readies his sword to act as a shield should he be unable to dodge the first assault. The first attack is usually a forward thrust before he would pivot and jab from behind, right towards the vulnerable gut. With Estinien--no, Nidhogg's back turned, he could--

Giving into their own wants to protect their Lord Commander, shields go up as the Knights rush forward on either side of Aymeric to defend him instead. ]

Stand down!

[He sneered openly at those words, sharpened teeth bared as he did so in a beastly snarl. Perhaps he'd expected a little more uncertainty, after all, he did arrive in the body of the Azure Dragoon. He'd spent time within Estinien's mind even before this, he knew of the relationship between the two of them. It seemed he found this display of confidence quite galling.]

Know that he still watches even now, helpless and fading, and the last thing he'll see is your broken body bleeding out in the snow.

[Nidhogg had not managed to overtake the dragoon nearly enough to the point where he could employ any grander skills, but then, Estinien's skill in combat, aided by the wyrm's own terrible strength, was more than sufficient he was sure. Though even as Naegling was drawn, the rattle of weapons to either side of Aymeric drew his attention away. And so, it would be them that would take the first attack instead, the snarl twisting into a monstrously fanged and wild grin as the lance struck outwards towards one of the Knights.]

[ If seeing Nidhogg claim Estinien's body was a play to his fears, hearing that throughout all of this Estinien could see this all sends an icy shock through his veins. The threat to his own person is not what makes his stomach churn in knots as his eyes widen. It is one thing to fend off the monster that has taken the dragoon as his prisoner to the necessary end, but it is something else entirely for Estinien to be forced to bare witness to it all. ]

--What?

[ It's almost a fatal mistake on Aymeric's part. He freezes at the abject horror of it.

Or rather, it is a mistake on behalf of Aymeric. The Knight blocks the attack with his shield, yet the force behind it is beyond anything that Estinien would have been able to wield on his own. The Knight is sent back several yalms, struggling to keep his balance. The other tries to take the opening and swings her sword towards Nidhogg with a shout, the selfsame chant that had echoed across Falcon's Nest during the wyrm's encore. ]

"Death to Nidhogg!"

[ Yet before she can try to make contact, Aymeric manages to regain his senses and charges forward, lowering his sword and aiming to shove Nidhogg with his heavily armored shoulder and all of his weight behind it. ]

[There it was, the lapse he was looking for. The knight was sent skidding back, the second one nearly greeted with a backhanded swipe at her with the edge of his lance. The wyrm was keen, very keen it seemed, to drag his blade across her face. Instead, however, he would pay for his distraction.

Aymeric would find the dragoon unnaturally unyielding, though not unto a point where his attack would go without reaction. The blade was snapped away from the knight, the wyrm staggering backwards, though whether it was due to the force of the blow or his own surprise was difficult to tell.]

You stay your blade?

[He'd jerk an arm forward, trying to grab Aymeric before the other man might reconsider how close he'd put himself to the dragoon, aiming to sink those claws into whatever he might manage to snag.]

What happened to that righteous confidence?

[ Aymeric had acted on instinct and anger, the latter of which should have been fully trained out of him some time ago. Yet for all his practiced poise, he is not without his moments of heightened emotion, so oft leading down paths he should have more carefully tread. Aymeric has hoped to gain more distance and footing from his own uncouth tactic, yet instead he finds the wyrm's claws on his right arm--his sword-wielding hand, unfortunately. ]

"Lord Commander!"

[ The first knight shouts, rushing over as the second quickly retrieves her sword. (Better her sword than her hand.) Yet they both keep some distance, ready to jump back into the fray but uncertain how to proceed now with Aymeric in the way.

Aymeric grits his teeth, twisting his arm to try and yank free. But he does not attempt to raise his sword. Not yet. ]

Show me.

[ It is not a request. ]

Show me that he yet lives.

