ᑭᕼYᗩ TᗩYᑌᑌᑎ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moonsblessed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synthneon2023-06-11 04:58 pm
moonsblessed) wrote in synthneon2023-06-11 04:58 pm
au au || ❝ our fate so darkly romantic, i will never leave your side. ❞
we were one with our destinies entwined
when i thought that i fought without a cause,
you gave me the reason why...
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And perhaps it is only his fogged mind telling him that this is the woman he loves, even if she does not look the way he remembers. But perhaps he does not need to see her, not when he remembers her soul.
I waited, hoping you would return. With the way they are positioned, she may not be able to see the look in his eyes, but there is a look of desperation there: a look suggesting a need to believe that she has finally come back. If she has returned to him, then he can finally begin fixing the mistakes that he knows he made, starting with failing to protect her.
His mouth moves as though he wants to try and speak, but his wounds have drained his strength, and when she moves him, he presents no resistance, allowing her to position him however she wishes. Had she been anyone else, he would have forced himself to turn away, or to push away her hands. If he returned to the aetherial sea, then perhaps he would have found the one he lost. But now that she is here, somewhere in his muddled thoughts, he knows he wants to live.
But can he, when he has taken so many wounds and left all of them uncared for? The wounds are barely healed at all, so a part of him would not be surprised if it was too late.
She asks if she might start, and by way of answer, he slowly raises his hand as if searching for someone that is lost. ]
Lantaa... Where- Where are you? [ The name slips from him as his awareness seems to slip between moments of being lucid and being confused. But just as soon as he asks the question, a bit of the fog seems to lift, and he manages the slowest of nods, recognizing that she is still Lantaa, and that she wants to help him. If there is even the smallest of chances that he might recover with her assistance, he wants to take that chance. ]
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Her hand moves to take the one he has lifted. Fingers slide between his and she simply holds it in a way that is familiar, yet feels new all at the same time. After a moment of hesitation she leans forward and rests her cheek against their hands so he might feel that she truly is with him. He seems so drained that he can hardly focus on one thing or another without drifting to the next.
His wounds must be far worse than they appear.
Phya gently nudges his hand before placing it down beside him. Her focus shifts to his side where the injuries must surely be. The hand at his hair begins to gently brush the strands as if she has always done so. The other that held his moves to hover over the wounded area and her eyes drift shut in an attempt to listen to his chaotic spring of aether.
There are several wounds, but one in particular is deep and the source of much of the pain. He was pierced by.. claws, teeth? Both? It is so very hard to tell with how his aether seems incapable to be calm. Her eyebrows furrow in attempt to understand how and why it is in such a state. Then, as if she had asked out loud, the memory comes to her.
Vampire.
Phya tilts her head before lowering to be closer to him. She imagines he cannot speak loudly and thus it may be difficult to answer her question. ]
When was the last time you ate, Aymeric?
[ She believes she already knows. If his wounds have struggled to heal thus, then, it has been some time. He will need not only healing magicks, but to eat, and perhaps even alchemy to help recover with such damage. He is quite lucky he has not died.
Phya gently rests her cheek against his arm as she looks down at him. It feels almost as if she's in a fever dream. She knows he is the knight she had been waiting for all this time... but... part of her can hardly believe it. ]
It may hurt quite a bit once I start. Are you ready, my... [ Her voice catches before she can finish her sentence. "My knight."
Has she truly earned the right to call him such now? After all this pain he has been in because she had died? Surely, this is her fault, as it may not have happened if she had simply lived. He may resent her, hate her, or perhaps not even see her as she is now. Maybe that is for the best. Maybe if he continues to see her how she was he may still love her... ]
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But as he can do neither of those things, he tries to work harder to force his fingers to curl further against hers. The discomfort he feels from his lingering wounds does not matter. The only thing that matters now is her. He does not wish to succumb to his injuries, not now, but he would tolerate the discomfort from his untreated wounds if it meant having her with him once more.
He dimly registers her surveying his wounds, knowing that she must be wondering at his condition and at the state of his aether. A dim memory surfaces, reminding him that she could "see" the aether of another, and she must be doing that once more. What will she see? He can only begin to imagine, but it must be a rather confusing picture.
Then she asks him when he last ate, and he manages to shake his head from side to side just once. The motion enough is not enough, however, and he forces out the briefest of answer, said with a hoarse voice and all. ] I- I have not... [ His words trail off, although he intended to say more, but that will have to be answer enough. It has been a considerable period of time since he last consumed anything, even though doing so would have sped up his recovery. He felt no desire to do so, as there seemed to be little point in prolonging his life. Until now, that is.
