[ 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. ]
[ He does not immediately respond, allowing silence to fall between them once more. Of course, she is right. He is in no condition to look for his own food, not even when said food consists of rats. Truthfully, he has been neglecting himself, and the injury he sustained has not helped with that one bit.
He can hardly pretend that the scent of the blood in the cup is not stirring something up inside him, something he would rather not feel nor have awakened. But it is a part of him now, and he can't very well turn it off. ]
Do I? Should I, knowing that... that you had to spill your own blood to prepare this? I-
[ He hears her plea and understands it, and he wants to drink without hesitating. Perhaps he will drink in the end, but he can't allow himself to just grab it and ingest it like some mindless animal. ]
I imagine whatever hurt you had to cause yourself, you have since healed. [ Since he is at least somewhat certain that Phya is someone he knows, and knows very well indeed, even if her appearance is different. ]
I suppose that this time... [ The words trail off as if he forgot what else he was going to say. And by then, she is helping move him again, preparing him to drink from the cup.
It isn't what he wants to do, but he needs to eat, and so when she helps assist with tilting his head back, the blood in the cup slides slowly down his throat. His eyes flash red briefly as he drinks, but even as he fills his need, he does not drink greedily or deeply. In fact, he would rather not be doing this at all, not where she can see him.
Feeding is something he does in private, where no eyes can observe him. Now, he has no such luxury of hiding, and that's enough to make him feel as though his throat is closing up even as he feeds for the first time in who knows how long. ]
Yes... I have. [ Phya nods to confirm his assumption. ] I'm fine.
[ As fine as one can be with her record of poor health. No injury or scar remains of the deed. It would normally please her as a sense of skill in her craft, and yet, seeing his reaction to the whole state of affairs simply causes her ears to tilt and then press to her head. Her tail stills from its gentle sway.
Her eyes turn away as he drinks. Not from disgust of him or his condition. Far from embarrassment as well. She can simply sense he would prefer to not drink her blood--regardless of the circumstance. The notion is only fair. Not only has she already abandoned him once, but surely the quality is also far from enjoyable. If she were healthier would he be more willing? Most likely not. It is clear he hates his existence.
Once he has finally finished the cup, she turns and places it on the table beside the bed once more. One arm still aids him in sitting, while the other hesitates before simply allowing it to hang at her side. She has hardly earned the right to call him by his name, let alone wrap her arms around him and pull him close. Not only that, Phya remains mostly a stranger to him.
She glances to his face and looks away once she feels he would rather her not look at him. ]
You are fine to rest more now. Between the potions and feeding... your recovery should take less time.
Are you certain? [ He is hardly in a position to worry or fret, but he can't seem to stop himself from looking at her with what would have been a pointed, focused gaze, if not for his still-recovering state. ]
What experiences you have had... what challenges you faced... I can only guess at what those might be, and that does not sit right with me. [ He can tell that she is not of the strongest constitution, and that troubles him suddenly and quite strongly. ]
I might be who I am now, but I still know my way around a kitchen. When I am fully recovered... [ A look of resolve slides into his eyes then. ] The kitchens have gone unused for too long. Perhaps it is time to rectify that.
[ But he finds himself slightly winded from speaking so much, even after finally drinking from the cup and having his fill. He feels her arm around him that's aiding him in sitting up, but he has noticed the way the other simply moves to hang at her side. That won't do. ]
If it does take less time, it is because of your assistance. And so...
[ Slowly and almost hesitantly, as if wondering if she will reject his advances, he reaches for her and carefully pulls her in closer. It is hardly a fast movement nor a rought one, as he wants to give her the chance to pull away and out of his reach. But somehow, he has guessed that she wishes she could be closer, or that she could hold him, but something is keeping her from doing so.
Perhaps she will express dislike for the way he moved her, but if she acts in such a way that indicates displeasure, he knows he will not argue, as he can imagine he's hardly desirable now because of his condition. ]
I am when it comes to this. [ A pause is given. ] My--it's not uncommon for those who grew up in the settlements as mine. We have what we can in order to survive in the eternal winter that Corethas has become.