[Surely, with their Lord Commander so close, they'd not risk charging. Of this he was sure of, at least, casting an eye towards them for the briefest of moments before focusing intently on the mortal he had in his grasp. Those claws, razor sharp, do their damnedest to dig through whatever stood between them and Aymeric's skin, and he moved to drag him closer as Aymeric twisted and yanked at his arm.

The eyes beneath the helm were tainted red, the dragoon's pale skin streaked with dully glowing, twisting and winding lines. Blood vessels corrupted by the wyrm's malice, by the looks of them. It would have been easy, so very, very easy in that moment, to just rip the man limb from limb right there, right in front of his guard and indeed, in front of the waning dragoon himself, trapped deep inside the enraged wyrm.

And yet.

Perhaps it was a need to gloat, some desire to rub salt into the wound. Perhaps it was some cruel and twisted version of mercy. It would be impossible to tell, but the beast near smiled, exposing the edge of needle sharp teeth.]

I'll be so gracious to grant that last request. It's far more than you deserve.

[It was with the final syllable that the red slowly faded from steel blue eyes, and those brilliant lines receded just a hair. There, briefly, hatred and scorn turned to exhaustion, a soft, shuddering sigh slipping out as if for just a moment, some great pressure had been taken off his chest.]

Edited 2020-11-04 08:02 (UTC)

[ The helm, in many ways, is a mercy, shielding much of Estinien's distorted visage from the rest of the world. Aymeric is not sure if it's better or worse that despite the wyrm's influence, so much of him appears so painfully Estinien. The expressions are wrong, the skin is marred in ways it ought not, too sharp and too many angles, but still sees a man he knows oh so well in it. Pain does not do the feeling justice.

Aymeric can feel those claws break through the thick fabric of his long gloves, some of the spindling and decorative metal that winds around them bending to the force of Nidhogg's grip. His heels dig into the ground, standing opposed and trying to employ some resistance as he's dragged forward, his own grip on the pummel of his blade tightening despite the fact he can feel claw reach his flesh.

Then his request is answered. In that moment, the other knights are forgotten.

It is as if the sickness itself pulls away, revealing bits and pieces of the man that once was. The sigh alone is enough to both break Aymeric's heart and make it beat anew with hope. He sucks in a sharp breath of his own, muscles tensing as he resolves to hold firm in case this is a trick, and yet... ]

Estinien? Pray speak to me...

[It seemed genuine, Estinien swaying gently for a moment as if all the strength he'd had before had suddenly left him. Even the grip upon Aymeric's arm loosened, if only a little, that hand shaking from the effort of trying to defy the wyrm's will. So it would seem Nidhogg dared not withdraw fully, but then that was only to be expected.

He took one breath, and then another, as if trying to get the words out but unable to muster the strength to do so. Unable to look away from Aymeric, in spite of the clear expression of shame, some unspoken apology. It was a look ill-suited for him, it had no place on his face, but what else could he possibly feel now?

Well... no, he had one other emotion to fall back on. Aymeric begged him to speak, and finally, he managed to push through, the agony and fatigue in his expression shifting into something that might look far more familiar.]

Move back.

[The wyrm would hear it, of course he would, and certainly attempted to intercept the dragoon's sudden movement. Nidhogg had made a mistake in loosening his control over Estinien, no matter how little of it he'd given up, and the lance was raised, and a blow thus struck. But not at Aymeric, no, the weapon instead found it's mark in the dragoon's arm, the one that had, up until this moment, been gripping Aymeric's arm in that near unbreakable grasp.

The beastly scream was far removed from any natural sound, enraged and in pain as Nidhogg released his prize, though he'd try in vain to swipe at the other man, forced to reconsider that as Estinien twisted the lance in his own arm.]

[ It is not a look that he should wear--despondent. For all the tragedy that Estinien has seen and experienced, he has ever pushed forward, fueled by his own stubbornness. For every hit, he has never yielded, never broken. But this--this has taken it's toll.

