[ Phya Tayuun attempts to keep her stride behind the Azure Dragoon.
The city of Ishgard quiets almost instantly when night falls. The lights brighten on the street. Footsteps echo on the stone pathways. Towering homes grow dim on the inside. She notes every single thing as they cross a certain bridge.
Including the sense of deja vu. Except, it's not truly that phenomenon. She knows these roads. She has walked these streets--taller and more assured of herself. The buildings have not changed much, but the state of them certainly has. Perhaps she couldn't navigate them as she feels she once had, but the path in which she follows after the Azure Dragoon is so very familiar. Her smaller weaker body tingles all over.
She has dreamed of Ishgard. Most orphans in her situation have--being from a settlement on the border of Corethas. Her slightly elder sister dreamed of travel and adventure and seeing the world, just as their childhood friend had. Seeing the spires and majesty of Ishgard was just many of those places. She, on the other hand, had dreamed of something far more selfish. The desire to return to Ishgard to find a Temple Knight. One knight in particular. The knight that she knows is her own. Not in thr sense that he would sweep her off her feet and carry her into a happy ending. No, this knight is truly her own as they are meant to be together. Bound together through the ages and life after life.
She waited for the day she would see him march with others through their settlement as the war with the dragons ever drug on. Her eyes would scan over each face of troops to the point she knew who was a veteran and who was new. None were him. The thought struck her one year that perhaps he was unable to come and find her. Something made him incapable of doing so... or, perhaps even, he had no wish to do so as he had no desire to be with her.
It broke her heart.
She had spent that winter confined to her bed with the realization. Phya had always been a sickly girl. One that was small for her size due to lack of nutrition. One that had the natural talent of healing, but it seemed to tax her as a result. The conjures of the south believed it was the payment for being such a naturally skilled healer. The elements blessed her and thus demanded compensation as well. Whatever the reason for it, Phya was often bed ridden and had only the company of her sister, their best friend, and the small tan fox she had been given one Starlight Eve from knight. The very same fox that remains with her belongings with her sister in the Foretemps home.
The Azure Dragoon and she turn the corner and continue down a road that causes her to stop in her tracks. Her eyes widen and her hands shake. The bottles in the basket she carries rattle slightly. The way the arch above hangs, the sight of the Astrologian guild ahead... ]
I thought you might find this a familiar place. After all, you lived here once. [ The Azure Dragoon half turns. ] Our destination is ahead. Keep walking.
[ Phya wordlessly catches up to the seasoned Dragoon and follows after him.
Her heart pounds.
An adventurer had come through on his way to Ishard. Wrapped in robes and an axe on his back. He said he needed those who might know more of Corethas to aid him in getting to the capital city. Her sister had immediately volunteered as she too was looking for someone. Their childhood friend had left a handful of years before in order to work with a group from Sharlyan researching ruins. They had yet to hear from them. Phya knew her twin sister and friend were close.
She only went with out of the fear of being left behind.
It hardly mattered if she was far from being able to fight on her own or had been sick at the time. The idea of rotting away in their small refuge town while her sister was adventuring was out of the question. The adventurer, Ardbert, had his reservations but allowed it simply as it was obvious her sister would not leave without her.
They had been on their way to the Foretemps Manor when the Azure Dragoon had stepped into their path and demand the healer come with him for the time being.
The Dragoon stops at a door. Phya feels her heart stop. He raises his hand and knocks. The door opens from a middle aged eleven man, looking between the two. The Stewart of the House it seems. ]
Another, Estinien? You know Ser Borel would turn her away.
He won't turn her away. She is skilled in dealing with his "condition."
[ Condition?
A sense of duty and chance fills her to override the heart pounding anxiety. If she could heal a Lord of Ishgard, then, it would ease the public's weariness of the strangers House Foretemps took in. Would it not? Perhaps the local healers would be annoyed another had healed him, but, she is still Corethian. She is still of their people. That must mean something.
The Stewart sighs and allows them entry.
Phya freezes the moment she stands in the foyer. She knows this place. The furniture is in different places then it should be, but, she knows where she is. She knows which noble house this belongs to now. Her hands shake as the sense of simply knowing from her heart fills her.
This is his home.
Her Knight's home.
Does she deserve to call him "hers" after so long? More than a lifetime? The worry comes forward again that her would have nothing to do with her now. That he would turn her away for leaving him behind and having him wait for so many years...
Her attention snaps to with the Stewart and the Dragoon stare at her. Ears bend against her head and her larger tail curls around her slightly. She glances between them before down again. ]
Announcing her would simply have him turn her away. Allow her to be here and when he inevitably worsens tonight as we fear, let her in to heal him. He won't argue.
How can you be so certain, Ser Estinien?
Unlike your lord, I am fully aware of his condition and who might treat him. She is the only one he would allow. He simply would not realize it at first due to his sour mood. Who would have believed the Lord Commander to brood more than the infamous Azure Dragoon?
...the Lord Commander? [ Phya looks between them again. No, he had been a knight... ] I had no idea...
Why would you? It has been nearly a century. [ The Azure Dragoon huffs. ] Much has--
[ The sound of a crash echoes through the halls. The three come to attention and the Stewart quickly moves down the hall. The discussion between him and head maid can be heard before he returns. The middle aged Elezen stares at Phya.
Then, he sighs and motions for her to follow him.
Phya holds the basket against her chest as they quickly head to the master bedroom suite. ]
[ Aymeric knows very little of what is transpiring outside of the walls of his home, and that is by choice. At first, what remained of his household staff tried to get him to show interest in the goings on in Ishgard by bringing with them stories of things happening around them, but Aymeric continued to show little or not interest in any of it.
For the most part, they chalked that off to the rather dire state that he was in, because he was hardly in good condition at all, and yet he refused their efforts to convince him to be seen by a healer. Of course, they knew the reasons behind his continued refusals, and yet they could not help but worry at the way he seemed to deteriorate almost before their eyes.
Somehow, however, he managed to stand up and move about as the mood took him, and they barely understood how that was possible. The house steward posited that his sudden change gave him a greater endurance than he might have had before, but that said endurance was hardly permanent.
No, it seemed as though Aymeric's health waxed and waned, but he still refused to be looked at by anyone, healer or otherwise. Most of his days were spent alone in his private quarters, and that was how he preferred it.
He did not wish to see or speak to anyone, although there was one notable figure who decidedly ignored Aymeric's wishes, repeatedly breaking through the walls he attempted to set up in his own attempt to get the man to do something.
But Aymeric would not do something. He had no interest in doing much of anything, even without the injuries he'd managed to sustain from a particularly determined dragon. Perhaps a part of him was resigned to letting himself simply pass on because of the wounds he'd received. A dragon's bite was no insignificant thing, after all, and Aymeric had sustained more than one. Still, it was the largest of them that gave him the most trouble. The combination of the smaller wounds and the more dire one worked together to render him unable to move at some points, and only what remained of his once rock solid willpower was enough to see him leave his bed from time to time.
So, at the present, Aymeric remains unaware of anything that his old friend Estinien may or may not be doing. As far as he is concerned, the outcomes of all of Estinien's visits will always be the same. He will not see a healer, and he will not be coaxed out of his gloomy state of mind and heart.
Today, Aymeric is slightly more lucid than other days, and this particular day sees him pacing a very clearly marked circle in his chambers. He feels ill at ease for reasons he doesn't bother to look into, as there is no point in looking into much of anything. On occasion, he hears bits of conversation, and exchanges between the household staff. He thinks that he hears another voice, a voice that he unfortunately knows quite well: Estinien, returned with yet another healer from what Aymeric is able to decipher.
That outcome will not change either. He has had enough of healers. He will not consent to being seen by one, not now and not ever.
Although much of the conversation being held is one that Aymeric cannot hear, he does make out one particular line:
Who would have believed the Lord Commander to brood more than the infamous Azure Dragoon?
Frustration and anger sparks to life inside him, and in a fit of something bordering on rage, he grabs the nearest object (a wooden bucket) and hurls it away from him.
