revolutionne | ❧ open post

The true test of the outfit was already done by seeing if it would interfere with his ability to climb this building - in the end, it did not. So, with his movement unimpeded, and nothing offensive about the look of the thing, he's more or less satisfies. The braid in his hair is also sufficient. In some ways, it's even better than his usual ponytail at keeping his hair from his face, though just hard enough to apply that he probably wouldn't do it himself.

As for the way other people might react to it... well, they didn't really stay at the party long enough to tell. He has an aversion to gaining attention for his appearance, but by all likelihood, it's all too middle of the road to gain much anyway.

Also, he wasn't expecting for Aymeric to get ready to go right on the edge of the building, and a flutter of anxiety goes through his gut as the other man climbs onto his back. It only dissipates once Aymeric is safely in place, and is then replaced with a different yet still related feeling.

"The bells have gotten away from me, as well," Estinien agrees, bracing himself. "So you know, the trip downward may be more... alarming than the way up."

Estinien gives Aymeric a moment to prepare, eying the stops he's going to try to make on the way down. A few separate jumps may be less alarming than one big free fall.

Aymeric is not one to be impeded by momentary fears, mostly for his own safety, but Estinien can take it instead as a vote of confidence that he would not let Aymeric fall. A long drop indeed, but he would never have scaled the Vault without Estinien.

Well, probably not. Who else would bear him hither?

Wrapping his arms around Estinien's shoulders and securing his thighs at his hips once again, Aymeric nods.

"I will do my best to keep that first glass of wine to myself."

Estinien finds himself smiling faintly as he makes sure Aymeric is properly balanced on his back, before carefully moving to the edge. Below them, the streets of the city stretch, shockingly far away for anyone unaccustomed to being airborne. This time, instead of propelling himself upwards, Estinien almost seems to skip off into the air, allowing it to catch him as he and Aymeric drift into a strangely weightless fall.

The wind is the most cutting thing, nothing about Estinien's technique being able to save them from it. He's thankful for the braid at that point, glad that Aymeric won't be entirely smothered in his hair - a major benefit to his armor, he's found. It protects him from the elements, and also from his hair being too violently whipped by the wind.

They plunge towards a lower platform on the Vault, at which point Estinien dances off of it and towards the next tallest building. Just as it seems as they are about to make a harsh landing, it feels almost as if Estinien has some control over his trajectory - the blow comes soft, besides Aymeric's additional weight. Same as he can project himself upward, Estinien seems able to guide their path through the air, speeding or slowing as necessary.

He easily makes their way back to the Fortemps Manor, only slowing once they are back on its roof. He makes sure to keep hold of Aymeric as they arrive, not wanting him to pitch straight off the building if he finds himself ill. This means, that as Estinien guides him to dismount, he may have more than the usual amount of hands on Aymeric's body, keeping him steady in something that flirts dangerously with the concept of an embrace as they separate.

"How about that wine?" he prompts.

It is most certainly a different experience than the ascent. Aymeric thinks that he is prepared, but he is not--not for the way that his stomach seems to leap up until his ribcage, displacing his heart and lungs as they fight to move to his head. He gives an undignified, but muffled yelp at the sensation, and yet...

...and yet by the end of it he is laughing. He is breathless. His heart is racing (having found it's rightful place in his chest) and Aymeric feels lightheaded and strangely tired despite the fact that it was most definitely Estinien doing all the hard work here. Estinien who, by the blessing of the Fury, remains untarnished by any inability Aymeric might have had to keep hold on that aforementioned stomach.

"Where...where it should be," he says, trying to catch his breath. "Estinien...that was exhilarating! Even more than when we made our way to the Vault itself. I never thought that falling could be so wonderful."

He sounds ready to wax poetic about the whole experience, finding that his legs are a little less steady than he expects them to be, holding onto Estinien all to ready as he tries to stabilize himself. Yet he is all smiles throughout, cheeks and the tips of his ears pink like he had spent just a little too long in the early frost of winter.

"...I must sound mad to someone who experiences this day to day, mustn't I?"

Estinien had imagined that Aymeric would have a strong reaction, but he hadn't been sure it would end up being such pure bliss. It stirs feelings within him as well, memories of the first time he committed to a true freefall during his training. It was an experience that had awakened something in him, but that he'd never seen fit to share. It seemed foolish, somehow, to rejoice in the thrill of a technique intended for war.

