[ 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.
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.
[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.
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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.]
[ 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. ]
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jumpygrumpy) wrote2020-11-02 01:23 pm
no subject
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!
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
no subject
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!
no subject
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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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? ]
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
no subject
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.
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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. ]