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? ]
Are you still unwilling to admit that I am not the man I was? [ Aymeric believes that to be true, and yet he still puts forward the question, wanting to hear it from Estinien in his own words. ]
I am of the opinion that perhaps Ishgard is better off with another at the helm. With that in mind, what is the use of doctors or healers? But I can also recognize that you are unwilling to be swayed in either direction.
[ That hardly makes him happy, but what can he do? When Estinien opens the door once more and beckons someone (the healer, he presumes) inside, at first, Aymeric does not even look at her. He has refused healing this long, and he is hardly warmed up to the idea.
What he sees in his peripheral vision is enough to cause something to stir inside Aymeric; it is a sensation he has not felt in many years, and he imagined he would not feel it again. A part of him wondered if he was incapable of feeling it now. But there is a nudge, and a pulling sensation, something telling him that he needs to get closer to the woman who just entered his private chambers.
Why? She isn't... she can't be. She has been gone for quite some time, and if she even returned...
The sensation grows stronger, and he feels the strong pull urging him to step closer to her. To take her hands. Look her in the eyes.
Instead... He does the opposite, mostly unwillingly, as he would never choose to cause such a scene in front of observers. The nudging and the pulling sensations very nearly cause his head to swim, perhaps because he resists them. But perhaps his sudden unsteadiness is due to a bit of shock or surprise that he has yet to fully identify the reasons for. It has something to do with the small woman in the room, but what?
Unfortunately, he has no time to think on that further as he staggers suddenly on unsteady legs, and before he can try to pull himself together, he ends up on his knees on the hard floor beneath them.
You are not the same as you were before entirely, no. That does not change the fact that at the heart you are still Aymeric de Borel. I assure you that none other would be capable to direct Ishgard as you are. Even in a state in which you see no point.
[ Things happen very quickly.
Estinien is in front of Aymeric the moment he hits the floor. The dragoon lifts him, pulling him to the bed. He glances over the Lord Commander before looking over his shoulder. With a curt nod, he motions for Phya to join them.
Phya does.
She does not move hesitantly, but instead, with a sense caution. Not because of his illness or because he seemingly wishes nothing to do with her. The situation as to his condition is unknown to her. Any sudden movement--especially with how he does not wish her to even be present--could cause him to react in an even worse manner.
Estinien lays the Elezen out on the bed. Phya stays behind him, feeling as if she has to earn back the right to even look him in the eyes. Let alone say the names that come to mind for him. ]
I... need to see the injury so that I might instruct them on how to care for it. M-may I see it, ser?
[ The formalities make her heart beat painfully. They should be closer than they are. She shouldn't hesitate to touch him. She should throw her arms around him and cry for their reunion. Fear grips her instead and she stands at the side of the bed with her hands raised slightly. ]
[ Aymeric can feel his senses trying to flee from him, intending to go the same way as his legs, which refused to hold him up any longer, but even as Estinien lifts him and pulls him over to the bed, he tries to resist. He's past the point of saving face, but this is the last thing he ever wanted to happen. He did not want an audience, but it is too late for that now.
He dimly registers Phya moving from out of the corner of his eye, but his focus remains on trying to keep hold of his senses. It's a losing fight, or so it seems, but he's still trying his best to not pass out entirely. It's bad enough that Estinien- that his friend and brother has to move him like this.
He might be reduced to hiding in his private chambers and refusing to see anyone, but he still retains the smallest semblance of pride. It's just hard to see it in the way he behaves now.
Estinien places him on the bed, and Aymeric feels something inside himself recoiling in something like embarrassment. Perhaps it is strange that this would cause him embarrassment and not his equally embarrassing display from just moments ago. He does not need to be told that he behaves shamefully, because he knows that he does already. That is just one of many reasons why he wishes to withdraw from being seen as much as possible.
From his position on the bed, he hears the quiet request from the healer Estinien brought to see him, and at first, he does not respond. He wants to turn his back to both of them, to wall himself off once more, but he knows that doing so would do no good at all. He has no energy at the moment for another prolonged argument with Estinien, and so, while he does try to turn himself away from both of them (not quite managing it due to his present weakness), he replies in a quiet, low tone, hating the hesitant, halting way the words come out. ]
If you insist. I won't prevent you from looking, if that is what you wish.
[ He knows what she'll see when she looks: the roadmap of lacerations and scratches of varying sizes, and the bite that caused all this in the center of it all, angry and inflamed because he let it go uncared for. Part of him recoils inwardly at the thought of being bared for her to see, but it seems as though this is one matter that he won't be allowed to continue pushing to the side.
And now matter how much he might wish to be left alone, he knows better than to think that Estinien cares much about his wishes, at least as far as this current matter is concerned. ]
[ Phya's gaze drops once more. The situation remains crystal clear to her. He does not wish to be healed nor does he wish to have anything to do with the rest of the world. He is merely humoring his friend to keep him placated. After Aymeric gives his answer, she looks back up towards the dragoon. Should she truly continue to try and help in his current state?
Estinien nods.
Phya steps up to the bed properly. The Dragoon reaches forward and helps Aymeric settle properly on his side. She stills until the Lord Commander is settled and then carefully moves. Her hands curl around his shirt and gently tug it up until his hip and side of his abdomen is bare for her to see.
Her eyes widen.
Her heart feels as if it drops into the floor.
Estinien unfolds his arms and shakes his head.
Phya glances up at Aymeric's face before continuing. Her hands tremble as one gently raises above the injury. The horrors if the injury is one matter, but the true tremors come from the overwhelming electric feeling of being near him again. After years of waiting, he is right below her. She could reach out and touch his face or his hair and ask to stay with him once more.
The realization settles in once more that he wishes nothing to do with her. Even if he has realized her true identity. It causes her heart to sink once more, but she knows she cannot blame him or be angry. After all, she was the one that left him behind in this state he hates.
Her head tilts down. The trembling hand settles above his injury. The aether is chaotic. Not due to the injury, although that certainly hasn't helped. It flows at such a speed that all that comes to mind is darkness in the aetheric matter.
Some images come to mind as she gently allows the aether to flow over her hand. Battles. War. Dragons. Her eyes open then with a small frown. ]
A dragon bit him. Not an elder one, but small enough to be able to strike at him. [ Phya tilts her head slightly. Then, her eyes raise to Estinien. ] The wound is deep and has started to heal in it's own way. I... I can instruct the house staff how to heal it from this point on. Provide what's needed for it. I'll do the first dressing and application.
[ Estinien glances at Aymeric before nodding. He has pushed his point enough. His brother will need to recuperate and there is no point in pushing further for him to accept a healer.
Phya nods in return before turning away from the Lord Commander. Her hands quietly shift through the basket before pulling out a potion and bandages. She glances once more towards the man before looking at the items in her hand. She could heal him properly with aether and her medicines if she felt she was allowed to do so. She won't press. Ardbert and her sister still need to be accepted into Ishgard, and upsetting the head of the Temple Knights could tip that unfavorably. Beyond that, she does not need to upset him more than she has.
If he hates her now, then there is little she can do.
Phya moves to the door of the chambers. The head maid and steward look up. She looks at their faces, before quietly requesting a clean bowl of warm water. The wound needs to be cleaned before she can treat it.
[ To Aymeric, the situation is different from what Phya is thinking it is. Of course, how could she know what he is thinking when he has not said? It is not her that he wants nothing to do with. He has spent so long doing his best to shut out the world and everyone in it, but there are exceptions to that resolve, even if he would be loathe to say it out loud. Estinien is one exception, and... Aymeric feels his heart clench inside him as his thoughts move in this direction, a direction he has tried to avoid. Alkaid is the other exception. Was the other exception, because as far as he knows, she is lost. He hasn't even dared think about the possibility of finding her again.
Someone with a curse like the one he now has doesn't deserve such fortune, or at least that is what he tells himself.
But he finds he has no time for continuing such thoughts; he feels Estinien's hands on him again as he helps move him properly to his side, and while he makes no sound expressing discomfort, his face twists slightly as the movement pulls on his wounds. Then he feels a rush of cold air as Phya lifts his shirt, exposing his injuries for her to see them.
He's managed to bear the discomfort for the most part, but moving around has caused it to increase just enough that he bites down on his lip while he waits for the discomfort to subside. In a strange way, the slight pressure he feels on his lip as pointed teeth meets skin distracts him from the unwanted feelings.
His eyes slide closed as she begins to examine him, and as she speaks, something strange seems to happen. He sees Phya, or what he was able to observe of her from the brief interactions they've had so far, and he hears her voice, and maybe it's the slight delirium from the infection speaking, but he keeps seeing shifting images of her and the person he lost so long ago now.