[ In truth, she will not say it, but she is lucky to be alive after all of her health complications. Her sister had her own as well--especially as twins. She merely had more due to being the smaller of the two to begin with. Her condition is hardly different from other children. Some never saw the days beyond their childhood. Things have progressed since the initial years following the Calamity, but, it is still hard for any settlement to truly flourish.
Especially when the gates of Ishgard and the Holy See remain shut. ]
Y-you hardly need to repay me, Ser. This my talent as well as my profession. [ Phya glances down and her voice drops to hushed tones: ] Although, you most certainly already knew that.
I could do more to aid. This is simply healing the grievous wound and infection with alchemy and food. Healing, I... I do not have permission and I would not assume I would be allowed. Regardless of the Azure Dragoon's opinion. I would need your allowance. If you would even want me to use aether.
[ Her ears gently twitch at his sudden motion. Before she can even scold him for moving in such a manner, he has pulled her to him. Her forehead comes to his chest and she stills--not freezes. A beat passes before her trembling arms reach up to circle around him. Her face presses into his chest and a shaking exhale leaves her. Her tail relaxes. She simply sits besides the bed.
How many years have I dreamed about this...?
While not exactly as her dreams. He's unable to fully wrap his arms around her and hold her close. No dramatic claims of missing her for years and that they have been reunited. Perhaps those things are unneeded as they seemingly understand that without speaking the words. ]
The settlements. [ Aymeric says the word slowly, turning it over in his mind a few times; of course he is aware that not all have the luxury of homes, grand or otherwise, to live in. If he could, he would welcome all into Ishgard proper, seeing that each one of them has a place to live in. But then, he supposes, that such a thing is how the Brume came to be.
He is certain that those who are less fortunate view him and others as overlords who care little for the state of the poor, but he knows that is not the case for him. If it were up to him, he would use his own personal funds to see the Brume turned into a proper place to live, expanding upon it as necessary. After all, there are a great many buildings within Ishgard that could be repurposed, if only their owners would agree to such a thing. ]
It is not merely speaking pretty words when I say that I would welcome all who live in the settlements into Ishgard, if the decision rested wholly with me.
I do need to repay you, however. [ And while he is in no condition to really think up how he might repay her, much less act on it, his mind is already at work thinking about how to do that very thing.
But then she continues speaking, and now that Aymeric has some of his wits about him, he can actually ask the question on his mind: ]
Why do you say you do not have permission? [ Perhaps he needs to state it, but he realizes that she does not need permission, as she already has it. She could do whatever she wanted to him, and he would not protest. ]
Perhaps I did not have the chance nor the opportunity to say as much, but you have no need to ask. As you are the healer here, the decisionmaking ought to be left to you.
[ He finds himself content to simply hold her and feel her, thinking of nothing but how they have managed to find each other again when he thought such a thing was impossible. ]
What would I have you do? [ He shifts so that he can get a little closer to her. ]
[ The settlements have built themselves into small towns, outposts, anything they could manage. Her own was something more of a town one would pass through on the way to Ishgard. That was how Ardbert had found she and her sister so easily. It was how she had received what medical care she had as well as training. While not the size of Mor Dhona and farther into Corethas? Her settlement had seen a fair bit of hustle.
Especially as the Lord Commander had asked the Warrior of Light to help with the Heretics known as Saint Shiva.
A small smile tugs to her face. Those would be sentiments her knight would have in any life. A warrior made one to protect his people no matter who they might be. He may not see it as a sentiment to why he was chosen as Lord Commander, but, she can see it as clear as day. ]
Many would rather aid be sent to them instead of feeling as if they had been cut off from their citystate.
[ Phya gently presses into his hold, doing her best not to aggravate his wound. Her face hides in his chest to listen to his breathing and heartbeat. She had dreamed of this, imagine it even, holding the stuffed fox to her as she would sleep. Especially on days where illness took her harshly. A small gift, one she hardly can keep or deserves, as she is so certain he will dismiss her once his mind clears. ] I will stay as long as you'd have me.
