thefeywood | why don't you figure my heart out?

Estinien falls silent for a little while after that question, the cloth over his face making it hard to tell in what mood he is doing so. It's almost like watching a machine that has stalled, having to be turned off and restarted to make any progress.

When he speaks again, the edges of stress are still there, but he's trying.

"Not... often, but..." He hesitates, trying to pull himself together. "Some from the village would visit the markets together, at key points in the year. My..." And that's where it hurts. Any relation to himself, anything personal, becomes so much harder.

"...My father would go with them, sharing a wagon and the other burdens of travel." Finally, he says it, focusing on the facts. "When they returned, it was one of the few times any of us would see wares from outside of the valley."

Edited 2020-11-15 05:23 (UTC)

There is little that Aymeric really knows about this way of life, only having heard passing bits of stories from the other knights at Congregation during meal times or out on missions, but Estinien's tale holds a particular import. A vested interest, perhaps.

Aymeric really is not sure if this is the right approach to Estinien's distress, but...he is inclined to try something. Estinien will surely need more rest ere long and he would rather that pleasant thoughts be at the forefront of his mind.

"When I was a child, I would occasionally see what I had thought were merchants from afar coming to share their wares in the Crozier. Of course, 'afar' meant something much different back then...but I do recall seeing karakul wool and hide." He wonders if they had come from Estinien's village? Maybe even his family's flock.

Another small thread to tie them together, he hopes.

"What sort of things would your father bring back?"

Estinien finds himself answering questions as if by some compulsion, continuing to speak despite having forgotten why it was important to do so. Aymeric is asking him, he supposes, and it is a presence in which he feels safe. He isn't afraid of him knowing.

So, he speaks, answering the best he can. He thinks little about why the questions are being asked.

"Aye, the wool... my... my mother would spin yarn or thread from it." He shifts uncomfortably but keeps speaking. "Or make other crafts... most of our clothes were made within the village. But... my father would bring back tools that could not be forged in town, or sometimes particularly nice clothing." His lips curve slightly as he recalls it. "Mostly for him and mother. He said... that he would buy some for me when I stopped growing so much."

For such a modest family, it wasn't feasible to purchase higher-end clothing they wouldn't get many years of usage out of. Especially when the children were so prone to tearing theirs.

"But sometimes he brought other things. Small things we would find novel, from far away places. Little toys or treats."

It was obviously something they looked forward to.

Though Aymeric is well-aware that his origins are a little uncouth, he was never left to want for basic necessities and everything after. Respect had to be earned, but clothes, food, even the tools with which to train the talents he now had were all due to the fact that his parents were happy to provide for him.

That Estinien's mother would spin yarn...he finds that charming. He does not say as much, not wanting the notion to sound patronizing. And hearing that when Estinine would 'stop growing', knowing that such a time never came for his parents? It seems that most things are somehow connected to the tragedy. Naive, perhaps, of Aymeric to think he can steer the conversation wholly elswehwere.

Yet as Estinien continues to make an effort, so shall Aymeric.

"It sounds as if these trips would be quite the talk of the town when they occurred."

It's the trap that he always falls into. To think of the good times inevitably leads to thinking of what was lost - the promises that would never be filled, the milestones never crossed. So much goes assumed, in day to day life, perhaps unreasonably given Coerthas's curse. Yet, how could the common man survive if they dwelt only upon their possible end?

Parents must hope they will live to see their children grow up. Siblings count on the idea that they would know each other as adults, someday in the future. Yet, none of these things turned out to be true, for Estinien's family.

Everything he'd come to know was gone, even beyond his family. The valley Ferndale rested in was the only world he knew, and it and all its people were gone. The townsfolk that his father aided in the fields. The kindly neighbours that would watch over them. The smalltown seamstress that would buy his mother's wool.

Gone.

And in that moment, all those fond memories were left to decay. Never again could he recall them without the taint of death and despair. He's not sure what exactly Aymeric wants to hear, but part of him hoped that he could finally share some part of him that wasn't shrouded in darkness.