She tells him that it may hurt, but he knows that nothing could possibly hurt as much as losing her did. And aside from that, there is a part of him that believes he deserves to be in this state, and deserves to be hurt as payment for failing in his chief responsibility: protecting her.
With those thoughts in mind, he manages to incline his head just once to indicate that he is ready, whenever she chooses to begin. If it is uncomfortable or even if it hurts, he will simply have to take it without complaint. It sinks in a moment later that she started to call him something, something indicating a sort of possession. What was it that she used to call me...? He knows that they had names for each other, but he cannot seem to remember them now. But if she is looking closely enough, she may notice his eyes lighting up just briefly with recognition. ]
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She watches him intently for an answer to her query, gently rubbing her cheek against his arm to comfort him. Her ears lift once more as he manages to speak once more. It seems he is limited to what he can say and how much he can say. Then, perhaps she ought to ask him simple questions if needed. That way he can focus less on the words and more on recovery.
A nod is given. ] You will need to eat after you've rested.
[ She nudges her nose to his arm affectionately before sitting up. Then, her hand moves from his hair to gently rub his arm. A hope is there that it will be comforting as she begins to work. Although, she must admit, she is hesitant to even begin. He is so weak and it may hurt so very much... hasn't she hurt him enough?
Her eyes close and she inhales deeply. The hand at his wounds lowers closer to the fabric that covers them as she begins to weave his aether. It is hard to grasp, and even harder to nudge where she must have it go, but she focuses intently on it. It feels as if her fingers are threading between strands and gently tying them together. It takes time. Moments pass before the tugging and weaving seems to come to a stop. ]
They should stop bleeding for now. [ Tending to the wounds, the possible infection, however... ] One of your wounds is very deep... so deep. It's twisted on the inside now, hasn't it? I-I would need to undo the attempts at healing that your body has done to properly heal it... [ her head tilts towards him and she squeezes his arm. ] Would that be alright?
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At her statement of his needing to eat, the look in his eyes shifts again, and while he is not wholly opposed to feeding from her (he has missed it, in fact), something causes him to hesitate. ] There are rats, in the woods. [ The statement on its own might seem odd, but if she remembers who and what he is, she should understand.
But she begins rubbing his arm once more, and the slight tension that was forming in his shoulders fades, replaced by a feeling of contentment. He maintained that he needed no one's care, but she is not no one.
Even if the process of healing causes him to hurt, he intends to take it without complaint. Considering that he has had moments of wishing to simply pass quietly, letting another take his place as this town's lord, it might seem strange that he is not protesting her efforts to heal. But now there is a reason for him to remain.
His eyes slide closed as she begins weaving his aether to stop the bleeding. It is a strange sensation, feeling the tugging and weaving as she works with his aether. But he still remains silent, letting her do her work. Only when she stops and begins to speak again does he open his eyes once more.
Now they have arrived at the point of needing to actually heal his wounds, and this is when he imagines the discomfort will increase. The dragons he fought with and lost against were fierce with their fangs and talons, and he knows she can see the proof of it in the wounds he has taken.
But if it must be done, then he will simply do his best to bear it. Again his head inclines slightly, and he manages a single word: ]
Yes. [ He trusts that she knows what to do and will do it well, so he has no reason to state otherwise. ]
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Her nose scrubches in a familiar way. They would hardly sustain a vampire, if memory serves, and hardly one as injured as he. The only option is to feed from a larger creature, and she rather doubts he would wish to eat from another in his town. Eating directly from her would be too dangerous in his current state. While she trusts him without question? His instincts may need far more than she could offer in one sitting. Feedings will need to be measured and calculated...
A good thing she brought glasses with her potions.
Phya nods slowly to his permission given. She gently chews on the inside of her lip as she hesitates one more. The idea of causing him more pain after leaving him to suffer for so many years causes a spike of discomfort and even anxiety. While he might approve now, what of when his senses fully return? Will he be even angrier with her after everything else she had made him live through on his own?
Her shaking hand gently moves to over properly over his front. Fingers brisk along until she finds the deepest wound. The one that causes his chaotic aether to twist, knot, settle, and pull more into it in a veign attempt to heal. Perhaps if he had enough blood, then, it would of healed properly. She glances once more to meet his clouded blue eyes. Her heart sinks, for surely, he would not be in such a position if she had not died.