Yet, seeing Aymeric's reaction, his own emotions feel somehow more real. He can relate to what Aymeric is saying, at least, even if it has become more mundane by his daily standards. He keeps hold of his friend while he balances himself, one hand around his waist and the other gripping his shoulder.

"Nay," he says, with a soft smile. "The first time I allowed myself to fully commit to a dive, I recall it being similarly livening." Not least because a fledgling dragoon could easily kill themselves doing it incorrectly. "And then again, the first time my descent began off a wyrm's back."

He can't help but notice the pinkness of Aymeric's cheeks and ears with a particular fondness. Again, he feels the phantom desire to touch that soft skin, but holds back, realizing the sheer audacity of the thought.

He also notices, then, that he is holding Aymeric more closely in his arms than he has before.

The validation is not what he seeks, but it is appreciated nonetheless. More so than that he seems to brighten only further when Estinien seems to have shared the sentiment once upon at time. Yet before Aymeric can wistfully imagine what it must have been like for Estinien to take his first practiced dive in safer conditions, he's given the details that he should have expected.

"By the Fury!" He gives a surprised airy laugh at that. "Of course it was...never let it be said that you do not excel under the most dire circumstances, my friend. I will look back fondly on this night when the future Azure Dragoon deigned me worthy to bare witness to his skills."

Aymeric, however, does not notice the proximity. Not right away, at least, finding it increasingly comfortable in the same way closeness with Estinien had come so easily when they were dancing earlier in the evening. His hands stay at Estinien's shoulder and bicep as he watches his friend with what can only be described as unabashed affection.

Yet register it does, even a moment too late to pretend that he had just been trying to steady himself. Aymeric's ears deepen and he immediately looks away, pulling back at the same time.

"...Further exploration for another time, of course."

Estinien is never sure how to feel when Aymeric comments about his future as the Azure Dragoon - it's born of genuine belief, he's sure, but he can't help but feel like it's giving him credit he's not yet due. Aymeric is kind to him, overly so, and his estimations often ignore just how little Estinien has accomplished in the face of how much there is still left to do.

From Estiniens perspective, at least. Then again, he refuses to accept much comfort or credit for anything he does at all. Nothing will truly matter until the deed is done.

He won't outright refute it, though, because he has other concerns. Mostly that he's noticed how close he and Aymeric are - and then that Aymeric also seems to notice, a moment too late. Estinien's arms retain the position they held around Aymeric's body for a few moments even after the other has pulled away, before awkwardly falling back to his sides.

Another person might cover this with an awkward laugh, but this is Estinien, so instead, he just stares at his friend in an unconcealed way that is born of pure confusion. It takes him a while to figure out how to course correct.

The hand that still lingers on Aymeric's arm will pull him towards the gazebo window. A practical concern.

"...We should get you off these tiles," he says. "You cannot be certain they won't be slick with frost."

Edited 2020-11-03 07:19 (UTC)

Aymeric gladly takes the assistance back in through the window, mayhaps too gladly. He has always appreciated and enjoyed Estinien's company, yet for a moment there he almost felt as if he were reveling in it. The adrenaline must be to blame, coming off that high from the jumps and the drops that Estinien so graciously provided.

"Thank you," he manages with a level voice, letting his gaze stray towards the entrance to the gazebo. Light from the stairway trickles through and Aymeric realizes they had (shamefully) left the door, open. It does not seem like anything came of it, at least.

"Well, then. Shall we? We owe Count Edmont an audience, of which I admit I have been looking forward to. Then I have mind to find something to eat."

Estinien muses that either their absence has gone unnoticed, or it would appear that they spent an oddly long time in the gazebo. No other way to find out but to return, he supposes. Yet, his eyes linger on Aymeric when he isn't looking, only to flicker away when he is.

It would be a mistake to allow Aymeric to completely distract himself from this opportunity - no matter how much Estinien has found himself preferring their solitude.

"That much I would enjoy," Estinien says, finally breaking away enough to head for the door. He peers into the manor, wondering if they will be seen reentering. "I imagine the tour group has returned before us..."

Slipping inside, he'll pause to hold the door for Aymeric before carrying on.

He chuckles a little at that.

"I would hope so, otherwise they most certainly did get lost."

Aymeric would be lying if he said he also didn't prefer Estinien as his sole company, but there are social obligations to attend to. He has had a fantastic time thus far and there is not much he can imagine that would take his night down a peg.

