//. @eclipsewaxing // confession.
A part of him wishes he had done this sooner. The timing couldn’t have been worse, if he was honest with himself, but the events of the last few days were all he could think of to properly justify his decision. He had asked Rinh’a to come see him at the appointed hour, and he sat alone at the edge of stone, legs hanging weakly as if to touch wayward clouds. The past seventy-two hours had seen him in the clinic, scarce to emerge–he busied himself with tending to those injured by the chaos that followed in the wake of their charge into the Vault. Ser Aymeric specifically required his attention, and Rham’ir needed the outlet, redemption for failing to save their friend. Scarce had a moment gone by where he wasn’t haunted by the memory–the sound, the sight, the scent of Haurchefant’s blood. The horrendous sizzling crackle of aether and the shriek of splintering metal. Chainmail ripping as if it were but mere parchment.
It was a far cry from Carteneau. But so quickly and easily was he brought back to those moments where all he could see was red. All he could smell was blood and smoke. His body had scrambled of its own accord, thoughts of the Archbishop and the Heavens’ Ward far from his mind. His own aether consumed to heal–a forbidden practice, but he had not the time–Haurchefant had not the time–to allow for the aether to gather from ‘round to heal so massive, so fatal a wound. And it was just as the flesh tried to mend itself that the light faded from his eyes. So quickly was he gone. A mere flash, his dear friend ungently ripped from him. And no amount of aether at his fingertips could undo it. Nothing could tether the soul back to the body that couldn’t withstand the damage it had sustained–damage that was meant for him.
Death surrounded him. Frigid hands clawed for those he held dear, latching on with sure, unflinching grip. And it was this when Rham’ir awoke in a cold sweat, one night of many, with the terrifying possibility of telling Rinh’a to leave. Leave and never come back. Never make the mistake of being around him. Just a few days prior, he had been trading playful quips with him, teasing one another with relaxed banter under the stars on a journey that should have demanded more stern attention from them. Everything seemed so easy. Everything was going as it should have. He… he was doing everything right! And yet… Letting Rinh’a go was… out of the question. The very idea sent him into hysterics, often at night, alone on the washroom floor. Losing Haurchefant was bad enough. As much as he should tell Rinh’a to leave for his own safety… His chest felt as though it were scooped hollow, soul chilled within its mortal cage. Being apart from one who had given him so much strength. So much happiness… His hands trembled. He tried to push the thought away.
If he couldn’t tell Rinh’a to leave. Then he had something else to say. Something that needed to be said. They had come to a crossroads, and while the Scions tried to figure out what to do next, Rham’ir resolved to present the crossroads as he came to it to he who would either join him on the path, or abandon him. Moments pass as he waits, and he recalls to mind H’nhamu’s words to him just before he died. The offering of an invisible ring, the promise of a life together after everything was over. A promise unfulfilled. A promise made much too late. Rham’ir couldn’t let that happen again. Not with Rinh’a.
When he eventually arrives, Rham’ir can barely turn his head. Weak from expenditure of aether as well as his emotions going haywire, he offers little in the way of a physical greeting beyond the gentle flap of the tip of his tail in the snow behind him.
❝ I’m glad you’re here, ❞ his voice is hushed amidst the silence of the snowfall. The mourning echo of the plummeting concrete below.
inaction and complacency were equally as responsible for the murder and unjust death that’d taken the beloved elezen as the bolt of aether itself, rinh’a would reckon. there’s a numbness in hearing the news, it being broken to him as opposed to witnessing it play out in front of him. the numbness was intentional, to a degree, his own method of staying sane when the loved ones around him fell as a mere result of associating with him. he understands the grief that comes along with the path rham’ir would walk, perhaps not in the same exact way, but a measure of understanding regardless
and thus does he make himself scarce -- rham’ir doesn’t seek him out, mourning through action and busy work rather than allowing himself to grieve fully and emotionally. rushing the process would likely do more harm than good, and his own contributions to providing a salve to a wounded, hurting city-state needed to be made too. it does little and less to ease his gnawing anxiety about rham’ir’s well-being, but far be it from him to wag his finger at rham’ir’s less than healthy approach. he’s done worse, and at the end of the day the summons, as it were, brings some amount of relief to the wiser’s growing worry. oh, how the mighty would fall.
at any rate, when he does, indeed, turn up to the meeting place -- precarious, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel an urge to, say, jump off the cliff, for science of course -- it’s clear he’s been doing barely any better than rham’ir. for one, his facial hair’s gruffer, and it’d be remiss to say nothing of his eyepatch worn upside down. it would seem his natural airheaded quality returns to him in the face of high stress, or when he wasn’t in sociable settings. even now he notices rham’ir’s overall haggard appearance, how unanimated he was in his reactions. wordlessly, rinh’a takes his place beside rham’ir, and wordlessly still does he ponder the appropriateness in pulling the other man into his lap to keep him warm, as though the cold, yes surely the cold, was what sapped his strength and attentiveness and not the emotional burden he found himself saddled with.
the larger opts to fold his hands together in his lap instead, but permits his leg to touch rham’ir’s. his tail unconsciously lays across rham’ir’s, curling around his rear in a gentle, constant contact, reassuring him he was here and not a ghost, a figment of his imagination or haunted past.
the words come then, dry and amused. “alas, you do know how to keep a man waiting in suspense,” a gentle tease, much softer than his usual barbed quip. concern leaks through the cracks in his voice, only just not breaking from disuse. “but i won’t begrudge you that when you’ve had much and more to think about.”
his hand on rham’ir’s knee now, offering warmth and a gentle squeeze. for a moment, he’s unsure if he should allow rham’ir to beat around the bush, to navigate this conversation at his own pace or if he should get to the heart of the matter. it’s in his nature to get things over and done with, less time to fuss over it and more time to focus on doing things, but he finds it difficult to push rham’ir now. so he doesn’t. “i am here now, though -- for whatever you may need.”