The sudden act throws him off balance, as he is more unsteady than he would care to admit, and he has to throw out a hand to brace himself against the closest wall.
... Perhaps venting his anger was not the best idea nor the brightest. ]
[ Estinien follow suite behind Phya and the steward. While it is clear the young Miqo'te and the middle aged steward are worried of the health of the man behind the door? Estinien himself has no such worry. No, his mind is far more on the capabilities of the man. He knows his brother to be better than he has begun to act. They have known each other for nearly one century now. Just as Estinien would hope that Aymeric holds him to a standard? He holds his brother to the same.
The Azure Dragoon pushes past the two and steps into the room himself. He closes the door behind them. As far as he is concerned? This is a matter--for the moment--between the two of them. His steel colored eyes land on the struggling Lord Commander with a look of annoyance, and truthfully, disappointment. He knows Aymeric can be a far better man than he is acting at the moment. ]
You've caused quite the scene, Lord Commander. [ Estinien crosses his arms with a faint hint of amusement and yet annoyance in his voice. ] Pull yourself together. The Temple Knights, especially Ser Haurchefant, would be amiss to see you in such a state.
[ A hand raises and gestures to the door. ] I've brought a healer for you. One who understands your particular "condition." At the very least she could get you on your feet to be more presentable.
Did you hear? The Warrior of Light of the Eorzean Alliance has arrived in Ishgard.
[ As far as Aymeric knows, his outburst and hurling of the wooden bucket have gone unobserved. After all, these are his private quarters, and the last thing he is expecting is someone letting themselves in uninvited.
But as the doors open and Estinien steps inside the room, Aymeric instantly realizes that he is no longer alone in his self-imposed solitude. He stiffens and straightens up, and a sharp glare falls into place on his face. Of course, it is too late to pretend that he did not lose control of himself and give in to his anger and frustrations, but he does his best to maintain the pretense regardless. ]
I do not recall giving you, or anyone else, leave to enter. [ Aymeric has straightened up, but he deliberately keeps his gaze averted from his old friend's. ] As for the Temple Knights, you have no reason to be concerned that they will see anything they should not. [ There is a reason he has cloistered himself in this room, rarely venturing out, if he does at all.
Aymeric's expression darkens further at the mention of the healer that Estinien has brought along. ]
You know my opinion on that. I have no use for healers, and I do not consent to being seen by one, no matter how much they may claim to understand... No, I will not be seen.
[ His gaze briefly shifts at the announcement of the arrival of the Warrior of Light, but only the barest hint of a spark at the news shows in his eyes. ]
I suppose you will keep me apprised of events following the Warrior's arrival. When you are able, of course.
[ Aymeric feels his wounds protest because he has remained standing for too long, but he has no interest in letting Estinien see the effect they have on him. He crosses his arms in front of him and does his best to remain upright. ]
I do not recall family needing leave to enter. [ They are, in his mind, the same as blood brothers. Afflicted by different things, yet doomed to long lives it seems. ] Perhaps they would if the Lord Commander had dared to venture from his private rooms since his return from the Sultana's banquet in Ul'dah.
[ Estinien thinks upon events for a moment. The wound that has caused their moody Lord Commander to hole himself up must have happened in the Dravanian attack after the banquet. He was on his own missions at the time, but even word reached him of how the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights had since bundled himself up within his manor. A strange turn of events, as many thought that perhaps Eorzea's Warrior of Light had begun to melt his rather icy exterior. ]
Do not be a fool, Aymeric. We are both aware that as the leader of the Temple Knights, you will need to meet with the Warrior of Light at some point or another. Even more so given that he and his... entourage have been given a place to stay within House Foretemps. One of the few Houses you remain on good standings with. Politics and I do not mingle, and yet even the Dragoons are aware of that much.
[ He glances over Aymeric once more. ] If you will not be seen, then, do you intend to eat to regain your strength? What if the Archbishop calls upon the Lord Commander?
Ordinarily, perhaps not. [ He can concede that much; however, the situation at hand is far from an ordinary one, and Aymeric would rather sequester himself away from people as much as possible. And Estinien's arrival is, at the present, not entirely welcome. ] Perhaps the Lord Commander does not dare venture from his private rooms again, for reasons that are his own.
[ He is uncomfortably aware that Estinien will most likely find the holes in his logic, but logic is not at the forefront of his thoughts at the moment. ]
Will I? Perhaps. But perhaps I have no intention of continuing to remain Lord Commander, and perhaps that would be best for the Temple Knights and for the people of Ishgard as a whole. I am not surprised to learn that House Fortemps has taken in the Warrior of Light and his entourage, but the question remains: will I remain on good standing with them now?
[ The look on his face suggests he does not believe that to be the case. ]
As for the Archbishop: surely he would rather see another take on the mantle of Lord Commander. [ He knows he just sidestepped Estinien's first question, but his lack of a response is an answer in its own way. ]
You are being a petulant child, Aymeric. Think for a moment on what you are saying and you will realize how ridiculous it sounds to the rest of us. You are far from a man that would hole himself away and hide as a coward would.
[ As the men continue to argue, the trio beyond the door quietly react. The steward shakes his head and sighs, the head maid frets. Phya remains still, her eyes turned to the basket in her hands. Ears press firmly against her head. Her tail uncurls and simply hangs.
The emotion that fills her heart is far from heartbreak. Rather, a sorrowful acceptance has crossed her face. Why would he wish to see her? The denial is for healers, not her as a person, but Phya is aware of a fact the other two are not. She left him. She had died and left him behind in a cruel world with an even crueler fate.
Why would he wish to see her again? Why would he even wish to venture and find her reborn? Why would he allow her to even aid him and open himself to the pain of abandonment all over again?
Phya closes her eyes and her head hangs slightly.
This is reception is deserved. I hardly deserve anything more... should I find a way to unbind us?
The latter thought comes from somewhere deep inside her. Perhaps it best if she freed him of her as well. Then, he would have no duty nor reason to allow her to hurt him ever again. Her own heart squeezes and a shake forms in her hands at the mere concept.
He deserves to make the choice. No matter what I desire.
Her hands curl and hold the basket in her arms closer.
She had waited so many years for the moment to see him. He is owed an apology and a lifetime of mending. She was the one that wronged him. His misery is her doing, and at the least, she would wish to help make it right once more. Yet, she had always the fear and knowing that he could simply wish nothing from her again. In any life.
Should she leave now?
The basket lowers so she holds it by the handle. Her gaze shifts to the ground before looking to the door once more. If nothing else? She would leave the medicine in the care of the staff and instruct them on what might be done. ]
Be responsible and at least allow the healer to look over your wounds and instruct you on how to care for them.
Do I not have the right to be- No. [ He shakes his head. This is a topic he does not wish to discuss, and he will not discuss it, not even with Estinien. ]
Is that all you came here to say?
[ He turns slightly and eyes the disheveled bed in the room, contemplating returning to it and turning his back to the dragoon. He feels an undercurrent of regret, wondering if the friendship he has with Estinien will end because of this. He does consider the man his brother, and yet what has happened to him has changed him in more ways than one.
His outlook on life and on his relationships and duties and everything in between has been altered, perhaps forever. At the present, he can hardly see past the monster he feels he has become. Who is Aymeric de Borel anymore? Certainly not the man he once was. How can he continue being the Lord Commander, the one people look to for leadership of their defenses?
As far as he can tell, he can no longer be that man. ]
What good will it do? [ He shakes his head, but he feels as though he may as well acquiesce on this one thing, if only so that Estinien will stop badgering him about it. ] I suppose this healer you've found can't do any more harm.
I came here to get you out of your stupor and more to the man we both know you to truly be. I would be a poor brother if I allowed you to wallow in your misery.
The good doctor is still on the front lines at a Vigil. Another healer will need to suffice until he returns to Ishgard.
And yes, I believe she is fully aware of what it all entails.