Thanks to Estinien, he feels on a high when they make their way back down to the main floor. Haurchefant offers another wave from across the room, but is otherwise occupied with his current posse, which is fine by Aymeric. Smalltalk is traded with another Temple Knight who recognizes the both of them, mostly unassuming with a simple offer of congratulations to Estinien before moving on.

Despite all the experience he has had with rubbing elbows with aristrocary, Aymeric is still a little inwardly nervous when they do finally manage to catch Count Edmont de Fortemps himself. Yet the practice is paid off and Aymeric manages the conversation with that mixture of polite confidence and humility that he is coming to master. He is admittedly surprised to hear that Edmont had first heard of Aymeric's growing reputation within the Knights not from Haurchefant, but from from another one of the High Houses. A small moment of internal panic, yet Edmont speaks neutrally if positively at times. He seems a fair man.

Aymeric, of course, does not waste the opportunity all on himself. He makes it a point to introduce Ser Estinien Wyrmblood, the newest appointed Dragoon and a friend, two titles that Edmont says hold regard. (Humbling, if flattering, at least to Aymeric to hear that.) He offers the expected congratulations, saying he has heard something of Estinien's infamous tenacity both on and off of the battlefield, and thanks him for using that to help defend Ishgard. All and all, the conversation is filled with expected pleasantries and a few positive appraisals of service of both Aymeric and Estinien, despite the rumors of Aymeric's parentage and Estinien's own occasionally anti-social reputation.

Rather than make their host depart, Aymeric thanks Edmont for his time and excuses themselves so that they may partake in the finger foods offered. Once they are far enough away, Aymeric feels himself relax a little.

"...I would say that went rather well, wouldn't you?"

Estinien doesn't actually do much to disprove any reputation for being anti-social, given that he spends most of these conversations waiting quietly for things to conclude. It's not out of any distaste for the specific company - the Temple Knight they speak to he has no strong opinions toward, and he respects Count Edmont well enough. He just finds himself a bit smothered.

While Aymeric comes in with a high, Estinien feels like he's plunging into water from the free air up above. Here, he knows he has to watch what he says, particularly with Count Edmont, but increasingly he feels like he must with everyone else, also. He can't help but dwell on the idea that he's Aymeric's accompaniment, and his swell of fondness from their time on the rooftops only reminds him why that's so pressing.

So, while he refrains from saying anything crass, and he manages to just quietly accept praise for once, he also clearly is holding back from actually putting himself out there. Well, clearly to Aymeric, at least - to most, this stiff and unyielding exterior would be completely expected. Estinien never developed the ability to put on a social show, and it seems more than projecting any curated humility or charm, he simply shuts off when the risks of speaking freely are too high.

He limbers up a little when it's just the two of them at the food, through his eyes hold downward as he piles a few selections onto a plate.

"Hm?" It seems like Estinien responds at a delay. "Ah... aye. You, at least, come across effortlessly." He knows it isn't actually effortless, but the illusion of such seems important. At least in comparison to himself, who feels that it must be apparent that he is suffering through an endurance test when it comes to these kinds of situations.

Though this is a first time for them both in seeing Estinien in these sorts of social situations, Aymeric can tell he's trying. Uncomfortable, but trying, and that means the world and more to him. It feels that Estinien has done so much for him this evening--agreeing to be fussed over and dance in the street, the self-guided armory tour, taking Aymeric up to the Vault, lending him and ear, further offering his presence and silent support...

Aymeric shakes his head.

"I am in your debt." A remark with seemingly no preamble, yet sound all the same.

"I will not force upon you too many more pleasantries. I may, however, as you to pick a few macaroons for me," he says with a nod to the display. They are on the far side of Estinien and Aymeric is doing a good impression of how Ser Croquembouche looks when he is about to be fed. Almost too innocent.

Who said dessert had to come last?

Whenever Aymeric says something like that, Estinien finds himself baffled all over again, looking at his friend with an expression of genuine confusion. In his debt for... floating around while Aymeric speaks to the nobility? It doesn't help that Estinien is in the middle of cramming a pastry into his mouth while Aymeric says this, leading to a rather inelegant effect overall.

He does come back to himself enough to honour his friend's request for macaroons, though he still looks puzzled as he grabs a couple between his fingers and passes them along.

"...And what of that 'scheduled dancing' we prepared for?" he asks. He's lost track of whether they missed that part while they were on the roof, or whether that's still to come. It's also unclear what exact tone Estinien is asking this in. Is it because he's interested in it, or because he's dreading it?

Inwardly, Estinien also isn't sure what answer he's hoping for.