Yet it proves that what Nidhogg had said as true--Estinien does still retain pieces of himself, held prisoner inside of his own body, forced to watch the horrors the wyrm seems fit to wreck upon others as if they were by his own hands. His heart aches with the loosening grip and for a moment Aymeric has passing thought--

It need not be this way!

Then Estinien speaks and everything that follows happens quickly. He's released as Estinien impales himself, stumbling back a few steps as the monstrous scream makes his ears ring. The knights behind him both wince, but start to rush forward to retrieve their commander.

Aymeric shouts over his shoulder, ]

Stay back!

[ The knights freeze in place.

Despite Estinien's order, Aymeric closes the distance between them again. He stabs the end of his sword into the snow--close and ready should he need it--and grabs the pole of the dragoon's spear, helping push it further down into the muscle.

Arms can be mended. Flesh can be sewn.

There is hope.

Aymeric's brows push together tightly as he tries to catch Estinien's gaze, looking for any signs that the wyrm's attempts to retake control are successful. ]

You will not face this foe alone, no matter the battlefield!

[Blood courses freely down his arm, a wound that would have been near lethal, had the wyrm not been bolstering the strength of his catch. Each attempt Nidhogg made to resurface only resulted in another, agonizing twist of the lance, though each vindictive and painful movement grew steadily less vicious. His control was waning quickly, so it would seem.]

I told... you to move... back.

[His tone was desperate, the edge to his words borne not of anger but of fear. Fear for Aymeric, as he could feel the wyrm's influence starting to spread across his mind once again like a pitch black fog. His words still managed to pierce the growing mire, though not dispel it, the corrupted lines creeping back across his face as he met Aymeric's eyes. The lance sank deeper with the other man's assistance, threatening to scrape against the dragoon's bone, but the blinding pain wasn't enough to keep the wyrm at bay. Already, that red, malevolent light was starting to seep back into once clear eyes, and Estinien shuddered.]

Don't... don't hold back, finish it, finish...

[He'd rather die, he'd rather die than be a vessel for the wyrm, he'd desperately hoped that he'd see Aymeric's blade pulled from the snow, and buried in his stomach. It was the last thing he could manage to choke out, before Nidhogg reclaimed him.

There was no warning, the dragoon's desperate plea interrupted by a howl of rage. Once more, the wyrm's influence overwhelmed him, and the now enraged man-turned-beast lurched forward. Teeth, rows of sharp, dagger like teeth, were bared as the former Elezen aimed snapped at the opposing man, aiming to sink them right into the junction of his jaw and neck.]

[ It is a risk he is all too willing to take--both Nidhogg's return and Estinien's ire. That there may be a chance, something he had nary considered beyond the wishful passing comments from Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, but to have the evidence in front of him that Estinien is not merely a husk, that there is a part of him still there to preserve.

Selfishly, he wants that chance. For if it has to end the way he fears--the way he prepares himself--Aymeric would rather have tried.

Estinien's pleas hit like blows all their own, Aymeric's pained apology written across his face. ]

If it should come to that--

[ His promise, however, is cut short. One moment he is staring down Estinien, pushing the lance nearly through his arm, and the next he is on his back in the snow, letting out a gargle shout of his own as he feels sharp teeth pierce his flesh. He reaches out, but Naegling is one too many fulms off.

The knights charge forward again, shouting out for Aymeric and raising their swords to swipe and slash at the wyrm's wings and back--whatever they can find to dislodge him. ]

[If it should come to that. Those words still reached him before he went under. If it should come to that. He trusted Aymeric enough to know what the rest of that promise was, the one lifeline he could still cling to.

Nidhogg, however, had now regained full control, Aymeric's blood seeping into the wyrm's mouth. He'd forgotten the very existence of the Temple Knights, only concerned with metting out swift and violent justice for what was perceived to the rancor driven spirit as yet another act of treachery.

