no angels could beckon me back

[baemeric]

[ Aymeric is aware he's been sent on this particular posting to harden him up. He is no longer the round-cheeked boy he was when he joined the Knights, and he'll complete a march without complaint, but the others still see him as soft. He knows it. Too much of a whiff of nobility to fit with the recruits from common families, and of stock too poor to fit in with those from high houses. His face works against him, as does his voice, and the questions he uses it to ask are unwelcome from one meant to follow every order. He is probably the only person in this particular group who hasn't committed any actual infractions. Estinien surely has, although this time Aymeric isn't quite sure what it is he's done - insubordination is usual, or fighting. It hardly matters; Aymeric is glad to have his company. Especially for work as dull (if needed) as this. The assignment involves a long, freezing march out to deliver supplies to a settlement, culling the beasts encroaching on it, and then another long, cold march back immediately after - the orders not to linger (and perhaps find people in the settlement who might be willing to share a fire or a hot cup of tea) were terrifyingly strict. But it's nothing Aymeric can't handle, under usual circumstances, and he is determined to prove his capability.

Even if these are very much not normal circumstances.

He'd supposed he was getting ill, at first. Feeling too warm, tired and fidgety all at once. By the time they were halfway out his skin had become so sensitive that it almost hurt to have his clothing against it, let alone his armor and the heavy pack he was laden with. He pressed on, determined not to complain, to squash the discomfort -

but once the wyverns attacked, he'd had to feed all of his efforts into fighting them instead of what malady gripped him. A swarm of them, far greater than the usual number found out here unless accompanied by dragons, and the fight had been long and arduous. By the end he'd been so consumed by the heat burning under his skin he would surely have been taken in the icefall had Estinien not hauled him bodily aside. There's rumbling, deep and threatening, and though Aymeric knows dimly what that heralds and hears Estinien's warning shout, he cannot think what to do.

All he can think of is the heat under his skin, the ache in him, and the scent of Estinien, the strength in his arms as he all but carries Aymeric into the cave. It makes sense now, though he'd rather it didn't. He would prefer to deny the undeniable. He tries, pacing the borders of the cave and the great white tumble of snow that has fallen over the entrance. He's so hot, and the need in him is great and only growing. He balls his fists, bites at the inside of his cheek, and when he sees Estinien is preoccupied with starting a fire (gods, please, not more heat) he steals the opportunity to scoop a handful of snow and press it to the back of his neck. ]

Not now. [ Whispered, low. ] Fury, not now.

Comments

[vindictae]

[ in nearly any other circumstance, there is no one but aymeric that estinien would rather have at his side.

there are plenty within the knights who call the other elezen weak, soft-skinned, spoiled by an upbringing wreathed in privilege. but estinien needs no other proof than that mischaracterization to mark them as fools; it would take a blind man to miss the fire in aymeric's eyes, the steel in his spine, the passion that runs like a fever in the undercurrent of every word he speaks. so there's a certain comfort in being sent out on even a mission like this one when he knows he'll have aymeric at his heels, and it takes some of the venomous sting out of the knowledge that he's being sent out like a cur they intend to exhaust into obedience.

unfortunate, then, that this missive is determined to be even more of a punishment than was intended.

the march out is much the same as a hundred others that they've done before -- leaning into a wind so punishing that it sears frostburn across his cheeks even under his helmet, focusing on the sound of his breath against metal and his boots crunching the snow to mark his progress. the storm is punishing, and perhaps that's what makes it so that the wyverns are nearly on top of them before their company is aware of the attack. suddenly, the howl of the wind is replaced by fire and fury, and the driving snow makes it so that their company ends up scattered and scrabbling. but somehow, despite it all, there is aymeric at his back even as they lose the rest of their company to the blizzard and the battle; an arrow finding the eye of a wyvern moments before it has the chance to sink its teeth into estinien, his spear cutting down the wyrm before it can round to tear its revenge from aymeric's skin. they fight together like they were meant to do it, and there's a savage satisfaction in it that heats his blood against the cold.

but then there's the icefall, and aymeric standing blankly in its path as if his feet have been rooted to the ground, and estinien only barely manages to lunge for him in time. it's been enough to cut them off from the others entirely, and there's something about the way aymeric sags against him instead of finding his feet again that screams wrongness. it's enough to dampen the bloodthirst still howling in him; instead, he wraps an arm around aymeric and all but drags him to the closest shelter he can find them, his mind leaping to the worst conclusions. an injury? an illness? some foul poison?

it's training that kicks in, gets them both into a cave and has him building up a fire before he even allows himself to turn fully towards the problem. but then, because the anger is a cancer that bubbles on every emotion, he turns towards aymeric with a growl. ] Are you addled?

Should I beg your forgiveness for pulling you from the path of that icefall? You stood there as if you were praying for it to take you. [ stalking towards him, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. already reaching to unbuckle the chestplate of the other man's armor and start to tug it roughly off, expecting to reveal some grievous injury that might explain aymeric's state. ] If you've been wounded --

[ but, no. pulling off that first piece of armor is enough to reveal what the tearing wind and the insulation of steel had hidden, and the scent that comes pouring off aymeric's skin hits estinien like a physical blow. he drags in a sharp breath before he even remembers why that might be unwise, the chestplate slipping out of his suddenly uncooperative fingers and clattering to the cave's floor. ]