Though he would not say it aloud, the image of Estinien staring at him a bit like a confused hound with a pastry half-hanging out of his mouth is really painfully endearing. It's just so simple and innocent in his befuddlement, many may not see that as the same gruff dragoon they have come to know. Aymeric does not try to hide the way his smile grows, but he does not comment on it either, silently filing that away to revisit when he needs something to think fondly on.

"Thank you." He does at least offer the proper gratitude before taking a bite of one of the macarons. "Mmmm..." Something floral? Politeness is really all that regulates Aymeric to eating the cookie in three bites--he would be keen to pop the whole thing in his mouth in private.

"Ah...have we missed it?" Aymeric looks around to see if he can find a clock somewhere in this main hall. Not that he knows at what bell it is scheduled, but they do tend to fall around the same time at most of the High House galas he has attended.

In that process, his eyes fall on another group of knights conversing near the center of the room. Against his better judgment he makes eye contact with one and, of course, offers what would be considered a polite smile and nod of acknowledgment before shifting his attentions elsewhere. The knight in question tilts his head before smirking, patting one of his mates on he shoulder and pushes his way towards Aymeric and Estinien.

Aymeric's shoulders immediately tense, yet he straightens them out and turns to face the other man, offering a light bow in greeting once he is within range.

"Ser Triaraut."

Triaraut does not offer the same courtesy, but his eyes to crinkle a little in amusement as he glances between Aymeric and Estinien.

"Ser Aymeric...and...?"

Aymeric keeps his smile easy as he addresses his companion. "Ser Estinien Wyrmblood of the Knights Dragoon. My guest for the evening."

"Ahh...of course. I did hear they finally finagled a few more esteemed recruits into their ranks." He turns his attention on Estinien. "Do tell, Ser Dragoon--how fared the trials?"

Though Estinien is not always the best at interpreting intent or other social subtleties, one thing he is quite good at is spotting tension in other people. It's similar to what he'd look for in battle - to see muscles taught, preparing to strike, or preparing to flee. He sees a bit of both in this encounter and it's only just begun.

He also immediately notices that Ser Triaraut hasn't bowed in return, which leaves him wary from the start. He has no idea who this man is. He also makes the decision not to bow, instead just stands there with his plate, looking the stranger over as levelly as he can manage.

Despite it only having come up a handful of times, he's already getting tired of making his sanitized reports on how the trials went for those interested. He doubts they are hoping for the details of how he saw the aftermath of other men torn asunder.

"I survived them," he says briefly. "That is the main part of note."

The question is enough to bristle Aymeric, though he does a mostly good job at hiding it. The slight narrowing of his eyes is enough of an indication to those that know him. It had been fairly common affair for all they chatted with to speak with Estinien about his trials and accomplishments, but Aymeric has on good insight that Triaraut's intentions are not out of genuine interest or to offer praise.

He is, unfortunately, proven correct by the way the other man's smile pulls more at the edges as he chuckles with his teeth.

"That is all they require, is not? Then I must offer my congratulations. It is all too often that Ishgard is in dire need of such expert combatants."

He does bow then, but it is clearly for show. When he straightens, Triaraut's attention turns back to Aymeric.

"And so you invite your friend to tout his accomplishments to a worthy audience. How very kind! Though I don't believe you have any news to offer in kind of your own merit, have you?"

Aymeric exhales softly through his nose. "I am happily in service of the Temple Knights. That I can do my part for the greater good of Ishgard is a duty I readily fulfill."

Triaraut outright laughs at that.

"Spoken like a true patriot. I do hear that Captain Dreaurrant has been keeping you busy. We do all have our uses! Now, I am sure you are aware that House Dzemael is also recruiting. We could always use a diligent new squire."

Despite the tension, Aymeric manages to keep his voice fairly calm and even. "Should a name come to mind, I will be glad to offer my recommendation."

Estinien isn't particularly eager to discuss the trials with anyone, but Triaraut's reaction certainly sticks out to him as particularly grating. It's amazing, how some of these people are able to give a compliment that comes across as insulting just by presentation alone.

He is, however, not all that concerned with whatever daggers Triaraut may throw in his direction. To try to bring low the Knights Dragoon would do no one any particular favours, especially when he's well aware of how proudly the high houses boast of present and past dragoons among their families. Demeaning those that would willingly sacrifice themselves for Ishgard must be of poor taste, even among noble circles.

What he's warily anticipating, and less equipped to handle, is when his attention goes in Aymeric's direction.