"Aye. He'd said that... one day, when I was older, I'd be welcome to come with him." He pauses, the obvious implications of that bleeding over. "I long wondered of this place. But then..."

He falls silent completely. He turns his head away from Aymeric, the towels still clutched to his face. It's a mercy, in this case.

It is those memories that Aymeric hopes Estinien can still cherish--for all that Nidhogg's brood has taken from him, those moments prior to his involvement are still as they were. His family were not always plagued by this devastation.

Of course, it is easy enough for Aymeric to try and think in such terms. Though both of his adoptive parents were now passed, they were taken in the most blessed way possible--old age. They had been older than the typical child-rearing age when they took Aymeric in, what with his mother being unable to conceive. It made them ready and willing to adopt a child in need of a home, is seems, and he never once went without their love and care. As he grew he knew that they would be taken from him earlier than most men his age. He prepared for it. And they went peacefully.

He cannot truly ever know the loss that Estinien feels, nor will he ever pretend to. But that does not mean he won't hear his friend out every step of the way.

"Were he to see you now..." he starts, allowing Estinien some privacy as he stares pointedly at the headboard. "...The rising star of the Knights Dragoon."

It's impossible to imagine how his father would have reacted to where Estinien is now. It would have made for a convenient narrative if Estinien had always dreamed of being a knight, enthusing about the craft before he was ever formally taught, but he just... hadn't been. Being a knight was something for the high families of Ishgard. He was just a boy from a remote village, with karakul to mind and a little brother to watch.

He hadn't dreamed of much more. The destruction of his village had been no convenient event, spurring him on to a life of adventure. He could have been happy where he was.

Would his father have wanted this for him? He can't imagine so. Perhaps it would be preferable to his orphaned son winding up dead in a gutter. His father had never seemed that enthusiastic about involvement in the war.

"He would not recognize me," he says quietly. "And rightly so."

Oh...the wrong turn, isn't it? Aymeric bites his lower lip as he looks up towards the ceiling, glad that Estinien's face is still covered. Mayhaps a little too fond of the man he knows now, projecting it onto the people that Estinein knew before. Who would not be as pleased at all that he has accomplished? No one, in Aymeric's mind.

He pulls back from that point, but there is one thing he wants to say on the matter...

"I hope that he would see a good man. As I do."

That, he believes, would not change no matter the circumstances.

Aymeric clears his throat, indicating that he is dropping that particular topic. He is unsure if whether or not his questions are helping at all or if Estinien is merely humoring him, but he does assume Estinien would be forthright with his displeasure should he feel it.

"Then it was you, your mother, your father, and...a sibling or two?"

"Just one," he says softly. His stomach clenches, inspiring a feeling of sickness even beyond the poison. He loved his mother and father dearly, but his brother... he would always be the one he felt the deepest feeling of shame and despair regarding.

He had been so small, even as he lay dead, crushed beneath the rubble.

The well of words dries up there. His heart is starting to speed again, even as he tries to remain composed. He draws the towel off of his face, clenching it between his fingers. He tries to breathe.

"Forgive me," he says fraily. "I can speak of this no longer."

Aymeric shakes his head instantly. That was the line he toed close to but tried not to cross.

"Nay, forgive me, my friend. I had sought fonder memories in hopes that they may bring you solace when darker thoughts deigned to take you."

He looks away then, busying himself with giving the second towel the same treatment as the first, before gently placing it next to Estinien's hand, should he wish to switch them out for want of a refreshed coolness of the cloth.

Estinien can appreciate the sentiment, even as he feels it could never work that way for him. The darkness in the memories is unseparable. Memories of his family bring him no hope, no comfort. Only the howling void of loss.

To say this much to Aymeric and to have him listen so faithfully is its own success, though. That maybe his friend might understand the world he so often retreats to. That maybe he could imagine the things he sees in his sleep. It's not someone he would want with any other person - with most, this torment is something he would dread for others to know of.

