Ser Paulecrain de Fanouilly @thecoldfireofishgard-blog - Tumblr Blog

thebullofishgard:

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

It isn’t hard to gather up the more closed-lipped Herald-trainees to help keep watch over their new guests. Merle has taken each of their measures, and they’re each sound folk, not like to run or tell who it is that’s being looked after beyond ‘very sick patients’. Merle herself takes turns at it, especially when it’s Fleurelle looking after them. Because they seem to respond less violently to women, and Haurchefant is probably one face they don’t need to see, even in their still-somewhat-feral mindsets. She isn’t risking it.

It is more than a little strange whenever she hears Dravanian out of Grinnaux’s mouth, recognizable to her as such only because Dravanian has that odd quality of being half-heard, half-something more.

Dressed in more casual garments that day [shades of soft browns and muted greys, clothing better suited to the village she’d been born in], she moves to look in on the men, knowing Fleurelle isn’t far behind. They’re still ill, in one way or another, and it worries the both of them. Surprised, Merle is not, considering the state they’d found them in, but that doesn’t make it any less worrying. “I see you’re already awake and grumpy.”

“Oh, are they?” Fleurelle asks, passing off the bundle at her hip to the trainee left standing guard before she enters the room - their patients may be relatively peaceful any more, for the most part (though she keeps her staff at the ready when it comes time to medicate either of them), but that doesn’t mean she’s going to trust them around her son. “Good. That makes this easier.”

She smiles at Merle, then at the two patients - Grinnaux and Paulecrain don’t yet seem aware of their own names, but they are returning to themselves a little at a time, and that means a mental evaluation will be needed sooner or later. For now, though, they’re really only here to check in on them and try to help them find their way back where they can.

(And in particular, Fleurelle wants to look Paulecrain over again, because as slow as the former ward members’ recoveries have been, she wants to be certain there’s no toll on the man’s lungs beyond the flareup he’s suffering right now.)

He stiffens and a growl rumbles in his throat when the door opens, but it’s no soldier, it’s the woman – women – who take care of them. They’re not bad, really…well, alright, the stick the one has that puts them to sleep is bad and he doesn’t like it, but the woman herself is fine. They’re helping his brother get better, anyway, so that’s fine.

“Brother,” he rumbles, nudging him from where he’s draped atop him. It’s warm and cozy and he doesn’t necessarily want to move, but the women are here and so they’re probably going to end up moving. “Up.”

He shifts so he can lean against his brother when he sits up, chest to his back and chin on his shoulder, and doesn’t bother to stifle a large yawn, wide and catlike that shows his fangs. He hasn’t been sleeping well, he finds; he can’t remember why when he wakes up, but he wakes up with a racing heart and in a cold sweat too often to like it. Though his brother’s presence helps. In fact, he might doze off slightly while the women are checking his brother over.

The growl that escapes the sicker of the two isn’t really a ‘no’, but it has much the same meaning. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to be touched and inspected and have things shoved down his throat again. But he’s tumbled off anyway when his brother sits up, and pushes himself upright with another growl of irritation. Just for that, his brother’s going to play pillow again once the women-strangers leave. Hmph.

He swats lightly at his brother, just to get his grump across, then coughs and huffs and snatches one of the blankets from their nest to snuggle it around them while he glares at the people who just won’t leave them alone. He wants them to go away, to leave him and his brother be so they can rest and sleep - not that his brother is sleeping well. If they’re here to fix him they’d better mean to fix his brother too, or else he’ll bite.

