My drabble request is to delve more into his actions and mindset when he thinks of Ysayle but not right after or during Heavensward arc. More like if he gets reminded of her or is just thinking of her during the events of Stormblood. <3 ;-)
The song could no longer be heard – as its words, its LEGACY, was long scattered with the final wind carrying the last ashes and thick smog away from the almost destroyed Ishgard, cleansing the cold air of the signs of death and devastation. The war, born out of the TREACHERY of their forefathers, had finally found an end after they a l l had paid for the spilled blood of the innocents with theirs for an eon of time. The fundaments of their society might be rebuilt upon the long hidden truth now; but peace was still naught more but a mere farce. His heart had been b u r i e d with the last day of the dragonsong war as he had laid down what he had been for too long – but his soul was still burning with determination, still bearing the courageous mind of the knight he had been for over a decade. His PURPOSE was ultimately l o s t; erased and closed with the final chapter of the suffering which had found an end – but he had s u r v i v e d it, escaping the cold touch of death another time albeit he had never asked for this unwarranted MERCY. As haggard boy he had once seen his former life being burned to ASHES and had watched the blackened corpses of his parents crumble away; just like he had prayed to the goddess once for his younger brother to be spared from this horrifying end, to merely find his tiny body in his own blood, crushed by the ceiling. The goddess had never for once spoken to him – she had never answered his prayers, not even in this desperate moment. There had been no sign of the eternal slumber on his brother’s pure face as he found him in the collapsed house - the small lips were curled into a soft smile as if he was sleeping in his death, mayhap even as if he even enjoyed this very SLUMBER he would never awake up to. It was naught more but a cruel play of fate – a small consolation to know that his younger brother had not felt any pain ere his short life had been taken away from him. Ever since this very day he had been prepared to d i e – he had a w a i t e d the sea of flames to claim his body like all other lost souls he had known; had wished for it while his tears had blurred his sight. But none of that had happened. The end had not come until two decades later.
N a u g h t had changed. The voice inside his very mind had almost faded to OBLIVION, the sharp claw of the wyrm no longer reached for his throat – and yet the burden of responsibility never for once left his soul, his mind was n e v e r fully at ease. The struggle over his own mind and control was over and his family avenged, but the price had been paid. What purpose served this corrupted lance if he no longer wielded it to defend the WEAK and the INNOCENTS; what purpose was he still serving to be alive and breathing if those who deserved better were all lost forever in his place? The many faces he had seen dying over the many years were still very present in his memory; their voices – their desperate yells in the moments when the reaper on the battlefield claimed their lives as his own. LOSS – it was a word he was so very used to; it was naught more than a dull pain by now which he had learned to ignore. A soft echo inside his very heart with almost no impact. Truthfully, it was for all those who had fought that he was seeking to find a new purpose in his life – a new path to take upon after the hatred, the wrath and the guilt had started to fade away deep within. All what remained now was numbness – an EMPTINESS he did not quite know how to fill as he had never for once learned to be anyone else than who he had b e e n for the past twenty years. There had never been anything in his life but his vengeance; his hatred – and still the love for all he had been closed to, albeit he never knew how to properly express it. The familiar structure of the fundaments of Ishgard, the azure blue sky who had not changed even so many years after his family had been slain – he had fought for the memory, for the peace others might still come to experience even if his heart had r e f u s e d to find any REDEMPTION.
Truth to be told, Estinien had never belonged to Ishgard – his soul had known this for so very long albeit he had always wished for their nation to be p r o s p e r o u s, even during times of war. For years he had scarcely ever spoken to someone; but he remembered the faces of the citizens – even after so many moons after his departure. The rich taste of FREEDOM was valuable as he travelled like a free man for the very first time – free from any responsibilities. Yet his heart was not free as it never stopped to heavily beat inside his very chest, m o u r n i n g over what he had lost; thinking about what would never be mentioned in their history books as scarcely anyone did know about the true happenings of the dragonsong war. Mayhap he had been a FOOL– and it seemed as if he still was one, to mourn over what was never supposed to be. In lonely nights, when he was warming himself at the campfire, he remembered the times of comfort he had spent with his comrades – with his friends albeit he had undeniably not treated them like this. And nonetheless he was so very grateful - albeit it was hidden beneath his mask. These were the only time of WARMTH he had known for too long; and their faces, their voices sometimes still reminded him of why he had been saved. Of w h y he was still breathing. Unlike the WYRM, who had known naught more but his own hatred for over a thousand years, he had known warmth – he had possessed friends who believed in him. This was what had made him be so very different to Nidhogg – it was what had kept him s a n e for the many moons imprisoned in his very own body, witnessing destruction and death once more while bearing an never ending sea of wrath dwelling deep within. Whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, one face particularly lingered in front of his inner eye for longer than the others – mayhap because he had missed to say those words he had never said before to anyone since he had considered them a nuisance. YSAYLE. What kind of fool of a man falls in love with the only woman he could never be with to begin with? The dead could not speak – they could not answer. And when he had been standing near the abyss, the invisible grave no one else knew about but them, he had spoken them for the very first time – closing the chapter while sealing away his heart, his wrath and hatred along with it. The Azure Dragoon had d i e d on this very day as the bouquet of nymeia lilys already started to wither. Her death had not been in vain – as she had been the one to open his eyes, stealing his heart as the only one to ever come.
A small smile appeared on his lips by thinking about this, about the short amount of time when he had been more than the Azure Dragoon – but also a MAN who had loved. Mayhap he had indeed changed a little; becoming the one again he had once been as young boy who had loved naught more but the tranquility of the woods, the scent of wool and those close to his heart.
