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There was, as there had been near-continuously for the past four years, terrible weather as Estinien stood in the knights’ graveyard alongside the last handful of dragoons remaining after the outdoor sections of their late comrade’s funeral had ended. Harsh wind to whip in his helmet and the various edges of his jagged armor, mimicking the screech of a wyrm that was supposed to motivate dragoons in battle but just gave him headaches in his daily life; a sparse but constant stream of snow to land upon the metal he wore as it attempted to freeze him from the outside in, slipping through the crevices toward the wool underneath to ensure he was not only cold but wet in a lovely bit of suffering endorsed by the Holy See and its stubbornness to change from tradition despite the fact that the world had very much changed in the meantime; heavy fog that meant he could not see the edge of the graveyard five yalms away from him not to mention the words engraved on his comrade’s tombstone as if to mock his loss even further, the wetness filling his mouth and lungs as if to drown him even while breathing what would otherwise have been fine air.
Some would call it poetic, perhaps. As if Hydaelyn were grieving over the loss of a great man, as if Halone had begun to weep over their fine city for the sacrifice of one of Her noble defenders.
Estinien would call that Chocobo-shite. The weather was always terrible. The cold that crept around them and snow that fell upon them as they stood freezing their arses off over a corpse that would much rather have seen them huddle together in the warm indoors to remember him as opposed to sobbing over a bit of stone with a mangled and half-ash body underneath was no worse than the weather they got two-thirds of the year. It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t divine. It was just unpleasant.
The cardinal overseeing the funeral had gone back into Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral to continue the proceedings, having finished the first round of prayers much faster than normal through his chattering teeth and heavily shaking body despite the layers upon layers of regal robes that meant he had to have been far more comfortable than the near-dozen knights that had stood there with him. Most of the knights had followed him in. As had the teenage Hyur who’d not said a word since the ceremony had begun, standing apart with silent tears upon her cheeks and lips tightly sealed.
Though Estinien had never spoken to her, had never even met her before that morning, he knew her name well. Edwyn, the dragoon whose death had brought the group together that day, had spoken of her more than anyone else. Her name was Agatha, and she had been his only living relative.
In centuries past, the Order of the Knights Dragoon had been even more blue-blooded than the rest of the Temple Knights, who hadn’t started accepting commoners until some two-and-a-half centuries after Haldrath’s death. House Durendaire had provided the bulk of the Order’s members, and there was no higher position than that of one of the four High Houses. The rest of the Order was then filled out by second- and third- tier houses. The general Temple Knights only required that one have some sort of noble association. And even when that rule was dropped for the general Temple Knights, it took another century-and-a-half before anyone without a three-page long bloodline would be so much as considered for the Order of the Knights Dragoon.
That had come after one of Nidhogg’s major attacks. Almost the entire Order had perished to searing flame and sharpened claw, unavoidable and overwhelming as it descended from above, and the See was desperate for people who could refill the ranks and ensure the people that they would endure and prosper despite the terror of Nidhogg’s raids.
It was after that that the Order instituted its unofficial policy of only preferring nobles and, if not nobles, then certainly orphans. Elezen and hyur who had fewer people to mourn them if they died, fewer people to think about all they had lost to the war and consider abandoning the cause for all it had lost them. And not just fewer to mourn them, but more to fight for. A thirst for vengeance was practically a requirement for candidates of the Order nowadays. Most weren’t on the level that Estinien was, but few people alive had such reason and such hatred churning within them. Estinien wanted to murder Nidhogg for what the great wyrm had done, and allies could help set things in motion for him to do so, but he certainly didn’t wish for more people to suffer as he had. There was enough grief in Ishgard, enough pain for its people to last lifetimes beyond what it already had. No, most weren’t as motivated as he. But he still saw the glint of hatred in their eyes, the spark of sorrow, the hint of longing. The wish for vengeance. Revenge. To avenge. All words that connected to the same set of actions, though their connotations and the exact emotions that went into them were slightly different.