Phya closes her eyes and attempts turn her focus to aiding him. It would do little good if he felt what she did through what little connection there could be due to interacting with his aether. Her fingers press against the wound site in an attempt to take hold of the knotted aether. Her ears twitch in slight frustration as it seems his aether slips from her fingers.
This was so much easier before... has she truly become so inept? Why are things so much harder than she can recall them being in her previous life?
Finally, she manages to grab ahold of the knot by further curling her fingers into the wound. Ears stand atop her head in surprise, but she does not let it stop her. Her fingers gently begin to massage the site, easing the aether into releasing and unwinding itself. It takes time--far longer than she anticipated. A few times she must push again to take hold as the aether as it attempts to slip away from her again.
She attempts to focus on what the aether holds within it, but the emotions and memories attached seem scattered and moving from one to the other. The trauma was deep and sudden. Sharp and digging. The intent was to kill, but he survived. It would of been a mortal wound should he have been anything but what he is. Talons and teeth all at once. Pain, so much pain, but even then something hurt so much more... ]
A dragon? [ She asks gently, tilting her head once more as she attempts to learn what she can of it. ] It attacked... and... bit, or did it claw first...? The intent was to kill ... but it didn't...
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If he could find the strength and the words to address her worries, he would tell her that whatever pain might come from her healing, he intends to take it in stride. After all, even the worst injury at the claws of dragons pales in comparison to what he felt the day he learned that she was gone: gone because he was not there to save her. A part of him wonders if he will ever forget making that discovery or the dark days that came after it... days that never seemed to end.
He may have forgotten what her process of healing is like and how it feels, so as she begins, he finds himself steeling him for something more or less unknown. But as she works, steeling his resolve turns to stiffening as his body loudly protests against the sudden discomfort. If he is to be honest, it is more than discomfort, as she undoes what little healing has naturally occurred in spite of his failure to care for himself and his needs. The wound is deep, as she surmised, and he clenches his teeth to hold back any unwanted outbursts. He bites his lip unintentionally, which would have gone unnoticed if not for the taste of blood from the bitten area.
As she continues to work, his memories begin to swirl in a confusing blur as flashes of himself locked in battle with a dragon mesh with the present and her efforts to heal him. But a third memory weaves itself into the strange flood of memories: a small figure running, and a flash of blood. His fists clench, and for just a fraction of a second, his eyes gleam red. It is gone as soon as it appears, and he is just Aymeric once more.
She asked if he was ready, and he said he was, but he could not have anticipated how it would feel to have his tangled, coiled aether worked on until it released itself once more. Still, there is nothing to do but wait and try to drown out the unwanted memories from the past. ]
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Especially one that is weaker and far more useless than she was before.
Finally, after what seems like hours, she manages to undo the knots his aether has tied into. Her hand immediately covers the area of the deepest wound, palm pressing onto it, channeling the ambient aether to heal. She fears it will leave a permanent mark on the inside of him. An injury that will flare and ache, all because she had not been there at the start to heal him. Her tail curls around her, and draping over him, as she tries to push her own emotions of it to the side so they do not funnel into him as well.
Her brilliant blue eyes finally open and her shoulders sink in apparent exhaustion. The hand at the wound begins to shake as she can feel the physical drain on her person from channeling so much aether. The blue eyes turn to him, searching for his reaction as she goes from funneling aether to gently guiding it with her finger tips. The wound will most certainly hurt, as even if the deepest internal damage is repaired, they will need to clean and dress the wound. Fever and side effects will need to be addressed. The road to recovery has begun but it truly is far from over. At the very least he no longer is in danger of passing to the aetheric sea.
Phya's reaches over him to gently take the hands that had balled into fists. Her smaller hand rests atop his. She can see the blood on his lip, and an instinct rises to lean over and kiss the self inflicted wound. The instinct is never followed upon, for what if he would not wish the affection when he truly can see her? When his eyes register she is no longer only Lantaa, but a new life with new struggles and a new face?
Instead, she continues to massage the area of his wound to direct his aether to flow better, and brisks the tips of her fingers over his hand. ]
I know it hurts so very much. I... I know there are wounds that may possibly never heal because of me. [ The tip of her tail curls ever so slightly. ] B-but, I promise that I will mend all that I can that was done to you--by myself included. My poor Aymeric, look at what I caused...
