She wanted to say it, so badly did she want to let the words escape her lips. But pride is such a horrible nemesis. She's usually so confident, free to say the first which pops into her mind. Not now, not during this. ' I love you, ' is what wishes to come out, but in its place? It's only a simple; " thank you. " / estinien uwu
signed, @eredeha ; unprompted, always welcome.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒. Words of the tongue is something Estinien knows is Aymeric’s forte, something he obtained through his hard work in trying to obtain a better life for the Ishgardians, for their people that go beyond the war with the Dravanians. Estinien risked his life countless and countless of times, and yet, somehow, he’s still here.
And it’s given him the grace to meet her.
How? And why? Why does she care for such a war-stricken man like himself, who knows naught else but war? Undeserving, unworthy, and yet, he finds himself wanting. Estinien isn’t sure where, how, and when exactly did these unfathomable feelings come from, how in her strangely vexing mischief did she charm him. But he can see how her beautiful violet eyes looks at him, how it softens with that look that he knows. Instinctively, he knows, and he knows not where such thoughts appear.
Estinien never had such fanciful notions of falling in love and by the Fury, never thought what the morrow may bring, let alone the future. And yet, here he stands, with her looking ever radiant ( bloody hells, he’s ruined by her twinkling eyes ) and words held at the end of her mouth that what words come is not what he expects. And he finds himself wistful, perhaps even wanting, of that very thing he has never given the thought: a future.
Mayhaps, there is more to just his lance and the way of the Azure Dragoon...
Warmth comes in his chest, blooming like the fires of the hearth that keep him warm in the darkest of nights. Estinien is never one for gentleness as it is not in his vocabulary, his repertoire for the finesse of conversation. However, he finds that it comes with ease when he’s with her and it shows in the small smile he makes at her words.
Though, dense he may oft be toward the finer nuances of the emotional connection, he, again, finds it somehow easier to notice with Kaia. There’s a feeling that says she meant to say more, wanted to say more, and yet, the words come with enough sincere gratefulness that he lightly shrugs.
“But of course,” he says, “all you need is but to ask for my lance, and I will gladly offer it.” And then, his fingers ghosts over her cheeks, nigh close running through her red hair that reminds him of the sun, and then drops it to his side. And then, he lifts his hand to his chest. “Always.”