Edwyn had been a perfect candidate for the Order in that way. His father had been killed alongside the rest of his family save his at-the-time pregnant mother some eighteen years past while visiting family in the Eastern Highlands, Edwyn and his mother surviving by virtue of having stayed behind in the city at the time. Twelve years later their mother died not by the direct dragon claw, but because of an illness that could have been overcome had she only had the medicine brought by a caravan that was destroyed by a group of wyverns who’d ventured out of their normal hunting grounds.
Edwyn had a family to avenge in his parents, cousins, grandparents, and so on. He had family to fight for in his surviving sister for whom he wanted to create a brighter, dragon-free future.
He’d talked about his young sister all the time. In the four years since he’d joined the Order of the Knights Dragoon, he hadn’t failed to mention her in a single one of the infrequent group dinners they had, much easier to coordinate now that their number had dipped from the traditional thirty to barely a dozen. How she was doing in her lessons, how she was getting so tall he joked there must’ve been some elezen blood somewhere in their ancestry, how she talked of seeking a position in the clergy that someone of her common blood could attain, and so on. Estinien knew more of how she was doing and her family history than he did of Alberic, his own (albeit adoptive) father.
It was clear the man had loved his sister dearly. More than anything in the world.
But his recklessness in his search to avenge his family had cost him dearly as well. And his stories of his sister’s doings and dreams would no longer ring through the Congregation’s halls.
Agatha was stone still in front of her brother’s grave, staring at it with unblinking eyes. Tears had frozen to her cheeks. Estinien worried that she might not be able to close her eyes if she kept them open much longer, the chill of the air being known to freeze eyelids open from time to time if one was not careful.
Heustienne went over to the girl and whispered something to her before Estinien could make the first move.
He was grateful for her actions. He was no good at comforting people. He’d never dealt with grief very well, and he certainly hadn’t received any good advice from Alberic, who had always stumbled when it came to the topic of Estinien’s dead family. What could he offer the girl? Promises that her brother was in a happier place, having surely been accepted into Halone’s halls for his sacrifice in order to defeat one of the wyrms that had been plaguing the Western Highlands as of late? The cardinal had already said as much. Advice on how to worm her way into the Temple Knights so she could avenge her brother with her own hands? That would be a disgrace to Edwyn’s memory. If anything he’d discourage the girl from doing such a thing. Edwyn had frequently spoken of how he did what he did so his sister wouldn’t have to bloody her hands, so she could live in a safe and secure home without having to feel the pain of battle dragging down her body. And Estinien knew well how unhealthy such a drive for vengeance could be, hypocrite as he was. He might die trying to kill Nidhogg, but that was something he’d accepted. He saw the fault in his own actions but would not stray from them because someone needed to do it, and he would not place that burden on anyone else.
The sound of snow being crunched between stone and metal drifted toward Estinien’s ears. He turned to his left, Maenne standing there with her visor slid back so Estinien could better see her expression. Which was one of annoyance. Or perhaps anger would be a better word. Her green eyes were rimmed with red, and though her cheeks were pink from the cold he had a feeling the color of her eyes was not merely because of the chill.
“Is there aught I can do for you?” Estinien asked, watching as those reddened eyes narrowed in response. She took another step closer, till only a scant few ilms lay between them, and even then half of them were from the difference in their heights.
“Is there aught you can do,” she muttered in response, biting her lip. Estinien stood stiff and still, unsure how he could respond. “Yes there is!” Maenne practically shouted, loud enough to turn the heads of the three other dragoons still in the graveyard even if Agatha did not so much as flinch and he doubted Maenne’s words could be heard inside. “A man is dead , Estinien. Dead and with a poor girl left to grieve for him. Though hyur may reach adulthood faster than us elezen, she is still young. Still a child in my eyes, and I know in yours as well. Do you have no words of comfort for her? No words of comfort for us , his comrades who must carry on despite one of our best having been cut down by the beasts we are meant to throw our lives against?”