What's more, the way she seems to read his aether feels familiar. It's so familiar and until this exact moment, it had not occurred to him why that might be.
It's impossible. I lost her because I was not there to defend her. Why would she even return, knowing that I failed to save her?
He shakes his head as if trying to push away those thoughts; he does not wish to allow himself to hope, especially when that hope is all but impossible. Isn't it?
Instead, he focuses back on the words she's saying, talking about the wound he sustained and its present condition. She mentions instructing the household staff how to care for it, and he feels a sudden dislike for that idea. If this is the healer that Estinien found and vouched for, then she's the only one he'll allow to take care of him: not because he does not trust his staff, but in an attempt to show the dragoon that he is not so obstinate or petulant. Maybe he still is, but at least he can relent enough to allow Phya to heal him, if she wishes to.
Then, he senses rather than sees Phya turn away from him, and he shifts slightly on the bed, curling inward as much as his wounds will allow. They protest at the movement, but he ignores it until he's positioned to his satisfaction while still allowing her access to what she needs.
Opening his eyes once more, he notes that Estinien has glanced at him, and he glances back at him in return, as best as he can from his position on the bed. He hates being in this position: vulnerable and temporarily unable to move while being observed by others.
It feels shameful to him, and he despises it, but he can do nothing about it at the moment. He has to wait for Phya to resume her work, and then... Either he'll be back on his feet or he won't. If the beginnings of the thoughts he's started to have are correct, she'll see him recovered in no time at all. ]
[ The head maid returns with the desired bowl of warm water and Phya instructs her to set it down beside the bed. Once the head maid has taken her leave, Phya removes her heavy coat. Her sleeves are rolled up. A towel is fetched from the joined bathroom, soaked, rung out and then placed on Aymeric's side. She gently cleans the wound while avoiding eye contact. He certainly would not wish to look at her. ]
Ser, I ... you need to uncurl for me. Just enough so that I might apply the medicine and bandages proper. You can lay however you wish afterwards.
[ She places the bloodied and slightly puss covered towl to the bowl. Attention is turned towards the potions and bandages with her. She applies the medication to the bandages instead of directly to his wounds. Namely due to discomfort, but also in the hopes he realizes she does not wish to harm him or cause him any more pain than what he has experienced until this moment.
The bandages are placed and carefully attached on locations that would not agitate wounds. Scars, perhaps, but there is little she can do when he has so many. Not without directly interacting with his aether. He has yet to give permission or pass for her to do such things. She has only done what she has at the insistence of the Dragoon that watches over the pair.
Her hands still before pulling away from the Lord Commander. They rest at her sides. Then, she looks to Estinien. ]
I can leave the basket here with the staff. I... I don't wish to overstay my place or time. [ Her gaze falls. ] There is a mild pain sedative as well should he find he is in need. The wound will heal in time this way, depending on my lord's metabolism. He should be well enough in a few days to return to duties as long as the bandage is changed and medication applied. Rest as well.
[ Estinien turns his gaze back to Aymeric. ] Does the proposal meet your approval?
[ Phya glances once more to Aymeric's face. She knows without a doubt he is the one she had been waiting to arrive in her town. He, however, has a grander calling than her now. The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard. He is the one who commands the military on behalf of the Archbishop. He would never have the time and certainly not the care to find her amongst everything that had been laid to waste in the Calamity.
Perhaps I truly should find a way to unbind us... free him from the disappointment I certainly am. The pain I have caused.
The thought springs from deep inside. Not an echo, but internal thoughts that feel ancient and yet new at the same time. The same inner voice that springs ways to refer to him. Old names of endearment. Names she has no permission or right to say any longer. ]
[ While Phya sets about preparing to start her work, Aymeric stares straight ahead at the wall in front of him; the sudden progression into weakness happened quickly, but he imagines that's what happens when one ignores their wounds and does not care for them properly. His senses seem to swim, blurring his vision and muffling his hearing for a few seconds before both clear once more.
He tenses when he feels the towel placed against his side. It doesn't hurt much, but the added pressure took him by surprise. And while her efforts to clean the wound are gentle, he can't stop himself from letting out small hisses of pain from time to time.
She instructs him to uncurl from his position so that she might properly take care of bandaging his wounds, but moving is the last thing he wants to do. The pain was tolerable before, or maybe he just told himself it was. Now, it seems less than tolerable, and all he wants to do is simply lie there.
But he tries to follow her instructions, first moving his legs then slowly trying to straighten his torso once more. After that, what she does next seems to happen in a strange sort of fog. Every once in awhile, another pained hiss escapes him when medicine and bandages both brush against a sensitive spot, but other than that, Aymeric does not make a sound. At least he does not think that she is intentionally causing him pain. He knows how the business of healing works. It has to hurt for it to get better, whether he likes it or not.
Time continues passing in a haze, and Aymeric seems to drift in and out of a daze until he dimly feels her hands still and pull away from him. He sees her mouth moving but he can't quite make out all the words at first. Listening as intently as he can manage, he hears pieces of what she's saying, and he understands enough of it to determine that she does not plan on staying, choosing to leave the supplies Aymeric will need in the hands of the staff.
Then Estinien turns his attention to him, asking if he approves of what Phya has proposed. Instead of answering, with difficulty and slowness brought on by his injuries, he turns himself to lie on his back. He cannot recall the last time that he truly let his emotions take the reins and break through the carefully practiced mask of emotionlessness. But now... perhaps due to a combination of his condition and of the fact that memories long buried are trying to surface...
His eyes close again, and water seems to leak from the corners of his eyes. He hears Phya's voice and in his mind, her voice blends with another voice, a voice he thought he wouldn't hear again. Reason tells him what he's thinking and feeling is the product of a feverish mind, but... He knows Alkaid, and while the small healer in the room with him looks nothing like her, sometimes one does not need to look with their eyes to recognize someone they care about and love.
With his eyes still closed and stray tears leaking from his eyelids, he reaches blindly for Phya, trying to find her hands once more so that he can hold onto them.
How is this possible? He asks the question in his mind once more. Out loud, he says, knowing it is a significant change from what he had plainly stated not that long ago: ]
Don't go. [ If he were stronger in this moment, he would tell her he wishes to stay, but as it is, he has to settle for just those two words, hoping she can somehow understand the whole meaning behind them.
Even with his less than healthy state, he can already imagine the way that Estinien will react: most likely with a sigh, a rolling of his eyes, and some sort of sarcastic comment about his sudden change of heart. But that's exactly what it is: a feeling to do with the heart. Never mind that he'd resolved to never feel anything like that again. ]
[ Phya's attention moves back to Aymeric the moment he begins to shift. Hands move to raise but stop the moment he reaches for one and takes it into his. Ice-blue eyes finally raise to his face. His eyes as closed, but she still sees the streaks of water escaping. She doesn't comment on them. In fact, she doesn't say anything at all.
She simply kneels down beside the bed and shifts her hand in his hold. A small motion to make it easier to hold her own. Her heart continues to race--even skipping a beat now and then. She's done this before: knelt at his bedside. Injury or illness. Not just in her previous life, but in the few that they have managed to be together in.
He is always the soldier and she the healer.
Phya looks at his hand that holds hers. It dwarfs hers. She is smaller than she ought to be at her age, same with her elder sister. Once Aymeric is aware? He will certainly notice how very much she is not like the woman from his memories. The same soul, the same ancient bond and lover, but born into a body very different once more. White hair, darker skin, ice blue eyes, and much smaller. Weaker. A different name. It will surely turn him away once he realizes.
He could continue to call her by her previous name and she would hardly mind. The name that she gave to him to call her--her previous tribal name. Not the name she gave to the world. She can hardly remember what that name was, but she knows she gave him permission at one point.
How she wishes she was still that person from his memories.
Unlike what Aymeric predicted, Estinien does not roll his eyes or make a comment beneath his breath. He instead gives a small smirk to himself. Arms uncurl and he silently makes his way from the room to inform the staff of the latest state of affairs. The healer will be staying and may need her own room set up, should Aymeric allow her out of his sight. He will be by in the morning to check on progress. ]
[ He does not even wonder what caused the sudden bout of tears to flow, because he already knows the answer. Even though he dimly remembers a period of mourning following the news that Alkaid had been lost, the grief of said loss never really left him. And now that he is hardly in the best condition possible, his ability to conceal his emotions behind a stone-cold mask has temporarily faded away.