Of course, that’s when a coughing fit takes him, and by the time it ends he no longer has much interest in biting anyone - he just wants to get this over with so he can go back to sleep. Can they do that? The growl he gives this time isn’t really angry or threatening - just tired and frustrated, an irritation without intent to harm. Maybe when he’s less sick he’ll want to bite someone, but right now he’ll behave if it means he and his brother will be left in peace soon.

thebullofishgard:

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

Merle listens to Fleurelle, and watches the way the two former Ward members act. They…certainly don’t seem to be of a right mind. At all. Perhaps an after-effect of what Thordan had done? They didn’t seem to be tempered, so that was good…but…

“They’re going to need baths. And a lot more. They…” She frowned and squinted a bit. “I know my healing skills are minimal compared to yours, but I don’t think they’re in good health at all. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks; looks sick to me.” She didn’t use the rest of that phrase, because neither man was at all ‘pretty’ at the moment. Hells, she wasn’t even sure they knew they were men! “Which means we have to figure out how we’re going to get them looked after if they’re liable to attack for sudden movements or inferred threat.”

“Then we make this easier on ourselves and them,” Fleurelle says, expression dark. “Until such time as they’re mentally astute and physically recovered enough to be dealt with, we’ll look after them. And for now…” She sniffs delicately at the air and makes a face, then very slowly takes out her staff and casts repose on them both in quick succession, trusting Merle to guard her from any lashing out while she’s casting.

“For now,” she says again, once they’re out, “We keep them under and clean them up. They may not much like it, but they can complain about it once they’ve enough reason returned to them to let them put those complaints into words. Right now they need treated, and the only way to do that safely - for all of us - is to keep them asleep while we work.”

As for the actual work of cleaning them up… well, those healing students better able to keep quiet will be put to work there. It will be good for them, and as filthy as these two are, they’ll need multiple people scrubbing anyway. “We’ll need to station a guard, probably - do you think you can furnish a few of your students for that task?”

This should work, she thinks, with a little planning. But only time will tell if the two madmen can be restored to any semblance of sanity.

It doesn’t really even have time to react again when the one person takes out a stick of wood– something glows, and then darkness claims it. Whatever dreams it has are of flying, perhaps, of the wide open sky and an ancient knowledge it should not know. Some are darker, though, with the pall of humanity over them, cold and angry and violent, dreams of distant nobility, of a temper and thing that beasts don’t have.

He doesn’t remember them when he wakes, but when he wakes he’s clean – cleaner than he recalls ever being with his memories hazy and feral – and warm and with soft cloth covering his limbs, and so is his brother, and it’s…nice. Very confusing, but nice.

Time passes, and he – he can remember, at least, that he’s a he and not just an it, that he’s a person too somehow, even if that’s all he can really hang onto with his mind still twisting in on itself in feverish sickness and in a delirium from whatever happened to him to put him in that cave (and his time in the cave itself). He can speak, but only in the rough and rasping tongue of dragons, and only in fragments, and he still snaps at those who come close – though only the men in armor. The women who take care of him are allowed, if only because he’s got enough sense now to know he’s ill and they are fixing it, or more importantly that his brother is ill, more ill than he is, and he needs help too.

But at least he’s…recovering, albeit slowly. There may yet be hope that there’s a man in there, the man he was, somewhere beneath the bestial state he’s still clawing out of an ilm at a time.

Life is sickness and misery and he hates all of it. The desperation of starving, of having to fight to stay alive is gone, but he is ill, and knows he’s ill, and no matter what he does the people who aren’t his brother keep coming at him to poke at wounds and try to get him to drink something that tastes vile, and he’s not even allowed to bite them for it because the one time he tried he ended up falling asleep for ages and the glowing stick was waiting for him to try it again the next time.

He doesn’t like the glowing stick. He doesn’t like the strangers. And he really does not like how much he keeps coughing. He spends most of his time curled up in the nest he and his brother were given, and though he’s aware that there is... something beyond this, something before, it doesn’t seem different enough for him to spend much time wondering about it.