[ Why would you ever wish to keep being bound to me after all of this?
She imagines exhaustion must be sweeping over him. Perhaps he has slipped back into the daze and can no longer truly see her, but merely a woman, trying to aid him. Perhaps that is for the best in the end. ]
You need to rest, my--[ she stops herself from saying love, as she has surely lost the right to such a phrase, ]--rest and then I will wake you to eat.
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She is correct that when the time is right, they will have to address the rather complicated subjects that still linger between them.
As for his wounds, he is certain that at least one of them will continue to plague him even after having been healed. While his lucid moments come and go, he retained enough awareness to recognize the seriousness of the deepest of them. And since he did not properly care for it, he is certain that it will continue to be a thorn in his side. Perhaps it is punishment for failing to save the one he loves the most. Even though she has returned, it does not change the fact that he failed her.
If she worries about her emotions funneling into him, she shouldn't, as he has more than enough emotions to make up for it. He simply does not let any of them show, choosing instead to rely on the best expressionless mask that he can manage to hold in place.
It seems that in the aftermath of her healing efforts, he can at least string a few more words together than before, and he takes advantage of this to make a statement. ]
I have been resting. [ In a way... it was hardly the best sort of rest, nor did it do very much to aid his condition, but it does not matter. ] You need to rest as well. [ It is not lost on him that she expended some of her own aether in the process of healing him, and therefore, his focus is not upon himself or what he needs, but on her. ]
If there are hurts that go on being a trial, I intend to carry them. [ He could never practice enough penance to make up for his failure, but he is resolved to do whatever he must.
He hears her words and her promises, and her taking on the blame for what she thinks she caused, but he does not need them. ]
This was not your doing. [ She may not believe it, but he needs to make that plain. As for the notion of resting, he finds himself wanting to do anything but. To rest and sleep means letting the harrowing images and nightmares that come when he sleeps back in, and he knows he does not wish to do that. He feels the exhaustion threatening to pull him under, but he fights against it, not wishing to let it take hold again. ]
No more rest. [ Not for him, at least. ]
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I will rest when you do. [ A familiar statement she is sure. How many times in her previously life had she said it? ] O-of course it was a consequence of my doings...
[ Still, now is not the time to argue. She shifts to sitting on the side of her legs, her knees gently pressing into his back to offer support. Her hand finally returns to his hair in other to brush through the knotted strands. This too will need attention, but only after his wounds have healed and she has made sure no infection has grown to call itself home. ]
Then, I will simply need to keep you company. [ If he continues to insist that he does not need sleep then she will simply have to ease him into it herself. ] Sitting here, by your side.
[ Once, she would have sat by his side and held conversation with him. He is so weak that she is certain what might have been the norm would be impossible. As well as the simple fact that her memories hold from decades ago. She is of a new life now, and he a changed man from the passage of time. What could they possibly speak of to one another now?
Her finger tips gently brush along the side of his ear as she weaves gently through his hair. Speaking should be minimal for him at this moment, and truthfully, even a time after he has eaten. ]
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He is no physician nor healer, and so he does not have the knowledge either might possess, but he would not be surprised if some infection had settled into the worst of his wounds. He had not gone out of his way to further expose them, but he had not cared for them either. But regardless of infection or not, the fact remains that he is still quite lacking in strength.
The movement might seem strange, but that does not stop him from shifting as best as he can, given his lingering weakness; he nestles himself further against her, an action that feels familiar somehow. In his mind's eye, he sees himself doing that very thing with her before, but so very long ago now. The thought occurs to him that now that she has returned as someone else, she will not like to have him as close as he is, or having his head resting in her lap. But if she did not like it, why would she permit it? His brow furrows in mild confusion as he tries to reconcile the past with the present.
And he can hardly put the question into words at the moment, but there is a part of him that wonders if she still wishes to remain with him, given her new life and the path that lies ahead of her. He is, after all, a changed man, and older now, while she is still quite young.
Perhaps once he has regained his strength and no longer needs a healer, that is when she will take her leave. Perhaps the care she is showing is only that of a healer and nothing more. Perhaps he should steel himself for her inevitable departure. As if his body is responding to the thoughts swirling in his mind, tension forms once more in his shoulders and frame, as something inside him protests the idea of being alone again.
He never wanted to seal himself away from the world, but losing the one he loved most changed him, and he could hardly stand being among people. Perhaps that is still true to some degree, but he could manage it if he had her with him. If she leaves him once he is recovered...