Estinien sighed, gazing out over the edge of the graveyard’s walls that led to the Sea of Clouds. The fog kept him from seeing anything well enough to identify it. He took a few steps toward them to both improve the view and establish some distance between himself and the enraged Maenne.
She wasn’t normally so obvious with her emotions. Had Edwyn’s death gotten to her so much? They had been close. Maybe if it had been Alaimbert she wouldn’t have been so upset. Though he'd never say it aloud, Estinien would've traded the two men in a heartbeat.
“I said my piece,” Estinien responded truthfully, eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the spires he knew should be visible through the fog. Something to concentrate on to keep his mind off matters. But the fog was too thick, and there was naught but grey nothingness to look at.
Maenne took another step toward him, though a yalm remained between them still. “You gave some monotone words about his sacrifice being an unfortunate part of being a dragoon that we ‘never wish to come but encounter too often’ or whatever meaningless and obviously-rehearsed set of phrases came out of your mouth. Words without emotion. I know you try to seem strong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to shed a single tear? For your voice to break for a moment?”
Estinien scoffed. He couldn’t bring himself to care, she thought? He did care. So, so much. Edwyn had been a good man, and Estinien had enjoyed his company enough he had considered whether he might deem the man an actual ‘friend.’ Which for someone who could count his true friends on one hand lacking some of its fingers was a considerable feat.
He cared. Far more than she could understand. But unfortunately his position meant he couldn’t show it.
“As Azure Dragoon and commander of the Order of the Knights Dragoon, it is my job to be the pillar of strength that maintains our Order and our success in moments such as these,” Estinien finally responded, turning back to Maenne with clenched fists. “To allow others to grieve while I bear the burden of our losses. To prove that his loss will be avenged. If even I cannot act as though we will persevere through the death that so often greets our ranks, how are the knights to believe we are to succeed? That we have the strength to carry on? What would you have me do, fall to my knees sobbing like some recently-made widow who was told her husband had been killed trying to secure enough funds to support the babe growing in her womb?”
The whistling in his helmet grew louder, mockeries of dragonsong and wyrms’ screams filling his ears. Estinien grit his teeth, trying to ignore the way it made his ears ache and the way that ache seemed to travel down his bones.
Maenne’s eyes narrowed. “Yes! Sure! If it meant you displayed even the slightest bit of actual concern, I would take it! Even the strongest of men are allowed to shed tears so long as they pick themselves back up the next day. As you act now, one might think you don’t even care when we throw our steel and souls into battle only to come out as steel and bodies sans life.”
“I do care-” Estinien practically growled back, anger churning in his gut, goosebumps crawling up his skin. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t let her words get the better of him. He was brushing up against dangerous territory.
“Like hell you do!” Maenne shot back, her voice rising higher. Behind her Estinien could see Heustienne turn around once more, cocking her head to the side as if to tell Estinien to bring the situation under control. He was trying, damned fool!
Maenne stepped forward once more, closing the gap to only a fulm. Estinien took a step of his own, stopping when the back of a greave hit the city walls. They weren’t high around the graveyard. If Maenne pushed him, he would careen over them, down and away into the abyss at the bottom of the Sea of Clouds where none would see him again.
For a brief moment the idea enticed him. How wonderful it would be, to feel the air rushing past his body, to be in a situation in which he’d either plummet to his death or give in to the fear and the call and allow himself to be taken by-
Estinien shook his head, trying to clear his head of the sudden haze that had come over him. Those weren’t his thoughts. He was fine being alive and in control of himself, thank you very much. Which he would not be if he strayed much more, allowing himself to be riled up by someone who was overcome by grief at the moment and not acting as she normally would. He could not give in. Would not. So he took a few deep breaths to ground himself, curling his hands in and pushing the sharp tips of his gauntlets into the soft fabric of his palm, hard enough to risk piercing the cloth but necessary as a way to remind himself of who and what he was. Pain was a sign of mortality. Of being a man, and not more.