Today he’s curled up with his brother, as usual, or more accurately draped over top of him, making grumbly noises that have no real meaning, because he isn’t feeling well and it’s making him angry, and the world needs to know that’s the case. Every so often, a stranger - usually one of the two from before, the ones who had brought the red thing - will look in on them, and he thinks that maybe that will happen again soon, so he lies on his brother and buries his face in blond hair and grumbles his complaint again, because really. He hates this, and he hates that he’s aware enough to hate it, and he hates this shelter and this stupid nest and did he mention he hates everything, brother? Because he does.

thebullofishgard:

elezenwildflower:

lionessofuldah:

Merle was not expecting to ever deal with the Darkhold again. Nor was she expecting that they’d ask for her and Fleurelle. They’d asked for Kikuya as well, but…well, Kikuya was looking after things elsewhere, and she and Fleurelle could handle it themselves. And Haurchefant and the others had the fledgling Collegium well in hand for a day or two.

She had definitely not been expecting what they found waiting for them, already captured. They’d told her something strange had been happening, but she hadn’t been expecting members of the Ward. They were worse for the wear, and looking like they’d had half a Fantasia shoved on them, but it was most certainly Ser Paulecrain and Ser Grinnaux. “Gods be good, what in the bloody hells?”

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea,” the elezen healer says, peering at the captive ward members from over the top of Merle’s head. “But do stay close to me? Neither of them looks to be quite in his right mind, whatever else is going on, and if they try to fight in this state I fear they’re more likely to hurt themselves.” These men had been dead, she’s certain of it - though she herself had been in no shape to deal with them or Thordan, having worn herself nearly to the brink of death attempting to heal Haurchefant after the vault, Fleurelle knows what happened there.

That they’re here, now, and apparently physically and mentally altered alike… Well, she’s not been much fond of these two and their behavior since the day she first encountered them, but they’re here and alive and in need of aid if they’re to stay that way. “How long do you suppose they’d been in there?” She asks, edging forward but remaining well out of arm’s reach. “If all they’ve had to survive on is whatever they could catch, then…” She tsks under her breath and sighs. “Whatever else is going on, they’re certainly in no state for Ishgard to deal with them, their right or no.”

Watching them watch her, she looks to Merle again, then takes an apple from her bag and places it on the floor between them, blue eyes calculating. “They certainly seem mad, but there’s no way to tell if they’re lost to it permanently,” she murmurs, voice soft. Her words are directed at Merle, but the tone is coaxing, encouraging the two men as one might a frightened animal or small child, too young to fully grasp language. “Poor things - I’d not wish this on even them, I think. Better for their souls to be at rest than returned in this manner…”

The people that enter the room are more familiar strangers, and it hisses at them when they do– it will attack if they come close, protect him, protect its brother – its brother smells of sick more than it does, and it needs protecting. It knows it’s sick too, honestly, but it won’t– it won’t…it won’t trust any sort of stranger, not people with sharp things and loud voices, that brought them into the horrible brightness and the warmth that isn’t comforting because it’s so strange.

Eyes that barely have human intelligence in them peer out from beneath a tangled curtain of dirty blond hair, and skin that’s filthy and covered in wounds and flush with fever also happens to have patches of violet-black scales on them, on the biceps and thighs and sides. It hisses and tenses when one of them moves, but then eyes flicker down to the red thing on the floor. It glances at its brother, and then at the thing on the floor, and one of them has to investigate, it decides. It isn’t as sick as its brother, so it will. He shifts forward slightly, squinting in the brightness, and snatches the red thing from where it sits to retreat back to the corner they’ve both retreated to.

It sniffs it, frowns, and the sluggish and dormant part of it that’s mortal whispers that it’s food, it’s edible, and it thinks– it does smell good. With a grunt it rips the thing in half, pressing half of it into its brother’s hands, and takes a bite out of its piece. It’s sweet and juicy, and it– mm. It devours it quickly and pays no mind to what it looks like, licking the juice off his hands. That tasted better than anything in the caves, it thinks. And it doesn’t seem like it was harmful…maybe those people don’t want to hurt them, not like the silver ones did.

The unhappy noise that leaves the pale-haired one’s throat when its brother moves forward has nothing even resembling reason in it - but the cry turns into a cough and then dies away entirely as something - food? food - is shoved its way, and despite not having as much of an appetite as on some level it knows it should, it eats as much and as fast as it can, the desperate edge of the starving in its motions.

