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“Aymeric? Aymeric…”
She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips into his side. Her gaze lingered on the spot before it slowly crawled forward and lingered upon the spot she knew an old wound marked him. Her nails caught upon the linen of his black shirt as she considered the shape of the scar that was left behind. What had it looked like? Was it a curve? Did it form the shape of the knife that was slipped between his ribs? Ananiel scarcely noticed Aymeric had stirred beneath her touch, nor the way her finger traced the shapes she imagined, brows knit together in crystallized worry as she muttered to herself.
A startled look broke her visage as she noticed his eyes had opened, and his gaze was fixed upon her with alarming tranquility. She tore her hand away from him, and her lip curled up in disapproval. “If you are awake, you should rise. We have much to do,” Ananiel informed, her tone like chips of ice.
He regarded her with a silent look, one caught in annoyance that soon melted into a foreign gentleness, and a lightning sprite shot up her spine. She scoffed at him, and pulled herself away from his side.
The tent held a warmth that would end the moment she were to slip outside, and the bitter winds of Sohm Al were enough to cause Ananiel to hesitate. The morning dew would still be frozen upon the grass, and prey would still be in the process of emerging from their burrows. It still smelled of rain, and judging by the light, Ananiel concluded that the highlands were still overcast.
Her ears twitched at the sound of blankets sliding against skin. Her cheeks warmed at the thought as she stole a glance behind her shoulder– Aymeric roused himself enough to sit upright, but disappointingly, he had turned away from her vantage. His hair laid askew across his face, evidence of a night long spent pressed up against the warmth of another. He breathed out as he reached out to feel for his weapon, and for a thicker coat; after all, a simple, long-sleeved shirt would not suffice in this clime.
“And what menial task would you have me perform today, my knight dragoon?” Aymeric queried. His words dripped in sarcasm as he pulled his gambeson close.
She felt pain blossom against her lip as she bit down a biting reply. “You will learn the basics of botany for your own realm, so you may begin assisting Alphinaud and I in the collection of essentials. You will need no weapon, but perhaps bring a bow for a hunt.”
“A bow,” he uttered the word with a thoughtful weight. “Very well. I have one in my belongings. I will join you shortly.”
Brisk. She exhaled slowly through her nose before she lifted up the weather flap of the tent and allowed morning light to filter in. Behind her, she heard a string of mumbled words, but in his accent, she could scarcely understand what he no doubt complained about. His disposition was different now, like a change in the wind. It blew from the north, and it carried a chill she felt cut through her.
But she knew he relied on her. Sohm Al was a strange land to him, and without her guidance, he would be left to the talons of dragons who no doubt watched their every move.
Alphinaud had just emerged from his tent. His curled hand rubbed at the edges of his eyes, but he was up on his feet, awaiting Ananiel to attend to the campsite. He stood straighter at the sight of the unarmored viera stepping out of the tent that belonged to the Lord Commander, and his blue eyes grew round. Ananiel’s ears tilted back in response.
“What were you doing?” His question is wary and cautious.
“Ensuring you two have the discipline to rise yourself in a timely manner. I am glad to see you awake.”
“It is scarcely a bell past the sun’s rise. Did it rain last night?”
“Yes. You can smell the soaked grasses still. It will be difficult to find dried kindling and wood for the morning fire. Do you still possess the stock I asked you to collect?”
“I do,” Alphinaud replied. He glanced behind him to peer at his opened tent. “I kept it dry like you asked. Fjol, is everything alright—?”
He stopped short at the gentle rustle of a tent, and both looked to the source of the sound. Aymeric emerged from his makeshift quarters, bound tightly in a jacket quilted in a pattern to mimic the plated scales of dragons. His expression was somber as his gaze flicked first to Alphinaud and then to Ananiel. She could recognize that same melt in his eyes, where warmth sprung up like spring after a long winter. Something pricked at her heart. He was quiet for a long while, his watch undisturbed, before he raised his voice to ask, “If you are ready..?”