Again he seems to protest that very thought, and channeling what strength he can into moving, he moves his hand once more as if searching for hers... as if searching for the physical proof that she is here and not leaving him. ]
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Phya shifts so that his head might rest against her lap. Her fingers continue to comb his hair, noting the continual list of things that will need to take place once he finally sleeps.She hopes to coax him into sleep instead of needing to cast it upon him. It would be far better for him in the end as it would mean his body is able to rest on its own. ]
Your people need you to be recovered. [ Now is not the time to explain the temperament of the people below, but perhaps once he awakens. ] You need to recover for your own health. As you sleep, I will tend to the wounds and whatever else you will need. I will be right here.
[ Not a thing will remove me is what she would wish to say, but, she feels as if she cannot say such a thing. Something had separated them before and pulled her away from him. Why make such a promise and get both of their hopes up? She will do all in her power to remain at his side, but, she would not promise him when he is in such a condition. ]
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If he could speak, he would tell her how he feels, but that will have to wait until his strength has returned in full. He wishes to sleep, as he truly does need it, but he fears what visions his mind might conjure up as he does, just as he fears waking up to find her gone. He fears her leaving on her own, or being taken from him, and that is why he fears letting sleep take him, no matter how much he needs it.
It registers that she is urging him to sleep, offering reassurance that she intends to be there when he wakes up, but still, something continues to prevent him from finally taking his rest. ]
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He refuses to sleep and Phya shakes her head lightly. A small sigh is given before she leans down and gently brushes her lips to his damp forehead. He is warm to the touch. A fever has either returned or formed, and she is certain now there is an infection that must be dealt with. With a gentle nudge to the side of his head, Phya hums a gentle tune to lure him into sleep. The notion is one that is kinder and far easier to coax him into the deep sleep that he surely needs.
Moments slip by while she waits to be certain that he has fallen asleep. She rests his hand back at his side and merely sits beside him as reality settles in. A part of her questions if this is even real. Has she truly found the knight she has waited her whole life for? Had she jumped to conclusions or even to action? The whole string of events seems so very impossible, having taken place in a daze or even a fever dream. Yet, no matter how many times she shakes her head and stares down at the pale Elezen in her lap, the feeling in her heart never changes.
He is her knight, her one and only. Aymeric...
She handles him with great care and gentleness as she eases him to the pillow in order to stand from the bed. The discarded basket is retrieved and she moves to the opposite side of the bed. The potions, glasses, and medical supplies all come out before she lifts the side of his shirt to inspect his wounds. Her heart sinks at the sight of them. They are indeed nearly horrifying to behold, even going so far to bring tears to her eyes. Wounds such of this must have hurt for a long time indeed and he merely tolerated them. She sets about getting the cloths wet and prepared, then spreading the cloths over the sites. He will need proper bandages and balms, but, that will require her either leaving the room or the manor all together. She had not anticipated his wounds to be so grave...
Perhaps one of those she travels with will come to find her and she can implore them to come back with medical supplies for him.
While he rests and the potion is soaked by his wounds, Phya gets to work in keeping herself busy. The room is a mess--surprising as it seems he has been nearly bed ridden for some time. She tidies what she believes she has the right to touch, attempting to ignore the thing sin the room that practically shout they ought to belong to her. Nothing in this house is hers by right or even owed. It is his home, and that does not necessarily mean she has a place in it. Perhaps if she were still Lantaa, then she would have a place. She, incarnated into this life, can hardly hold a light to her former life. It may even be the case that when he properly awakens, he will wish to move on, and find another to share his longer life with...
The thought itself is paralyzing. Faint memories of previous lives tell her that it had happened at least once before. He had to marry another for status, power, stability. A life may have existed where she was expected to do the same. What would stop him from finding a better suited partner in this life? Yes, she may be the soul he is bound to, but how very useless and unlike her previous life she must be.
A few hours pass before she believes it is time to wake him. She removes the damp cloth and replaces it with a fresh one, noting how seeped it is in puss and other liquids of infection. Her nose scrunches at the sight, but, at least she is here to care for it now. Once recovered, Phya turns to a table farther away. She rolls up the sleeve on her arm before looking at her small appendage. There is no medical sign of dwarfism or any such condition to be malformed. She simply ... well, perhaps it best to say that she hardly had what she needed when she was younger. Her adopted sister is the same, no doubt, as were many others in Idyllshire in the time she was young. Or, perhaps, it truly is because the elements took much from her so that she could heal to the extent she can. Regardless of the reason, Phya puts the cup underneath her arm and grabs the knife from her pocket she carries in defense. She winces at the wound she makes to allow the blood to drip into the cup below. The wound will be healed by her own abilities, but she cannot shake the feeling she has done this for him before.