His eyes remain closed, but he feels her hand shift in his hold; it's hardly a strong grasp, and he can barely manage to curl his fingers around hers in a weak grip, but he wants to feel her. He wants to assure himself that it's her, somehow returned to him even though he thought her lost. She was lost, but now she has returned. Will she consent to stay with him, or will she leave because now there is a gulf of time in between them? She has changed, but so has he, and he feels he is no longer desirable to anyone, much less her.
Perhaps it is him who should release their bond, unbinding her from him.
The thought causes more tears to flow unbidden, and he does not even care to stop them, even if he was able to. He continues holding her hand as his body gives an involuntary shudder, but he can't tell if it's pain from his injuries or from the sudden wave of emotion that's trying to overwhelm him.
His fingers curl further against her hand, hoping that whatever this discomfort is, it will pass soon. He can hardly speak to her in his present state, which only further adds to his upset, interrupted only by the quiet movement of Estinien leaving the room. He does his best to make a mental note to himself to thank his brother later, once he is back on his feet, and to apologize as well. ]
[ She gently holds his hand as it curls around hers further. Eyes remain downwards to give him the privacy of his formal mask cracking. Ardbert had made mention of the Lord Commander, but she had never put the pieces together. He who commanded the Temple Knights seemed frosty and distant. Yet, he also cared for his men and loved his city deeply. Phya would wonder if that claim were still true if not for how his mask has broken now.
She does not wish to leave. The feeling of leaving comes from a fear of rejection. He had not wished for healers or company. It would be better to treat and love him from afar. There had been at least one life where that had been the status. Such a life would be deserved for leaving him in this cruel world. A world that hates him it seems. One that is unfair and left him with a "condition."
One that she can't recall readily.
Her fingers begin to move over his hand but stop. Such motions are not her place. She has yet to earn back those things. Things that she had failed at before. ]
I will need to fetch another towel, ser. I would dampen it and place it on your forehead to aid in breaking the fever. Is-is that alright?
[ His fever seems to be causing his temperature to rise, and with it, Aymeric seems to float between states of awareness and thinking he's somewhere else... thinking he's with someone else. He's not losing his mind, nor his sanity, but his injuries and the lingering infection causing his fever are bringing to mind memories he thought he'd managed to bury.
Apparently he did not bury them as well as he had thought.
His lips move, and at first, no sound comes, but after a moment, he says something in a whispered tone. A name. Not her proper name, but the name that most people knew her as. ]
Alkaid. [ But no sooner does he say the name then more confusion seems to pile itself upon him. Alkaid belongs to another, still a Miqo'te, but different in appearance. The woman with him now has lighter hair, and she is smaller but no less beautiful. Aymeric has yet to realize it, but she could be even more beautiful than she is, if cared for properly.
But perhaps it is too soon to have even the beginnings of those thoughts; Aymeric's dragon bite is the least of his worries, and of course, how could Phya really know of it? It is a conversation they will have to have, when both of them are capable of having said conversation.
He dimly registers her speaking again, saying something about needing to fetch something. If he had the voice for it, he would direct the household staff to fetch her whatever it is she needs. It takes some effort on his part to gather the strength to open his eyes, and further effort to move, but he manages the smallest of nods, hoping that it is enough to convey his agreement. But he has something else he wants to convey to her too, and again, his fingers curl against her hand, barely managing to hold hers, but the gesture is meant to imply he would just as soon have her stay with him rather than have her expend the energy to care for him.
The fever will break on its own, or it won't, but he would rather her remain nearby than spend the time fussing over him. If not remaining nearby, then surely she could see to having her own needs met. The staff could use something to do besides lingering around waiting for something to happen. Perhaps they could cook something for Phya, or draw her a bath, or... anything she might want.
Still, he imagines that she has her mind made up, and after a few seconds, his fingers uncurl from around her hand once more, as if agreeing to whatever it is that she sees fit to do. ]
[ Memories of their shared lives hardly ever stay buried. While perhaps not as in touch with the memories as she had once been? Phya is aware of certain details regardless. She can recall ways to heal him as Aymeric de Borel, not just the man she has loved over countless lives. She believes she can even recall where items are in the home if things have not changed too much in their time apart.
There is one thing that remains slightly illusive to her no matter how hard she tries to grasp onto the memories that are on the edge of her mind. Something of Aymeric that is important to his person. Estinien had made mention of a "condition" and that she ought to know how to treat it. Yet, for the life of her, Phya cannot think of what it might be.
He calls her by name and her eyes raise to his.
A name that had been one she used in her previous life. Not her true name, but a name that she still recognizes as her own even now. She is painfully aware then in that moment she must be nothing like the woman in his memories. Her appearance does not match and perhaps other details of her personality have been changed as well. Things that remain unique to her as Phya and in the world of Corethas after the Calamity. ]
I'm here.
[ She continues to hold his hand until the grip loosens. Her own small squeeze is given before she stands. His hand is gently placed on the bed before she quickly moves to the bathroom. Part of her still reels at the fact she can open doors and know where it will lead to. Has anything changed within the decades they have been apart? Has he wanted to change anything?
Surely, the household staff is different. Age catches up to all in the end.
She returns with a small towel damp with warm water. Within moments she is once more at his side, draping the warm cloth over his forehead. Then, she tucks her large robe and skirt beneath her and sits once more at the floor beside the bed. Her hands gently rest over his single. Phya is aware she can be quite forward and stern with her decisions. She had to become that way in regards to her own health. So many different healers and doctors had different opinions and ideas on how to cure her ailments. Eventually she had to pick her own path. ]
Once you've rested? I shall see to changing the bandages again. They will... most certainly need to be changed frequently. With the infection taken care of you can start to heal properly from the dragon's bite. [ A pause. ] Hopefully you have no engagements for the next few days. If you are called upon? Then, something will have to be done. Perhaps they can come here for you as you recover.
[ Phya pauses once more. Her gaze settles on their hands as her ears twitch slightly. ] Your Temple Knights would see something of a miracle to see you returned by Starlight Celebration. Even I heard of their fondness for the Lord Commander where I lived and traveling here. No matter how far they are from Ishgard, they speak highly of their Lord Commander. Now knowing that it is you? I can see why. You have always inspired the best in others.
[ A gentle smile more at herself then. ] Which is to say I will need to do my utmost to get you on your feet to return to duty. It was always important to you, no matter which life I found you in.
[ If Phya were to look around the manor, she would see that very little has changed at all. Aymeric had no desire to alter the appearance of the family home, and many, if not all of the possessions that belonged to them are still where they'd been placed so long ago now. Of course, there's a layer of dust on said belongings, in spite of the efforts of the household staff who remained or who joined later on. They do their best, of course, but sometimes some battles are not meant to be won.
As for that one thing that remains elusive and escapes Phya's grasp, perhaps that is for the best, at least for now. It is a topic that Aymeric does not like to speak on nor dwell on, and he has yet to even consider how to broach the topic with her.
He remains still, lying on the bed where he was placed, even as Phya bustles about obtaining a towel that has been dipped in water or perhaps placed in a basin beforehand. She places it on his forehead, and in response, his eyes briefly open, revealing their icy blue color, before they close once more.
She begins speaking, explaining her intentions and her plans, and even as she speaks of engagements that will most likely have to be postponed, he remains motionless but still listening to every word. He can hear her without issue; his power of speech is limited at present, as is his ability to keep his eyes open. But his ears function just fine.
And because of that, when she mentions the Temple Knights by name, going on to talk about the Starlight Celebration, and the opinion that others hold for him as Lord Commander, his posture stiffens immediately. It is hardly a strong gesture, but there is a tension in his frame that was not there mere seconds ago.
A look of consternation settles on Aymeric's face, betraying the doubt he feels that he can inspire anyone as he is now. Perhaps the days of him leading soldiers and being an inspiration are long gone, just as the man he was is also long gone now.
His eyes slit open once more, and they lock onto what he can see of Phya's face. It takes a significant amount of breath to form words, but he does his best. ]
What duty I once had- it has surely passed from me and to others in my absence. [ Perhaps that is for the best. ]
[ Her eyes catch his icy blue and her heart stops for a brief moment. Then, it pounds. A blush comes to her cheeks. Despite the state that he is in currently? She cannot help but find him so incredibly attractive. Not just because of his looks but his person as well. Perhaps saying her soul stirs at seeing him is hyperbolic. Yet, she feels the incredible sense of longing and desire to reach out and touch him. Not merely hold his hand, but to brush her fingers through his hair. Hold his face in her hands.
