revolutionne | ❧ open post

Estinien certainly isn't making particularly good use of the invitation, given that so far he's only spoken to the two men he already knows, yet escaping the scene can't feel like anything but an improvement. They'll have to come back eventually, he assumes, but for now? He's not going to miss the opportunity on account of a bunch of strangers at a party.

Thankfully, Aymeric makes the next part a bit less complicated by making a suggestion. Estinien latches onto it, preferring not to make the choice himself. He nods his head again and turns around for Aymeric to jump onto his back, kneeling down a little as he does. Unlike his social handling of the situation, every part of his adjustment is graceful. He could do any number of acrobatic moves on this rooftop without ever risking falling.

"Aye, that I can support your legs." He pauses, waiting, and then adds: "You'll have to support yourself with your arms, so make good use of them."

He has yet to really see his friend flaunt his now fully earned dragoon abilities, though he had shown all those qualities long before earning his soul crystal (and, apparently, his armor). When it comes to things like this, Estinien is in his element and shows far more comfort with being perched high above the streets than Aymeric does by default.

There is pride in that even as Aymeric approaches and somewhat awkwardly mounts his friend. (A sentence that will not form in his mind no matter how it may try to.) He presses himself against Estinien's back, thighs hugging his hips as he wraps his arms around his friend's neck and shoulders.

Totally normal. This is not suddenly more telling than the dancing in the streets leading up to that. Not at all.

"Will this do?"

It's not exactly comfortable, but Estinien is also stronger than he used to be, benefitting from intense physical and aetheric training. He hooks his arms around Aymeric's knees, and determines that it's a load he can bear gracefully.

"Weightier than mine lance, but certainly bearable," he comments with just a slight bit of teasing, rooting his feet more confidently on the roof. He glances upwards to the buildings that surround them, mapping out a path towards the Vault that will require the least extreme jumps.

It's not completely different from how he'd carry an injured comrade off the battlefield, but they hardly have such a concrete excuse. Carrying Aymeric for the sake of a joyride rather than to save his life is very different indeed.

"On your word," he says.

He has been carried before, certainly, even before that sordid night spent out in the Highlands, but this is a different experience all together. He tries not to dwell on that too much, instead focusing on how Estinien shifts both of their weight.

Aymeric allows himself to chuckle against Estinien's back. "I will not take that too deeply to heart." He should hope he weighs more than a lance.

Though they are about to do this, aren't they? Aymeric glances over Estinien's shoulder towards the streets, the reality of it settling in. It should be a deterrent, but instead he feels budding excitement.

"I am ready."

Estinien doesn't wait for any further approval. He leaps.

It's as if the dragoon becomes weightless beneath him, an unseen energy seeming to guide his jump. Not as if the wind, but instead like something within Estinien himself, like his trajectory is somehow within his control even after his feet have left the ground.

With that power, Estinien carries them to the top of the next closest building with a single stride, and ten leaps again with the next. Each step defies gravity, and it's only when he approaches the Tribunal that he pauses at all.

"This will be the big one," he says as he drifts, bending his knees as he lands. Then, he flies. Using the Tribunal as his stepping stone, he makes for the skies, and for a moment it's almost as if he's on wing. It isn't until they reach the top of the Vault that his arch reaches its end, and they meet the tiles of its upper landing with supernatural grace.

At the first jump, Aymeric inhales sharply. He thought he would have been prepared for the sensation, but he was not. That Estinien could not put it initially into words may make sense--he feels, for a moment, like a cloud floating narrowly above the rooftops, weightless and and expansive all at once.

Yet as they move to their first drop, Aymeric's grip tightens instinctively even though he trusts Estinien implicitly, both in intent and skill. And with the next jump the feeling returns, his chest expanding with glee that he releases in a breathless laugh. Aymeric tries to silently name the houses and buildings that they pass, grinning from ear to ear.

The 'big one', as Estinien so aptly named it, makes Aymeric's stomach do a flip. For a moment it feels as if they may not land, only to continue up above the highest spires of Ishgard and into the Heavens to meet Halone Herself. In that moment, Aymeric might have welcomed it.