With it half filled, she tilts her arm and pulls the blade from it. White and green wisps of magick quickly seal the wound and she wipes the remaining blood from her arm. It stains to some degree, but she can tend to it later. Aymeric needs something in his system in order to begin healing from the inside. Properly.
Phya returns to the side of the bed and places the cup at the table beside it. Then, she leans forward and brushes the hair from his forehead. The motion is done several times to coax him awake. A gentle smile awaits him when he finally manages to open his eyes. ]
Aymeric. [ She attempts to sound alluring for him. She can remember doing it to pull the attention from his darker instincts. However, she was far more alluring and seductive in her previous life. It might be a miracle that her soft tone could even come off the same way in this voice. ] I need you to sit up once again. I'll help you, of course, but I need you to come here.
[ True to her word, she aids him in sitting up to the best of his ability. Phya angles herself so he might lean to the side against her if needed, but also guides his head to tilt back by a fraction. Her other hand takes the cup and holds it to his lips. ]
Drink.
[ Phya does not have the ability nor power to suggest as she did in her past life. She is not a witch, nor trained of arcane abilities. Instead, it is a direction given in the most alluring voice she might muster from herself.
Then, she tilts the glass forward for him to drink. ]
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He lets out a quiet but shaky exhale, and finally relaxes against her. For reasons that would not make sense to anyone but the two of them, he holds an instrinsic trust in her to look after him while he sleeps, and even though he resisted for as long as he could, he instinctively knows he is safe with her watching over him. And fortunately for him, the sleep he has fallen into is deep, and so he does not rouse or move when she begins examining and caring for the deep wounds he has sustained.
He did neglect to care for them, as he saw little reason to, but even if he had, he was in no condition to clean and bind them on his own. The only sign he gives to indicate his discomfort is a slight furrowing of his brow; otherwise, his expression remains calm, far calmer than he normally appears in his waking hours. As for the belongings in the house, if she were to ask him, he would be quick to say that they are as much hers as they are his. He would withhold nothing from Lantaa, and so he sees no reason to do so with Phya, as they are one and the same.
His sleeping mind is still turning, albeit at a slower rate, but he already knows that should he wake and recover from his injuries, he intends to formally pronounce everything in the house as hers by rights. He may have done so to her former life, but it feels important to do so with her new one.
But beyond a few scattered, half-formed thoughts, Aymeric remains more or less in a deeper sleep than he has had in months, perhaps years. Phya's gifts may well have aided in it, but regardless of how it originated, the rest is sure to do him good. Still, even as he begins to stir, he is not yet fully recovered, although the first steps have been taken.
The lines on his forehead deepen as awareness slowly returns to him; but with awareness and the beginnings of regained strength comes slightly sharper senses, and the lingering pain from his still healing wounds comes along as well. Unaware of the steps she has taken to obtain blood for him to drink, he continues to slowly rouse from his slumber. His head turns slowly to the side she is on, eyelids flickering as he tries to awaken. After a moment or two, he manages it, and his eyes instantly lock on hers.
He still does not speak, but he can hear her instructions, bidding (or compelling) him to sit up for her. His strength has not fully returned, but he complies with her order, pushing himself as best as he can to sit upright. The effort causes his arms to shake and a quiet moan of protest escapes him unbidden. Surely his wounds will protest the action as well, but the discomfort is nothing he has not already been dealing with.
Where he might have hesitated once, so many years ago now, he does the exact opposite, leaning forward slightly in anticipation of the offered drink. How long has it been since he tasted blood not from rats? Years, surely, even if he cannot identify a precise date or time. He drinks almost greedily, perhaps too quickly, and although he desperately needs the sustenance, his still recovering body protests. He coughs once, and then again, as if his body is warning him to proceed slowly, and although he does not wish to waste a drop of the offered blood, a small trickle slides out from the corner of his mouth.