Things she has yet to earn in this lifetime... or earn at all to do.
The tension becomes obvious in his frame.
She gently squeezes his hand. ]
It has not. [ Phya shakes her head. ] They adore you. Your leadership. They trust you... and trust is not easy to come by in the world now, Ser.
[ Her tiny hands once again curl around his. ] You should not give up on them. Or yourself. For many? The Lord Commander is someone who makes sense in this world that no longer what it once was. The Calamity was decades ago, and yet, I still spoke with people who had memories of a time when Corethas was green. Ishgard standing and her Temple Knights are things people look to for stability and hope.
You may not feel it due to your current condition, but that does not change the truth. You have already proven yourself to the others around you. [ A shy look downwards is given. ] I heard many Knights speak highly of you over the years.
[ Then, a small sigh comes from her. She stands, squeezing his hand once more. ]
You need to rest. Sleep. I'll wake you when your bandages need changing. It may be easier for you to speak then.
[ If he was strong enough to get up from this bed, he would move to stand next to her and take hold of her hands properly. He would look at her, taking in her appearance and memorizing it so that he would not ever forget it. And there would be words too... so many words: apologies, stories he wished he could tell her but was unable to, but most of all... apologies. Heartfelt ones. Ones that are carved into his entire being now.
It seems to him that he owes a great many people many apologies, but he has to start with Alkaid... no, with Phya. With... What was the name she trusted him with? It was her family name, or clan name, not the name she had adopted. The tension in his frame does not even begin to disperse, not even when Phya takes him to task for what he has said.
He can't summon up the strength to speak, but he manages to shake his head from side to side. No, it can't be what she says. I know what the people must be thinking. I know what thoughts have run through the minds of the Knights. They may have trusted me once, but how could they do that now?
I am not giving up on them, as I am confident they will rise above this. Perhaps by now, a new Lord Commander has been appointed. I suppose she is correct in saying I have given up on myself.
He feels himself recoiling from her words, wanting nothing else but to soundly reject them. But of course, in his present state, he does not have the strength, and what words he has managed to speak, combined with the twisting thoughts of his mind, has brought him closer to exhaustion once more.
She tells him of his need to rest, and while he would protest, he finds that he cannot. His eyelids are heavy, and he feels the need to sleep beginning to pull him down. But there's something else that overrides that exhaustion and causes him to push it aside for just a few moments longer. Suddenly, there is a strange fear that's gripping him, and while he feels he has no right to ask her for assurance... He draws a shaky breath and manages to form a few more words. ]
Will you still be here when I awaken? [ Will I awaken to find this was only a dream? ]
Yes, of course. You've asked me to stay. [ Phya gives an affirmative nod even if he cannot see the notion. ] Now, please. Rest.
[ She continues to hold his hand until he finally does manage to drift into slumber. Her hands let go of his before quickly moving to the door. There, she is greeted once more by the steward and head maid. She quickly explains the situation. Their surprise and slight confusion can be felt rather than seen. Phya merely looks down. She has no proper way to explain a potential ancient bond between her and their lord. An arrangement is regardless struck on what is needed to keep Aymeric on the mend.
Then, she is left to her own.
Phya walks through the master suite. Certain items--paintings, decorations--all stand out to her. A soft bell or chime in her mind rings in familiarity even if she cannot pull the full memories to mind. Her ears tilt down and she twists her fingers together. How is she ever to stand against the memory of... herself?
More than once she looks at herself in the mirror in the room. How dainty she is, how small, how... nearly wild she must look compared to a neat and kept woman of the court. A type of woman he surely deserves and should be with given his station. Not only a knight, a Lord of Ishgard, but the Lord Commander. No wonder remains her mind then as to why her knight never appeared. He had far too many pressing matters and things in a life to command. They out rank her reborn into such a sickly body. Even if now is one of her better spells.
He shifts on the bed at one point and Phya races over. He turns away in his sleep and that is when she catches something that she should have remembered on her own. A fang is visible as he groans and she feels her body freeze. A cold spell takes her. Of course there are always rumors of what voidsent roam in the night--especially the kind she finds herself in realization of seeing before her.
Then, the guilt truly settles in her.
Not only had she died and left her beloved behind... she left him in a miserable existence. Not being a lord or a knight.
As a vampire.
Her hands lower, she looks at the ground. Ears press to her head and her tail stills. Everything seems to make sense in her mind then. How an Elezen can look so young after so long. Why guilt and loneliness consumed her. Why he would refuse so many healers... and why Estinien had believed her to be the only one to understand his "condition" as he called it.
Phya closes her eyes. Hands curl into her robes for a moment before she turns and heads to the door to the bedroom. Potions and alchemy will only aid his recovery to a point. She will need to do something else, even as she is certain any healer she had ever met would be horrified. She opens the door and calls for the head maid, asking for a cup to be brought. Confusion lingers on the staff once more but a cup is brought regardless. Phya thanks her before setting to the other side of the room.
The cup is placed on the mantle. A knife is pulled from her robes. The silver blade pierces her arm and blood drips into the cup. Something tells her that he will refuse it no matter how much she insists. Still, she must at least try.
Her fingers graze the wound and seal the injury. No trace of it is left. She cleans the knife with a towel then returns once more to the bed. The cup is placed on the bedside table and her hands raise to his shoulder. Then, a hand to Aymeric's face. She guides him back to her. ]
Ser, [ she still feels he has yet to give her permission to even call his name, ] I need to change your bandages... and you need to eat.
[ He falls asleep, mainly due to the injured state he finds himself in and his need for rest, but it is not done entirely willingly. Of course rest is something he requires at the moment, but it is not something he draws any particular pleasure from. He finds he does not dream while he sleeps, not that that makes a particular difference either. Sleep is something purely functional and he would insist he does not require much of it.
His injuries would say otherwise, however, and he ends up in a deep sleep that, if nothing else, will help with his recovery from the dragon bite. Still, even though he doesn't dream, some form of thoughts seem to spin themselves around in his mind... thoughts of Alkaid, thoughts of Phya as she is now. Thoughts of longing and feeling a need to apologize for what he sees as his own failure to protect her.
She might notice if she is looking that his mouth seems to move even as he sleeps, forming wordless sentences of apology. Then, he shifts on the bed, a sudden bout of agitation taking hold of him, and his mouth falls open slightly, revealing a visible fang. If he had been in control of himself, he would not have let her catch sight of it, but in his sleeping state, the motion happened on its own.
Still unaware of what has happened, he continues to sleep until he feels a hand on his shoulder, and then on his face, and he hears the sound of someone speaking quietly but with direction.
He stirs on the bed once more, and again, his eyes slit open just enough to let him see her. Alkaid... except she is different now. What does she call herself now? The thought enters his still sleeping mind, trying to take root there.
He hears her say something about bandages, which he understands, but then... she says he needs to eat, and instinctively, he recoils, wincing as the sudden motion pulls at his wound.
Whether she meant it that way or not, his reaction is clear: he does not respond well to the notion of eating. Of course, he remains unaware that she caught a glimpse of his fangs as he slept, but his opinion on the matter of feeding remains the same. ]
[ The wince causes her ears to stand on end. Not from the motion itself but how it most certainly pulls at his wound. Both hands move to his shoulders in an attempt to keep him still. Their height and weight difference makes the attempt laughable, but, she must try regardless.
Somehow, his reaction to eating is hardly surprising. ]
Ser, please don't move as such. Your wound is still healing. [ She glances down at it, then looks back to his face. ] I... I know I am far from the position to ask anything of you, but, you need to eat. It is the only way you will truly recover. Your body is far too weak.
[ A small smile shows on her face. ] Trust me, Ser. I won't have you do something so very untasteful.
[ Phya first turns her attention back to his bandages. She begins to change them. Her nose scrunches in a familiar way at the smell, however, the signs are there that the healing process has truly begun. Thus, she sets about to continue applying the potions and new bandages.
Now, for the next part, she gives an unconscious inhale of breath. ]
It will hurt, Ser, but let me help you sit up as much as possible. [ Her arms move to help support him despite he is nearly a foot and more taller than her. ] You may lean on me as much as you need.
[ Phya aids Aymeric to sit as much as he finds himself able. Her hand then reaches out to grab the cup that still sits on the bedside. She holds it up to him in order for him to smell and at least attempt to hold the glass with her own hand. That way he may set the pace of his own feeding.