“Not yet. I was simply asking Alphinaud if he could begin a morning fire for us. I will catch something small so you two might have a morning stew, and I will forage for myself. Is this agreeable?” Ananiel looked between the two elezen for confirmation.
Alphinaud answered her with a nod, and turned on his heel to attend to the task. Aymeric was left alone, bow loose in his grip, and unsettlingly quiet.
She felt on edge. Her muscles felt tense to spring at any moment. “We will start with roots that may be foraged. Perhaps if you learn that quickly, we can move on to other things. I will show the ones best left alone along the way.”
There was no answer. He merely raised a brow and stepped forward in preparation to follow her. Ananiel eyed him yet again, her gaze keen and critical of his silent language. It seemed his winds had changed yet again.
They began to walk and headed westward, away from their camp. Alphinaud bid them farewell with a silent wave to which Ananiel flashed a kind smile. They would not journey far, she assured him.
The undergrowth concealed the two of them swiftly, and as Ananiel carved a path, her leather boots crunching the leaves beneath, Aymeric followed diligently behind. He carried his bow unstrung over his back, held by a loose strap held fast by the body of his quiver. He had not brought with him the sapphire sword he usually carried. Ananiel stepped through the bramble with a cautious step; her silver ears flashed forward often, attentive to all sounds as she kept her watch ever sharp. With wyverns and dragons roaming in these lands, she must be cautious.
She tossed a look over her shoulder, and Aymeric caught her glance, only to return it with a puzzled expression. “Your bow,” Ananiel lifted her chin towards him, “You left it unstrung. Are you certain you are able to string it quickly if we spot a suitable mark along the way?”
“I am,” he replied. His blue eyes flickered to his hands briefly.
“Might I ask something?”
“If you wish.”
She frowned. He sounded distant. “How long have you been an archer? I remember how quickly you snatched up a bow claimed from another knight, and you scarcely checked over the weapon before you drawed it back. Your arrow was true to your intention, and not once did you falter. Dare I say you may be a better bowman than you are a swordsman…”
“I spent many years with a bow, and I learned it alongside swordsmanship so that I might become a Temple Knight. As you already know, I became one.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Forgive me, I am not overly fond of flattery associated with my attempt to pierce through the heart of my friend.”
That was a blade, sharp and quick to the gut, and it was well-deserved. Ananiel turned away and settled to a crouch, her half-gloved hands reached forward to bury her fingers into the damp soil. “...Very well.” Her nose scrunched in disappointment, but she needed to move them along. “Come forward. Here you can harvest parsnip roots, for these are their stems. This— here— the bright shoots from the ground? This is a wild onion, good for halving and placing upon a flat rock to cook near flame.”
Her fingers wrapped around the body of a small onion, and she pulled it forth from the earth with little effort. It is presented to the elezen in silence, her bicolored eyes settled upon the white root, unable to lift up her gaze to meet his own. A moment passed before he accepted it into his care, and he asked, “Halved and grilled?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Try to dig for some.”
They soon moved on to a patch of dandelions, where Ananiel instructed Aymeric on how to harvest the wildflower’s greens; they could be sauteed with cooking oils, and seasoned with salts and spices. Berries of a dark red like wine were next on Ananiel’s lessons. Sweet berries with a dry aftertaste, they would be good for sweeteners, and Ananiel remarked that she was quite partial to them when paired with another type of berry with black skin and flesh that was a bright pink in color. The last of her foraging centered around a tawny root that she snatched from the earth and dusted off, and just as she did with the onion, offered it to her companion with a quirk of her brow.
“I know not the name of this root in Eorzean, but take it to help fight the desire to sleep if you need it. I kept these dried and on my person. They are bitter, but they are useful…” Ananiel’s voice wavered as the explanation wore on, for he was still silent, void of questions and the life he normally possessed. His gaze felt cold on her.
He crouched low, intent to join her on the cold earth. His brow furrowed as he pocketed the root within his own satchel. “It is called kingroot,” Aymeric began as he dug his own hand into the soil and began to stir up the same roots. “You need to scrub it clean before chewing upon it, but it has more uses than simply to fight off exhaustion.”
