I thought for sure I posted this wip a while ago but I can't seem to find it SO
ESTINIEN AND YSAYLE POST HVW REMEET, GOES AS WELL AS YOU THINK IT DOES >:3c
cw alcohol consumption
There was tense silence that filled the space between them, frustration and guilt mixing in with the despondence that threatened to consume Surkukteni as she glanced up and between Ysayle and Estinien.
“Was that Bajsaljen?” Estinien asked, quick to take the distraction.
Surkukteni nodded, but she didn’t look at all comforted that she’d finally been contacted by the Bozjan Resistance. “It was about Altan. She’s finally awake.”
Surkukteni’s little sister?
“Is she alright?” Ysayle was quick to ask, inadvertently confirming that her voice bothered Wyrmblood.
“No.” Surkukteni swallowed hard, shaking her head and tussling her messy hair in the process. “He wouldn’t give me the details, just that she’s up and making things difficult for the chirurgeons.”
There was the source of the conflict on her face, eyes screwing shut and lips twisting into a frustrated snarl. “I can’t just not, but godsdammit this fucking timing.”
“Your family comes first,” was Estinien again, pointedly not looking at Ysayle - despite the fact that she was just a few fulms away from him at this point. He took Surkukteni’s arm, catching her attention so that it was solely on him. “We can deal with this later. Do you need me to come with you?”
“I know what you’re doing and regardless of it, it’s not a good idea.” Surkukteni sighed and pulled away, glancing between Ysayle and Estinien again - lingering longer on Estinien. “I was prepared for the stress that this would bring considering everything, but to do this, leave it unresolved, and have Katsuro find out about our relationship? He’s inevitably going to be there, and it’s just going to cause more stress when Altan doesn’t need it.”
A pang of guilt shot through Ysayle at that; that Surkukteni had expected turmoil hurt worse than any mortal wound. Protests about Estinien’s attempt to flee that she had wanted to voice died in her throat, scarred hands curling into themselves. ‘Twouldn’t be appropriate; best to mind her tongue.
As if she weren’t there, the conversation continued on: “Your brother ought to have some sense knocked into him,” Estinien muttered as Surkukteni slipped from him and towards the door.
“And I’m forever this close to enacting it myself.” Surkukteni’s boots were hiked back up, strapping each one down tight around the scalemail that covered her large, muscular thighs - a peculiar knife tucked into one, with pale emeralds set into its pommel and sheathe. “...I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. I’m sorry.”
Surkukteni walked back to pull Estinien in a quick embrace that he mirrored, conflict still clear on her face. She repeated the same with Ysayle, her grip tight to almost smother her in her arms - equally as large and muscular as the rest of her. A heavy sigh slipped from Surkukteni’s lips as she walked back to the door, lingering at the handle as her gaze lingered on Ysayle.
“It’ll be fine,” Ysayle tried to assure, yet she knew she couldn’t promise that as she caught Estinien tense at the sound of her voice again. “Focus on your sister.”
The tension didn’t ease at all from Surkukteni, shaking her head as she finally opened that damned door. “I wanted to be here, but…” She swallowed hard, composure settling into place as she gave them one last glance. “Good luck. ...I pray things go well.”
It was all Ysayle could do from looking horribly guilty, giving an assuring - yet fake - smile back. “You as well.”
Estinien said naught, though his gaze yet lingered on Surkukteni - even as the door closed soundly behind her.
Tense silence was the only companion Ysayle would find in that room; a tension most tangible, a silence that threatened to suffocate. The only thing she could hear over the anxious thudding of her heart in her ears was the muted sound of an incessantly ticking chronometer.
As Estinien said naught.
‘Twas his turn, it seemed, to be as still as a statue; but not quite, as she could see how his hands clenched into fists - over and over, yet saying naught. It wasn’t the stillness of stone, but the trembling rigidity of something about to crack that paralyzed him — like a bow pushed to its limits.
And much like a bow looses its burden to avoid shattering under the strain, the tension in the air snapped as Estinien stormed out of the room.