This one knows hunger, after all - knows it down to its bones, hunger and cold and never knowing when you’ll eat again. It’s one of the very few things that brushes against the now, touching it with echoes of other. Unexpected meal finished, it - he? maybe - settles down again to shiver against his brother, another low rumble of warning leaving his throat as he watches for either of them to make the move that will let him attack and run, so that this awful state of being trapped will be put to an end at last.

thebullofishgard:

@elezenwildflower @lionessofuldah

Time meant nothing in the cave. The– the man? The dragon? The beast didn’t know how long it had been there, couldn’t count the days even if there were days to count in the endless shadows. Days didn’t matter, though; what mattered was food. Hunt, kill, eat, the spiny, gummy fish and the fat little moles and the gristle-and-bone hippogryphs. Defend itself against the bigger things that smelled of darkness and rotten eggs. Keep warm in the icy chill of the caverns, find fresh water to drink, stay close to its brother – its brother, the only other thing in here like it, slightly lighter than it and with a damaged eye but still its brother, it knew it better and with more certainty than it knew anything else.

All the food in the caves couldn’t fill their bellies, though, and it made them sick sometimes, and the cold froze them to the marrow if they didn’t huddle for warmth in their nest of ripped cloth and as much as they could forage for in this barren place. The water was good, at least, even if the food was bad, but it was hard to live on it all, especially with all their injuries from battle. But that’s what it had, that’s what they both had.

Until people – people? it felt as if it knew those people, knew the symbol on their armor – came in and there were sharp and pointy things and yelling and they fought back, clawing and biting at them wildly, but they were quickly overwhelmed, and it hissed and growled and roared at the people, snapping his fangs and pale purple eyes blazing with their slit pupils, and it tried so hard to get away with its brother–

But then they were dragged off into somewhere else, a lot of other somewheres, and it was warm, but there were so many strangers – familiar strangers – and it was scared and angry and…and it didn’t know what to do but hiss and snarl at whoever would come in.

Everything is too bright - after so long in the dark and the cold, the fact that there is warmth now should be comforting, but it isn’t. The bright hurts, there are too many not-brothers in this area - so many that all of the fighting with claws and teeth and desperate fear had done nothing - and all the pale-haired being can do is hide against its brother and rest, waiting for one last chance to try and fight, to flee and survive or be killed in turn.

Hunger, illness, and battle alike had combined to wreak their havoc on the pale-haired being, and mismatched eyes gleam against cheekbones dusted pink with a low fever. Still, there is a wild sort of intelligence in its gaze as it curls around its brother in a corner of the strange cave they have been brought to, occasionally risking painful squinting in the brightness if a noise indicates something is approaching.

No words come, but the only sort of words that come to mind anyway are simple ones, ones that have little meaning for the current situation - brother, of course, being foremost among them. Instead, a low growl rumbles from its throat nigh-constantly, thin frame tensed and ready for a fight that hasn’t yet come. What else can either of them do?

hc; modern

Name: Paulecrain Fanouilley (Also known as Paul Crane in certain circles)

Age: Early 20s (he... doesn’t know)

Nationality: Maybe French? He doesn’t know a lot.

Height: 6′3

Date of Birth: ... .Sometime in January? He... thinks???

Occupation: Semi-professional MMA, illegal street-fighter, mostly a bum at his best friend’s house.

Paulecrain is one of those unfortunate kids who slipped through the cracks entirely: born to a lower class mother and unknown father, with social services in and out of his life from the time he was born and tossed into foster care before he hit three, he has little to no memory of ever having a normal life.

Shuffled from foster home to foster home and school to school, he didn’t have much in the way of a good education, especially after he finally had enough of it and simply left, disappearing into the streets and falling in with a gang. It was a well-organized gang, as they go, with a few fronted businesses and a martial arts school to help bring in legit funds as well as churn out better fighters for themselves.