“-listening to me?” Estinien could hear Maenne saying, blinking rapidly as the words reached his ears but did not quite reach his brain. It took him a good fifteen seconds to finally process her question.
“Apologies. My thoughts drifted away from me. But my position is unchanged - my role is not that of the emotional whelp. I stand firm while you and the others can give Edwyn’s sister the support she needs. I’ve no skill in helping people grieve, and would rather not botch an attempt so badly I make the girl feel worse. Now let me be on my way. We need to be getting inside,” Estinien replied, voice growing louder and more firm. He didn't need to be having this conversation.
Maenne sighed. She shook her head, eyes drifting away for a moment. The snow had started to fall faster, the puffs thicker, and they were both coated in a thin layer of white. It wouldn’t be healthy to stand outside for much longer.
Maenne’s voice grew venomous. “Of course you’ve no skill. You’ve never tried, Estinien. Perhaps if you bothered to look in that black pit you call a heart for the slightest ounce of sympathy, not even empathy but sympathy for another person, you might understand what it feels like to lose a loved one. Just because you’ve lost someone doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us. We all know damned well what it feels like to be left behind, and by Halone do we want a reprieve. Which is something else you seem to shun in your determination to act as though you’re above everyone and everything. What would your family say if they could see you now, unwilling to even pretend to be upset over your friend’s death for the sake of his only surviving family and the group of people who have called him a brother in arms for the past half-decade?”
Something in Estinien finally snapped and he could no longer hold back the quiet rage he’d been previously content to let stir in his gut. It felt beyond himself. Within himself. Both and neither at the same time.
“How dare you presume to know what they might think!?” he practically roared, pushing off the wall to reduce the distance between them to a handful of ilms once more. He was seething so much it hurt. Suddenly overcome with a deep fury the likes of which he'd hardly ever felt. “Do you truly think that their deaths somehow rendered me unfeeling to the rest of the world? That I use them as some sort of excuse to ignore others, that I would shame them like that!? If I thought they would listen me for a damned second I would march into the Vault and demand those bloody whoresons change the idiotic rules about our far outdated armor and the distribution of supplies this moment so another one of my comrades never died such an avoidable and pointless death!”
The screaming wind in Estinien’s ears grew louder, the ache in his bones spreading out to each ilm of his flesh, no spot left untouched. Maenne withdrew slightly, eyes wide, but Estinien could not find it in himself to give her any quarter. He could barely keep his hands down and away from removing Gae Bolg from his back.
He continued on, having not really paused in the first place. “Had I thought the action feasible and not suicidal I would’ve sprinted to the chocobo stables to grab a mount and fly to the Western Highlands where I could slaughter each and every last dragon who might’ve so much as heard him scream when I received news of Edwyn’s death! Blood for blood, wing for arm, dragon for man! But I did none of these things, because it is my duty to survive and carry on! Where my men fall I must be there to pick up the pieces so everything doesn’t collapse around us! Which, I would perhaps not have to do were the See not so swiving stubborn, but it is and it is our only chance at ending this damned war. We can’t do it on our own! We need the support, loathe as I am to admit it. We need what they can give us, and what I’ve been given is a job. I get out of a lot of it, but there are some things I can’t push, and some consequences of what they’ve done and what they’ve given me that I can’t avoid.”
Maenne’s mouth was moving, but Estinien hadn’t the slightest idea what she was saying. He was angry. Furious. Ready to- to-
Words kept flying, Estinien unable to stop them from pouring from his mouth, too distracted by the fire that had burst from that long ache, head pounding from the cold and the noise and the situation in its entirety. Something within him curled in happiness, contracting the churning anger that had taken hold of him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, and you don’t know a damn thing about them. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought back to that day and how I wished it had been me instead of my brother, how I wish I could have warned them, how I wished that perhaps I should’ve just died alongside them if it was either me or no one. Fury, have I thought about it, and Halone help me if I have not done my damndest to make sure no one feels my pain again.