[ Estinien turns and opens the door behind him. Then steward and head maid step back. The Dragoon turns his head to Phya, finding her sorrowful look of acceptance. He rolls his eyes. ]
I can simply instruct how to care and then take my leave. I... if he does not wish to have me here...
[ Estinien simply steps aside and motions for the woman to enter. Phya glances at the room before slowly entering. Her eyes are still cast downwards, hands holding onto the basket, tail still. The large hood hides her ears, but it's clear she is a Miqo'te. ]
She and her sister came to Ishgard with the Warrior of Light. They hail from one of the outlying towns that have managed to survive despite the Calamity.
[ Phya curtseys, keeping her eyes down. Her heart pounds. She knows simply being in the same room that he is the one she had waited for. Hearing his voice had been enough. The manor. Everything tells her that she is supposed to be here.
And yet, the Lord Commander himself would rather she not be present. She understands. She passed. Left him behind. It has been nearly a century, isn't that what the Azure Dragoon had said? ]
[ She simply squeezes his hand once more. Her fingers trail along his, the back of his hand, and his wrist. Small motions with feather light touch to ease him into sleep. It's far from the suggestion abilities she had in her previous life, but she hopes the gentle motions will simply lure him to sleep. When he finally rests? She closes her eyes to find a few hours herself.
Then, she is awake and back to her tasks.
Phya first speaks with the household staff and informs them of the progress of Aymeric's wounds. She assures that he has eaten in his unique way, to which both the maid and the steward seem relieved to hear. She requests another cup and explains that she will have potions to place on his wounds if further needed. Once he has awaken, eaten, and moved to the bath? He will need the linens changed on the bed. Then, hopefully, with a day or the one after.
She brings the empty cup back to bedroom and begins to gently tidy up. She checks the stock on her bandages. A mental note is made to restock as well. The potions are in good condition. His body has responded well to the blood and rest so the potions have not been as necessary.
A knife is pulled out and once again and she presses it into her skin. Blood rolls down into the cup below. Once enough has been collected? She heals her wound and wipes her arm off. Then, she places the cup on the bedside table. A hand reaches out and she gently squeezes Aymeric's arm once more to wake him. ]
[ When she begins to touch his hand and his wrist, he lets out a low sigh and he settles slightly into the bed. His eyes remain open and looking at her, as if a part of him is still attempting to resist her efforts to ease him into sleep. He does not wish to sleep, as he fears that he will awaken to find that none of this was real. He does not wish to awaken only to learn that she was never here, that he dreamed all of this from a place of longing and loneliness.
To have to confront that realization is more than he thinks he can handle. So, to that end, he tries to fight off the exhaustion that is trying to pull him down. But in the end, the exhaustion is greater than his ability to resist it, and slowly and reluctantly, his eyelids finally close and he relaxes fully against the bed.
Still, his sleep is light, lighter than one might suppose. He is resting, but some part of his mind is aware of things going on around him. Footsteps register in his mind even as he sleeps, but even he can't quite always follow who they belong to.
It isn't until she squeezes his arm and says his name that he begins to stir again. A handful of moments pass before he finally shifts on the bed and his eyes open once more. ]
Lantaa. You're still here. [ You didn't leave.
He hopes that she can tell that his tone is a grateful one, grateful that she did not leave him as he feared she would. Perhaps he can begin to accept that she is real and not a figure conjured up in dreams. ]
[ Phya understands why the concern exists. She had left him behind. Even if he sees it that he had failed her? The fact does not change that he was left alone for decades because she passed. She will need to prove that she is there every morning until that wound heals in his heart.
In her mind? He is the stronger of them. The wound on his heart does not go deep into the soul as hers do. He is able to keep himself hopeful and believing they will have lives together. ]
You need to eat, Aymeric. Then, we can see to a bath and changing the linens.
[ If he could hear her thoughts, he would say that he is hardly the stronger one here. Perhaps he merely buried his true feelings and pushed them aside, doing his best to pretend that they did not exist. That is hardly dealing with his upset or addressing it properly; simply pretending something is not an issue does not make it less of one. It certainly does nothing to address his own emotions concerning the matter. In fact, it could be considered simply dodging something uncomfortable and refusing to deal with it.
Perhaps in that way, Phya is more in tune with herself and her feelings than Aymeric is. ]
Have you eaten yet? Your needs should be seen to as well, if not seen to first.
[ He is confident that he can go awhile without eating; Phya, on the other hand, deserves to have her needs met first and completely, as it appears she has gone without for too long. ]
[ While more intune, she is dominated by the compounding emotions of lifetimes. There is certainly joy and love underneath the pain and soul crushing sorrow. While it seems as if one beats out the other? It is far more that they go hand in hand. As much as she loves him? She is haunted by the continually loss--sometimes never achieved lives.
What will it take for this wound in my heart to heal? ]
I thought to eat once you had bathed and the linens changed. You will have a comfortable place to rest and I could eat beside you. It wouls give us time to talk. [ A strained smile touches her face. ] It would be rude to eat in front of a vampire when he has yet to feast himself.
[ A hand raises to gesture to the cup on the table beside him. ] I have already prepared it. Do you need help to sit?
[ Perhaps the difference between them is that he decided he had to push away the swirling feelings he had of loss and despair and missing the one person- the one soul that he has always wanted to be with, in order to continue going on. But has he truly gone on with his life, functioning as someone going through the day to day on this star? Looking at how he has spent his time over these last years, he can hardly say that he has.
Perhaps he is the one who became lost in his misery, withdrawing from the world and from the people in it, disconnecting himself from life and living. Perhaps she is truly the stronger one of the two of them, as she has been out there in the world, not cutting herself off from it as he so thoroughly has. ]
How long has it been since you last ate? And how long has it been since you felt warm and safe? [ He can only guess at what her days have been like, but a part of him is certain that she has not always had something hot to eat or somewhere safe to lie down and sleep for the night. ] But if that is what you wish to do... The time to talk with you would be welcome. But then- it would not be rude of you to eat. I would not think it so.
[ Still, it seems as though she has already made preparations, he decides to not protest further. As for her question, he tries to make an attempt at sitting up without aid, and the effort he makes is the best one he can manage, but in the end, he decides he will have to accept her assistance for a little while longer. ]
If it is not too much trouble... and you have gone through enough trouble already on my account. [ If she declines, he will continue as best as he can. ]
I ate yesterday. [ Phya stands straight as if to prove it is not a lie. ] "Warm and safe"? Our village was as warm and safe as one most likely is in our situation. I will not make a formal complaint or request to you, Aymeric. I know you are in little position to do something unless the Holy See sees fit.
[ Many Temple Knights told her as such when they would pass through. Not that any called the Lord Commander by name.
Phya shakes her head at herself.
Her hands reach out to help him sit. Not that she has much weight in the way of leverage. Once he is balanced? She holds the cup for him to take. A thought remains in the back of her mind that he disliked eating from her directly before. Something inside her ripples at the idea of feeding him directly, but are the feelings her own or simplg because she is near him and he is a vampire? Not that the feeling matters. She does not wish him to be angry or to ever dislike what she does for him. If feeding him from the cup is the best way? Then, she will do that. ]
You should eat before me. [ Her eyes move away to give him some semblance of privacy as he drinks. ] Bathing will aid in the feeling of being fresh, and with new linens, you can finish your recuperation in comfort. We... we can talk on whatever you wish.
[ He will need her full name. Her new name. Others will say it and he will hear it regardless.]
It is far from their final destination, but one step closer to it. One pace closer to the South. Getting to Ishgard was far from the hard part. It was being able to pass through it to be further South. The citystate long since closed her gates to those she called children, decades before he was even born. The only ones that came in and out of Ishgard had been the Temple Knights.
Still, he prayed to any of the Twelve that bothered to listen that they would be allowed passage South. Not for his sake, but the sake of the woman that stepped behind him. She had to be as far as possible from the Dragonsong War. If the Temple Knights learned of her? They would put her to the sword. If the Heretics found where she had been? They would fight to the death to reclaim her.