Paulecrain never knew what names the place was connected to, and never cared to know. What he did learn was how to fight, and ended up being something of a professional fighter, both in legal and illegal matches, the former of which is where he met his best friend, Grinnaux de Dzemael. Technically, they weren’t friends right away - they fought in the tournament, then ran into one another at a bar afterward and fought again,, somehow ending up best friends.

Grinnaux, after finding out Paule’s situation, used his family’s connections to get his new friend out of the gang, and now Paulecrain’s rooming with him. He doesn’t have much going for him, at the moment, and he owes his friend. To that end he’s been doing independent street-fighting, trying to bring in some cash to pay him back - this in addition to any more-legal tournaments Grinnaux helps him get into.

Apart from this, he’s had no interest in trying to study for a GED or anything, mostly because he doesn’t really see the point. He’s already doing a hell of a lot better than he used to, so... why push his luck? He’s good at fighting, he’ll just keep doing that.

#v; modern au #Paule thinks grin doesn't know about his illegal moneymaking.

thebullofishgard:

Fuck, he wants to be certain of it. He wants to want to do it! He really can’t think of any downsides. Just knock back some dragon’s blood and fuck off to go have fun and spar with each other and forget about the High Houses and his uncle and all of that shit. He’s never been devout enough to feel too horrified at the idea, especially now that they all know it’s not really heresy. But..

He wishes he knew what was bothering him about it.

“Sure as hells gonna think about it,” he agrees readily. “Just…don’t go and do it without me, y’hear?” He wouldn’t mind if Paule still wants to do it – it’s just that he doesn’t want him to do it without telling him first. He doesn’t want to be left behind. Which maybe is part of why he’s not sure about this? Because of his brother. But– ugh. He wants to be sure.

“Of course not,” Paulecrain is quick to agree, though something - he isn’t sure what - twists inside that his best friend thinks he would. Then again, it isn’t as though he’s ever fully understood what can and cannot be expected of a friend, apart from someone who’s good at fighting and will sometimes back you up when you both hate someone else more.

“And it’s only an idea, so there’s no need to act like I’ve speared you through the gut,” he adds, a scowl on his face as he rolls his good eye skyward. “Really. You’ve been idle too long. Perhaps we should see if Guerrique has come out of that damned sulk enough to do something more interesting than lie around like a scaly boulder.”

Surely if they can just fight someone, that will take that look off of Grinnaux’s face.

thebullofishgard:

He opens his mouth to reply and then closes it with a click. “Huh,” he says after a moment, genuinely thoughtful. “Never thought’a that…” He hadn’t, actually – sure, Guer was a dragon now, but he was still their friend, and hells, he was looking forward to him getting his shit back together so they could test their might against a dragon for fun. What would become of all those arm wrestling games now!

But– what about Idrault? And…could he really just run away from his title and his house? Fury, does he want to, but could he? …Ugh, he’s not used to being introspective and he doesn’t like it. “I mean, you make some damn good points,” he agrees. “And I ain’t sayin’ no, ‘cause I really don’t see many downsides to it, but I–” He can’t even say why he’s not completely onboard, because he’s not sure why. It makes no sense, he should be absolutely…it’s Paule who’s the rational one! And if Paule says it’s a good idea…but he isn’t sure.

Paulecrain can tell that Grinnaux isn’t sold on the idea, and that’s... fine, really. He hadn’t expected an immediate answer, after all. And he thinks that just maybe, even if Grinnaux doesn’t want to... he may do it anyway. They would still be brothers, and he’d have... well. He certainly wouldn’t be losing anything. The way his brother-in-arms is hesitating, though, it’s clear he still has something holding him back.

What it is, he doesn’t know and probably couldn’t understand anyway. But it’s definitely something.

“Not saying we need to decide right away,” he says, shrugging. “Just think about it.” He thinks he probably will, either way, it’s only that doing it alone is... surprisingly unappealing, for some reason.

