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

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.

He knows that Estinien is really well and truly asleep when his own voice dies down and there is naught but the gentle sound of his breathing. Good. He may have made a few missteps earlier, but now Aymeric can be contented that he has at least ushered in a moment of rest for his friend.

Feeling tired in his own right, Aymeric exhales through his nose and then is suddenly caught by a yawn which he hides behind is hand.

"Mayhaps it best we all retire..."

Ser Croquembouche seems to agree, if the fact that he seemingly teleports into Aymeric’s lap indicates as much. Aymeric blinks, looking down at the cat, then his friend, then the clock.

"Well, then..." He swallows, gaze flitting back to Estinien. "I suppose we shall keep our vigil for a while longer."

A while longer, of course, extends far beyond his intent. Aymeric, on the other hand, has always had trouble finding sleep, yet it is not more than twenty minutes before he nods off, propped up against the headboard with a lightly purring cat curled up onto him and the gentle rise and fall of his friend's breaths.

Estinien stays as he is for a while after even Aymeric has fallen asleep, only shifting slightly as he rests. It isn't a dreamless slumber, even from the start - but at least the rumblings of his subconscious are more on the benign side. That he hasn't immediately launched back into the exact same nightmares is a relief on its own.

After an hour or two has passed, though, things do start to become more restless. Estinien shifts, rolling into the side as he had before when he was clutching blankets in his sleep - but this time Aymeric is there. Though he isn't at the point of grabbing him in his sleep, he does come to rest his head again Aymeric's side - whether Bouche is there or no.

Finding contact there seems to slow his movements - at least for a while. The touch of another person does something to calm the tumultuous waters of his mind.

The minute movements are not enough to rouse him, at least not into a full waking state. He is used to Ser Croquembouche moving about the bed at night to find a more comfortable position, after all, so such things are a given as far as a night's rest is concerned.

But while he is used to sharing a tent with other Knights while out on missions or patrol, he is not used to sharing a proper bed with another person. Even in the former case Aymeric oft has difficult time ignoring the manners of his bedfellows, and in the latter, well...

The shifting of the mattress is enough to being to rouse him, but to have Estinien suddenly resting against brings him into full wakefulness. Aymeric blinks blearily upwards, finding the ceiling at first strange--

--ah, yes. The guest room. Where he--

"..."

Ah, yes. Estinien.

Oh Halone, he hadn't intended to actually fall asleep here! A little closeness out on the field is one thing given tight quarters, but these are different circumstances. Though, Estinien did allow Aymeric to stay until he had fallen asleep as means to try and stay the nightmares, but...did that really give him permission otherwise? Aymeric would hate to make his friend feel coddled, wanting to respect his need for privacy and autonomy while still being attentive.

It's a dance he's still learning. But Estinien does seem to have stilled. Nay, he almost looks peaceful? Even Ser Crqouembouche only twitched and peeled open an eye before going back to sleep.

By the Fury...

Aymeric rests his head back against the headboard. He cannot, in good conscious, suddenly peel himself away. (Truthfully, there is a large part of him that does not want to.) It would likely be best to extract himself once Estinien has rolled in the other direction. Then he can discretely take his leave and check on his friend at a proper interval...

Estinien certainly doesn't make escape easy, seeming to curl more and more in Aymeric's direction as time passes. On the bright side, that sleep seems to be steady, at least at first. Whatever is going on in his head, it doesn't show on the outside.

It'll be another hour or so before the signs of agitation begin returning. At first, it's in the form of him growing tenser, grasping at whatever gets close to his hands. Then, gradually, it begins to look as it had before.

His breathing becomes heavier and faster, his body seeming overhot and perspiring as with great effort. His arms twitch as if he's trying to do something with them, but too weight down by sleep to be able to do so.

Finally, he makes a soft sound beneath his breath. Like he's saying someone's name.