[ Her shoulders curl inwards then. A silence fills the room. Shame and guilt rise to the surface once more. How could she ever earn the permission once again? After she hurt him so? He has been left in this miserable state for nearly a hundred years because of her... ]
I left you here. Alone. [ Her voice is soft and older tones leak into her words. Phrasing and sentiments from her ancient soul in ancient days. ] I hurt you deeper than any could by dying... how could... I barely have the right to say your name, let alone be your healer as I was before...
[ It's then that Aymeric remembers that reports still arrive for him, delivered to the house from the headquarters of the Temple Knights. By rights, he should be in said headquarters himself, receiving the reports directly, but circumstances have not lended themselves well to that.
He is confident that his second in command has things well in hand; perhaps by now, she has taken the position of Lord Commander in his stead. He would not begrudge her that, nor see it as usurping his position. ]
Perhaps you can tell me more about these settlements, and I will see about ensuring that aid is sent to them as you suggested. We- I have been rather amiss in keeping apprised of certain affairs. The settlements are just one of those affairs.
[ He knows that he has work to do, and a great deal of it, but he is certain she'll insist he must wait a little while longer before resuming his duties.
For now, he contents himself with holding her, paying little or no heed to his wound, even if she does. He wants to hold her, wants to comfort her... wants to tell her that he loves her just as much now as he did before. And he knows without a doubt that that is the truth. ]
Forever? Until- [ Until they part again and are weaved back into the story with new lives but the same souls. ]
What of how I hurt you? [ His voice deepens as the pain and regret and guilt that he tried but failed to bury takes hold of him once more. Oh, yes, he tried to bury it, but it refused to let him go. It's weighed on him these past many years, and he has been unable to forget it. ] You would have survived if I had known- if I had been there to defend you.
[ His gaze lowers and his shoulders fall. ] When I think of what you must have experienced... [ She might notice his hands beginning to shake as his mind brings to life what he imagines her final moments were like. ]
I imagined that if you returned, you would only despise me.
I will... my sister could be of help too. Ardbert as well. He has seen more of the world and Corethas than I have. I wasn't able to make leave of our settlement until recently. [ Her eyes fall shut. ] I am certain you could tell why... just as you can tell my abilities.
[ Her blood must give all of that away. Signs of how she is far from strong and a sickly woman. Perhaps not the intricate details, but enough to show that she is not as he knew her before. ]
Forever. [ Phya repeats the phrase. ] Until you no longer wish to be bound.
[ As surely even his ancient soul must tire of how they part. How she must disappoint him. Hurt him. ]
You didn't hurt me. I may not have survived even if you were there. [ She can't be certain what it is, but she has the deep feeling that even Aymeric could not have saved her. Something dark rumbles in her memories but she can hardly pull it to mind. ] You were performing your duties. As you always do in any life. That has always come first and... I have known and accepted it. It wasn't your fault.
[ If she had been quicker, faster, able to defend herself. Would she have lived? ]
I could never hate or despise you. It was my fault. I wasn't strong enough or fast enough. You did nothing wrong. I was the one that left you.
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synthneon2024-11-25 02:03 am
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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He can hardly pretend that the scent of the blood in the cup is not stirring something up inside him, something he would rather not feel nor have awakened. But it is a part of him now, and he can't very well turn it off. ]
Do I? Should I, knowing that... that you had to spill your own blood to prepare this? I-
[ He hears her plea and understands it, and he wants to drink without hesitating. Perhaps he will drink in the end, but he can't allow himself to just grab it and ingest it like some mindless animal. ]
I imagine whatever hurt you had to cause yourself, you have since healed. [ Since he is at least somewhat certain that Phya is someone he knows, and knows very well indeed, even if her appearance is different. ]
I suppose that this time... [ The words trail off as if he forgot what else he was going to say. And by then, she is helping move him again, preparing him to drink from the cup.
It isn't what he wants to do, but he needs to eat, and so when she helps assist with tilting his head back, the blood in the cup slides slowly down his throat. His eyes flash red briefly as he drinks, but even as he fills his need, he does not drink greedily or deeply. In fact, he would rather not be doing this at all, not where she can see him.