But they do land with a swiftness and softness that rightfully should not be possible in the combined weights of two grown men. Aymeric is all but clinging to Estinien at this point, buzzing with energy. He breathes out with another warm laugh into the back of his friend's ear.

"That was--that was amazing! You are amazing, Estinien. I have never felt so...so free in my life."

Before doing anything else, Estinien casts a cautious look around the area, making sure that none of the Vault's true denizens are in sight. Then, he focuses on letting Aymeric down off of his back, trying very hard not to dwell on how enthusiastically Aymeric has just sung his praises.

He never knows what to do with that kind of thing, even from Aymeric. So he stays quiet as the other man enthuses, not looking bothered so much as just looking a bit at a loss. Shy, even, in his reluctance to accept it.

"...Not the technique's intended purpose, of course," he says after a few moments, trying to sound more relaxed than he is. "Yet, the skillset has its unexpected benefits."

Such as whisking your friend up to the top of the Vault, and apparently making his night.

Aymeric disengages a little shakily, true to Estinien's implicatinos that he may not be built for such travel, yet he stands on his own two feet in the end. When he looks at his friend he is beaming with pride, fondness, and an electricity that only comes with a rush of adrenaline. It feels a bit like the first mission he took out into the Highlands as a Knight, leaving him fresh and hopeful.

That Estinien not easily soak in his praises is not unexpected, though it rarely stops Aymeric from singing them. While he is prone to politeness to all around him--and there is an amount of expected reveleries when dealith with aristocracy, genuine or not--he does not offer these compliments so earnestly and readily unless it is to those he deems worthy of them. And Estinien is most definitely worthy. And he, dare Aymeric allow himself to think it, almost looks cute like that.

"Nay, likely not." He seems to find most things funny at the moment, trying to hold in a chuckle. "But impressive all the same. The journey in and of itself was well worth it."

Yet when he turns to look at Ishgard from the precipice of the Vault, that is enough to take his breath away a second time.

"...I had thought it impossible to hold her in higher regard, yet I feel my heart swell for Ishgard as if it were the first time we took our oaths."

He's quiet for a moment, drinking in the cityscape, looking from the east end to the west, appreciating all the beacons of light and the shadows cast beneath them.

"She is imperfect, our city. That one can catch glimpse of those that want and those that have in one sweeping vista leaves much yet to improve upon...yet for centuries her walls have stood strong--broken in places, but not penetrated. These selfsame stones that kept our forefathers safe offer us the same refuge, but it is our duty to protect them--to protect the people within them." Estinien knows much of what pitfalls he sees and how he believes the Most Heavenly Knights should be doing to rectify them.

"But now? Now she looks...peaceful. It is hard to believe that war rages endlessly just beyond her borders, and I still find myself falling in love with her once again."

Aymeric turns his gaze back to Estinien, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, my friend."

Though this rooftop is far from Estinien's property, he can't help but feel as if he's sharing something that is his. As if, late in the night, this perch has become his own private place, his own little secret. It makes him happy to see Aymeric appreciate it so thoroughly, even if their love for the place seems to be rooted in different emotions.

He watches Aymeric take it all in with a twinge of longing in his heart and a pang of regret for his own cynicism. Aymeric has this effect on people, it seems. Hearing him speak can light a flame in the chest, warming even the coldest of hearts to his passions. Yet, while Estinien can feel the flicker of that hope, it's not something he can fully understand.

His relationship with Ishgard is complicated, sometimes viewing it as Coerthas's last hope, other times seeing it as the enemy of the common people. After all, its protection and peace is not, and can't be, offered to everyone in their nation. Yet, without it, would the place of his birth have had any chance at all? Without the Ishgard and their Azure Dragoon?

It's not unlike his feeling towards his adoptive father, and it's a peace he feels like he may never truly find, even as he craves it.

"Would that I could see her through your eyes," Estinien says softly, glances away in the same moment that Aymeric looks towards him. "I fear the sight may be wasted on mine."