For some reason, Estinien had liked to think that Aymeric was past the point of people outright insulting him in public. Estinien's expression immediately turns sour, both unable and unwilling to conceal his ire for a comment like that.

Yet, when Aymeric responds more calmly than Estinien could have mustered, he is reminded that he owes it to Aymeric not to make a fool of him - but he is equally unwilling to allow such comments to lie. Estinien feels like he is in a very bad spot, standing here with a plate full of hors d'oeuvre and a gut that's increasingly full of fire.

"Given what I've heard of House Dzemael, I had expected you would do a better job of concealing your daggers," he says flatly, staring at the other man.

Edited 2020-11-05 22:29 (UTC)

Aymeric had known that any sort of confrontation was a possibility at such a high-standing event with a good portion of the Pillars residents in attendance, yet it is decidedly more embarrassing that it is happening in front of someone whose opinion he does hold in regard. Not that he thinks Estinien will think less of him from the off-hand comments of a noble in need of amusement at the expense of others, but it still bothers him more than it would had he been alone.

To Estinien's credit, Triaraut de Dzamael does look quite honestly surprised at the remark. His brows raise as he turns towards the dragoon as surprise shifts to amusement. A lesser member of House Dzamael is still a Dzamael at the day's end.

"My, my, I come here wholly unarmed, Ser Dragoon." He raises his hands to show his open palms, then deftly takes a cup of wine as a waiter walks by with a tray. "'Tis but a courteous offer extended to those who might have want for an opportunity to...raise their station in a more objective setting."

Aymeric's good nature, forced as it feels at the moment, falters a little at that. He can take the questioning of his right to any semblance of nobility due to being adopted, but it is the allegations towards his origin of birth that sting the most. That somehow it both be a stain on his record and a boon to his achievements all the same.

Estinien could argue against the logic of this man's insult, defending Aymeric's merits with testimony or even just arguing that it would be difficult for him to receive the benefits of nepotism given his situation. Yet, he knows that it isn't really about that - and Estinien's methods of achieving satisfaction are much more direct.

"I take it you are accustomed to speaking without consequence," he says. "If you had any capacity to weigh the worth of your words, you would speak far fewer. While Ser Aymeric may have the grace to turn his cheek to the ways you are clearly lacking, I will not be so forgiving if you continue unchecked."

Estinien has no idea what social decorum he has broken by saying as such, unsure how much he can get away with or if he's already gone too far. Yet, with Aymeric's candid tellings of his troubles still clear in his thoughts, he refuses to sit idly by and just allow this to happen.

Everyone should be thankful, he thinks, that he has not already resorted to curses.

Shock comes from both men in that instant. Aymeric's eyes widen as he shoots them towards Estinien while Triaraut's own eyes narrow. Aymeric knows that there might be apologies needed--the High Houses are unaccustomed to such frankness from any whose station stands lower than theirs, no matter how they choose to conduct themselves. And yet...

He cannot find himself to be upset at this. Not at all. Not even to afford the expected apologies for his friend's--his chosen guest's actions. If anything, Aymeric feels his heart skip a beat.

Triaraut, on the other hand, sneers as his hold tightens on his wine glass.

"It is not I who is in need of checking, Ser Dragoon. Your promotion does not yet allow you to speak so out of turn--"

Before Triaraut can continue what is about to become a threat, Aymeric--suddenly all smiles that seem much more genuine--places his free hand at Estinien's shoulder, but faces Triaraut properly.

"As generous as your offer is, Ser Triaraut," he begins, making the conscious choice to use a title that they both share rather than acknowledging the other man as a high lord. "I believe that my companion has made it clear that I must respectfully decline. I am certain that someone who can prove themselves worthy of your discerning standards will make themselves apparent ere long."

Triaraut sneers, taking a long drink from his wine glass before absently setting it half-empty aside on the buffet table, left to be attended by someone else. He steps in closer, voice as biting as the teeth behind it.

"Do not make light of me, Borel. Your friend may have earned his rank and title, favored in the eyes of the Fury, but Thordan's favor will run dry. You forget that he did rightfully cast you aside. As a mistake."

At first, Estinien half expects that Aymeric will be upset with him, given Estinien's own worries that his resistance will only make things more difficult in the long run. Yet, that couldn't be further from the truth. After Aymeric's initially surprised reaction, it seems instead that the man nearly glows with approval.