It was only when the knight's swords met with his wings that he was reminded that it wasn't just him and the dragoon's dear friend out here. In a bid to gain room, the massive wings flared, the wyrm pulling himself sharply away from Aymeric to throw himself back. Wildly, the beast tried to strike at them, attempting to catch them with the leathery and bony ridges of the wings themselves as he was forced back and away from Aymeric.

Blood stained the snow, stained him, painting both his armor and his chin. A nightmarish, ghoulish sight, the dragon's cursed eyes embedded in the dragoon's armor spinning rapidly left and right in order to keep every player on the field in sight.]

[ Aymeric gasps sharply as he's finally released, the chill of the air against the open wounds at his neck almost as sharp as the teeth that caused them. His left hand snaps up to try and stop some of the flow of blood as he rolls over onto his side, pushing onto his feet.

The first knight is slapped in the face with the force of one of the wings expanding--the second time that day the wyrm has sent him backwards, but he brandishes his sword at the same time, trying to do any damage he can before he loses his balance. The second narrowly dodges the other wing, ducking and holding her shield up to block if need be. Another hits her shield and she pushes back, joined by her companion to double the efforts.

Aymeric, having found his footing again, grabs his sword and quickly closes the distance between them once again. ]

Nidhogg!

[ He lets go of his neck, taking hold of the pummel with both hands despite how slippery it becomes with his own blood. ]

The war has ended! You were wronged and your rage was justified, but let us be rid of it! Those responsible have long perished and you doom your own children to suffer endlessly for days they had not born witness. If love is what once spurned you into action, let it be the reason why you abandon this crusade! Of this we have in common. To fight for those that we love!

[Those wing beats would have been far more powerful, had it not been for the toll the lance wound had given him. His arm hung, practically useless at his side. Still attached, of course, but that wound was beyond what a mortal body could have otherwise taken. Bone occasionally gleamed through the split armor and sliced flesh, but the only indication the wyrm barely gave an indication that he was wounded, save perhaps for lighter blows.

How Aymeric was still standing was beyond him, but then, Nidhogg was a bit beyond idle musing. The fact that the elezen still stood was all that mattered, the why was utterly unimportant. The plea for peace, as heartfelt and as desperate as it was, was answered swiftly and viciously, Nidhogg spitting a mouthful of Aymeric's blood into the snow.]

A hundred years for you is but a blink of an eye for me and my kin, and you ask me to forget what your people have done? To my sister? To me?! Your pretty words are as substantial as air, and I will tear your kingdom and kind to pieces, starting here with you.

[ So it has come to this.

A plea he feared may fall onto deaf ears, but once that he still felt the need to make. If not for his own sake, then for Ishgard's--for Estinien's. That he be willing to kill his own kin to drive his crusade even past death should have been enough indication...yet Nidhogg had given something Aymeric had thought lost since he had taken the dragoon's body.

Hope.

And it is with hope that he drives forward, hoping that his aim is true. Naegling has slew many dragons through her life even before she came to Aymeric's hand, yet this is the one time that he hopes she spares one. Or, at least, the body that it holds captive. He directs the blade at the wyrm's core. ]

[Nidhogg, or rather, the enraged shadow of the beast that was once Nidhogg, was no longer capable of reason. One goal, one track, and nothing was going to shake him from it, not even death itself.

Perhaps Halone herself heard that silent prayer, for the blade struck... But the dragoon didn't fall. Injured, terribly so, the shriek of pain both hideously inhuman, and painfully familiar all at once, but he did not collapse.

But then, nothing had come easy to them, not before and certainly not now. This time the blood he spat was his own, as he wrenched himself away, Naegling having just barely missed its target, and instead found itself having sunken just right of its target.

The wings flared, and in the blink of an eye, man became dragon as the wyrm hurled himself into the sky, his wounds leaving vibrant splashes of red in the snow. Fleeing, so it would seem, he'd been far, far too careless.]