Aymeric looks a little deflate at that, but not for the reasons that Estinien might assume. Waxing poetic takes himself by surprise sometimes, getting so worked up in what he sees now and both what he can see things become. He knows that he comes from a privileged position to do such. His brows furrow as he tilts his head, before shaking it.

"Rather than see Ishgard through mine own eyes, I would make her a place that you may feel the same."

He smiles then, a little crocked but no less genuine. Estinien has always been more sardonic and sobering and Aymeric has never once held him in less regard for it.

Estinien sees Aymeric deflate at his response and can't help but feel wrong for having inspired that reaction, to deprive Aymeric of his moment through grim observations. He puts out a hand, but then cautiously retracts it, obviously struggling to figure out what to say.

"I do not mean to take away from your enjoyment," he says. Most people he wouldn't mind dragging back down to earth over a subject like this, but with Aymeric... part of him not only believes in his imaginings of their home, but desperately wants to see them fulfilled.

"I... would be glad to visit the place you describe," he adds, still touched by shyness in that unusual way. "Truly."

Aymeric shakes his head again, quick to dissuade his friend of any guilt if he can. Though Aymeric believes himself better at schooling his reactions through necessity and practice, at times he feels so comfortable with Estinien that he feels no reason to, even at expense of his friend's feelings.

"You did not. Do not forget that what your eyes see is just as important. And this...this view, for the first time, I may get to see the city through your eyes. And what a magnificent view it is!"

He gives Estinien's shoulder a squeeze, hoping that it is as reassuring as he means it to be.

"You need not. This place may yet be worthy of your admiration. We shall make it so--together."

It's strange the way that their natures mingle - how Estinien draws Aymeric towards openness, and Aymeric draws Estinien towards kindness. There are few in the world that Estinien would feel guilt for ruffling the feather of, over just about anything. No one is entitled to be shielded from the truth, after all.

Yet, for Aymeric... there is something in him that Estinien wants to see preserved. Even as his friend tries to scale the cliffs of Ishgard's hierarchy, he would see that his heart remains unbroken. In others, he may resent or envy that hope, but not here.

Aymeric touches his shoulder, and it seems that they've been sucked into another one of these moments, Estinien indulging in the touch of another being in a way he often wouldn't. Part of him asks for more, in a way rooted deep in his chest, but his mind is incapable of fully decoding that desire. He lifts his hand, almost as if to touch Aymeric's face, but then seems to realize what he's doing and lays a hand on his arm instead.

"...If we are to make it so, I fear we may have to resign ourselves to actually attending the Fortemps' gathering ere it ends," he says with a little wryness. Though he is fully aware it's mostly his fault, they really haven't done anything to keep up appearances at this point, which he knows isn't what Aymeric was intending on. "Though, I think we may be permitted to linger here a short while longer, if you wish it."

Truthfully, Aymeric lives for these moments. Though he believes they get on well enough on most days, it is times like this where he feels they share a bit of themselves with one another. He can feel it like one might an aether current when traveling between crystals--a tangible thing as real as Estinien's shoulder under his hand. Despite the colder air up at this height, he feels blessedly warm.

For all that Aymeric tries to keep a balanced view, he knows that it is incomplete. He appreciates Estinien's honesty, his drive and passion in his own right. Though his goal has been rooted in sorrow, there is a light that shines in his eyes when he reaches each benchmark, when he spoke of his mail--it has become something a little more and Aymeric only hopes to foster that. That he find a purpose and gladness beyond the bloodshed.

That he have a reason to smile.

And now he seems to and it is more than enough for Aymeric to reflect it tenfold, brightening only more when Estnien returns the gesture. He holds those dear as well, knowing that his friend is much less inclined to physical displays of affection than Aymeric himself is.

"No ball or banquet could top this," he says, glancing away from Estinien to the city for only a moment. "I would like to savor this as long as we can."

For all her flaws...Ishgard is home. And not just to him--to them--to thousands of people. And it is for them all that she must continue to stand.

Aymeric looks thoughtful for a moment, though still smiling when he shifts his gaze back to Estinien.

"I must admit I am a little envious. Mayhaps I should set down my sword and pick up a lance?"