Feeding is something he does in private, where no eyes can observe him. Now, he has no such luxury of hiding, and that's enough to make him feel as though his throat is closing up even as he feeds for the first time in who knows how long. ]
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[ As fine as one can be with her record of poor health. No injury or scar remains of the deed. It would normally please her as a sense of skill in her craft, and yet, seeing his reaction to the whole state of affairs simply causes her ears to tilt and then press to her head. Her tail stills from its gentle sway.
Her eyes turn away as he drinks. Not from disgust of him or his condition. Far from embarrassment as well. She can simply sense he would prefer to not drink her blood--regardless of the circumstance. The notion is only fair. Not only has she already abandoned him once, but surely the quality is also far from enjoyable. If she were healthier would he be more willing? Most likely not. It is clear he hates his existence.
Once he has finally finished the cup, she turns and places it on the table beside the bed once more. One arm still aids him in sitting, while the other hesitates before simply allowing it to hang at her side. She has hardly earned the right to call him by his name, let alone wrap her arms around him and pull him close. Not only that, Phya remains mostly a stranger to him.
She glances to his face and looks away once she feels he would rather her not look at him. ]
You are fine to rest more now. Between the potions and feeding... your recovery should take less time.
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What experiences you have had... what challenges you faced... I can only guess at what those might be, and that does not sit right with me. [ He can tell that she is not of the strongest constitution, and that troubles him suddenly and quite strongly. ]
I might be who I am now, but I still know my way around a kitchen. When I am fully recovered... [ A look of resolve slides into his eyes then. ] The kitchens have gone unused for too long. Perhaps it is time to rectify that.
[ But he finds himself slightly winded from speaking so much, even after finally drinking from the cup and having his fill. He feels her arm around him that's aiding him in sitting up, but he has noticed the way the other simply moves to hang at her side. That won't do. ]
If it does take less time, it is because of your assistance. And so...
[ Slowly and almost hesitantly, as if wondering if she will reject his advances, he reaches for her and carefully pulls her in closer. It is hardly a fast movement nor a rought one, as he wants to give her the chance to pull away and out of his reach. But somehow, he has guessed that she wishes she could be closer, or that she could hold him, but something is keeping her from doing so.
Perhaps she will express dislike for the way he moved her, but if she acts in such a way that indicates displeasure, he knows he will not argue, as he can imagine he's hardly desirable now because of his condition. ]
What will you do now?
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[ In truth, she will not say it, but she is lucky to be alive after all of her health complications. Her sister had her own as well--especially as twins. She merely had more due to being the smaller of the two to begin with. Her condition is hardly different from other children. Some never saw the days beyond their childhood. Things have progressed since the initial years following the Calamity, but, it is still hard for any settlement to truly flourish.
Especially when the gates of Ishgard and the Holy See remain shut. ]
Y-you hardly need to repay me, Ser. This my talent as well as my profession. [ Phya glances down and her voice drops to hushed tones: ] Although, you most certainly already knew that.
I could do more to aid. This is simply healing the grievous wound and infection with alchemy and food. Healing, I... I do not have permission and I would not assume I would be allowed. Regardless of the Azure Dragoon's opinion. I would need your allowance. If you would even want me to use aether.
[ Her ears gently twitch at his sudden motion. Before she can even scold him for moving in such a manner, he has pulled her to him. Her forehead comes to his chest and she stills--not freezes. A beat passes before her trembling arms reach up to circle around him. Her face presses into his chest and a shaking exhale leaves her. Her tail relaxes. She simply sits besides the bed.
How many years have I dreamed about this...?
While not exactly as her dreams. He's unable to fully wrap his arms around her and hold her close. No dramatic claims of missing her for years and that they have been reunited. Perhaps those things are unneeded as they seemingly understand that without speaking the words. ]
What would you have me do?
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He is certain that those who are less fortunate view him and others as overlords who care little for the state of the poor, but he knows that is not the case for him. If it were up to him, he would use his own personal funds to see the Brume turned into a proper place to live, expanding upon it as necessary. After all, there are a great many buildings within Ishgard that could be repurposed, if only their owners would agree to such a thing. ]
It is not merely speaking pretty words when I say that I would welcome all who live in the settlements into Ishgard, if the decision rested wholly with me.