“I have killed wyrm after wyrm. I have killed men. I have killed men who have embraced the Dravanians and made themselves into mockeries of wyrms. And it has hurt every single time, whether from watching the pointless death that I cannot stop or from knowing that the countless wyrms I have slayed have never been my one true target, the only reason I have for even living to this day. But you don’t hear me sobbing about it! I keep quiet! Because that’s another one of the See’s rules - as Azure Dragoon, you must never show your emotions or let them get the better of you. You can never give into the rage that may claw at your heart, you can never truly drown in your sorrow, you can’t even let yourself be too happy lest the Eye allow Nidhogg to tear into your soul and-”
Estinien cut himself off with a strangled gasp.
The screams in his ears cleared, the deafening cries crystallizing into words.
“Yes!” a voice Estinien knew too well shouted, speaking in a language he had never learned but understood perfectly well. “Give in to thine anger! Thy fury! Thou knowest well the wrongs which thy precious See hath committed against thee, the crimes thy people have committed against thee! How they have made thee suffer, how even thy supposed friends deem thee a knave undeserving of the glory of thy station. The See shalt never grant you succor, nor shall thy wretched dragoons bring thee the companionship for which thou longest.”
The fire turned to ice. Estinien stumbled away from Maenne, back hitting the wall of the graveyard. His hands flew to his head, gauntlets clanging on the outside of his helmet and making his ears ring but doing nothing to silence the voice of the great wyrm who had done exactly what Estinien had been trying so hard to stop him from doing the entire day.
“They care naught for thy pain. They only blame thee for things which thou couldst not forestall, for events thou couldst not have undone. Wretched beings, these men. Insects who exist only to cause suffering, only to betray. For what have they done but betray thy trust, use thee as a tool until thy use hath run out? The moment they believe they can gain more from thy loss than thy presence, they turn on thee with nary a moment’s hesitation. Should they not pay in turn? Shouldst thou not return unto them the pain they have dealt unto thee? Cut them down here, so that they may never again hurt others as they have hurt thee?
“Shut up,” Estinien choked, pressing harder as if the pressure from his fingers could stop the pounding in his head, shut up the voice echoing in his skull. It did not help, too much metal in the way. How had he allowe himself to fall so far? To lose himself so deeply to his frustration that Nidhogg found a way in? “Shut up!”
Nidhogg cackled, the laughter somehow even more unpleasant than the strange sounds of dragonspeak. Phantom claws dug into Estinien’s arms, as if trying to pull his hands away from his head, trying to prevent him from wresting back control. He knew not what was going on around him, too focused on the battle within his own head.
“Thou truly desirest to resist? My words are naught but the truth. I have waged war with thy people for a millennium, and with them spoken and dealt for millennia more prior to their ultimate betrayal. Man is corrupt. Beyond saving. Thou hast seen it. Thou needn’t end them all- just begin with the one who dares question thee in this moment. Then thou shalt taste the wondrous nectar that is revenge on the one who hath directly harmed thee. If such an act brings thee pleasure, then I shall lend thee my strength to bring justice to the rest of the wretches in thy dear See who hath left thee with naught but bodies and grief time and time again.
“Azure Dragoon and bearer of my Eye thou mayest be, but thou hast not received but a fraction of my strength. Give thyself to the fury which hath cloaked thy body and thou willst enjoy far more strength than thy feeble soul hath ever known. This I swear.”
Estinien’s entire body began to thrum with energy, a sample of the strength Nidhogg was offering. The spires in the distance became visible, as if the fog had suddenly parted, his vision unhindered. The cold from the snow that had seeped into his armor became a nonfactor, the iciness that filled his skin from something else entirely.