Not so with Aymeric. He falls silent to gather his thoughts, clumsily switching out cloths.

"These memories are inextricably tied," he tries to explain. "When my family died..." He has to pause for breath. "...So too died the happiness I felt with them. Even in my memories, they have been stolen... there is naught left but ash."

There is no solace for him. If there was, he would not be where he is now.

Aymeric takes the first towel, setting it on the tray and simply leaving it there so that he can turn his full attentions back to Estinien. He is quiet, thoughtful for that moment. Aymeric looks down at his own hands.

"'Twould be foolish to believe that I can understand the magnitude of that loss," he says softly. "And I do not claim to. Even now that my parents are gone, their passing was..." How to put this. "It was time."

He shakes his head, looking back up to Estinien's face. The urge to reach out takes him again, but he refrains, instead interlocking his own fingers together.

"...I only hope that you are able to find such happiness again."

Estinien had indeed worried for Aymeric when it came his mother's time to pass - his own memories of his loss making it hard for him to imagine it as anything but a devastating event. Yet, Aymeric had handled it with such poise. It had been difficult to comprehend, in the moment.

It seems like Aymeric is aware of the differences, so Estinien doesn't have to try to articulate them himself. Yet, his wish for Estinien at the end somehow feels more damning than anything else he could have said.

He's not sure that he ever will. Not a happiness untainted by the hatred in his heart. Even the thought of it is something that strikes fear into him - to have happiness is to have something to lose. A feeling he's ruminated on may times since this friendship with Aymeric began developing.

If only he could express how Aymeric himself is the closest thing to happiness he has.

"To have, only to have it taken from me again," he says. "I feel as if true contentment would only prove to wound me more than any amount of suffering." He pulls down the cloth, wiping it over his face and leaving it bundled in his hand. He looks at Aymeric directly, some part of him hoping that his intent will speak through his eyes.

"I cannot bear it, Aymeric. Not again."

Happiness seems like such a simple thing to want either for oneself or someone else. Do not all people deserve some form of happiness? Yet that Estinien sees it...not out of reach, but as something that he should not have, should not try to have for fear of the alternative strikes a strong chord within him. Not one that Aymeric can resonate with, but a tone that he can hear nonetheless.

Aymeric looks back, sky blue meeting that stormy gray. His heart beats strong in his chest and he counts each round. Beats for want of love, for acknowledgment of pain.

If Aymeric had ever been under the impression that Estinien was a man without fear, he abandons those silly notions now. Truthfully, every had something, but Aymeric had not placed it as the fear of losing love. Of losing happiness. That he would choose without...

...no, it is not that--it is the fear of pain. Insurmountable pain.

"I cannot bear it, Aymeric. Not again."

Aymeric swallows.

"You will not have to, my friend." Despite the soft quality of his voice, it is said with no small amount of conviction. "Not alone. I will stand with you 'til the end. On that you have my word."

He knows that Aymeric means well, and that ultimately he begs him for assurances that are impossible to give. They are soldiers both, and even were they not, there is no guarantee of safety in this place. Estinien does not fear his own death, but to lose another that he held dear... that's the thought he can't stand.

Would that he could tell Aymeric his feelings without words. To show that he has allowed him in despite himself, but that the same old fear haunts their every interaction regardless. Much like every happy memory of his family, every moment of joy and comfort Aymeric brings him is haunted with the possibility of loss.

It's pathetic, isn't it? That he can't let go, that he carries the burden so completely after all these years that he's terrified of taking on anything more. Foolish. Weak.

He feels impossibly weary, even as Aymeric promises so much. Maybe he can still imagine... if only for a moment...

Estinien's gaze lingers on Aymeric, his looming doubts and smallest flickering hope seeming to show within his eyes. He has no more words left to speak. The adrenaline has left him, making it harder to keep going - though he still fears what is on the other side of sleep.

"I know not how I will rest this night," he breathes. "While these visions linger still."