I do need to repay you, however. [ And while he is in no condition to really think up how he might repay her, much less act on it, his mind is already at work thinking about how to do that very thing.
But then she continues speaking, and now that Aymeric has some of his wits about him, he can actually ask the question on his mind: ]
Why do you say you do not have permission? [ Perhaps he needs to state it, but he realizes that she does not need permission, as she already has it. She could do whatever she wanted to him, and he would not protest. ]
Perhaps I did not have the chance nor the opportunity to say as much, but you have no need to ask. As you are the healer here, the decisionmaking ought to be left to you.
[ He finds himself content to simply hold her and feel her, thinking of nothing but how they have managed to find each other again when he thought such a thing was impossible. ]
What would I have you do? [ He shifts so that he can get a little closer to her. ]
Stay. Please.
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Especially as the Lord Commander had asked the Warrior of Light to help with the Heretics known as Saint Shiva.
A small smile tugs to her face. Those would be sentiments her knight would have in any life. A warrior made one to protect his people no matter who they might be. He may not see it as a sentiment to why he was chosen as Lord Commander, but, she can see it as clear as day. ]
Many would rather aid be sent to them instead of feeling as if they had been cut off from their citystate.
[ Phya gently presses into his hold, doing her best not to aggravate his wound. Her face hides in his chest to listen to his breathing and heartbeat. She had dreamed of this, imagine it even, holding the stuffed fox to her as she would sleep. Especially on days where illness took her harshly. A small gift, one she hardly can keep or deserves, as she is so certain he will dismiss her once his mind clears. ] I will stay as long as you'd have me.
[ Her shoulders curl inwards then. A silence fills the room. Shame and guilt rise to the surface once more. How could she ever earn the permission once again? After she hurt him so? He has been left in this miserable state for nearly a hundred years because of her... ]
I left you here. Alone. [ Her voice is soft and older tones leak into her words. Phrasing and sentiments from her ancient soul in ancient days. ] I hurt you deeper than any could by dying... how could... I barely have the right to say your name, let alone be your healer as I was before...
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He is confident that his second in command has things well in hand; perhaps by now, she has taken the position of Lord Commander in his stead. He would not begrudge her that, nor see it as usurping his position. ]
Perhaps you can tell me more about these settlements, and I will see about ensuring that aid is sent to them as you suggested. We- I have been rather amiss in keeping apprised of certain affairs. The settlements are just one of those affairs.
[ He knows that he has work to do, and a great deal of it, but he is certain she'll insist he must wait a little while longer before resuming his duties.
For now, he contents himself with holding her, paying little or no heed to his wound, even if she does. He wants to hold her, wants to comfort her... wants to tell her that he loves her just as much now as he did before. And he knows without a doubt that that is the truth. ]
Forever? Until- [ Until they part again and are weaved back into the story with new lives but the same souls. ]
What of how I hurt you? [ His voice deepens as the pain and regret and guilt that he tried but failed to bury takes hold of him once more. Oh, yes, he tried to bury it, but it refused to let him go. It's weighed on him these past many years, and he has been unable to forget it. ] You would have survived if I had known- if I had been there to defend you.
[ His gaze lowers and his shoulders fall. ] When I think of what you must have experienced... [ She might notice his hands beginning to shake as his mind brings to life what he imagines her final moments were like. ]
I imagined that if you returned, you would only despise me.
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[ Her blood must give all of that away. Signs of how she is far from strong and a sickly woman. Perhaps not the intricate details, but enough to show that she is not as he knew her before. ]
Forever. [ Phya repeats the phrase. ] Until you no longer wish to be bound.
[ As surely even his ancient soul must tire of how they part. How she must disappoint him. Hurt him. ]
You didn't hurt me. I may not have survived even if you were there. [ She can't be certain what it is, but she has the deep feeling that even Aymeric could not have saved her. Something dark rumbles in her memories but she can hardly pull it to mind. ] You were performing your duties. As you always do in any life. That has always come first and... I have known and accepted it. It wasn't your fault.
[ If she had been quicker, faster, able to defend herself. Would she have lived? ]
I could never hate or despise you. It was my fault. I wasn't strong enough or fast enough. You did nothing wrong. I was the one that left you.
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