He had failed enough people. He could not fail her. Again.
The brand on his cheek almost burns at the memories haunting at the edge of his mind. The fall of Phoenix Gate. Those that died. The people he failed to save... and because he failed, their entire house and dutchery had fallen. A Vigil had fallen. She had been taken by Heretics.
His feet crunch in the fresh fallen snow.
Then, her feet.
Then, Torgal's feet.
The direwolf whines.
Clive Rosfield--Wyvern--continues to walk. The shackled name fits him. Wyvern. He would say that it fits him, because in his mind, Clive Rosfield should have died along with his father, the guards, and his brother. His brother. The person he was charged to protect. Safeguard. Shield.
Why hadn't he died with the rest of them?
Torgal whines louder and barks gently.
Clive continues to walk.
His hound by adoption, but, Torgal had always responded far more to Jill Warrick the moment his father took her under his wing as ward. Another from a house of Ishgard that had been ravaged by the Dragonsong War. Only to be taken in by another house destroyed.
Torgal pads further and nudges Jill's hand. He barks gently to her. ]
[ Clive may have ideas concerning their next steps and where their focus should lie, but Jill's own thoughts concerning such topics seem to be on another page entirely. he wishes to see her taken as far as possible from the war and from those who have their own ideas about what to do with her. The Temple Knights would just as soon see her dead, while the Heretics only want to reclaim her as theirs, so that they might use her to further their cause.
To Jill, it hardly matters where she ends up or what fate she faces. She has committed her own share of sins, and either death or being forced to do the bidding of the Heretics seem to be punishments she feels she deserves. Death might be the easy way out, however, and she feels as though she does not deserve an easy end, if she must have an end at all.
As they make their way along, Jill is quiet except for the sound of footfalls against the snow and ice. She finds she has little to say, to the apparent displeasure of the loyal direwolf who follows along with them. And, she imagines that Clive does not much like her silence, but he has not pressed her to speak, at least not at the moment.
She follows along behind Clive, keeping her gaze on the snow-covered ground in front of her. Even if she felt inclined to look up and take in the frozen scenery around them, there is a part of her that has already resolved that it is not her place to even look at or enjoy the surroundings, if enjoyment were even possible in such a harsh and forgiving environment. No, Jill believes that enjoyment is not something she is intended to experience in any form.
All she can think of is how far she has fallen, and how much she has betrayed those who took her in and offered her shelter and care. She has let all of them down just as surely as she has become a sinner beyond redemption.
Perhaps Torgal senses the dark turn Jill's thoughts have taken, and he nudges his nose against her hand. She pulls herself out of her thoughts and turns her face slightly so that she might see him.
Speaking has not been at the forefront of her thoughts, perhaps to Clive's consternation, but however lost in thought she might be, Clive and Torgal are two that she can never ignore, not entirely. If either one of them does or says something to address her, she will, of course, respond. She offers the loyal hound a small smile, reaching out to rub the top of his head between the ears. ]
You are such a good boy. [ And with that, she lapses once more into silence as they continue their trek to their next destination. ]
[ Much of his time under the Empire's command had conditioned him to speak only when addressed. That ought to be different now, but, Clive finds himself falling into the habit again. Neither one of them seem capable of starting a conversation or wishing to have one in regards to where their path leads. Both are resigned to a fate and simply waiting for that fate to happen.
He has spent so many years trying to find the one who killed his brother. Yet, now, how is he supposed to find them? He has deserted (and killed) the remnants of the unit that had kept him enslaved. He couldn't allow them to kill Jill. Not after realizing she was their target. Being the one who calls Shiva hardly matters in his mind. She is Jill first and foremost. Yet now, he has been put further away from finding the ones who killed his brother, his father, their host...
He looks up from the snow at the sound of her voice. Jill has always caught his attention, even when they were younger. She is addressing Torgal, but his attention always moves to her when she speaks. He was simply better at hiding it whenever Joshua or another was near.
He supposes he should attempt something of a conversation. ]
He had always been a good boy. [ A smile threatens to flicker on his face before he catches himself. ] The best.
[ Torgal barks once mormore as if agreeing with their sentiments. Then, he nudges Jill's hand once more. His tail lifts and wags. ]
I'm... not entirely sure where he had gone after--[ he has to pause to force himself to say the words, ]--what happened at Phoenix Gate. Maybe he had found his way to you. He appeared after I found you.
[ Similarly, Jill has found herself in the habit of not speaking at all unless she's told to or given an order. Sometimes, it feels as though being quiet is a better alternative than potentially angering those with more power than she has. In a way, it is rather strange, as she has power, but the control of it has not always been in her own hands. She has the ability to call Shiva, but the control of it has always belonged to others, and she still remains unsure how she truly feels about that.
Perhaps with time, she will be able to make sense of how her life has unfolded, but until recently, she has not had that time. Nor, she wagers, has Clive. In a way, they are more alike than either of them are saying or have realized.
Jill's gaze shifts to Clive's for a fraction of a second when she sees him move from out of the corner of her eye, but then a second later, it shifts back to look at Torgal. Why she finds it difficult to meet his gaze, she is still figuring out. Perhaps it is from guilt or shame, and perhaps she expects to see only judgment in his eyes. He prevented her from being killed, but he'd come to kill her, hadn't he? What if he was only biding his time for some unknown reason? She wants to believe that Clive wouldn't do that, but perhaps circumstances and time have changed him more than she knows.
Still, she manages a soft look once he speaks, agreeing with her assessment of Torgal. ]
Perhaps he did. Perhaps some sense of his was leading him to... [ She trails off, as she finds she can hardly imagine that he would be lead anywhere, much less in the direction of finding her. ] I suppose that soon, we will have to talk about what happens next. I am sure your orders did not involve traveling with me, even for a short period of time.
[ Either she ends up back with the Heretics, or in a cell, or perhaps dispatched once and for all. ]
[ His head tilts to the side as he listens to her trail off. There are holes in his theory. While a direwolf, he doubts that Torgal could live on his own in the harsh conditions of Corethas. Someone else must have cared for him and then let him run wild until he found either Jill... or himself. Not that he could fathom why or how any would want to find him. ]
You're going South. Far away from the Dragonsong War as I can get you. [ His answer is immediate and final. ] My orders be damned. There is not a soul left of my unit nor the Heretics that coveted you.
[ Why none still breathe is not elaborated on. He killed his commanding officer to keep her safe. The others had died by the hands of Heretics. ]
My orders did not come from the Holy See of Ishard, Her Temple Knights, nor another great house. [ A shake of his head sends the fluffier hair in directions. ] Eorzea does not brand those that are gifted with magick, as you know.
[ He has not allowed her to properly see him. Not closely anyways. She does not need to see the haunted look in his eyes, the sullen expression, how very different he is from the young man that was fifteen. She does not need to see the brand the Garlaen Empire placed on him to mark him as an Eorzaen; one that could do magick. Nor does she need to know how he was sold by his mother to the Empire. ]
Ishgard remains sealed to outsiders beyond limited trade. If any of the Gods still give a damn, then, we can barter our way on an airship South.
[ To Jill, it seems that there are holes in Clive's plan as well, but she is hesitant to speak about his plan so plainly, as she has no plans for herself at all. So, using the mildest tone that she can manage, she asks: ]
And what will I do there once we've arrived in the South? What will you do then? I can't imagine traveling that far away from everything is really what you wish to do.
[ Her gaze shifts as does her posture, as if she wants to turn so that she might see his face. At the last second, however, she pauses, because perhaps he should not see hers. She's changed in the years since he saw her last, and she can imagine she might not be someone he wishes to look upon. ]
Perhaps a sort of exile is what I deserve. I believe I deserve a harsher fate, but exile would be a kindness.
[ She pauses at the statement that his orders did not come from the Holy See, or the Knights, or one of the great houses. Of course that means that his orders came from elsewhere, but she wonders who or what did the ordering. ]
I would ask what you have experienced, Clive, but I am well aware that I am not owed an answer. I- it is enough to know that you are alive, and if not entirely well, at least you are standing.