He knows well that such promises are difficult to keep, but Aymeric is ever a man of his word and he has little doubt that Estinien knows he will do his utmost to fulfill them. That he does not receive acknowledgment of such does not bother him--the words have been said and have been heard. Though many may write off Estinien as being cold or uncaring, for a while now Aymeric has known how deep the waters of Estinien's mind go. Truly, now more than ever.

Aymeric bows his head. Comfort is still what he endeavours to offer. It was part of why he opened his home up to Estinien in this time of need, if not in any time of need or passing fancy.

"Would you mind company until such time passes?" he asks tentatively. "Mayhaps I can offer you visions of something else entirely."

"If you would stay..."

He accepts the offer without struggle this time, seeing no reason to beleaguer the point. The truth is, he doesn't want to be alone. If Aymeric remains here, maybe it will be easier to remember that he is present - easier to remember the word for what it is, and not for what it was.

He's clearly beginning to struggle with focusing, now that the edges of his awakening have been worn down. Yet, he can still feel the sickly sea of memory lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for him to close his eyes and sink into its clutches. He would rather have something to hold onto. Anything.

His eyes are half-lidded, his breath heavy with exhaustion. The wet towel is resting on his chest, forgotten.

Aymeric release a small sigh of relief and nods. "As long as you will allow me."

Truly, he would stay all night should Estinien behoove him, but he will gladly offer his presence for now to keep the less welcome visions at bay.

With that, Aymeric shifts, repositioning himself so that he is no longer sitting merely at the edge of the mattress, but that he can lean against he headboard as well.

"Since you have been generous, shall I regale a story of my childhood in turn?"

Estinien shifts a little to accommodate Aymeric having more space to sit, looking up at him through bleary eyes. He's not sure how well he'll be able to listen, but it isn't an offer he'll turn down.

Thinking now about how he'll settle in, he puts the towel back onto his head, but not over his eyes this time, so that he can keep sight of his friend.

"Let's have it," he says.

Aymeric interlaces his fingers together, settling them casually on his stomach as he turns his gaze upwards. He is grateful in this moment that despite the disdain and harassment that ensued around the rumors of his birth, he has many more happy memories from which to choose from.

Seeing that Ser Croquembouche has returned to his vigil on the windowsill gives Aymeric one such idea.

"...As I am sure you are aware, it is not just man that finds wanting within Ishgard's walls. Animals too oft are brought in and left uncared for. As one can imagine, such 'blemishes' on society are swept from the streets of the Pillars, yet they do sneak in from time to time. Here in the eastern edge this close to Foundation, we see more of how those less fortunate might live than at the Vigil, albeit to a degree that does not give the full picture by any means."

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, voice a soft lull, yet somehow still punctuating each word with intent.

"As a young boy I would rarely be allowed to play outside if 'twere not on the manor grounds proper, as any concerned parent may ask of their only son. Yet as a young boy I, too, was keen to defy my parent's wishes and see what I could of the city. I was no more than eight summers when I struck out and turned further east to explore Foundation unattended. It was there, close to the Brume that I happened upon the most peculiar and amazing site..."

He gives a pause for drama.

"The fattest cat I had ever seen! She was seemingly impossibly round, so much so that she could barely walk on her own. Though I knew that I should not bring in animals I found wandering the streets, I could not simply let this image go. So I deigned to carry this cat who appeared near half my size all the way back up to the Pillars, waited until dear Alfred abandoned his post for only a moment outside of the manor, and slipped in through the front door unnoticed."

He smiles a little at the memory.

"Of course, how does one hide a large cat? Cats have a will of their own, after all, and my asking her to stay quiet means little. Yet there must have been something in her nature that she understood my intentions were pure at heart, if a little misguided. I kept her in the closet and that very same night I snuck half of my dinner into my robes in an attempt to feed her whatever I could manage. Yet when I returned to my bedroom after supper, what do you suppose I found?"

Despite the increasing intensity of his drowsiness, Estinien does his best to be as attentive to Aymeric's story as he can. Of course, it's something ridiculous. It surprises him little that he'd choose to talk about cats of all things when it came to lighter fair.