[ The cry of pain is enough indication that Aymeric's aim was true--yet it still did not have the intended effect. He had hoped that he could deliver a blow hard enough to render the wyrm helpless and from there they could go about extracting him from Estinien. Yet it seems all he has accomplished is to now send Nidhogg and, by association, his friend fleeing and out of reach.

Aymeric grits his teeth as he watches the dragon take to the sky. He stumbles a step, propping the blade back into the snow and using Naegling as a crutch to lend his weight as his left and returns once again to his neck.

The two Temple Knights come rushing to his side, bruised for their own efforts--efforts that have paid off in that all three of them leave with their lives and mostly intact. But this does not feel like a victory, not to Aymeric.

He has to ask himself...

Have I failed him? ]

[And like that, the wyrm was gone, leaving nothing but crimson stains in the snow, and ragged wounds on Aymeric. At least, if nothing else, they'd be left in peace, allowed to keep their lives as the dragon nursed his wounds and gathered his strength. The next battle, he was sure, would not end as this one had. The next battle, he'd paint the ramparts red with Ishgardian blood.

And indeed, the fight was vicious. Bloody and merciless, the walls left crumbling and bodies broken beneath the wyrm's assault. Surely, had it not been for their champion, for their warrior of light, carrying the eye of Hresvelgr, the outcome would have been far more grim. The wyrm had done his best, even at the end, to take his vessel down with him, hateful and wrathful to the very last. And yet, the eyes were prised from the armor, and Estinien lay limp and motionless upon the stone. Freed, and by some miracle of fate, still breathing. Too stubborn to die, not yet, though his eyes remained closed.

Unconscious, but refusing to pass on.]

[ His ill-fated friend indeed...but he yet lives. Against all the odds stacked against him, Estinien still shone through at the end, and had it not been for Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light's quick actions, he may have truly been done for. They did what Aymeric could not and he will be eternally in their debt for more reasons than this. After parting words with Hraesvelgr, Aymeric's chest feels light even with the weight of Estinien in his arms.

Or, perhaps, in a large part due to it.

Though several Temple Knights offered to take the Azure Dragoon from him, Aymeric denied every request. He is determined to carry his dear friend all the way to the infirmary where he is certain Lucia has rallied the healers to be ready. They will surely be busy due to the battle and all the wounded filing in, yet he would be lying if Estinien was not his highest priority at the moment. Ishgard is still indebted to him in many ways.

So they give him a wide berth, many saluting as he passes. Aymeric keeps his gaze forward for the most, every so often glancing down at Estinien's partially concealed face as if to verify that he really is there. That he is whole. ]

Not too much farther, my friend.

[ He speaks quietly, privately, as carefully ascends the steps to Foundation, trying to avoid jostling Estinien overmuch. ]

You will be whole again ere long.

[At some point, eventually, when Aymeric would look down, he'd find himself being looked back at. Through half lidded, tired eyes, the dark circles that had always been there seeming just a little deeper now. But as exhausted as that look was, the serenity in it was as clear as day. An expression that had never actually ever seemed to have touched his face before.

He hurt, by the Twelve did he hurt, every limb ablaze, every breath a dull ache, but he still forced himself to move. One hand shifted, and the armored fingers brushed against the side of Aymeric's hand, as if to make certain that this was actually real.]

Even were I not...

[His voice rasped, but the pain only caused him to pause just once, briefly pressing his hand against the other man's.]

I could still die here complete.

[ He had not expected to see that stormy blue gaze look back at him so soon. Aymeric feels his heart skip a beat and stomach leap. The last time--the last time he beheld Estinien he had mere moments before succumbing once again to the wyrm's influence, only to beg for death.

But no longer. He could be his own man again, reclaim his body and take all the needed time to heal wounds, both physical and otherwise. And Aymeric vowed that this time he would be there each step. So he smiles, the warmth of it reaching his eyes, his own hold raising Estinien up just a fraction as if embolden by the dragoon's wakefulness alone. ]

Let us not court such notions so soon after leaving the battlefield. I would much rather look forward to your recovery.