[ For her, she believes that Eorzea would have lost someone great if Clive ceased to walk among them, so she is relieved that he still does. She cannot be sure what his future holds, but it has to be more than this. It has to be better than this. ]
I suppose you have given this all some thought, but I still cannot see what the greater plan is. But- I trust you, and I believe that whatever you have planned, it is far better than any alternative.
[ Her tone of voice warms slightly then, and her eyes soften, but she isn't sure if he notices or if he is even looking at her. ]
Whatever you wish. You will be free to live a life free from this godsdamn war. [ Clive tilts his head away, regardless if she could see his face before or not. ] I... imagine that the Eorzaen Alliance would not let me get far.
[ The brand on his face labels him a enslaved magical fighter of the Empire. He has fought in wars and slaughtered people. Even if he had deserted? He rather doubts that those in Eorzae would open him with welcome arms. They shouldn't. He failed his charge, his home, his people. Jill would hardly know and he would prefer she never know. ]
War. [ His answer comes regardless of her statement of owed. ] So much of it. Magick can only withstand the might of Magitek for so long without drastic measures... and Magitek can only race against against magick for so long. That's why...
[ That was how he had ended up as a special unit as opposed to being killed on the spot. His mother insisted he would be useful as he had been blessed by the Phoenix. Or rather, some usefulness, as he was quite certain she would have put a dagger through his chest the moment she could have. ]
There is no greater plan than getting you far away from the Heretics and the Temple Knights. It's your life, Jill. You're free to live it how you see fit.
Whatever I wish? What if I don't even know what I wish? What if... What if what I wish is to... [ Jill's words trail off then as she hesitates, wondering if she ought to finish her sentence. ] Clive, I-
[ She folds her hands together and gives her fingers a nervous twist as she weighs the wisdom of actually saying what's on her mind. ]
Don't you think you deserve to live a life free of the war and free of people making demands of you?
[ She wonders why he keeps tilting his head away from her, as if he is doing his best to hide something from her. Of course, she is not inclined to pry into his secrets, especially if he has a reason to keep whatever it is from her, but she still can't help but wonder. ]
I think that you deserve to find peace, Clive, if you can. [ She isn't foolish enough to believe that piece will be claimed easily by either of them, but they can dream of it, can't they? Or perhaps she will have to dream about it for both of them. ]
It's your life too, Clive, and I would see you living it on your terms. Perhaps we can both start new lives.
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synthneon2024-11-25 02:03 am
🕯️ — heavensward.
—coming to ishgard.
The city of Ishgard quiets almost instantly when night falls. The lights brighten on the street. Footsteps echo on the stone pathways. Towering homes grow dim on the inside. She notes every single thing as they cross a certain bridge.
Including the sense of deja vu. Except, it's not truly that phenomenon. She knows these roads. She has walked these streets--taller and more assured of herself. The buildings have not changed much, but the state of them certainly has. Perhaps she couldn't navigate them as she feels she once had, but the path in which she follows after the Azure Dragoon is so very familiar. Her smaller weaker body tingles all over.
She has dreamed of Ishgard. Most orphans in her situation have--being from a settlement on the border of Corethas. Her slightly elder sister dreamed of travel and adventure and seeing the world, just as their childhood friend had. Seeing the spires and majesty of Ishgard was just many of those places. She, on the other hand, had dreamed of something far more selfish. The desire to return to Ishgard to find a Temple Knight. One knight in particular. The knight that she knows is her own. Not in thr sense that he would sweep her off her feet and carry her into a happy ending. No, this knight is truly her own as they are meant to be together. Bound together through the ages and life after life.
She waited for the day she would see him march with others through their settlement as the war with the dragons ever drug on. Her eyes would scan over each face of troops to the point she knew who was a veteran and who was new. None were him. The thought struck her one year that perhaps he was unable to come and find her. Something made him incapable of doing so... or, perhaps even, he had no wish to do so as he had no desire to be with her.
It broke her heart.
She had spent that winter confined to her bed with the realization. Phya had always been a sickly girl. One that was small for her size due to lack of nutrition. One that had the natural talent of healing, but it seemed to tax her as a result. The conjures of the south believed it was the payment for being such a naturally skilled healer. The elements blessed her and thus demanded compensation as well. Whatever the reason for it, Phya was often bed ridden and had only the company of her sister, their best friend, and the small tan fox she had been given one Starlight Eve from knight. The very same fox that remains with her belongings with her sister in the Foretemps home.
The Azure Dragoon and she turn the corner and continue down a road that causes her to stop in her tracks. Her eyes widen and her hands shake. The bottles in the basket she carries rattle slightly. The way the arch above hangs, the sight of the Astrologian guild ahead... ]
I thought you might find this a familiar place. After all, you lived here once. [ The Azure Dragoon half turns. ] Our destination is ahead. Keep walking.
[ Phya wordlessly catches up to the seasoned Dragoon and follows after him.
Her heart pounds.
An adventurer had come through on his way to Ishard. Wrapped in robes and an axe on his back. He said he needed those who might know more of Corethas to aid him in getting to the capital city. Her sister had immediately volunteered as she too was looking for someone. Their childhood friend had left a handful of years before in order to work with a group from Sharlyan researching ruins. They had yet to hear from them. Phya knew her twin sister and friend were close.
She only went with out of the fear of being left behind.
It hardly mattered if she was far from being able to fight on her own or had been sick at the time. The idea of rotting away in their small refuge town while her sister was adventuring was out of the question. The adventurer, Ardbert, had his reservations but allowed it simply as it was obvious her sister would not leave without her.
They had been on their way to the Foretemps Manor when the Azure Dragoon had stepped into their path and demand the healer come with him for the time being.
The Dragoon stops at a door. Phya feels her heart stop. He raises his hand and knocks. The door opens from a middle aged eleven man, looking between the two. The Stewart of the House it seems. ]
Another, Estinien? You know Ser Borel would turn her away.
He won't turn her away. She is skilled in dealing with his "condition."
[ Condition?
A sense of duty and chance fills her to override the heart pounding anxiety. If she could heal a Lord of Ishgard, then, it would ease the public's weariness of the strangers House Foretemps took in. Would it not? Perhaps the local healers would be annoyed another had healed him, but, she is still Corethian. She is still of their people. That must mean something.
The Stewart sighs and allows them entry.
Phya freezes the moment she stands in the foyer. She knows this place. The furniture is in different places then it should be, but, she knows where she is. She knows which noble house this belongs to now. Her hands shake as the sense of simply knowing from her heart fills her.
This is his home.
Her Knight's home.
Does she deserve to call him "hers" after so long? More than a lifetime? The worry comes forward again that her would have nothing to do with her now. That he would turn her away for leaving him behind and having him wait for so many years...
Her attention snaps to with the Stewart and the Dragoon stare at her. Ears bend against her head and her larger tail curls around her slightly. She glances between them before down again. ]
Announcing her would simply have him turn her away. Allow her to be here and when he inevitably worsens tonight as we fear, let her in to heal him. He won't argue.
How can you be so certain, Ser Estinien?
Unlike your lord, I am fully aware of his condition and who might treat him. She is the only one he would allow. He simply would not realize it at first due to his sour mood. Who would have believed the Lord Commander to brood more than the infamous Azure Dragoon?
...the Lord Commander? [ Phya looks between them again. No, he had been a knight... ] I had no idea...
Why would you? It has been nearly a century. [ The Azure Dragoon huffs. ] Much has--
[ The sound of a crash echoes through the halls. The three come to attention and the Stewart quickly moves down the hall. The discussion between him and head maid can be heard before he returns. The middle aged Elezen stares at Phya.
Then, he sighs and motions for her to follow him.