This only proves to bolster Estinien's own confidence in this path, feelings of affection for Aymeric mingling with his disgust towards this man. He enjoys having Aymeric by his side, and to finally be able to turn away one of the aggressors that Estinien had mostly only heard of in retrospect. It is one of the things he'd hoped he would be able to accomplish when he first decided to accept the invitation.

Yet, in the end, this only makes his fire in his belly surge all the more violently at that final insult. Ears buzzing and pulse-pounding, his body moves on reflex. He seizes Triaraut's discarded wineglass and tosses its contents across his face.

"You shame yourself," Estinien snarls. "To show such disrespect to your fellow knight... and to the Archbishop himself."

Estinien normally wouldn't give a rat's ass about respect for the Archbishop, but he is firmly of the opinion that if you are going to cause a fuss over Aymeric's parentage, that the Archbishop himself should be the one held accountable. He doubts they would have the gall to make such accusations towards the man actually responsible.

That final comment was pointed, sharp, aimed right for his heart. It is rare that the insults be so candid, yet it is clear that Triaraut's feathers had been ruffled enough that he thought it warranted. He should have predicted as much when neither he nor Estinien had seen it fit to back down.

He could not have predicted Estinien's reaction, no matter how well Aymeric thinks he knows the man. Despite all that has been put upon him for appearances, Estinien has been on his absolute best behavior. Some of the mirth leaves his face as soon as that glass is lifted and he sees it all happen in slow motion. Wine splatters across Triaraut's face and the man in question is understandably even more shocked than Aymeric is.

If no one had been watching this confrontation before, they certainly were now. Conversations around them stopped immediately and there were several gasps as one of the (little) Lords of House Dzamael stood with wine dripping from his face.

Aymeric, looking a little dumbfounded, turns to Estinien with wide eyes and lips slightly ajar.

"How...how DARE you!"

The commotion has garnered more than a few onlookers. Aymeric can see some of the stationed House Fortemps' Knights moving forward to investigate out of the corners of his eyes. No, this will not look good on them at all, no matter how congenial their conversation had been with Count Edmont. Aymeric lightly squeezes the hand that still rests on Estinien's shoulder and gives a tug backwards.

"Pray excuse us...but do enjoy the wine!"

If Estinien will let him, Aymeric abandons the buffet entirely and starts leading the dragoon out of the banquet hall and out into the hallway proper, hopefully fast enough as to avoid the knights entirely. He speaks low to his friend,

"I think it best if we forego the dance, don't you?"

It's not so much that Estinien doesn't realize what he's doing until it's over - more that he doesn't fully think out the consequences until they have already begun. He supposes it makes sense, that a private argument is one thing, but throwing a drink is bound to draw the attention of everyone surrounding them. Yet, part of Estinien can't help but reason that Triaraut is fortunate that it was a drink and not a fist.

It's at this point, too, that Aymeric looks more shocked than pleased, which admittedly does something to dampen Estinien's spirits. Aymeric will manage to pull him part of the way back from the situation, but before they can fully escape, Estinien will stop him. The reality of the situation is catching up.

"Nay," he says, the stress of the situation beginning to match the anger in his gut. "I... have acted in haste, and my actions are mine own. I must stay to accept responsibility, lest they misconstrue the source of the disruption."

Not to mention, he keeps casting glances in the direction of the table they just left, and he's not sure it would be as simple as slipping out and pretending it never happened.

Estinien is a man who has never turned down in the face of opposition, and yet Aymeric still finds himself surprised and humbled in that instant. So he does not resist, only nodding in agreement. Truthfully Estinien has done more than Aymeric could have even asked for.

So as the crowd parts further and the Knights make their way towards the pair, Aymeric does offer the other man a smile, fond and genuine.

"You have my thanks, Estinien. Rightfully I ought not encourage it, but...'tis the first that someone stood in my defense. Whatever the outcome, I am yet by your side, my friend."

Estinien's gaze lingers on Aymeric, surprised to see that the man's appreciation seems to have already returned for reasons he can't fully comprehend at the moment. To Estinien, he feels like he must have only made it worse, but to heard Aymeric speak would make it seem otherwise.

Either way, after allowing his expression to fall to something worried and unsure, he finally girds himself and turns away. He crosses his arms as if preparing himself to enter a dispute.

"Well, don't let them drag you down with me," he murmurs and then proceeds to move forward to greet the knights without further resistance. He'll cast a glare towards Triaraut through the crowd, only to address that have started to gather with conjured confidence.

"Mine apologies," he says. "But Ser Triaraut's unseemly words have momentarily released me from my senses."

And that's where it starts.

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