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The city was peculiarly quiet the next day and night. As if the people felt that something scandalous had taken place, that one beloved son and friend had breathed his last while protecting someone he loved. As if people felt the injuries left on the skin of the commander of the temple knights, which had sullied his normally pristine face with cuts and bruises.
He was limping around the next night after the initial shock had settled.
Again, as if Ishgard knew of the Archbishop’s absence, the streets were empty and there was not even a fine breeze going. No snowfall, despite winter being right around the corner once more, for all it was worth up this high in the mountain ranges of Eorzea. Estinien merely raised an eyebrow as he reached forward to stop Ser Aymeric from falling over.
“’Tis truly unwise of you to saunter about like that after all that had happened.”
“Phh. It would… be even worse if I slowly went… mad from lying in bed.”
“Pardon my crass choice of words here, but if I were the one who had almost died in the basement of the Vault due to torture at the hands of my father’s men, I would much prefer lying in bed.”
The man stopped breathing for a second after the dragoon’s words, his eyes half shut and his body shaking from pain. Estinien, as gently as someone clad in armour could, helped Aymeric then stumble over to a wall to properly lean against. That black eye of his was one of the least painful things to look at, not counting all the cuts and nicks and what not in his skin.
“You refused healer treatment, too.”
“… It’s not like you dragoons are… not half as proud as that. You… refused treatment to lick your wounds too after… Svara’s horde…”
Estinien licked his dry lips. Svara’s horde – the lie he had fabricated after Al’nebar had beaten him into the ground with a power not unlike what people believed to be that of a true dragon. The broken arm and ribs had actually hurt less than the serious beating his pride had taken, so he had refused any attempts of treatment by even the best medics, Astrologians and White Mages alike. Naturally any man as sharp as the lord commander would realise that there was more behind those injuries than just a handful dragons? Well, better not look a gift horse in the mouth here.
“Svara’s horde beating me in a moment where I was not prepared is not similar to your situation the slightest. I was not tortured, just overpowered – and I did not lose a close friend, either.”
If looks could kill, Estinien was quite certain he’d have been a twenty-times-dead undead by now, but the look Aymeric shot him was particularly nasty. Most likely because a second later the man let out a faint hiss and slid to the side while grabbing his arm again.
“Look, Ser, I know you do not take orders from pesky dragoons like Al’nebar or me, but you need to go back to bed. Now. Come on, I’ll help you.”
“I shouldn’t have broken it… I-I mean, my parents made it for me, and…”
She didn’t even look up from her tea. For the first time she had her long hair open, and it messily fell over her shoulders and covered most of her face – at least, it was the first time he’d ever seen her without the clips and everything pulled into a loose ponytail of sorts. In between him and her agreeing to work against Nidhogg together and him finding out what had truly happened the way the village had burned, she’d chopped off most of her long hair back then. It had been growing again since then apparently, a loose mess as it was now.
“I just… snapped it. I…” She laughed and looked up. “I had no idea I could even do that in the first place.”
“Blood of the dragon. Though it was not a dragon’s blood that fuelled you, you were already agitated and soaked in it, and it only needs a small incentive, be it positive or negative, for a dragoon to go berserk. It’s a miracle Nidhogg did not seize this opportunity to claim another Azure Dragoon as his. He’s dead, but the whispering ever lingers.”
The Warrior of Light blinked – she had assumed the vague whispering was because of Hydaelyn’s blessing returning to her as it did with her friends. And Lorven and Nemi had confirmed they too heard a faint whisper when it was absolutely silent.
An almost familiar laugh sounded in her head now – Midgardsormr. “Oh, he speaks true, but t’would be most unwise of Nidhogg to taketh what he desireth so soon after falling. He plans, lurks, whispers. He waits; but for what none doth know, not even I.”
She cringed slightly, screwing up her face. Estinien simply assumed she was ashamed of letting herself go like that, and he clicked his tongue.
“It happens to the best of us, worry not. Under extreme stress even the Warrior of Light would crack, and seeing what unfolded there, right before the Soleil… Truth be told, I had feared it would be my job to beat you back to your senses this time. You are far stronger than I am, it’s no use denying it any longer.”
Admitting that and staring at the dumbfounded expression on the girl’s face was better than the lingering doom, dread, and despair that had been on there ever since the day Heustienne had refused to return home. No, truly, he preferred her when she looked cocky and proud of herself, as if she was a gift to the world by the Fury herself. This dreadfully crushed and small girl didn’t seem to quite fit the Warrior of Light, the second Azure Dragoon. That was why he had coaxed her out of her shell after they had failed to get to Azys Lla, while her newly healthy friend was up and trying to find the Scion they had heard news about. Without her friends she looked… rather pathetic.
Just for a few minutes the other Azure Dragoon was positively stunned, with a small smile on her face. Not exactly the same cocky grin he was used to, but it was a beginning.
“The day you have to beat me back to my senses is the day the Fury and Hydaelyn stop guiding me both, so keep dreaming, Estinien.”