The frustration in Ysayle’s breast had finally reached a boiling point, quick to stalk after him, thoroughly sick of the silence. Venom burned hot against her tongue, right on his heels as he made his way into the kitchenette. “And where are you going?” she spat, words acting like arrows that he had set free.
“I need a drink.” His voice was curt, sharp; right to the point. So much restraint, so much tension - yet he wouldn’t even look at her. “I can’t damn well do this sober.”
It mutely occurred to Ysayle that this was the first time he’d directly spoken to her - the first time in years. Some bloody reunion. Not that it changed anything about her conscious actions, feeling less willing to be civil with each moment that passed. “Am I such an affront to you?” Predictably, he said naught. Instead, he pawed through the cabinet noisily - not looking at her, not speaking to her. “Do you loathe the fact that I live? That I survived? That I stand before you now? For what reason do you have to act like this?”
Still nothing. Seemed he wasn’t going to bother with a glass, instead just ripping the top off of some bottle of gin and tipping it back with little regard for himself.
Still that chronometer ticked on; still that taught tension like another arrow had been drawn. A million and more things flooded Ysayle’s mind, itching to loose them at Estinien, yet found herself stuck in indecision as she stared daggers into him - ever her opposite as he just seemed despondent. The gin bottle hit the extended shelf loudly; one hand a fist around the bottle, the other balled up on the surface - knuckles as white as bone.
Still, Estinien said naught.
Still, the chronometer ticked on.
Still, Ysayle’s heart roared in her ears - poisonous words damming up her throat.
The tension snapped; and with it, Estinien’s silence.
“Four years,” he rasped in a low voice, each word carefully enunciated - impact after impact - yet said at a snail’s pace. His tempo gradually picked up with every sentence that left him, yet the tension eased naught - only stoking the fervor that he spoke with; a fervor that set the ever-increasing, cruel rhythm he followed. “Four years. Four bloody years. Four years of grieving, four fucking years of guilt and self loathing - four godsdamned years of watching someone I love lose herself in your absence. Of doing what I could to atone while knowing damned well it’d never be enough; of wishing and cursing mineself out for it not being me instead - for if anyone were to fall, it should have been me and not you. Of bells spent talking to nothing - relaying what I could recall - and yet.”
The most defeated, most self-deprecating laugh escaped Estinien, bowing his head as silver curtained his face and hid it from view. “And yet here you stand.” His voice cracked as he spoke, so quiet Ysayle almost missed it. “Here you stand as if none of it happened. Here you stand like it all happened but yesterday, and you still loathe me all the same - not that I can blame you, you’ve every reason to.” A shuddering breath, but he still wouldn’t look at her. “Funny. It all came so freely when I thought I was talking to you, and yet as you stand before me it instead eludes me. Bloody typical.”
Try as Ysayle might, the urge to be argumentative still rose - still drove the response that came to her. It was funny, wasn't it? To her, it sounded like a lot of words to say next to nothing at all. Anger burned in her breast that she tried to douse, but it grew harder the longer silence stretched on between them. All of that, and for what?
"You sound as if you're faulting me for surviving," Ysayle began, trying to rein her tone in and failing miserably. "For what I did to help you and yours. Pardon me for not alerting you specifically that I wasn't dead; I was a bit preoccupied with recovering from a near-death experience!" It was all Ysayle could do from seething, but by the gods she wished Surkukteni was there.
"The problem isn't that you survived, it's that the circumstances in which you damn well seemed to die should have never happened." Estinien sounded as if he were trying his hardest to not shout, voice restrained and body still as tense as a bow pulled beyond its limit. "That I contributed to you feeling as if the only way you could be of any use to us was to sacrifice yourself for our cause still eats at me to this day - not at all lessened by how much it clearly pains Surkukteni to be without you. That neither of us could do anything to stop or aid you remains a sticking point ever still, and I know I’m speaking for Surkukteni in this moment but she’s no doubt expressed similar sentiments to you herself." His voice cracked further as he finished his piece, still refusing to even look at her.