Her ears flicked back. “You know these things.”
“I do, but this is the task my dragoon has asked me to undertake for the sake of demonstrating more camaraderie towards my escorts. At least I presume this was her command?”
“I am not here to command you—-”
“But you are. If I may, may we speak on equal terms, or are you still adverse to the idea that we could be friends?”
She forced herself not to bare her teeth at him in return. After a moment, she nodded, and her hands settled into a fold against her legs.
“You are a wall unable to be pierced, an abyss that cannot be crossed. You alone remain one of the most difficult individuals I have encountered, and in the past months, I have only had more questions on what your intent is.” He waited; it was a chance for her to exchange words if she wished, but Ananiel remained immovable. Her expression was like stone. He drew in a breath.
“For as long as I have known you, you have always been rather disengaged in our plight, as well as the dragons’. The only time I have ever witnessed you raise your spear was when our friend’s life was lost, and you took your vengeance, and for that, I cannot blame you.” Aymeric’s gaze rested on her own, and that strange warmth returned. “I have tried to help, to ease the burden you bear, for this was not your conflict to begin with. You stood resolute to the wants of Ishgardians, and for that I admire you, but I must ask this: why do you fight now?”
“Why? Because you are a fool and attempt ridiculous acts for the sake of idealism, and now you wish to barter with a wyrm you know full well has no desire to help your kind in your conflict with Nidhogg.” She was venom and anger, coiled and defensive. Her eyes flashed towards him in wariness, and her nose scrunched in a silent growl. He remained still, his own features a perfect reflection of his control.
“It is foolish, but what have I left to lose?”
“Lose?” She spat the word. “You could be shoring your own defenses, removing those who cannot fight, or evacuating your people to somewhere they will not be lost! Have you thought of what Hraesvelgr might do to you? The way he may look upon you in disgust? You are asking him to slay his own blood, when your ancestors have slayed his. Do you not think he may kill you for your arrogance? And then where would I be? How dare you ask what you have left to lose!”
She recoiled suddenly, aware that her eyes stung with blind rage and a twist of emotion. All she could think of was his crumpled figure, bloody and battered. He would be taken, just like the rest of them. He would die.
“...I see,” Aymeric whispered. “I understand now.”
He offered a hand, a single touch against the length of her forearm, where the onyx under armor shielded her cold skin. Ananiel flinched. He was as warm as he had been last night, when he offered her a space with him, so she may not be forced to sleep outside when the sky tore open for rain. She hadn’t known why she accepted him, and why she accepted his touch now, but it granted her a sense of security. He felt safe, like a light to waymark a path to home.
“I will not leave you alone, Ananiel, but I must continue to try. I owe them this much; but I am honored to have you with me so that I am not alone,” he continued. “I will watch over you as you have so insisted to watch over me. Be with me when I go to meet Hraesvelgr.”
“...I will.”
He smiled then, and Ananiel felt her armor removed. There was never a need to speak before, but the words shared were pleasant. Gentle. She leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, and he accepted her gesture with murmured words of comfort. An arm curled around her waist, and she sighed, and a weight eased off of her.
Minutes passed until Ananiel’s ears flicked up at the sound of a gentle pluck. Her eyes darted to the source, and to her surprise, a cream-white lily was caught between Aymeric’s fingers. Her nose twitched. It was a fresh scent, sweet and fragrant. He presented it to her with his gentle look, allowing her time to observe before she reached forward to take it.
“What is this?” Ananiel asked. Her hand turned the stem so she may admire its paper-thin petals. They looked so rich.
He cleared her throat, and his finger dared brush against the inner curve of her palm. “I believe it is called a mist lily. Flowers rumored to be adored by the moogles and the dragons alike. I thought you might like it,” he answered. She swore she saw a blossom of rose against his cheeks, but it was soon gone.
“Thank you,” Ananiel murmured in reply. She held it close to her chest. “We should return soon.”
“A while longer. It has not been more than a bell since the sun’s rise.”