It wasn’t a happy laugh, but it was better than nothing. He quite preferred it when it was that casual, without constant distrust between them.
When the Warriors of Light set out for the Dravanian Hinterlands, Lucia pulled him aside. First a thank you from her, then a punch in the guts for being a brat towards Ser Aymeric.
At least the man in command would remain there, and not be found dead in the streets after sustaining serious injuries that were left untreated. Being called a brat was worth it, honestly. And it was amusing to see Lucia march off like that – pain aside, of course.
“You know, they need you more than you ever assumed they did. It’s like someone took the wind out of their sails. Oh, and I fear they are not going to leave much of the Archbishop when they catch up to him. All three of them swore bloody revenge, and knowing them they’ll pull through with that.”
Snow. The first this season, but most certainly not the last.
Later that day, when he had left the graveyard behind, the Warriors of Light and the Scions returned with the things necessary to build a ram to break into Azys Lla by force. Cid said it would take less than five days, and Estinien heard the wheels of fate grind ever onwards, somewhere underneath the gentle and taunting whisper of Nidhogg.
Ysayle’s laughter rang clear as a bell as she opened her arms and twirled around, winds tugging at her long hair and her clothes. It was as if the crestfallen woman with her beliefs broken beyond repair was a thing of the past, and Estinien had to admit it was an astonishing sight to behold. She had been fury incarnate when he had claimed that Nidhogg needed to be slain for real, and then refused to do anything until they had done the dirty deed and she had led her “heretics” back into the Western Highlands, into one of the many abandoned houses that had resurfaced from underneath the snow.
Sure, with the blue lightning striking against the much darker blue sky, maybe this entire scene was bewitching in its own right, but the longer he looked the more beautiful she became. It was as if she left bitterness and scorn behind for a moment – and he was afraid of what that meant. She had known they would fly for Azys Lla tomorrow.
What else did this woman know about their plans, the future, or this entire situation at hand?
When she once more grabbed his arm to pull him along through the ragged environment of the Churning Mists, he forced the thoughts out of his head. There was time to brood and think about this mess, but now certainly wasn’t one. Haurchefant had been correct when he had claimed that Estinien needed some off-time, way back when the Manacutters had been incomplete. The Azure Dragoon had simply not known how to stop, with Nidhoggs angry voice pounding against his ears in every waking moment. But now it was barely a whisper, just a gentle suggestion to kill the woman and be done with her, to take over the heretics and spill the blood of all dragoons that had been involved with—
Estinien shook his head furiously and stopped dead, groaning slightly and clutching his head. Ysayle had let go the moment she felt him tense up, and now merely watched with a partially worried, partially amused expression on her face. She already knew of Azure Dragoon antics related to Nidhogg’s anger – back when Tioman had been slain, both Lahen and Estinien had tensed up and either shaken their heads or loudly claimed “That’s not true!”.
“So, he yet carried on tormenting you.”
“Yes. But at the very least it will just be all past, current, and future Azure Dragoons he torments, instead of simply all of Ishgard. I would gladly bear that cross, if it means that the rest of both dragonkin and citizens of Coerthas and Ishgard are free from his rage.”
“How noble.”
“Anything but noble. ‘Tis a fool’s errand that we Azure Dragoons were set upon. Alberic noticed his errors in the wrong moment, I noticed mine when I was dragging myself back to Ishgard with broken ribs and bruises all over… And I’m quite certain that Al’nebar will inevitably notice hers. I just hope she manages to live through that like those before her did, but there have been instances where Azure Dragoons were completely lost to reason because of this torment. Ungh, my head…”
They took a break, until at last the sun broke through the clouds again for a second. During that second his headache vanished all of a sudden, and with it Nidhogg’s malicious whisper. Ysayle took that as confirmation that they could carry on, and she started talking until he almost begged her to stop. They weren’t all too different from each other, but that reminder stung as if someone had shot a poisoned arrow straight into his head. Estinien didn’t know if she ever noticed what all this casual conversation was doing to him – he was not used to people casually speaking to him as if he was a friend, without any kind of ulterior motive, something underlying that they needed from the Azure Dragoon.
He stayed with Ysayle until the sun set and the Churning Mists were completely swallowed in darkness, for after a while the thunderstorm stopped.
Oh, how serious she had been with her strange way of saying goodbye, “Farewell, take care of yourself and live,” he would learn the next day. As if she had predicted that the Garleans would pull this stunt.
There it was again, that strange ache. The malicious whispering. Nidhogg was back, his head was pounding, and he was quite sure that he was close to fainting.
“Oh, Fury above. What did I tell you about taking a break?”
Even in death, both the man they called Of the Silver Fuller and the woman they called Iceheart were mocking him. Was he even dead to begin with?
No… He was Nidhogg.
One of two. Goodness, may the Fury be forgiving with what would remain of Ishgard when the other Azure Dragoon gave way to Nidhogg’s ever taunting voice.