Phya holds the basket against her chest as they quickly head to the master bedroom suite. ]
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For the most part, they chalked that off to the rather dire state that he was in, because he was hardly in good condition at all, and yet he refused their efforts to convince him to be seen by a healer. Of course, they knew the reasons behind his continued refusals, and yet they could not help but worry at the way he seemed to deteriorate almost before their eyes.
Somehow, however, he managed to stand up and move about as the mood took him, and they barely understood how that was possible. The house steward posited that his sudden change gave him a greater endurance than he might have had before, but that said endurance was hardly permanent.
No, it seemed as though Aymeric's health waxed and waned, but he still refused to be looked at by anyone, healer or otherwise. Most of his days were spent alone in his private quarters, and that was how he preferred it.
He did not wish to see or speak to anyone, although there was one notable figure who decidedly ignored Aymeric's wishes, repeatedly breaking through the walls he attempted to set up in his own attempt to get the man to do something.
But Aymeric would not do something. He had no interest in doing much of anything, even without the injuries he'd managed to sustain from a particularly determined dragon. Perhaps a part of him was resigned to letting himself simply pass on because of the wounds he'd received. A dragon's bite was no insignificant thing, after all, and Aymeric had sustained more than one. Still, it was the largest of them that gave him the most trouble. The combination of the smaller wounds and the more dire one worked together to render him unable to move at some points, and only what remained of his once rock solid willpower was enough to see him leave his bed from time to time.
So, at the present, Aymeric remains unaware of anything that his old friend Estinien may or may not be doing. As far as he is concerned, the outcomes of all of Estinien's visits will always be the same. He will not see a healer, and he will not be coaxed out of his gloomy state of mind and heart.
Today, Aymeric is slightly more lucid than other days, and this particular day sees him pacing a very clearly marked circle in his chambers. He feels ill at ease for reasons he doesn't bother to look into, as there is no point in looking into much of anything. On occasion, he hears bits of conversation, and exchanges between the household staff. He thinks that he hears another voice, a voice that he unfortunately knows quite well: Estinien, returned with yet another healer from what Aymeric is able to decipher.
That outcome will not change either. He has had enough of healers. He will not consent to being seen by one, not now and not ever.
Although much of the conversation being held is one that Aymeric cannot hear, he does make out one particular line:
Who would have believed the Lord Commander to brood more than the infamous Azure Dragoon?
Frustration and anger sparks to life inside him, and in a fit of something bordering on rage, he grabs the nearest object (a wooden bucket) and hurls it away from him.
The sudden act throws him off balance, as he is more unsteady than he would care to admit, and he has to throw out a hand to brace himself against the closest wall.
... Perhaps venting his anger was not the best idea nor the brightest. ]
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The Azure Dragoon pushes past the two and steps into the room himself. He closes the door behind them. As far as he is concerned? This is a matter--for the moment--between the two of them. His steel colored eyes land on the struggling Lord Commander with a look of annoyance, and truthfully, disappointment. He knows Aymeric can be a far better man than he is acting at the moment. ]
You've caused quite the scene, Lord Commander. [ Estinien crosses his arms with a faint hint of amusement and yet annoyance in his voice. ] Pull yourself together. The Temple Knights, especially Ser Haurchefant, would be amiss to see you in such a state.
[ A hand raises and gestures to the door. ] I've brought a healer for you. One who understands your particular "condition." At the very least she could get you on your feet to be more presentable.
Did you hear? The Warrior of Light of the Eorzean Alliance has arrived in Ishgard.
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But as the doors open and Estinien steps inside the room, Aymeric instantly realizes that he is no longer alone in his self-imposed solitude. He stiffens and straightens up, and a sharp glare falls into place on his face. Of course, it is too late to pretend that he did not lose control of himself and give in to his anger and frustrations, but he does his best to maintain the pretense regardless. ]
I do not recall giving you, or anyone else, leave to enter. [ Aymeric has straightened up, but he deliberately keeps his gaze averted from his old friend's. ] As for the Temple Knights, you have no reason to be concerned that they will see anything they should not. [ There is a reason he has cloistered himself in this room, rarely venturing out, if he does at all.
Aymeric's expression darkens further at the mention of the healer that Estinien has brought along. ]
You know my opinion on that. I have no use for healers, and I do not consent to being seen by one, no matter how much they may claim to understand... No, I will not be seen.
[ His gaze briefly shifts at the announcement of the arrival of the Warrior of Light, but only the barest hint of a spark at the news shows in his eyes. ]
I suppose you will keep me apprised of events following the Warrior's arrival. When you are able, of course.
[ Aymeric feels his wounds protest because he has remained standing for too long, but he has no interest in letting Estinien see the effect they have on him. He crosses his arms in front of him and does his best to remain upright. ]
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[ Estinien thinks upon events for a moment. The wound that has caused their moody Lord Commander to hole himself up must have happened in the Dravanian attack after the banquet. He was on his own missions at the time, but even word reached him of how the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights had since bundled himself up within his manor. A strange turn of events, as many thought that perhaps Eorzea's Warrior of Light had begun to melt his rather icy exterior. ]
Do not be a fool, Aymeric. We are both aware that as the leader of the Temple Knights, you will need to meet with the Warrior of Light at some point or another. Even more so given that he and his... entourage have been given a place to stay within House Foretemps. One of the few Houses you remain on good standings with. Politics and I do not mingle, and yet even the Dragoons are aware of that much.
[ He glances over Aymeric once more. ] If you will not be seen, then, do you intend to eat to regain your strength? What if the Archbishop calls upon the Lord Commander?
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[ He is uncomfortably aware that Estinien will most likely find the holes in his logic, but logic is not at the forefront of his thoughts at the moment. ]
Will I? Perhaps. But perhaps I have no intention of continuing to remain Lord Commander, and perhaps that would be best for the Temple Knights and for the people of Ishgard as a whole. I am not surprised to learn that House Fortemps has taken in the Warrior of Light and his entourage, but the question remains: will I remain on good standing with them now?
[ The look on his face suggests he does not believe that to be the case. ]
As for the Archbishop: surely he would rather see another take on the mantle of Lord Commander. [ He knows he just sidestepped Estinien's first question, but his lack of a response is an answer in its own way. ]
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[ As the men continue to argue, the trio beyond the door quietly react. The steward shakes his head and sighs, the head maid frets. Phya remains still, her eyes turned to the basket in her hands. Ears press firmly against her head. Her tail uncurls and simply hangs.
The emotion that fills her heart is far from heartbreak. Rather, a sorrowful acceptance has crossed her face. Why would he wish to see her? The denial is for healers, not her as a person, but Phya is aware of a fact the other two are not. She left him. She had died and left him behind in a cruel world with an even crueler fate.
Why would he wish to see her again? Why would he even wish to venture and find her reborn? Why would he allow her to even aid him and open himself to the pain of abandonment all over again?
Phya closes her eyes and her head hangs slightly.
This is reception is deserved. I hardly deserve anything more... should I find a way to unbind us?
The latter thought comes from somewhere deep inside her. Perhaps it best if she freed him of her as well. Then, he would have no duty nor reason to allow her to hurt him ever again. Her own heart squeezes and a shake forms in her hands at the mere concept.
He deserves to make the choice. No matter what I desire.
Her hands curl and hold the basket in her arms closer.
She had waited so many years for the moment to see him. He is owed an apology and a lifetime of mending. She was the one that wronged him. His misery is her doing, and at the least, she would wish to help make it right once more. Yet, she had always the fear and knowing that he could simply wish nothing from her again. In any life.
Should she leave now?
The basket lowers so she holds it by the handle. Her gaze shifts to the ground before looking to the door once more. If nothing else? She would leave the medicine in the care of the staff and instruct them on what might be done. ]
Be responsible and at least allow the healer to look over your wounds and instruct you on how to care for them.
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Is that all you came here to say?
[ He turns slightly and eyes the disheveled bed in the room, contemplating returning to it and turning his back to the dragoon. He feels an undercurrent of regret, wondering if the friendship he has with Estinien will end because of this. He does consider the man his brother, and yet what has happened to him has changed him in more ways than one.