@thebullofishgard, from here

“You might,” Paulecrain says, smirking slightly at Grinnaux. It’s a crazy idea, he’s well aware of it, but it might just be the best one he’s ever had, as well. “Thanks to our brother’s actions, we now have an opportunity that could never have come to pass any other way.” He waves a hand in the direction Guerrique has been sleeping in since they fled to this place, this haven for dragons and fleeing Ward members alike, and waits for his brother to understand what he’s saying. “If we drink dragons’ blood as he did, you’ll be free from your family’s machinations permanently. We’ll be stronger, the fights will be more fun, and at this point the only ties either of us has worth keeping are out here with us. So why not do it? It isn’t heresy when what we were taught was a lie all along.”

#paule NO

((Time for a reboot! Not that there’s a lot to get started again but still.))

serguerrique:

Aimielle clicks the door open and pushes it forward, and Guerrique knows at least one of the brothers within as soon as he smells baking bread. Jan. He remembers the kid loves to cook, and he smiles to himself. Though it falters slightly when he realizes they won’t be bringing him little Sparkles…gods, that’s going to ruin his day, isn’t it? The two were inseparable. He can’t imagine how much it’s hurt to be away from him, especially with his new senses and the bond they’ve got now.

He steps in, a little nervous, glancing around the barracks the Temple Knights seem to have re-purposed for their odd guests/prisoners. Yes, there’s Janlenoux, with– with a tail, apparently, that’s…that’s new. And who else is–? Oh. Oh, Fury. At least someone will be happy, tonight.

He enters and steps aside for Aimielle and Paulecrain to enter, smiling at Grinnaux and sliding over to Janlenoux while the two Dzemael troublemakers get reacquainted. Someone’s going to have to comfort the guy, and…well, that’s going to be his job. Maybe Khei can help; she’s good at that kind of thing, at least.

They’ve barely been let inside when Paulecrain spots Grinnaux. Sure, he noticed Janlenoux too, but he doesn’t particularly care - well, he does, but it pales in comparison to the sheer joy of seeing his best friend again. It’s a good thing Guerrique had the intelligence to move out of the way, because there’s barely a moment between Paulecrain stepping inside and when he barrels forward, literally tackling Grinnaux as happy song escapes his throat, hard-earned sanity and reason fleeing him.

Finally! Finally finally finall Grin’s here he can fight and wrestle and not get in trouble for it and yesyesyes Griiiiiiinauuuuux.

... It’s a pity he’s so feral at the moment, because he’s acting less like a happy Spoken and more like an overexcited wild beast, ignoring personal space to nuzzle and croon and preen over the friend he hasn’t seen in too long.

serguerrique:

@thecoldfireofishgard

He still can’t really believe that this is happening; it had been a near miracle that he’d found Paulecrain, and more of one that he’s made progress in recovering his humanity. But to find out that Ishgard has found not one but two more of their blood brothers? Fury, it was like She decided to take pity on them at last.

And not only that, but Paulecrain’s girl Elie knew his little Aimielle, his beloved’s sister. And she, in turn, had been recruited to care for the other two. Probably due to her relationship with him. But still….

Still, it’s thanks to that that he and Paulecrain are following Aimi down the hall in the small hours of the morning and hovering cautiously as she opens the heavy door for them. She hasn’t said who’s there, so…Guerrique – Khei tucked into his satchel – supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

It’s been a struggle to drag him self back from being nothing more than a half-starved and entirely feral creature, and in truth he knows he’s still far from being anything resembling the man he once was. He certainly can’t speak, though he’s understanding language far better than he was during his initial days.

His mind is a mishmash of instinct and responses for survival that it’s sometimes hard for him to think - but he knows that his Brothers are here, that they’re going to them, and maybe going to get them out and get them safe. He hopes one is Grinnaux, but knows better than to expect it. He’s biting down on his own hopes and his draconic desire for broodmate, brotherbrotherbrother as he keeps close to Guerrique and tries not to get too distracted by the sights and smells and sounds all around and above them.