Aymeric notices at time Estinien gets closer, gets more comfortable--at least at first. With each movement he feels himself stiffen and glance down as if to see if his friend is awakening, if he will be scared or repulsed by what he finds--

--but...no, no he does not seem to be. Steadily, Aymeric allows himself to be at ease and simply think of the combined warmth of both Estinien at his side and Croquembouche on his lap.

It is...calming. Nice, even, although a little more embarrassing when he finds himself staring down and catching the even minute fluttering of Estinien's eyelashes against his cheeks. Aymeric has to force himself to look away. Since that gala nearly a year prior, he has accepted that he finds Estinien attractive. And there is nothing wrong with that, is there? He can...appreciate his friend's physicality and leave it at that. Estinien is first, and foremost, a dear friend.

It does make him worry if said dear friend will question Aymeric's own intentions...

But those thoughts die away as Aymeric starts to drift back off himself, only to rouse back to full wakefulness when the air about them shifts. He can feel the rise and fall of Estinien's chest quicken, the tautness of his form.

"Estinien...?" he asks gently, moving a hand to rest on his upper back.

Though the subject matter shifts and changes, Estinien's nightmares follow certain themes. As opposed to the real-life battlefield where Estinien viciously asserts his presence, in his dreams he is always on the defensive - no amount of fighting or struggling ever wins him the day. He can claw himself bloody trying to save himself or others, but in the end, it's always the same.

Memories of the recent battle have infected his subconscious with images of illness, swelling and melting skin, and like so many other dreams he finds himself hopelessly battling against the affliction: seeping, burning wounds that seem to spread by touch.

He remembers more about where he is this time. He remembers who he was with. So, when the gruesome dreams begin to haunt him again, that presents twines into the vision, and he finds a whole new victim beyond his ability to save.

He feels the touch on his back, he hears his name, but it comes through as something else. Something he can't bear.

Suddenly he rouses, jolting beneath Aymeric'd hand and against is side. With a surge of adrenaline and terror, he is immediately left shaking. He chokes out a breath as if being strangled.

Aymeric startles just a little when Estinien does, though he had been mostly prepared for his friend to wake. He can only hope that the dream did not take hold of him for too long. Ser Croquembouche startles much more, jumping back a fulm down Aymeric's legs and looking decidedly off put.

Aymeric increases the pressure at Estinien's back, slowly rubbing in a wide circle to try and ease some of the tension there. He keeps his voice low and calm.

"You were here in Ishgard, Estinien. All is well. You only need to breathe..."

Estinien trembles, momentarily beyond the purview of pride or shame. His eyes open, and he seems to realize where he is a bit more quickly this time - with Aymeric right there, it immediately draws his attention. Yet, the terror of his dreams has followed him here.

He grabs Aymeric's other wrist, clearly looking for something - in that moment, he fully expects to see scarring from caustic wounds. Yet... his skin is not pit-marked by acid - only old familiar markings that Estinien has seen many times before.

"You..." he begins, his voice tight. "You were not there. You..." Fact and fiction interlace, the heat in his skull making it difficult to untangle them. His heart is heavy with events that didn't quite occur, and with retellings of ones that had. Estinien shifts, trying to look up to his friend's face, though the illness causes him to fumble as he tries, grasping at Aymeric's clothing.

"I am a fool," he whispers, and sinks down again, his strength leaving him.

Images of the village still, he imagines, and his heart feels heavy thinking about it. Now having a small glimpse into his childhood through what few words he had been afforded, the weight of Estinien's loss feels more real.

As Estinien gropes for confirmation, both physical and mental, it slowly dawns on Aymeric what form his dream may have taken. His eyes widen with the realization that what he had heard earlier--what he is seeing now...had Aymeric, in that instant, become one of the many lost in that tragedy?

Aymeric swallows and shakes his head.

"Not a fool." He resumes the slow ministrations, heart aching in his chest. He reaches out with his other hand now that Estinien has released it, just to straighten out a few long tendrils of hair from sticking to Estinien's face. "You are just a man who has seen too much."

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