His outlook on life and on his relationships and duties and everything in between has been altered, perhaps forever. At the present, he can hardly see past the monster he feels he has become. Who is Aymeric de Borel anymore? Certainly not the man he once was. How can he continue being the Lord Commander, the one people look to for leadership of their defenses?
As far as he can tell, he can no longer be that man. ]
What good will it do? [ He shakes his head, but he feels as though he may as well acquiesce on this one thing, if only so that Estinien will stop badgering him about it. ] I suppose this healer you've found can't do any more harm.
Do they really know what they are getting into?
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The good doctor is still on the front lines at a Vigil. Another healer will need to suffice until he returns to Ishgard.
And yes, I believe she is fully aware of what it all entails.
[ Estinien turns and opens the door behind him. Then steward and head maid step back. The Dragoon turns his head to Phya, finding her sorrowful look of acceptance. He rolls his eyes. ]
I can simply instruct how to care and then take my leave. I... if he does not wish to have me here...
[ Estinien simply steps aside and motions for the woman to enter. Phya glances at the room before slowly entering. Her eyes are still cast downwards, hands holding onto the basket, tail still. The large hood hides her ears, but it's clear she is a Miqo'te. ]
She and her sister came to Ishgard with the Warrior of Light. They hail from one of the outlying towns that have managed to survive despite the Calamity.
[ Phya curtseys, keeping her eyes down. Her heart pounds. She knows simply being in the same room that he is the one she had waited for. Hearing his voice had been enough. The manor. Everything tells her that she is supposed to be here.
And yet, the Lord Commander himself would rather she not be present. She understands. She passed. Left him behind. It has been nearly a century, isn't that what the Azure Dragoon had said? ]
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[ She simply squeezes his hand once more. Her fingers trail along his, the back of his hand, and his wrist. Small motions with feather light touch to ease him into sleep. It's far from the suggestion abilities she had in her previous life, but she hopes the gentle motions will simply lure him to sleep. When he finally rests? She closes her eyes to find a few hours herself.
Then, she is awake and back to her tasks.
Phya first speaks with the household staff and informs them of the progress of Aymeric's wounds. She assures that he has eaten in his unique way, to which both the maid and the steward seem relieved to hear. She requests another cup and explains that she will have potions to place on his wounds if further needed. Once he has awaken, eaten, and moved to the bath? He will need the linens changed on the bed. Then, hopefully, with a day or the one after.
She brings the empty cup back to bedroom and begins to gently tidy up. She checks the stock on her bandages. A mental note is made to restock as well. The potions are in good condition. His body has responded well to the blood and rest so the potions have not been as necessary.
A knife is pulled out and once again and she presses it into her skin. Blood rolls down into the cup below. Once enough has been collected? She heals her wound and wipes her arm off. Then, she places the cup on the bedside table. A hand reaches out and she gently squeezes Aymeric's arm once more to wake him. ]
Aymeric.
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To have to confront that realization is more than he thinks he can handle. So, to that end, he tries to fight off the exhaustion that is trying to pull him down. But in the end, the exhaustion is greater than his ability to resist it, and slowly and reluctantly, his eyelids finally close and he relaxes fully against the bed.
Still, his sleep is light, lighter than one might suppose. He is resting, but some part of his mind is aware of things going on around him. Footsteps register in his mind even as he sleeps, but even he can't quite always follow who they belong to.
It isn't until she squeezes his arm and says his name that he begins to stir again. A handful of moments pass before he finally shifts on the bed and his eyes open once more. ]
Lantaa. You're still here. [ You didn't leave.
He hopes that she can tell that his tone is a grateful one, grateful that she did not leave him as he feared she would. Perhaps he can begin to accept that she is real and not a figure conjured up in dreams. ]
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Of course.
[ Phya understands why the concern exists. She had left him behind. Even if he sees it that he had failed her? The fact does not change that he was left alone for decades because she passed. She will need to prove that she is there every morning until that wound heals in his heart.
In her mind? He is the stronger of them. The wound on his heart does not go deep into the soul as hers do. He is able to keep himself hopeful and believing they will have lives together. ]
You need to eat, Aymeric. Then, we can see to a bath and changing the linens.
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Perhaps in that way, Phya is more in tune with herself and her feelings than Aymeric is. ]
Have you eaten yet? Your needs should be seen to as well, if not seen to first.
[ He is confident that he can go awhile without eating; Phya, on the other hand, deserves to have her needs met first and completely, as it appears she has gone without for too long. ]
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What will it take for this wound in my heart to heal? ]
I thought to eat once you had bathed and the linens changed. You will have a comfortable place to rest and I could eat beside you. It wouls give us time to talk. [ A strained smile touches her face. ] It would be rude to eat in front of a vampire when he has yet to feast himself.
[ A hand raises to gesture to the cup on the table beside him. ] I have already prepared it. Do you need help to sit?
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Perhaps he is the one who became lost in his misery, withdrawing from the world and from the people in it, disconnecting himself from life and living. Perhaps she is truly the stronger one of the two of them, as she has been out there in the world, not cutting herself off from it as he so thoroughly has. ]
How long has it been since you last ate? And how long has it been since you felt warm and safe? [ He can only guess at what her days have been like, but a part of him is certain that she has not always had something hot to eat or somewhere safe to lie down and sleep for the night. ] But if that is what you wish to do... The time to talk with you would be welcome. But then- it would not be rude of you to eat. I would not think it so.
[ Still, it seems as though she has already made preparations, he decides to not protest further. As for her question, he tries to make an attempt at sitting up without aid, and the effort he makes is the best one he can manage, but in the end, he decides he will have to accept her assistance for a little while longer. ]
If it is not too much trouble... and you have gone through enough trouble already on my account. [ If she declines, he will continue as best as he can. ]
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[ Many Temple Knights told her as such when they would pass through. Not that any called the Lord Commander by name.
Phya shakes her head at herself.
Her hands reach out to help him sit. Not that she has much weight in the way of leverage. Once he is balanced? She holds the cup for him to take. A thought remains in the back of her mind that he disliked eating from her directly before. Something inside her ripples at the idea of feeding him directly, but are the feelings her own or simplg because she is near him and he is a vampire? Not that the feeling matters. She does not wish him to be angry or to ever dislike what she does for him. If feeding him from the cup is the best way? Then, she will do that. ]
You should eat before me. [ Her eyes move away to give him some semblance of privacy as he drinks. ] Bathing will aid in the feeling of being fresh, and with new linens, you can finish your recuperation in comfort. We... we can talk on whatever you wish.
[ He will need her full name. Her new name. Others will say it and he will hear it regardless.]
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—「 a reward long incoming. 」
Falcon's Nest lay merely half a day away by foot.
It is far from their final destination, but one step closer to it. One pace closer to the South. Getting to Ishgard was far from the hard part. It was being able to pass through it to be further South. The citystate long since closed her gates to those she called children, decades before he was even born. The only ones that came in and out of Ishgard had been the Temple Knights.
Still, he prayed to any of the Twelve that bothered to listen that they would be allowed passage South. Not for his sake, but the sake of the woman that stepped behind him. She had to be as far as possible from the Dragonsong War. If the Temple Knights learned of her? They would put her to the sword. If the Heretics found where she had been? They would fight to the death to reclaim her.
He had failed enough people. He could not fail her. Again.
The brand on his cheek almost burns at the memories haunting at the edge of his mind. The fall of Phoenix Gate. Those that died. The people he failed to save... and because he failed, their entire house and dutchery had fallen. A Vigil had fallen. She had been taken by Heretics.
His feet crunch in the fresh fallen snow.
Then, her feet.
Then, Torgal's feet.
The direwolf whines.
Clive Rosfield--Wyvern--continues to walk. The shackled name fits him. Wyvern. He would say that it fits him, because in his mind, Clive Rosfield should have died along with his father, the guards, and his brother. His brother. The person he was charged to protect. Safeguard. Shield.