The screams died down, and there was only the heavy breaths of Nidhogg to fill his ears. Anticipation, excitement. Victory.
Estinien shut down hard, closing his eyes and gripping tighter, trying to ground himself. He dropped to his knees, practically letting his legs collapse under him to reach the stone below as fast as possible. It would hurt. The pain would ground him.
Because Nidhogg’s words sounded so appetizing. So enticing. So right.
Yet some voice in the back of his mind, something between his own voice and Alberic’s, told him that that was very wrong. That Nidhogg’s voice should never be right. It was a thing of deceit and betrayal. Death and destruction. Pain and suffering. Nothing good, nothing righteous.
But it was right , wasn’t it? He had been wronged. The people he had fought alongside for years didn’t trust him, the Holy See to which he had pledged his life hardly gave him enough to even survive, the nobles he protected looked at him as though he were a stain on their favorite coats… He had bled for them time and time again. He’d gone sleepless, gone hungry, and what had they given him? A fancy title and a mountain of scorn?
Perhaps they had not betrayed him, but they had wronged him, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they?
Laughter again, breaking the even breaths that formed Estinien’s world.
Though Nidhogg may have done it in celebration of his near-victory, it had the opposite effect, for it broke the trance.
Perhaps the See had wronged him. Perhaps Maenne had said things she should not have. But she did not deserve to die for it. A scolding was in order. She was being a arse. But death? Suffering of her own? She had suffered enough for Edwyn’s death, both in the wounds she had been dealt trying to extract his body from the scene and in the emotional turmoil she had endured in the days since.
“Get out of my head,” Estinien growled through gritted teeth, body shaking. “Get out. Get out. Get out!”
“How stubborn. How weak. But I shall grant thou this victory, if only for mine own sake,” Nidhogg replied, sounding disappointed, but still conceding. “Thou hast work to do and I shall not stop thee. As do I require additional time to gather my strength. But know this, child. I shall have thee in time. Thy body, thine aether, thy soul. Wholly. Until then, I bid thee gather strength so that my return is all the more entertaining. Thy Fury will not help thee when the day arrives.”
The pressure in his temples suddenly subsided, leaving Estinien shaking on the ground, knees pressed into the hard stone and legs deep in the snow, heels pressed into the short wall behind him, hands on his head and fingers pressed so strongly into his helmet that, when Estinien finally had the focus to let his arms fall to his side, he found he had to jerk them out from where they had become embedded in the metal.
He stayed kneeling for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath and calm himself. In, out. In, out.
He was Estinien, an elezen and knight of Ishgard. The Azure Dragoon, and nothing more. An ally of the people. Future killer of Nidhogg. Not pawn.
Eventually he came back to Hydaelyn well enough for the sound of the wind mimicking wyrm-screech in his ears to make itself known again and practically ripped his helmet off his head. His hair tumbled out, falling over his shoulders after having been let loose when the harsh motion ripped the band that had been holding it back.
Chest heaving but head considerably clearer, Estinien’s gaze slowly drifted up to reach Maenne once more.
She had moved back by three or so yalms, clutching her chest with a look of absolute horror.
Heustienne had moved to her side, hovering over her shoulder in a way that Estinien could only assume meant she had been whispering into Maenne’s ear before Estinien had come back to himself.
Reaching back to grip the wall, Estinien pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. The fire and ice had subsided, but the ache had not. That wasn’t the first time Nidhogg had tried to take him, and from previous experiences he knew it would be days before it did. Damn the wyrm. Had Estinien the emotional energy to come up with anything stronger he might, but he was both too tired to come up with anything and unwilling to risk giving himself up again.