[The simple fact that he could will his arm to move, and it would do so without hesitation, was almost euphoric. A shame he'd not the strength to do more. It was with some measure of quiet frustration that he found he'd have to be satisfied with this small measure of movement, his head rolling to rest against the other man's upper arm.]

I'd ask about your neck...

[But it was plain as day that Aymeric was hearty and hale enough, not a single indication of damage in neither his movement nor his voice, in spite of the violent meeting near Dragonhead Camp. As grim a memory as it was, there was a soft snort from Estinien, the sound as close to a laugh as he'd ever gotten.]

Bit off more than he could chew.

[ That Estinien was aware of each movement that Nidhogg had taken in his body makes Aymeric's heart ache. What true torture to see his own hands, hear a twisted version of his own voice shout out against his comrades. Truly, Estinien deserved no such fate and the wounds inflicted there were not ones to be undone by even the most skilled healers. That would be left up to Estinien himself, yet Aymeric is determined to offer all the aid that he can.

Aymeric shakes his head, wishing he could will away the image entirely. Yet Estinien seems to be in good humor about the incident none-the-less. ]

Aye. Though I admit it had caught me off guard, 'twas the kinder fate.

[ Nothing in comparison to how exhausted the dragoon must be feeling after everything else that has transpired. For all the warmth that Ayemric emits, he does feel the pangs of regret start to seep in despite his best efforts to keep them concealed for Estinien's benefit. ]

...A lesser man would yet be able to speak after such an ordeal. You never cease to amaze me, my friend.

[It was a vile memory, unpleasant in every aspect. He'd tasted the man's blood in his mouth, heard his pained cry. But, he'd also shared a mind with Nidhogg. Looking up at Aymeric, smiling and warm as the wyrm lay dead, stood in direct defiance to the ancient dragon's pure arrogance and wrath. He'd felt the outstanding and overwhelming rage and power of the wyrm, and yet here still stood the other man, practically unscathed.

Practically poetry.

It stood to reason however, that the sensation of it wouldn't be so easily forgotten, nor personally forgiven. But now perhaps was not the time to burden the other man with those darker, more private thoughts.]

Could I not... I'd surely disappoint myself.

[Even if it was only a few words at a time, spoken no louder than a murmur. Now though, his consciousness was starting to fade, the extent of his injuries too great to stay awake for much longer. His hand upon Aymeric's began to falter, his eyes unfocusing.]

Please, should Alphinaud ask after me... Let him know... I'm going to be very upset if his whinging wakes me up.

[ A few words, yes, but each appreciated. Aymeric certainly does not want Estinien to burden himself with the effort should it prove too much, but he most assuredly enjoys the confirmation of his well-being. That they could come to this moment at all feels a gift--a part of him had accepted that Estinien may truly be beyond their ability to save.

Never has he been so glad to be wrong. ]

No one would have thought less of you, yet you insist on being a stubborn fool...and full glad am I for it.

[ Aymeric shifts Estinien's weight ever so, a slight readjustment to make sure that his grip holds fast. The steps up towards Congregation will be the most difficult part, but he is determined to see this through to the end.

For his chiding, Estinien does earn a smile and a light huff of a laugh. ]

Rest, love. We will have Alphinaud take care.

[ That is if Aymeric is at all willing to relinquish his own vigil when the time comes.

...The irony being, of course, that Estinien does wake as soon as Aymeric departs and gives into the boy's requests to see the sleeping dragoon for himself. ]

RP Catch all

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as i belatedly notice i have no helmed icons RIP me

15 icons is really not enough

just five more mom

remembering the days of 3 LJ icons...

I count myself blessed that I didn't play on LJ during those dark times

dark times indeed. you had one for :) one for >:( and one for :|

at least no one could dunk on you for using the same icon over and over

Simpler times

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