It would be a lie to say she was not nervous. Not because of his nnature, but, because her blood will certainly expose her. He would be able to tell how sickly of a woman she has been reborn into in this life. He may reject her because her blood does not taste the same as it once had. He will truly know how far she is from being Alkaid--K'lantaa. Yet, she does not realize how much of her remains the same that he should surely notice as well. ]
[ He regrets the sudden movement, but he could not stop the immediate reaction to the idea of needing to eat. He resolved that he would not attack others in order to feed from them, but that hardly addressed how he was supposed to receive the nourishment he needed.
There seemed to be no other way to accomplish it other than to go after the rats that lingered in the woods. It was still distasteful, and he had to be careful so as to not deplete the entire population of rats, but it was enough to get him by.
Once he sustained the injury, however, he was no longer able to venture out to find the rats he needed, and the lack of food contributed to his weakness. One eye slits open to look at her, and then the other slowly opens as well. He finds his voice after a few more seconds, although it sounds rough to his ears. ]
Rats. Rats in the woods. [ He manages a small shake of his head; he won't ask her to go hunt rats for him. Maybe later when he's stronger, he'll go in search of one or two.
Then he quiets as she sets to work on changing the bandages and cleaning the wound. The smell reaches his nose too, and he'd recoil from it if moving wasn't an issue. But then he feels her arms around him, and he glances at her, wondering what she intends to do now.
He receives his answer once she attempts to help him sit up, and while he doesn't resist, he can't quite hide the look of discomfort as he tries to position himself into a sitting position with her help.
Once he comes to a stop, he takes a few moments to try and compose himself and wait for the ache from the wound to subside as well. While he's doing that, he sees Phya moving something towards him, and once he realizes what the cup she's holding contains, his attention focuses on it almost immediately.
Blood.
It's distasteful to him, what he has to do to survive. He would rather not drink from rats, but to drink from a human or other individual who has hopes and dreams and aspirations is unthinkable.
But the difference here is one that even he can't ignore; this isn't just a random sampling of blood. This blood belongs to Phya, someone he has known for a very long time now. He can feel it even if her appearance has changed. It isn't only the appearance that matters, after all. ]
Y-yes. [ Her shoulders curl. ] You can't very well do it yourself.
[ "Gathered" is certainly a way of phrasing it. A way she wouldn't necessarily phrase it herself. Suddenly, she is keenly aware that he would disagree with how she went about preparing the cup. He detests blood of people, and barely manages to live off the blood of animals. Hadn't he made the exception for her before?
Would he keep making the exception?
She shifts the cup in her hand to hold it properly for him. ]
You need to drink.
[ The ability to compelling has gone away with her previous life. Now, it is only a request. A plea. She may not be his healer after this spell, so she must make due with what time she has been given.
Phya gently shifts him to help his head tilts back. The hesitation and worry of how he will react to the taste of her blood. What he might learn of her from it. Regardless, he must eat. ]
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synthneon2024-11-25 02:03 am
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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? ]
no subject
I am of the opinion that perhaps Ishgard is better off with another at the helm. With that in mind, what is the use of doctors or healers? But I can also recognize that you are unwilling to be swayed in either direction.
[ That hardly makes him happy, but what can he do? When Estinien opens the door once more and beckons someone (the healer, he presumes) inside, at first, Aymeric does not even look at her. He has refused healing this long, and he is hardly warmed up to the idea.
What he sees in his peripheral vision is enough to cause something to stir inside Aymeric; it is a sensation he has not felt in many years, and he imagined he would not feel it again. A part of him wondered if he was incapable of feeling it now. But there is a nudge, and a pulling sensation, something telling him that he needs to get closer to the woman who just entered his private chambers.
Why? She isn't... she can't be. She has been gone for quite some time, and if she even returned...
The sensation grows stronger, and he feels the strong pull urging him to step closer to her. To take her hands. Look her in the eyes.
Instead... He does the opposite, mostly unwillingly, as he would never choose to cause such a scene in front of observers. The nudging and the pulling sensations very nearly cause his head to swim, perhaps because he resists them. But perhaps his sudden unsteadiness is due to a bit of shock or surprise that he has yet to fully identify the reasons for. It has something to do with the small woman in the room, but what?
Unfortunately, he has no time to think on that further as he staggers suddenly on unsteady legs, and before he can try to pull himself together, he ends up on his knees on the hard floor beneath them.
... So much for maintaining appearances. ]
no subject
[ Things happen very quickly.
Estinien is in front of Aymeric the moment he hits the floor. The dragoon lifts him, pulling him to the bed. He glances over the Lord Commander before looking over his shoulder. With a curt nod, he motions for Phya to join them.
Phya does.
She does not move hesitantly, but instead, with a sense caution. Not because of his illness or because he seemingly wishes nothing to do with her. The situation as to his condition is unknown to her. Any sudden movement--especially with how he does not wish her to even be present--could cause him to react in an even worse manner.
Estinien lays the Elezen out on the bed. Phya stays behind him, feeling as if she has to earn back the right to even look him in the eyes. Let alone say the names that come to mind for him. ]
I... need to see the injury so that I might instruct them on how to care for it. M-may I see it, ser?
[ The formalities make her heart beat painfully. They should be closer than they are. She shouldn't hesitate to touch him. She should throw her arms around him and cry for their reunion. Fear grips her instead and she stands at the side of the bed with her hands raised slightly. ]
no subject
He dimly registers Phya moving from out of the corner of his eye, but his focus remains on trying to keep hold of his senses. It's a losing fight, or so it seems, but he's still trying his best to not pass out entirely. It's bad enough that Estinien- that his friend and brother has to move him like this.
He might be reduced to hiding in his private chambers and refusing to see anyone, but he still retains the smallest semblance of pride. It's just hard to see it in the way he behaves now.
Estinien places him on the bed, and Aymeric feels something inside himself recoiling in something like embarrassment. Perhaps it is strange that this would cause him embarrassment and not his equally embarrassing display from just moments ago. He does not need to be told that he behaves shamefully, because he knows that he does already. That is just one of many reasons why he wishes to withdraw from being seen as much as possible.
From his position on the bed, he hears the quiet request from the healer Estinien brought to see him, and at first, he does not respond. He wants to turn his back to both of them, to wall himself off once more, but he knows that doing so would do no good at all. He has no energy at the moment for another prolonged argument with Estinien, and so, while he does try to turn himself away from both of them (not quite managing it due to his present weakness), he replies in a quiet, low tone, hating the hesitant, halting way the words come out. ]
If you insist. I won't prevent you from looking, if that is what you wish.
[ He knows what she'll see when she looks: the roadmap of lacerations and scratches of varying sizes, and the bite that caused all this in the center of it all, angry and inflamed because he let it go uncared for. Part of him recoils inwardly at the thought of being bared for her to see, but it seems as though this is one matter that he won't be allowed to continue pushing to the side.
And now matter how much he might wish to be left alone, he knows better than to think that Estinien cares much about his wishes, at least as far as this current matter is concerned. ]
no subject
Estinien nods.
Phya steps up to the bed properly. The Dragoon reaches forward and helps Aymeric settle properly on his side. She stills until the Lord Commander is settled and then carefully moves. Her hands curl around his shirt and gently tug it up until his hip and side of his abdomen is bare for her to see.
Her eyes widen.
Her heart feels as if it drops into the floor.
Estinien unfolds his arms and shakes his head.
Phya glances up at Aymeric's face before continuing. Her hands tremble as one gently raises above the injury. The horrors if the injury is one matter, but the true tremors come from the overwhelming electric feeling of being near him again. After years of waiting, he is right below her. She could reach out and touch his face or his hair and ask to stay with him once more.
The realization settles in once more that he wishes nothing to do with her. Even if he has realized her true identity. It causes her heart to sink once more, but she knows she cannot blame him or be angry. After all, she was the one that left him behind in this state he hates.
Her head tilts down. The trembling hand settles above his injury. The aether is chaotic. Not due to the injury, although that certainly hasn't helped. It flows at such a speed that all that comes to mind is darkness in the aetheric matter.
Some images come to mind as she gently allows the aether to flow over her hand. Battles. War. Dragons. Her eyes open then with a small frown. ]
A dragon bit him. Not an elder one, but small enough to be able to strike at him. [ Phya tilts her head slightly. Then, her eyes raise to Estinien. ] The wound is deep and has started to heal in it's own way. I... I can instruct the house staff how to heal it from this point on. Provide what's needed for it. I'll do the first dressing and application.
[ Estinien glances at Aymeric before nodding. He has pushed his point enough. His brother will need to recuperate and there is no point in pushing further for him to accept a healer.