“Hurry,” he manages to rasp out, impatience getting the best of him. He wants to the others now. Now. He needs to know what’s going on and if there’s an enemy to fight, to bite and claw and end the threat to his brothers-his-brood. ‘Hurry.”

serguerrique:

“Yes,” he agrees. “Guerrique. Safe. You are safe, brother.” Gods, does it hurt to see his friend, his blood brother, reduced to this. But he’ll be alright, he’ll make certain of it. Even if it takes weeks, or moons, he’ll bring him back entirely. Of course this means he’ll have to stay sober, but…for once, a price he’ll pay gladly.

He leads Paulecrain back to Tailfeather, and for a blessing the hunters don’t question – there’s been stranger, and neither of them were the first confused soul wandering around the Forelands.

He manages to lead him into his room and get him situated in a blanket nest, humming a dragonsong of comfort and reassurance. “Stay here,” he says. “I will be back quickly.”

He leaves Khei with Paulecrain to keep him company and keep him from sneaking off, and returns a few minutes later with a large dish of roasted loaghtan meat. He puts it down in front of the other man and sits cross-legged in front of it. “Here,” he says. “Food. Good food, more where this came from.” It’s smaller than the bandersnatch, of course, but it’s better-tasting by far (and also not raw, which is good).

He doesn’t understand why Guerrique has brought him to a den and then left him there, but the little dragonet doesn’t seem to want him to leave, so Paulecrain settles into the blanket nest, almost immediately dropping into an exhausted sort of doze, one that he snaps out of when Guerrique enters the den-place again.

Mismatched eyes dart around as a snarl escapes him - a frightened one, that eases into relief and even pleasure when he recognizes the new arrival. “Guerrique! Safe,” he says again, and then, more hesitantly.... “Food?” That sounds right, and he inspects the dish curiously - before snatching up pieces of meat in his fingers and beginning to devour it, growling fiercely at any sign of someone trying to take it.

He’s not going to leave a hatchling to starve, however, so he offers a bite to the dragonet, to see if she will eat any. The drive to protect the small one won’t let him do otherwise. Guerrique, however, though he is brother.... he doesn’t get to share. He can get more, apparently at any time, so if he tries to reach for Paulecrain’s meal he’s going to be bitten, and not the teasing nip of earlier.

“Mine!”

brumeborn:

Elie finally stopped, tension melting once she could soak. She sighed, enjoying the coolness, and sipped a bit more before leaning against him sleepily. Here was nice, cool and comfortable, with a nice dragon. Sure, she shouldn’t trust it, but damn the heresy charges.

“Comfy…” She crooned.

“Safe,” he repeated, then frowned and tried to imitate the sound she was making. “Co...com...fuu?” That wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough, and Paulecrain huffed, shivering in the chill of the river but pleased that his mate was settling down and content. Whatever was going on, this must have been what she needed.

whiemalstorm:

—— [VII] —— @thecoldfireofishgard

He wandered, walked beyond the desert sands… Beyond the forests and mountains… The cold stones that made his head hurt far more than necessary. And yet, out of the pure white, there was such peculiar greenery, the scent of brimstone and silver dew.

The amnesiac disliked the scent of flames, shied away from fire. Something in this person detest fire, loathed it with all it’s self. Something… Something happened within the flames, what it was had never come out of the memory.

“Quiet, such a quiet place…”

“……… But… Why do I feel saddened…? Amid this place…?” he muttered to himself, the frost danced around him with a white haze, before flitting away, “Even… Even here, it persists…”

Why would the frost flutter and cover him? Why would it freeze and slaughter? This individual never understood, but after many moons of self-destruction, it just became a part of him, the answer beyond a hazy horizon in the memory. One this person dared not touch.

The white began to cover the ground, and the lost one looked about. The person knew it happened when something living came near, a defense mechanism some say.

“Who… Who is there…?”

Cold. So very cold. Prey was not supposed to be this cold, and the figure lurking among the rocks growled softly, displeased by the chill. Words did not come to him - they had not, really, since he had awoken. In truth, though this being bore the form of an elezen man, in mind he functioned more on the level of a beast.