Estinien response with a short laugh, breaking contact after a few lingering moments and moving to swing his legs over the rail at the edge of the landing. It's a nice enough place to sit, even with the cast distance beneath one's feet. Estinien has little to fear from heights at this point.

"Ishgard should have higher hopes for you than to throw yourself at the claws of wyrms," he says. "You are capable of things I find equally unthinkable."

Dragoons are elite combatants, but they are also a role you take on with the expectation that you will likely die while doing it. They are better equipped than most, but also thrown at the direst of situations. Estinien plans to survive out of sheer spite, but he's less willing to imagine Aymeric taking that same risk.

"...Though I am sure you could rise to the occasion, were it to become your calling." It's not that Aymeric isn't a skilled combatant. He's just so much more than that, as well.

Aymeric moves to join the other man, though his motions are much more cautious. He is not afraid of heights, but he is not a fool to believe there is no danger for him in them. He takes care to hold onto some decorative spires as he settles down, peering over the edge and feeling quite a bit like a boy again.

"Entertaining the whims of the aristocracy is a battle in its own right, I shall give you that," he chuckles. Even more so for Estinien, who...well, entertaining them will never be in his set of skills and that is quite all right. Aymeric finds he prefers the other man's gruff nature to the false pleasantries of nobility anyway.

"Would that not be an amusing exercise?" he says as he looks up finally from the fall they could take. "I may have a try with a lance and you could pick up a sword and shield." No seriousness, of course, but training with Estinien has always been enjoyable.

"Although, jests aside, there is actually something I may seek your assistance..."

Estinien spent some time fooling around with swords as a teen, but his true focus was always on the lance, being the discipline of his master and of Ishgard's elite defenders. Nowadays he's sure it would be an awkward sensation with how accustomed he's become to the full-bodied movements of the dragoon.

"I would be more interested in your bow," he says lightly, though the thought doesn't have much chance to get anywhere before Aymeric begins what sounds like a proposition. Estinien's expression falls into one of puzzlement, uncertain despite his general willingness.

"What do you need of me?" he asks in a way that implies he is taking it very seriously. Aymeric said it wasn't a joke, after all.

"You have all ready done me many favors this eve, yet I still have more to ask."

Aymeric exhales slowly, looking down to his right hand as he holds it aloft, fingers curling as if to hold the pummel of a blade.

"Shortly before his passing, my father bequeathed to me Naegling, a sword that had been gifted to him by his father, and so on. That he see me fit to be worthy of such a family heirloom despite the fact we share no blood was humbling, to say the least. I have yet to give her the time she deserves in no small part due to my own hesitance to do her and the family wrong."

He shakes his head, looking back up and towards the other man. "I know these obstacles are of my own creation and I ought not to heed them. I mean to wield the Naegling in the coming days, though I will need practice. She is quite a bit larger than the standard issue blades of the Temple Knights and I feel to properly do so would mean that I adopt a new style, mayhaps removing other tools as necessary. Would you be willing to help, my friend?"

Estinien listens closely. He's glad for the continued reassurance that Aymeric's parents have treated him well despite everything, but he can also comprehend the worries associated with it. Though driven primarily by his own needs, at times Estinien had felt the pressure of Alberic's legacy. He did not doubt himself often, but in the times that he had, Alberic's tutelage would have made his potential failure all the more humiliating.

Thankfully, that never came to pass. He doubts it would with Aymeric, either, but that's not exactly the point.

"I know little of swordplay, but I would be full glad to give my perspective on matters," Estinien says, after a moment. He pauses and then laughs quietly. "...And you are already well aware of how much time I spend in the training yards. You would be ever welcome to join me."

The weight of legacy, however gained, is not one easily shaken. That Estinien might understand the situation has certainly crossed his mind even if his friend is not one to speak on such things. He speaks rarely of Alberic at all and Aymeric respects that privacy, gleaning what he can and accepting what is offered when it does. For all he knows of Estinien Wyrmblood, there is much yet to learn.

He also did not doubt his friend's agreement, though it still makes him smile. Aymeric does believe if he had some other sort of crisis Estinien would want to offer his aid where he could, but the battlefield is really where he shines with confidence.