Phya nods in return before turning away from the Lord Commander. Her hands quietly shift through the basket before pulling out a potion and bandages. She glances once more towards the man before looking at the items in her hand. She could heal him properly with aether and her medicines if she felt she was allowed to do so. She won't press. Ardbert and her sister still need to be accepted into Ishgard, and upsetting the head of the Temple Knights could tip that unfavorably. Beyond that, she does not need to upset him more than she has.
If he hates her now, then there is little she can do.
Phya moves to the door of the chambers. The head maid and steward look up. She looks at their faces, before quietly requesting a clean bowl of warm water. The wound needs to be cleaned before she can treat it.
Estinien glances once more at Aymeric. ]
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Someone with a curse like the one he now has doesn't deserve such fortune, or at least that is what he tells himself.
But he finds he has no time for continuing such thoughts; he feels Estinien's hands on him again as he helps move him properly to his side, and while he makes no sound expressing discomfort, his face twists slightly as the movement pulls on his wounds. Then he feels a rush of cold air as Phya lifts his shirt, exposing his injuries for her to see them.
He's managed to bear the discomfort for the most part, but moving around has caused it to increase just enough that he bites down on his lip while he waits for the discomfort to subside. In a strange way, the slight pressure he feels on his lip as pointed teeth meets skin distracts him from the unwanted feelings.
His eyes slide closed as she begins to examine him, and as she speaks, something strange seems to happen. He sees Phya, or what he was able to observe of her from the brief interactions they've had so far, and he hears her voice, and maybe it's the slight delirium from the infection speaking, but he keeps seeing shifting images of her and the person he lost so long ago now.
What's more, the way she seems to read his aether feels familiar. It's so familiar and until this exact moment, it had not occurred to him why that might be.
It's impossible. I lost her because I was not there to defend her. Why would she even return, knowing that I failed to save her?
He shakes his head as if trying to push away those thoughts; he does not wish to allow himself to hope, especially when that hope is all but impossible. Isn't it?
Instead, he focuses back on the words she's saying, talking about the wound he sustained and its present condition. She mentions instructing the household staff how to care for it, and he feels a sudden dislike for that idea. If this is the healer that Estinien found and vouched for, then she's the only one he'll allow to take care of him: not because he does not trust his staff, but in an attempt to show the dragoon that he is not so obstinate or petulant. Maybe he still is, but at least he can relent enough to allow Phya to heal him, if she wishes to.
Then, he senses rather than sees Phya turn away from him, and he shifts slightly on the bed, curling inward as much as his wounds will allow. They protest at the movement, but he ignores it until he's positioned to his satisfaction while still allowing her access to what she needs.
Opening his eyes once more, he notes that Estinien has glanced at him, and he glances back at him in return, as best as he can from his position on the bed. He hates being in this position: vulnerable and temporarily unable to move while being observed by others.
It feels shameful to him, and he despises it, but he can do nothing about it at the moment. He has to wait for Phya to resume her work, and then... Either he'll be back on his feet or he won't. If the beginnings of the thoughts he's started to have are correct, she'll see him recovered in no time at all. ]
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Ser, I ... you need to uncurl for me. Just enough so that I might apply the medicine and bandages proper. You can lay however you wish afterwards.
[ She places the bloodied and slightly puss covered towl to the bowl. Attention is turned towards the potions and bandages with her. She applies the medication to the bandages instead of directly to his wounds. Namely due to discomfort, but also in the hopes he realizes she does not wish to harm him or cause him any more pain than what he has experienced until this moment.
The bandages are placed and carefully attached on locations that would not agitate wounds. Scars, perhaps, but there is little she can do when he has so many. Not without directly interacting with his aether. He has yet to give permission or pass for her to do such things. She has only done what she has at the insistence of the Dragoon that watches over the pair.
Her hands still before pulling away from the Lord Commander. They rest at her sides. Then, she looks to Estinien. ]
I can leave the basket here with the staff. I... I don't wish to overstay my place or time. [ Her gaze falls. ] There is a mild pain sedative as well should he find he is in need. The wound will heal in time this way, depending on my lord's metabolism. He should be well enough in a few days to return to duties as long as the bandage is changed and medication applied. Rest as well.
[ Estinien turns his gaze back to Aymeric. ] Does the proposal meet your approval?
[ Phya glances once more to Aymeric's face. She knows without a doubt he is the one she had been waiting to arrive in her town. He, however, has a grander calling than her now. The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard. He is the one who commands the military on behalf of the Archbishop. He would never have the time and certainly not the care to find her amongst everything that had been laid to waste in the Calamity.
Perhaps I truly should find a way to unbind us... free him from the disappointment I certainly am. The pain I have caused.
The thought springs from deep inside. Not an echo, but internal thoughts that feel ancient and yet new at the same time. The same inner voice that springs ways to refer to him. Old names of endearment. Names she has no permission or right to say any longer. ]
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He tenses when he feels the towel placed against his side. It doesn't hurt much, but the added pressure took him by surprise. And while her efforts to clean the wound are gentle, he can't stop himself from letting out small hisses of pain from time to time.
She instructs him to uncurl from his position so that she might properly take care of bandaging his wounds, but moving is the last thing he wants to do. The pain was tolerable before, or maybe he just told himself it was. Now, it seems less than tolerable, and all he wants to do is simply lie there.
But he tries to follow her instructions, first moving his legs then slowly trying to straighten his torso once more. After that, what she does next seems to happen in a strange sort of fog. Every once in awhile, another pained hiss escapes him when medicine and bandages both brush against a sensitive spot, but other than that, Aymeric does not make a sound. At least he does not think that she is intentionally causing him pain. He knows how the business of healing works. It has to hurt for it to get better, whether he likes it or not.
Time continues passing in a haze, and Aymeric seems to drift in and out of a daze until he dimly feels her hands still and pull away from him. He sees her mouth moving but he can't quite make out all the words at first. Listening as intently as he can manage, he hears pieces of what she's saying, and he understands enough of it to determine that she does not plan on staying, choosing to leave the supplies Aymeric will need in the hands of the staff.
Then Estinien turns his attention to him, asking if he approves of what Phya has proposed. Instead of answering, with difficulty and slowness brought on by his injuries, he turns himself to lie on his back. He cannot recall the last time that he truly let his emotions take the reins and break through the carefully practiced mask of emotionlessness. But now... perhaps due to a combination of his condition and of the fact that memories long buried are trying to surface...
His eyes close again, and water seems to leak from the corners of his eyes. He hears Phya's voice and in his mind, her voice blends with another voice, a voice he thought he wouldn't hear again. Reason tells him what he's thinking and feeling is the product of a feverish mind, but... He knows Alkaid, and while the small healer in the room with him looks nothing like her, sometimes one does not need to look with their eyes to recognize someone they care about and love.
With his eyes still closed and stray tears leaking from his eyelids, he reaches blindly for Phya, trying to find her hands once more so that he can hold onto them.
How is this possible? He asks the question in his mind once more. Out loud, he says, knowing it is a significant change from what he had plainly stated not that long ago: ]
Don't go. [ If he were stronger in this moment, he would tell her he wishes to stay, but as it is, he has to settle for just those two words, hoping she can somehow understand the whole meaning behind them.
Even with his less than healthy state, he can already imagine the way that Estinien will react: most likely with a sigh, a rolling of his eyes, and some sort of sarcastic comment about his sudden change of heart. But that's exactly what it is: a feeling to do with the heart. Never mind that he'd resolved to never feel anything like that again. ]
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She simply kneels down beside the bed and shifts her hand in his hold. A small motion to make it easier to hold her own. Her heart continues to race--even skipping a beat now and then. She's done this before: knelt at his bedside. Injury or illness. Not just in her previous life, but in the few that they have managed to be together in.
He is always the soldier and she the healer.
Phya looks at his hand that holds hers. It dwarfs hers. She is smaller than she ought to be at her age, same with her elder sister. Once Aymeric is aware? He will certainly notice how very much she is not like the woman from his memories. The same soul, the same ancient bond and lover, but born into a body very different once more. White hair, darker skin, ice blue eyes, and much smaller. Weaker. A different name. It will surely turn him away once he realizes.
He could continue to call her by her previous name and she would hardly mind. The name that she gave to him to call her--her previous tribal name. Not the name she gave to the world. She can hardly remember what that name was, but she knows she gave him permission at one point.
How she wishes she was still that person from his memories.