He smiles faintly as Aymeric speaks, not so much because of the story, but instead just from hearing his friend tell it. As exasperated as Bouche's feline personality makes him, he can at least appreciate Aymeric's love for the creatures.

He might have a better idea of where here was going with this was he more awake. Even so, the inklings of a guess come to mind... yet he decides he'd rather hear Aymeric's reveal of it instead.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," he murmurs, though it's with a fondness.

The timber of Estinien's voice, though gruff in its own right, has lost some of the weight it held before. That he entertains Aymeric's silly tale is hopefully a testament to that.

"I would hate to leave you with a cliffhanger on such a pinnacle moment of my development." That he can sound both soft and cheeky at the same time is, in turn, a testament to Aymeric's own command over words.

"When I returned, I found not one fat cat...but several small ones!" Aymeric gives a huff of a chuckle. "My youthful ignorance never led me to the conclusion that she had been heavy with kittens, yet there they were...small and blind and in a group of nine. Nine! Well, it goes without saying that the mother was very pleased to have some food...and that my secret was hardly kept secret for more than fortnight. A maid came upon them while I was in tutoring the following day and my mother gave me quite the scolding when I told her how there came to be several cats in my room."

He opens his eyes then, gaze falling back to Estinien.

"It will come as no surprise to you that I wanted to keep them all, yet my parents would not have it. Not out of dislike of pets, but out of principle in not rewarding me for my exploits. As a child that was difficult to accept, of course, yet I was contented with the fact that as soon as the kittens were old enough, all were adopted out to several homes throughout Ishgard."

Another laugh as he knocks his head lightly against the headboard.

"Ser Croquembouche joined our family once I had been Knighted. It seemed only fit that he should share the title."

Estinien huffs out a feeble laugh as well, not at all surprised by the story. His eyelids flutter with sleep, even as he tries to muster a response.

"It started at a young age, then," he says. "Your affection for these creatures." Truthfully, Estinien has no issue with cats in particular. Bouche's own unique personality is the primary source of conflict, there. While not especially tender with animals, Estinien could usually at least respect their presence.

Now if only Bouche would respect his. As a concern it feels so light and unimportant, it's almost restful.

He finally lets his eyes shut completely, his head tilting to the side. The shivering has mostly stopped for the moment, though his body still struggles to regulate its temperature.

"I'm afraid so," he says with no amount of regret. That cats, of all things, should bring him some enjoyment is not something Aymeric will feel guilty about, even if his own cat has been known to be less than kind to most. Ser Croquembouche has been there for him numerous times over the years. And now, he stands as what is left of his own family.

Though, in some ways, so does Estinien. Friends, comrades-in-arms--they may be family in and of themselves.

His smile softens when Estinien's eyes finally close and he allows his own to as well.

"Unfortunately for my parents, that was really only the beginning of it. Though I respected their wishes to ne'er bring home another stray animal, I did my part to try an alleviate the suffering of those yet wanting in this city. Mayhaps efforts best put towards other areas in the eyes of most. It became something of a ritual, preparing a selection of meats, fishes..."

He goes on about his exploits of feeding the strays, letting his voice lull into a familiar pattern. One story slips into the next, all with the same light-heartedness he had tried to evoke from Estinien's own memories.

Though Estinien fears it, Aymeric hopes that someday his friend can look back on the memories they make together with the same fondness that Aymeric knows he will.

Though part of Estinien is curious about this hobby of Aymeric's, it's the patterns of his voice that soothe him more than the actual content. For a while, he can still take in what his friend is saying, and then he can hear that words are being spoken but not make sense of them. Then, at some unknowable point, he is asleep.

His breathing deepens even further, his body relaxing. At some point, the wet towel sloughs off of his face, with no more care being put into how it rests. Estinien has never been one to have trouble falling sleep - it's just a question of whether it will actually be restful in the long term.

For now, at least, he seems undisturbed.

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