He looked Maenne in the eye, watching as she flinched. “Look. I’m sorry. But...there are some things-” he bit his lip. His breaths were heavy, his words slightly stilted. “I wish Edwyn were alive, and I hope Agatha will find it in herself to continue on and forge a good life for herself. Though I may not show it, I grieve in my own ways. But they are that. My own ways. We don’t all show our grief the same way, believe it or not. So I ask that you don’t judge me for not reacting as you do, because I have certain limitations that mean it is best I do not. As do I ask you not to push me when it comes to things you don't understand. Got it?”
Maenne simply stared at him for a good five seconds before she finally gave a frantic nod, leaning back into Heustienne slightly. Heustienne, meanwhile, seemed apologetic. She had been a candidate for Azure Dragoon, young as she’d been at the time. She knew what it meant. And Estinien had a feeling that while he’d been down, she’d told Maenne as much.
“Of course, Ser,” Maenne breathed, saluting him.
A voice drifted over from the nearest entrance to the Cathedral; a side door that led to the graveyard and could be accessed from nowhere else.
“For Halone’s sake- what’s taking you all so long? The cardinal looks as though he’s about to blow. Not to mention this horrid weather. Stay here any longer and I’m going to think you all Shiva’s lost children!” called Alaimbert, head poking out of the door.
Estinien groaned, moving to put his helmet back on his head. Then paused when he considered the hair on his neck. It wasn’t going to fit back in easily.
Maenne tentatively took a step forward while Heustienne moved to say something to Agatha. When Estinien raised an eyebrow, she held out a hand. On her outstretched palm lay a small ribbon.
Wordlessly, Estinien took the offering and tied up his hair. He replaced his helmet, hoping the new dents weren’t obvious enough to be spotted from a distance under the candlelight within the Cathedral. He’d have to replace it after the ceremony was over.
His breath left little clouds in the air as he took the last few breaths of silence he’d have for the next few bells. None of the others’ did. He probably had a fever. Halone knew how long he’d sleep that night, with the way exhaustion ate at his bones.
He hadn’t the will to roll his eyes when Alaimbert called out once more, saying something about the cold and heresy that was in poor taste as usual. Though Estinien didn’t care much for the authority and official business that came with being Azure Dragoon, he’d have to talk to the man about proper etiquette and discipline again. Or just being considerate. He was a pain in the arse more times than not.
Maenne was the opposite. Few were the instances in which she’d gotten on Estinien’s nerves.
So when she flinched away from him as he passed her, heading back to the Cathedral, he issued her a silent apology. People lost their tempers from time to time. It was only natural.
Unfortunately, he himself could not. Not without repercussions. Thus he didn’t blame her. What had happened was his own weakness, not hers. It was not something that would happen again.
He stopped at the door, turning back to Heustienne and Agatha. The hyur had finally moved away from her brother’s grave. Her eyes were empty as they landed on Estinien, a lack of emotion in their depths.
Estinien sighed. The thirst for vengeance he’d had for nearly two decades was unhealthy, and not something he’d wish on anything else. But so was the restraint and attempted lack of emotion that he’d been forced to practice since being chosen by the Eye. He didn’t have a choice when it came to emptying himself of his feelings. It was either reject them or lose himself. He couldn’t shut them away entirely. No person could. But he could try.
And though Agatha’s eyes were largely empty, he could still see the spark of sorrow at the bottom of their depths. He hoped that one day she’d be able to find her way out of the pit of despair she’d found herself in. Not to search for vengeance, as he had. But to find peace. Peace in others, peace in peacetime. To reclaim her emotions before they overcame her and led to the sort of destruction that Estinien had long since accepted as a part of his life and himself.
Alaimbert began to yell once more, only pausing when he realized Estinien had stopped a yalm away, eyes widening when Estinien pierced him with his gaze.
Estinien turned away from the courtyard and walked inside the Cathedral. He’d deal with everything another day. For now, he had one more ceremony to get through. Then…
He was tired. He didn’t want to think about the future. He’d keep up his vigil, keep Nidhogg away until he could kill the wyrm. That was what mattered. That was his present, and that was his truth.