Unlike what Aymeric predicted, Estinien does not roll his eyes or make a comment beneath his breath. He instead gives a small smirk to himself. Arms uncurl and he silently makes his way from the room to inform the staff of the latest state of affairs. The healer will be staying and may need her own room set up, should Aymeric allow her out of his sight. He will be by in the morning to check on progress. ]
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His eyes remain closed, but he feels her hand shift in his hold; it's hardly a strong grasp, and he can barely manage to curl his fingers around hers in a weak grip, but he wants to feel her. He wants to assure himself that it's her, somehow returned to him even though he thought her lost. She was lost, but now she has returned. Will she consent to stay with him, or will she leave because now there is a gulf of time in between them? She has changed, but so has he, and he feels he is no longer desirable to anyone, much less her.
Perhaps it is him who should release their bond, unbinding her from him.
The thought causes more tears to flow unbidden, and he does not even care to stop them, even if he was able to. He continues holding her hand as his body gives an involuntary shudder, but he can't tell if it's pain from his injuries or from the sudden wave of emotion that's trying to overwhelm him.
His fingers curl further against her hand, hoping that whatever this discomfort is, it will pass soon. He can hardly speak to her in his present state, which only further adds to his upset, interrupted only by the quiet movement of Estinien leaving the room. He does his best to make a mental note to himself to thank his brother later, once he is back on his feet, and to apologize as well. ]
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She does not wish to leave. The feeling of leaving comes from a fear of rejection. He had not wished for healers or company. It would be better to treat and love him from afar. There had been at least one life where that had been the status. Such a life would be deserved for leaving him in this cruel world. A world that hates him it seems. One that is unfair and left him with a "condition."
One that she can't recall readily.
Her fingers begin to move over his hand but stop. Such motions are not her place. She has yet to earn back those things. Things that she had failed at before. ]
I will need to fetch another towel, ser. I would dampen it and place it on your forehead to aid in breaking the fever. Is-is that alright?
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Apparently he did not bury them as well as he had thought.
His lips move, and at first, no sound comes, but after a moment, he says something in a whispered tone. A name. Not her proper name, but the name that most people knew her as. ]
Alkaid. [ But no sooner does he say the name then more confusion seems to pile itself upon him. Alkaid belongs to another, still a Miqo'te, but different in appearance. The woman with him now has lighter hair, and she is smaller but no less beautiful. Aymeric has yet to realize it, but she could be even more beautiful than she is, if cared for properly.
But perhaps it is too soon to have even the beginnings of those thoughts; Aymeric's dragon bite is the least of his worries, and of course, how could Phya really know of it? It is a conversation they will have to have, when both of them are capable of having said conversation.
He dimly registers her speaking again, saying something about needing to fetch something. If he had the voice for it, he would direct the household staff to fetch her whatever it is she needs. It takes some effort on his part to gather the strength to open his eyes, and further effort to move, but he manages the smallest of nods, hoping that it is enough to convey his agreement. But he has something else he wants to convey to her too, and again, his fingers curl against her hand, barely managing to hold hers, but the gesture is meant to imply he would just as soon have her stay with him rather than have her expend the energy to care for him.
The fever will break on its own, or it won't, but he would rather her remain nearby than spend the time fussing over him. If not remaining nearby, then surely she could see to having her own needs met. The staff could use something to do besides lingering around waiting for something to happen. Perhaps they could cook something for Phya, or draw her a bath, or... anything she might want.
Still, he imagines that she has her mind made up, and after a few seconds, his fingers uncurl from around her hand once more, as if agreeing to whatever it is that she sees fit to do. ]
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There is one thing that remains slightly illusive to her no matter how hard she tries to grasp onto the memories that are on the edge of her mind. Something of Aymeric that is important to his person. Estinien had made mention of a "condition" and that she ought to know how to treat it. Yet, for the life of her, Phya cannot think of what it might be.
He calls her by name and her eyes raise to his.
A name that had been one she used in her previous life. Not her true name, but a name that she still recognizes as her own even now. She is painfully aware then in that moment she must be nothing like the woman in his memories. Her appearance does not match and perhaps other details of her personality have been changed as well. Things that remain unique to her as Phya and in the world of Corethas after the Calamity. ]
I'm here.
[ She continues to hold his hand until the grip loosens. Her own small squeeze is given before she stands. His hand is gently placed on the bed before she quickly moves to the bathroom. Part of her still reels at the fact she can open doors and know where it will lead to. Has anything changed within the decades they have been apart? Has he wanted to change anything?
Surely, the household staff is different. Age catches up to all in the end.
She returns with a small towel damp with warm water. Within moments she is once more at his side, draping the warm cloth over his forehead. Then, she tucks her large robe and skirt beneath her and sits once more at the floor beside the bed. Her hands gently rest over his single. Phya is aware she can be quite forward and stern with her decisions. She had to become that way in regards to her own health. So many different healers and doctors had different opinions and ideas on how to cure her ailments. Eventually she had to pick her own path. ]
Once you've rested? I shall see to changing the bandages again. They will... most certainly need to be changed frequently. With the infection taken care of you can start to heal properly from the dragon's bite. [ A pause. ] Hopefully you have no engagements for the next few days. If you are called upon? Then, something will have to be done. Perhaps they can come here for you as you recover.
[ Phya pauses once more. Her gaze settles on their hands as her ears twitch slightly. ] Your Temple Knights would see something of a miracle to see you returned by Starlight Celebration. Even I heard of their fondness for the Lord Commander where I lived and traveling here. No matter how far they are from Ishgard, they speak highly of their Lord Commander. Now knowing that it is you? I can see why. You have always inspired the best in others.
[ A gentle smile more at herself then. ] Which is to say I will need to do my utmost to get you on your feet to return to duty. It was always important to you, no matter which life I found you in.
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As for that one thing that remains elusive and escapes Phya's grasp, perhaps that is for the best, at least for now. It is a topic that Aymeric does not like to speak on nor dwell on, and he has yet to even consider how to broach the topic with her.
He remains still, lying on the bed where he was placed, even as Phya bustles about obtaining a towel that has been dipped in water or perhaps placed in a basin beforehand. She places it on his forehead, and in response, his eyes briefly open, revealing their icy blue color, before they close once more.
She begins speaking, explaining her intentions and her plans, and even as she speaks of engagements that will most likely have to be postponed, he remains motionless but still listening to every word. He can hear her without issue; his power of speech is limited at present, as is his ability to keep his eyes open. But his ears function just fine.
And because of that, when she mentions the Temple Knights by name, going on to talk about the Starlight Celebration, and the opinion that others hold for him as Lord Commander, his posture stiffens immediately. It is hardly a strong gesture, but there is a tension in his frame that was not there mere seconds ago.
A look of consternation settles on Aymeric's face, betraying the doubt he feels that he can inspire anyone as he is now. Perhaps the days of him leading soldiers and being an inspiration are long gone, just as the man he was is also long gone now.
His eyes slit open once more, and they lock onto what he can see of Phya's face. It takes a significant amount of breath to form words, but he does his best. ]
What duty I once had- it has surely passed from me and to others in my absence. [ Perhaps that is for the best. ]
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Things she has yet to earn in this lifetime... or earn at all to do.
The tension becomes obvious in his frame.
She gently squeezes his hand. ]
It has not. [ Phya shakes her head. ] They adore you. Your leadership. They trust you... and trust is not easy to come by in the world now, Ser.
[ Her tiny hands once again curl around his. ] You should not give up on them. Or yourself. For many? The Lord Commander is someone who makes sense in this world that no longer what it once was. The Calamity was decades ago, and yet, I still spoke with people who had memories of a time when Corethas was green. Ishgard standing and her Temple Knights are things people look to for stability and hope.
You may not feel it due to your current condition, but that does not change the truth. You have already proven yourself to the others around you. [ A shy look downwards is given. ] I heard many Knights speak highly of you over the years.
[ Then, a small sigh comes from her. She stands, squeezing his hand once more. ]
You need to rest. Sleep. I'll wake you when your bandages need changing. It may be easier for you to speak then.
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It seems to him that he owes a great many people many apologies, but he has to start with Alkaid... no, with Phya. With... What was the name she trusted him with? It was her family name, or clan name, not the name she had adopted. The tension in his frame does not even begin to disperse, not even when Phya takes him to task for what he has said.
He can't summon up the strength to speak, but he manages to shake his head from side to side. No, it can't be what she says. I know what the people must be thinking. I know what thoughts have run through the minds of the Knights. They may have trusted me once, but how could they do that now?
I am not giving up on them, as I am confident they will rise above this. Perhaps by now, a new Lord Commander has been appointed. I suppose she is correct in saying I have given up on myself.