That he had ever been anything more did not occur to him, nor would he mourn it if he had - he had far more important concerns; those being staying alive, usually by virtue of stalking his next meal.

The large feathered beings were the best option, but they were fast and clever, and often hunted by those that looked like him; the clawed and fanged creatures were more dangerous and rarely worth the risk, but desperation often drove him to attempt it anyway, only retreating when the wounds he took from those encounters began to be too much.

Now here was prey, or what he had thought to be prey, but it was icy-cold, frightening - and somehow, ever so slightly familiar. Creeping closer - hissing at the frost as the cold burned at his feet as he went - the man-gone-feral sniffed the air and peered at the strange not-prey, mismatched eyes squinting in confusion.

brumeborn:

Elie reached, and feeling the cool water in her fingers began to bring handfuls to her lips, gulping the water as fast as her limbs allowed, the cold and wet feeling so soothing to her hot, dry body, and she wiggled, trying to reach more water with a pitiful noise. It wasn’t the lifethreatening cold of Ishgard, but a cool, refreshing, soothing kind and she needed i. Instinct was spurring her, body screaming to cool down as she continued trying to get more, finally beginning to splash herself, trying to cool down. Still, it felt soothing, and finally she began trying to fight to dive in, grumbling.

He wasn’t going to let her go - but he did move to sit in the water with her, holding her so that the cool liquid flowed over her feverish and wounded form. She seemed to want it, and had mor eenergy to fight to get near it, so... so that meant it was helping, he thought.

Grumbling softly in no words at all, he sat down properly and started helping her soak herself - he couldn’t understand much of what she said, but what she wanted she was going to get, and apparently what she wanted was to splash in the water.

Now if only the bandersnatches would keep clear. If not... well, he could fight them off of her. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could do it.

serguerrique:

He chuckles. “No,” he says. “I will get you more food when we get to where we are going, brother. More and better food. Lots of it.” Raw meat can’t be good for him, even with the dragon’s blood in him now. He’ll get him a nice warm meal and something to drink, find a place to bandage his wounds and let him sleep peacefully.

He offers a hand to support him, Khei Ehsk finally creeping from his shoulder to Paulecrain’s, peering at the other Elezen curiously. “Hello, dran wah hessnesh,” she says kindly. “I am Khei Ehsk. If he is your brother, then you are my kin too, because he has taken me in. He is mine, so you are mine. We will take good care of you. I promise.”

Guerrique smiles at that. “She speaks true, brother,” he agrees. “We will take care of you. Come with us, now.” He slings an arm around Paule’s shoulder to help him along, guiding him slowly back towards Tailfeather. They’d be okay. They would.

Paulecrain doesn’t understand why they would forgo an easy meal lying right in front of them, but he’s content enough to follow Guerrique’s lead for now. He’s hungry, yes, but he’s also tired, and if his brother says there is more somewhere, then there is more.

He tenses when the dragonet moves to his shoulder, but she rests on the uninjured one, so he doesn’t mind her presence. While she doesn’t feel quite the same as Guerrique - there’s less immediacy to her presence, less innate trust and closeness, she is nonetheless very young, and his fractured mind is trying to tell him she is young of his kind, if not his brood, and therefore needs protected.

“Guerrique,” he says again, because he can and it feels right to speak words, few and fragmented as they are. “Safe. Brother.”

brumeborn:

Elie thrashed a few minutes more against the memory of the knights, before sobbing, pressing into him.

When he drew near water, she finally shifted, shaking as she had when waking again in the forelands, and squirmed, trying to move for it with as fierce a growl as able. She couldn’t show weakness - not in the Brume, not now in the wild, she had to - had to keep struggling to survive, had to…

He crooned approvingly as she struggled for the water, and waded into the river, still holding her. It was cold and he was uncomfortable, but she needed to be able to get to it, and this way he could be sure she was safe while she did.

And if she had to fight, just a little, well - fighting would keep her alive. He was sure of that.

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