Why hadn't he died with the rest of them?
Torgal whines louder and barks gently.
Clive continues to walk.
His hound by adoption, but, Torgal had always responded far more to Jill Warrick the moment his father took her under his wing as ward. Another from a house of Ishgard that had been ravaged by the Dragonsong War. Only to be taken in by another house destroyed.
Torgal pads further and nudges Jill's hand. He barks gently to her. ]
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To Jill, it hardly matters where she ends up or what fate she faces. She has committed her own share of sins, and either death or being forced to do the bidding of the Heretics seem to be punishments she feels she deserves. Death might be the easy way out, however, and she feels as though she does not deserve an easy end, if she must have an end at all.
As they make their way along, Jill is quiet except for the sound of footfalls against the snow and ice. She finds she has little to say, to the apparent displeasure of the loyal direwolf who follows along with them. And, she imagines that Clive does not much like her silence, but he has not pressed her to speak, at least not at the moment.
She follows along behind Clive, keeping her gaze on the snow-covered ground in front of her. Even if she felt inclined to look up and take in the frozen scenery around them, there is a part of her that has already resolved that it is not her place to even look at or enjoy the surroundings, if enjoyment were even possible in such a harsh and forgiving environment. No, Jill believes that enjoyment is not something she is intended to experience in any form.
All she can think of is how far she has fallen, and how much she has betrayed those who took her in and offered her shelter and care. She has let all of them down just as surely as she has become a sinner beyond redemption.
Perhaps Torgal senses the dark turn Jill's thoughts have taken, and he nudges his nose against her hand. She pulls herself out of her thoughts and turns her face slightly so that she might see him.
Speaking has not been at the forefront of her thoughts, perhaps to Clive's consternation, but however lost in thought she might be, Clive and Torgal are two that she can never ignore, not entirely. If either one of them does or says something to address her, she will, of course, respond. She offers the loyal hound a small smile, reaching out to rub the top of his head between the ears. ]
You are such a good boy. [ And with that, she lapses once more into silence as they continue their trek to their next destination. ]
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He has spent so many years trying to find the one who killed his brother. Yet, now, how is he supposed to find them? He has deserted (and killed) the remnants of the unit that had kept him enslaved. He couldn't allow them to kill Jill. Not after realizing she was their target. Being the one who calls Shiva hardly matters in his mind. She is Jill first and foremost. Yet now, he has been put further away from finding the ones who killed his brother, his father, their host...
He looks up from the snow at the sound of her voice. Jill has always caught his attention, even when they were younger. She is addressing Torgal, but his attention always moves to her when she speaks. He was simply better at hiding it whenever Joshua or another was near.
He supposes he should attempt something of a conversation. ]
He had always been a good boy. [ A smile threatens to flicker on his face before he catches himself. ] The best.
[ Torgal barks once mormore as if agreeing with their sentiments. Then, he nudges Jill's hand once more. His tail lifts and wags. ]
I'm... not entirely sure where he had gone after--[ he has to pause to force himself to say the words, ]--what happened at Phoenix Gate. Maybe he had found his way to you. He appeared after I found you.
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Perhaps with time, she will be able to make sense of how her life has unfolded, but until recently, she has not had that time. Nor, she wagers, has Clive. In a way, they are more alike than either of them are saying or have realized.
Jill's gaze shifts to Clive's for a fraction of a second when she sees him move from out of the corner of her eye, but then a second later, it shifts back to look at Torgal. Why she finds it difficult to meet his gaze, she is still figuring out. Perhaps it is from guilt or shame, and perhaps she expects to see only judgment in his eyes. He prevented her from being killed, but he'd come to kill her, hadn't he? What if he was only biding his time for some unknown reason? She wants to believe that Clive wouldn't do that, but perhaps circumstances and time have changed him more than she knows.
Still, she manages a soft look once he speaks, agreeing with her assessment of Torgal. ]
Perhaps he did. Perhaps some sense of his was leading him to... [ She trails off, as she finds she can hardly imagine that he would be lead anywhere, much less in the direction of finding her. ] I suppose that soon, we will have to talk about what happens next. I am sure your orders did not involve traveling with me, even for a short period of time.
[ Either she ends up back with the Heretics, or in a cell, or perhaps dispatched once and for all. ]
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You're going South. Far away from the Dragonsong War as I can get you. [ His answer is immediate and final. ] My orders be damned. There is not a soul left of my unit nor the Heretics that coveted you.
[ Why none still breathe is not elaborated on. He killed his commanding officer to keep her safe. The others had died by the hands of Heretics. ]
My orders did not come from the Holy See of Ishard, Her Temple Knights, nor another great house. [ A shake of his head sends the fluffier hair in directions. ] Eorzea does not brand those that are gifted with magick, as you know.
[ He has not allowed her to properly see him. Not closely anyways. She does not need to see the haunted look in his eyes, the sullen expression, how very different he is from the young man that was fifteen. She does not need to see the brand the Garlaen Empire placed on him to mark him as an Eorzaen; one that could do magick. Nor does she need to know how he was sold by his mother to the Empire. ]
Ishgard remains sealed to outsiders beyond limited trade. If any of the Gods still give a damn, then, we can barter our way on an airship South.
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And what will I do there once we've arrived in the South? What will you do then? I can't imagine traveling that far away from everything is really what you wish to do.
[ Her gaze shifts as does her posture, as if she wants to turn so that she might see his face. At the last second, however, she pauses, because perhaps he should not see hers. She's changed in the years since he saw her last, and she can imagine she might not be someone he wishes to look upon. ]
Perhaps a sort of exile is what I deserve. I believe I deserve a harsher fate, but exile would be a kindness.
[ She pauses at the statement that his orders did not come from the Holy See, or the Knights, or one of the great houses. Of course that means that his orders came from elsewhere, but she wonders who or what did the ordering. ]
I would ask what you have experienced, Clive, but I am well aware that I am not owed an answer. I- it is enough to know that you are alive, and if not entirely well, at least you are standing.
[ For her, she believes that Eorzea would have lost someone great if Clive ceased to walk among them, so she is relieved that he still does. She cannot be sure what his future holds, but it has to be more than this. It has to be better than this. ]
I suppose you have given this all some thought, but I still cannot see what the greater plan is. But- I trust you, and I believe that whatever you have planned, it is far better than any alternative.
[ Her tone of voice warms slightly then, and her eyes soften, but she isn't sure if he notices or if he is even looking at her. ]
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[ The brand on his face labels him a enslaved magical fighter of the Empire. He has fought in wars and slaughtered people. Even if he had deserted? He rather doubts that those in Eorzae would open him with welcome arms. They shouldn't. He failed his charge, his home, his people. Jill would hardly know and he would prefer she never know. ]
War. [ His answer comes regardless of her statement of owed. ] So much of it. Magick can only withstand the might of Magitek for so long without drastic measures... and Magitek can only race against against magick for so long. That's why...
[ That was how he had ended up as a special unit as opposed to being killed on the spot. His mother insisted he would be useful as he had been blessed by the Phoenix. Or rather, some usefulness, as he was quite certain she would have put a dagger through his chest the moment she could have. ]
There is no greater plan than getting you far away from the Heretics and the Temple Knights. It's your life, Jill. You're free to live it how you see fit.
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[ She folds her hands together and gives her fingers a nervous twist as she weighs the wisdom of actually saying what's on her mind. ]
Don't you think you deserve to live a life free of the war and free of people making demands of you?
[ She wonders why he keeps tilting his head away from her, as if he is doing his best to hide something from her. Of course, she is not inclined to pry into his secrets, especially if he has a reason to keep whatever it is from her, but she still can't help but wonder. ]
I think that you deserve to find peace, Clive, if you can. [ She isn't foolish enough to believe that piece will be claimed easily by either of them, but they can dream of it, can't they? Or perhaps she will have to dream about it for both of them. ]
It's your life too, Clive, and I would see you living it on your terms. Perhaps we can both start new lives.
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