In all honesty, Ysayle had expected him to tear into her - to fault her for everything, for not saying anything about her return to health - yet that so much of what he said was placing the blame on himself quelled her frustration somewhat, whilst tempering her anger moreso. If anything, it just surprised Ysayle. This didn't at all sound like the same man. ...The man who berated her for her optimism and idealism.
"I don’t understand,” she muttered, shaking her head as she tried to clear her muddied thoughts - where to even begin processing that. “You hated me, you made that much very clear - why do you sound like you don’t?”
“Outlandish idea, but mayhap because I don’t?” Estinien flinched at his own tone, finally letting go of the bottle to keep it from shattering in his grip - running that same hand across his face and brushing aside silver bangs momentarily before they shielded his expression yet again. “...There’s no excusing what I said or did back then. I can wish all I want that I’d never said those things to you, but what good will that do?”
“What are you getting at with this?” Ysayle’s arms crossed over her chest almost defensively, flinching backwards at his shift in tone - it was so alien to hear his voice take that vulnerable quality, it felt wrong. “We were enemies. Opposites ideologically and factionally - so why do you seem so broken up over this?”
“Because when you extended an offer of aid, I took it as an opportunity to tear into you. Because when you did what you could to help us even as it violated your morality and better judgement, I still berated you regardless. None of what I did was fair nor right, especially as you and Surkukteni grew closer.”
“I killed your countrymen, I worked with the Horde that killed your family - why the change in heart?”
“...Do you truly believe I’m incapable of such a thing?” A heavy sigh slipped from Estinien, dragging his hand across his face yet again. “Do you truly believe that I am without regrets for what I’ve done and said and enabled?”
“‘Tis not as if you’ve given me much reason to believe otherwise.” Ysayle’s arms tightened around her chest, knowing damn well what she said wasn’t entirely true.
“Ysayle.”
Her name said with his voice - something she damn well wasn’t used to - had her freeze in place, watching as he finally turned to face her. Fitting that one could describe his eyes as stormy, as all she could see in them was a tumult of emotion like the name implied. And unless her mind was playing tricks on her, she swore they were the slightest bit red.
“I’m sorry,” Estinien began, surprising her with the sincerity in which he spoke. “I’m sorry for what I did and what I said - for undermining and belittling your beliefs. I took you for granted, and that’s my fault to bear. Allies by circumstance or no, how I acted was inappropriate. I know words mean little, but it ought to be said regardless.”
Mayhap it spoke to how little faith Ysayle had in Estinien from when they knew each other or mayhap just a general lack of faith in her fellow mortals, but an apology was the last thing she’d expected - let alone from him, genuinely taking her by surprise and caught speechless yet again. She blinked wide eyes at him, trying to keep her jaw from going slack yet finding her ears betrayed her as they perked up and folded flat against her head - the godsdamned things. It took her far too long to realize he was waiting for her to respond, the quiet that stretched between them an increasingly awkward one.
Ysayle would answer honestly: “I don’t know what to say,” she muttered, a hand falling over her mouth.
“You don’t need to. Frankly, that you can respond at all is beyond what I ever expected.”
Right, the dying business. Ysayle’s lips folded into a thin line as she watched Estinien, trying to see when this facade would crack - this had to be some joke she was being strung along into! - yet...she saw nothing. One could probably tell the moment she realized his sincerity - how her eyes widened slightly, how her ears drooped down more noticeably - but she at least elucidated this and didn’t stay silent.
“You genuinely mean it,” she muttered, surprise tinging her words. “Don’t you?”
“I’m a shit liar, so you’d know if I didn’t.” The bottle was retrieved again, though this time he leaned back against the cabinet as he took another swig from it. It hung just shy of an ilm from his lips - drawn into a line - as he stared down at it, expression difficult to read. Only after a moment did he glance back, looking forlorn - guilty, even. “I don’t wish to excuse my actions. I’d rather focus on how I can make things right by you.”
“Which, apparently, has been the theme of these four years for you,” Ysayle muttered, almost wishing she were closer so she could steal that bottle for herself.
Someone's making sfw pregnancy upscales on the archive and I got in my feels about these two 🥹 Especially because this is going on during 6.X, just spending whatever time they can between the attempts at rescuing Azdaja.