Perhaps he was too quick to let her alluring voice tempt him into drinking as deeply as he could manage. But how could he resist those tones of voice, when he has not heard anything like them in far too long. Even if she does not have the power of suggestion that a witch or other sorceress might have, there is still a power in her tone of voice and choice of words that he responds to without question. ]
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At the sight of the blood coming from the corner of his mouth, Phya tilts the cup away. Not enough so that he cannot eat, but so that he slows down to some degree. A smile is offered to him to show that she is hardly angry or upset. Merely, she does not wish for him to make himself ill. Her other hand moves from around his shoulders to brush down his hair. ]
You need to slow down, otherwise you may make yourself ill. Rather, more ill. [ She finally pulls the empty cup away before reaching for a rag and cleaning off the corner of his mouth. ] Once it settles I'll be able to give you more.
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His brows furrow together once more as he tries to reconcile that worry with his desire to be bonded to her through the act of feeding. As before, he reaches for her free hand, fingers brushing against it even as she tilts the cup away from him in order to slow down the rate at which he feeds. Even with that, soon enough the cup is empty, and he finds himself feeling drowsy now that he has been fed.
Not knowing what name she wishes to be called, he uses the one he knows, although he wishes to learn her new name so that he might use it instead. ]
Lantaa... [ What will she do now? Depart now that she has fed him and tended to his wounds at least once? Surely she does not wish to remain here in this old house with an old man. She could have a chance at a new life and a new start, and as much as he hopes she will remain, he also does not wish to stand in the way of that.
But, as long as she is here, he simply wants to hold her hand and have what moments together with her that he can. ]
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Her free hand settles between them so he might brisk his fingers along hers. The other still tends to his hair. She guides him to rest against her bossom, fingers moving along his and resting her cheek atop his head. He will need to rest soon so that his body can begin to properly heal now with medicine and sustenance inside him. She nearly presses her lips to his head, but stops herself, as she feels she's hardly earned the place to do such a thing.
Her tail--seemingly larger than it should be for her frame--gently lays itself beside him.
Lantaa.
She wishes she was still Lantaa. She was stronger, more physical, and not as unsure of herself then. She could look at herself in a mirror and not feel ashamed for her weakness in health. The same weakness that seems to ebb into every aspect of her life. Her sleep, her ability to heal, her connection to others. She can almost barely keep up with her sister and Ardbert. ]
...Yes?
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Still, there is no ignoring his wish to no longer be alone, just as there is no preventing his hand from straying from her own hand to the very tip of her tail that she has placed beside him. He does not pull on it nor do anything that would cause her discomfort; instead, he lightly runs his fingers over it, perhaps with a hint of shyness and hesitation. Perhaps he should have asked permission, although he remembers touching her tail before, but perhaps she no longer welcomes those touches, deeming them too forward and uncomfortable.
She asks a question, a simple response to his stating of her name, and the answer immediately forms. He draws a breath as if the act of speaking still requires effort on his part, but he manages to respond: ]
Stay. [ It could be mistaken for a command, but it is more of a request, a plea that she remain with him. ] Please.
[ If he could make the request more eloquent, he would, but it seems that those two words will have to be enough. ]
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Her ears perk as he touches her tail. Her eyes widen before moving to see him pet the tip. A deep blush takes her face before her shoulders curl. There is no notion to stop him or shy away. If anything, she is simply embarrassed because she had not expected it. No one has ever touched her tail in such a manner, and honestly, she would have expected him not to wish to in this life.
A gentle nod is given to his request. She guides him to once more rest his head against her bosom as she brushes her hair. She would kiss the top of his head, reassure him with gentle words. Such normal things feel as if they are out of place or not truly right for her to do. What has she done for him in this life to truly aid him? ]
I will. [ She offers a smile again. ] You should rest again. We... we can talk more after wards. I-if you wish.
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But he is comfortable now, or as comfortable as he can be under the circumstances. She has even fed him and allowed him to rest with his head against her bosom. A small smile causes his lips to turn upwards in response to her continued brushing of his hair. How long as it been since he was comforted like this? If she were to press a kiss to his head, he would only grow even more at ease, but he is quite at ease already.