"I trust that you would only give me your full, unbridled opinion," he says with a hint of amusement. "I had taken notice, yes." An understatement. "Mayhaps I will stop by sometime next week if you are not otherwise engaged. I have the distinct honor of an increasing load of mundane errands to run for my regiment."

Few that have led him onto the battlefield of late, but he never complains when the assignments are passed out. That Aymeric has started to garner more than his fair share is something he has also noticed, but shared not a word of. He has no doubt that it is a test of sorts--of his worth and his blood, both of which he is determined to prove satisfactory.

"Errands?"

Estinien raises an eyebrow, unsure of the meaning of such a statement. After all, in dragoon training, combat is all there is. He hasn't any perspective on how they would treat Temple Knights who have a trajectory besides that. He ends up frowning, after a moment of consideration, not liking the sound of it.

"To what end?" he asks, sounding like he's preemptively ready to become offended. "Have they mistaken you for their squire?"

If it's meant to be some manner of passive-aggressive attack against his friend, he will be very displeased.

Aymeric's mouth hangs open for a moment, but he gives due pause to consider his words before proceeding. Truly, he could complain, yet he knows that would reflect poorly on him. And by the tone in Estinien's voice, he seems all too ready to defend despite the fact that the said offenders are no where near by.

So he just smiles and shakes his head. "Some might find it preferable to stay well-within the city walls than heed the call of battle." Though that paints a poor picture.

Aymeric exhales slowly through his nose. "'Tis a test, as much as anything, and I intend to prove myself no matter how menial the task. You need not think on it, my friend. I would prefer that fervor ready for when I meet you with my sword."

In all honesty, Estinien himself would rather that Aymeric stay away from combat. Not due to any lack of skill, but simply because he knows the battlefield is anything but fair. No matter how formidable Aymeric becomes... there are so many things that could happen. So many ways that Estinien could lose this flicker of comfort.

Especially if the hierarchy itself insists upon undermining his efforts.

Yet, Estinien would not say as much. Aymeric is entitled to stand for himself, he's entitled to fight. In fact, to gain any of the respect he seeks, he may have to. It's simply the way of Ishgardian life. Nobles are expected to defend the city, perhaps more so than any commoner. Either way, Estinien seems reluctant to let it go.

"And how successfully you kowtow to their whims is meant to be a judge of your character?" he says, still struggling to accept it. "I would ask if they are selecting for knights or sycophants, but I think I already know the answer."

With his attempt to deftly wave off the matter with a few words having failed, Aymeric does allow his smile to falter a little. Estinien is right, of course--there could realistically be no real claim, accord, or positive review in Aymeric's future no matter how dutifully he attends to his tasks. He knows, even if he prefers not to think too hard on that aspect.

"I would not be so foolish as to liken these requests to your own trials, yet they are something I must do if I wish to be taken seriously. Whether they have the right of it or not, any step forward I take will be questioned, every step back will be attributed to the circumstances of my birth. I knew this when I enlisted. I am not afraid of the challenge."

Still trying to find a lighter note to the conversation, he thinks on their mutual acquaintance.

"Lord Haurchefant certainly is not and his noble deeds earned him knighthood all the same. Who here is not searching for the opportunity to prove his worth? I need only to grasp it once it makes itself known."

From what Estinien has heard, Lord Haurchefant earned his knighthood by taking an arrow for someone. He's not sure running errands is exactly an equivalent, but in a rare moment of tact, he declines to point that out.

He can't make himself comfortable waiting for chance to clear the path, which is what it feels like sometimes. As much as Aymeric speaks of making opportunities, it often seems as if opportunities come by luck or by having them handed to you by the whimsy of others.

It feels wrong to come to the conclusion that the only way to prove one's worth is to do exactly what the ones that would hold you down ask. All the same, he can tell that Aymeric is not enthusiastic about discussing this, as much as Estinien could continue to complain.

"I am certain the moment will come," he says, cutting himself short. He looks down at the city. "In the meantime, I suppose you will have to make time for our training, if you would truly have a taste of my regimen."

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