He feels himself recoiling from her words, wanting nothing else but to soundly reject them. But of course, in his present state, he does not have the strength, and what words he has managed to speak, combined with the twisting thoughts of his mind, has brought him closer to exhaustion once more.
She tells him of his need to rest, and while he would protest, he finds that he cannot. His eyelids are heavy, and he feels the need to sleep beginning to pull him down. But there's something else that overrides that exhaustion and causes him to push it aside for just a few moments longer. Suddenly, there is a strange fear that's gripping him, and while he feels he has no right to ask her for assurance... He draws a shaky breath and manages to form a few more words. ]
Will you still be here when I awaken? [ Will I awaken to find this was only a dream? ]
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[ She continues to hold his hand until he finally does manage to drift into slumber. Her hands let go of his before quickly moving to the door. There, she is greeted once more by the steward and head maid. She quickly explains the situation. Their surprise and slight confusion can be felt rather than seen. Phya merely looks down. She has no proper way to explain a potential ancient bond between her and their lord. An arrangement is regardless struck on what is needed to keep Aymeric on the mend.
Then, she is left to her own.
Phya walks through the master suite. Certain items--paintings, decorations--all stand out to her. A soft bell or chime in her mind rings in familiarity even if she cannot pull the full memories to mind. Her ears tilt down and she twists her fingers together. How is she ever to stand against the memory of... herself?
More than once she looks at herself in the mirror in the room. How dainty she is, how small, how... nearly wild she must look compared to a neat and kept woman of the court. A type of woman he surely deserves and should be with given his station. Not only a knight, a Lord of Ishgard, but the Lord Commander. No wonder remains her mind then as to why her knight never appeared. He had far too many pressing matters and things in a life to command. They out rank her reborn into such a sickly body. Even if now is one of her better spells.
He shifts on the bed at one point and Phya races over. He turns away in his sleep and that is when she catches something that she should have remembered on her own. A fang is visible as he groans and she feels her body freeze. A cold spell takes her. Of course there are always rumors of what voidsent roam in the night--especially the kind she finds herself in realization of seeing before her.
Then, the guilt truly settles in her.
Not only had she died and left her beloved behind... she left him in a miserable existence. Not being a lord or a knight.
As a vampire.
Her hands lower, she looks at the ground. Ears press to her head and her tail stills. Everything seems to make sense in her mind then. How an Elezen can look so young after so long. Why guilt and loneliness consumed her. Why he would refuse so many healers... and why Estinien had believed her to be the only one to understand his "condition" as he called it.
Phya closes her eyes. Hands curl into her robes for a moment before she turns and heads to the door to the bedroom. Potions and alchemy will only aid his recovery to a point. She will need to do something else, even as she is certain any healer she had ever met would be horrified. She opens the door and calls for the head maid, asking for a cup to be brought. Confusion lingers on the staff once more but a cup is brought regardless. Phya thanks her before setting to the other side of the room.
The cup is placed on the mantle. A knife is pulled from her robes. The silver blade pierces her arm and blood drips into the cup. Something tells her that he will refuse it no matter how much she insists. Still, she must at least try.
Her fingers graze the wound and seal the injury. No trace of it is left. She cleans the knife with a towel then returns once more to the bed. The cup is placed on the bedside table and her hands raise to his shoulder. Then, a hand to Aymeric's face. She guides him back to her. ]
Ser, [ she still feels he has yet to give her permission to even call his name, ] I need to change your bandages... and you need to eat.
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His injuries would say otherwise, however, and he ends up in a deep sleep that, if nothing else, will help with his recovery from the dragon bite. Still, even though he doesn't dream, some form of thoughts seem to spin themselves around in his mind... thoughts of Alkaid, thoughts of Phya as she is now. Thoughts of longing and feeling a need to apologize for what he sees as his own failure to protect her.
She might notice if she is looking that his mouth seems to move even as he sleeps, forming wordless sentences of apology. Then, he shifts on the bed, a sudden bout of agitation taking hold of him, and his mouth falls open slightly, revealing a visible fang. If he had been in control of himself, he would not have let her catch sight of it, but in his sleeping state, the motion happened on its own.
Still unaware of what has happened, he continues to sleep until he feels a hand on his shoulder, and then on his face, and he hears the sound of someone speaking quietly but with direction.
He stirs on the bed once more, and again, his eyes slit open just enough to let him see her. Alkaid... except she is different now. What does she call herself now? The thought enters his still sleeping mind, trying to take root there.
He hears her say something about bandages, which he understands, but then... she says he needs to eat, and instinctively, he recoils, wincing as the sudden motion pulls at his wound.
Whether she meant it that way or not, his reaction is clear: he does not respond well to the notion of eating. Of course, he remains unaware that she caught a glimpse of his fangs as he slept, but his opinion on the matter of feeding remains the same. ]
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Somehow, his reaction to eating is hardly surprising. ]
Ser, please don't move as such. Your wound is still healing. [ She glances down at it, then looks back to his face. ] I... I know I am far from the position to ask anything of you, but, you need to eat. It is the only way you will truly recover. Your body is far too weak.
[ A small smile shows on her face. ] Trust me, Ser. I won't have you do something so very untasteful.
[ Phya first turns her attention back to his bandages. She begins to change them. Her nose scrunches in a familiar way at the smell, however, the signs are there that the healing process has truly begun. Thus, she sets about to continue applying the potions and new bandages.
Now, for the next part, she gives an unconscious inhale of breath. ]
It will hurt, Ser, but let me help you sit up as much as possible. [ Her arms move to help support him despite he is nearly a foot and more taller than her. ] You may lean on me as much as you need.
[ Phya aids Aymeric to sit as much as he finds himself able. Her hand then reaches out to grab the cup that still sits on the bedside. She holds it up to him in order for him to smell and at least attempt to hold the glass with her own hand. That way he may set the pace of his own feeding.
It would be a lie to say she was not nervous. Not because of his nnature, but, because her blood will certainly expose her. He would be able to tell how sickly of a woman she has been reborn into in this life. He may reject her because her blood does not taste the same as it once had. He will truly know how far she is from being Alkaid--K'lantaa. Yet, she does not realize how much of her remains the same that he should surely notice as well. ]
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There seemed to be no other way to accomplish it other than to go after the rats that lingered in the woods. It was still distasteful, and he had to be careful so as to not deplete the entire population of rats, but it was enough to get him by.
Once he sustained the injury, however, he was no longer able to venture out to find the rats he needed, and the lack of food contributed to his weakness. One eye slits open to look at her, and then the other slowly opens as well. He finds his voice after a few more seconds, although it sounds rough to his ears. ]
Rats. Rats in the woods. [ He manages a small shake of his head; he won't ask her to go hunt rats for him. Maybe later when he's stronger, he'll go in search of one or two.
Then he quiets as she sets to work on changing the bandages and cleaning the wound. The smell reaches his nose too, and he'd recoil from it if moving wasn't an issue. But then he feels her arms around him, and he glances at her, wondering what she intends to do now.
He receives his answer once she attempts to help him sit up, and while he doesn't resist, he can't quite hide the look of discomfort as he tries to position himself into a sitting position with her help.
Once he comes to a stop, he takes a few moments to try and compose himself and wait for the ache from the wound to subside as well. While he's doing that, he sees Phya moving something towards him, and once he realizes what the cup she's holding contains, his attention focuses on it almost immediately.
Blood.
It's distasteful to him, what he has to do to survive. He would rather not drink from rats, but to drink from a human or other individual who has hopes and dreams and aspirations is unthinkable.
But the difference here is one that even he can't ignore; this isn't just a random sampling of blood. This blood belongs to Phya, someone he has known for a very long time now. He can feel it even if her appearance has changed. It isn't only the appearance that matters, after all. ]
You gathered this for me?
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[ "Gathered" is certainly a way of phrasing it. A way she wouldn't necessarily phrase it herself. Suddenly, she is keenly aware that he would disagree with how she went about preparing the cup. He detests blood of people, and barely manages to live off the blood of animals. Hadn't he made the exception for her before?
Would he keep making the exception?
She shifts the cup in her hand to hold it properly for him. ]
You need to drink.
[ The ability to compelling has gone away with her previous life. Now, it is only a request. A plea. She may not be his healer after this spell, so she must make due with what time she has been given.
Phya gently shifts him to help his head tilts back. The hesitation and worry of how he will react to the taste of her blood. What he might learn of her from it. Regardless, he must eat. ]
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