He does feel the need to doze off once more, but he does not want to sleep so deeply that he cannot see her as she does whatever she has been engaging in to pass the time. ]
I- [ Again he has to labor to speak, but he must say something before he allows himself to rest once more. ] If there is anything you need... [ Aside from food, as he knows he does not have anything suitable for her to eat in the house... But what he does have is as good as hers. ] You may take it. [ It may be covered by several layers of dust and be quite old besides, but if there is anything that meets her needs, he would have her use it. ]
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Her head tilts as he continues to speak. Rather, as he attempts it once more. Then, her eyes widen. Anything that she might need? From his home? Surely, he couldn't mean that he intends to share it with her. He hardly knows her in this life. What if, once he has recovered, he sees how much she is not like he remembers? That he sees how pathetic she is in this life, and cannot hold a candle to her previous life, let alone the ancient life they shared in which he fell in love with her. ]
I am more concerned for you right now. We can talk about the other things once you've recovered. [ Her smile turns watery. Surely he will turn her away once he can truly see her and not the memories of who she once was. Her knight deserves a proper lady... not her. ] I will see to your wounds as you sleep.
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There is so much that he wishes to tell her, but his own weakness is preventing him from speaking freely, and that is what is contributing to his sudden state of upset. Of course, this is his own doing. He neglected himself, and thus his weakness and present frailty is his own fault. Still, he wants to tell her that he missed her and that he loves her, and that if she wishes to, they can turn this home into their home, a place that they share.
A watery sheen forms over his eyes, but he quickly shuts them so as to prevent Phya from seeing. For anyone to witness his sudden descent into vulnerability and letting his inner feelings show feels all but unthinkable and unforgivable in his mind. Of course, if there was any one person that he would allow to see him in such a state, it would be her. But even with that knowledge, he fears that she might see him react this way and judge him for being too weak.
After all, he allowed himself to deteriorate to the state that he is in. If she detests him for giving up, it would only be fair. But even though his eyes remain closed, he does not stop stroking her tail. It is comforting, even though his swirling emotions are beginning to increase in volume, drowning out the reassurance the gesture brings. ]
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She begins to move to ease him to the bed. Then, she stops. Her ears twitch and raise as a pounding sound reaches them. Phya's attention moves from Aymeric for the first time back to the entryway to the room. The barrier had slipped mind until now. The feeling she had gotten was the magic was most certainly hers, and that must be true, as a familiar face pounds on the barrier to get her attention.
Ser Tiberius Darrowbane.
He's angry, and yet she senses he is worried as well. His eyes move from her to Aymeric and then back to her. With one slow blink it all slips into place. Why the townspeople had been so dodgy of the questions of their lord; why Ser Darrowbane was so determined to keep them from their lord. Everyone in the town must be aware, to some degree, that Aymeric is a vampire. Furthermore, none knew the state he was in other than Ser Darrowbane.
She looks down to the man in her arms with a soft smile before easing him back to the bed. A quick brush of his bangs before she turns and rushes to the barrier. The knight stares down at her in frustrated worry, glancing back at the man in the bed. ]
I-I'm certain you know of his wounds, Ser. M-maybe he refused to let any of you treat him. But, [ she glances back to Aymeric, ] I need proper bandages for his wounds. I can treat the infection, and heal him, but a cloth is hardly enough to aid in such things...
[ The knight stares into her very soul as if searching for answers he does not ask out loud. His voice is muffled by the barrier, but she can still make out what he says: ] How the hell did you get past the barrier?! No one can!
I... that's... please, I need the supplies for your lord. [ Her ears bend to her head and her fingers twist. ] A-allow me to care for him and heal him for all of you. You need him to protect the town below, don't you? He's helped this town and her people survive this long... he can't fall here. Not now. Not after I...
[ Her voice trails off.
Ser Darrowbane glances once more between them before giving out an annoyed sigh. He shakes his head, pounding on the barrier once more in Aymeric's direction as if to imply he is owed an explanation. Then, he wordlessly leaves the barrier and disappears from sight. Phya tilts her ears in the direction the man left to make certain he is leaving before turning and rushing back to Aymeric's side. ]
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But before he can make sense of these churning thoughts, his eyes immediately snap open in response to the pounding on the door. A different kind of fear takes hold of him again, all but freezing his joints in place as he wonders if someone has come to trouble them both.
The man standing at the barrier looks familiar, but Aymeric cannot place him from what he can see of him. Warning bells go off in his mind: he must not come in. But then he realizes that Phya and the other man are having a conversation of sorts, and his expression turns confused even as his eyes briefly flash red.
The gleam deepens as Tiber pounds heavily on the barrier again before turning away and leaving. When Phya returns to his side, he pins her with a glance: not an angry one, but one wanting to know just who that man was and what he wanted. Again, the feeling that he should know him surfaces, but with his still foggy mind, he cannot work out his identity. ]
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