If you had asked Gaius what he had been thinking when he came into this agreement with Valdeaulin, he would admit that he was likely concussed and not in his right mind. He still accepted the agreement, as he was a man of his word, and that means that when it came time Valdeaulin could take his life if he still deemed it necessary for the justice he needed to exact for Eorzea. It was, in Gaius' mind, only fair. After all, the strong rule the weak, and Valdeaulin had found him when he was weak and taken his due as the stronger party.
However, this agreement apparently did not preclude other punishments. One of them had briefly presented itself in the Azure Dragoon - a man Gaius could share something like honest camaraderie with -- seeing as Ishgard and Garlemald has never managed to be in true, direct conflict. That's why, in his spite, Valdeaulin has suggested to Estinien that they are obviously up to something; how else could he view Gaius favorably, if he wasn't putting the lance to the fallen legatus?
Gaius had not been lancing anything, or getting lanced, or any of the sort. Instead, he was just sitting there with a sheaf of notes and some Ala Mhigan tea, trying not to think about anything except the liberation of Garlemald from Ascian machinations. No more, and no less.
"Ego, then," Emet-Selch says, once he gets them somewhat repositioned; clothed, yes, but also held and protected in Emet's long arms. "Why must you push so?"
He knows why, he's just a little bit afraid of it.
"Because it's what gets you to points like this." Hyth runs fingers down a strand of Emet-Selch's hair, now sadly reduced to its original state."To where you're willing to let your power overwhelm another person."
Estinien was the kind of man used to thinking about exactly one thing at a time, and usually that one thing was stabbing. Now he had multiple things to think about and it was starting to make his head hurt a little.
An Azure Dragoon was not expected to marry and sire children, or to even be that good at making friends. It would only cause more harm once you'd died, and death was almost certain in that job, so why bother? Almeric certainly hadn't stressed it during Estinien's upbringing, or his training.
It also m eans that when he does have a concern, he's exceedingly blunt about it. Gaius will find his solitude interrupted by six and a half of feet of spiky, blood-tempered armor looming quietly in his vicinity, attempting to phrase an awkward question.
Gaius turns his pale eyes up to the Azure Dragoon, covered in armor and taller than Gaius is by at least a few inches. So he puts his papers aside, and looks up at him, stoic as ever.
"Do you need something?" he asks, deceptively mild. Internally, he wonders if some thing has spoiled their unspoken truce, or Estinien has some new cause for upset. Gaius can't bring himself to bemoan his state as a semi-pariah; both a failed would-be conqueror and a Garlean defector doesn't win him much favor - even the Scions barely tolerate him.
Something must be up. He just hopes whatever it is, he can solve it quickly.
It's hard to tell with Estinien, blank as his face often is. You know when he's angry, but the rest of the emotions are all a muddled mess when it comes to expression.
"Your mage seems to be under the impression of...something," he opens, awkward and vague as it is. He's not even sure what the implication is. It had a lot of pointed looks to it and Estinien's never been good at interpreting those. That was Aymeric's job.
"Valdeaulin is not my mage, and he would certainly take insult at the very suggestion," Gaius says, folding his hands over his work, letting some weight rest on his arms on the table. "What is he under the impression of?"
There are a thousand things: that Estinien thinks higher of Gaius than he should, perhaps. That he has been made away that Valdeaulin intends to encompass judge, jury and executioner. But he should think that neither of these two things would discomfit the Azure Dragoon.
"But that isn't what my power is for," Emet-Selch says. "It is to improve the Star for all our people, not just debauchery. This is..."
Enjoyable, yes, and he hates to admit it. But it is also as close to sinning as the ancients have a concept for it. It is for the singular pleasure and not for helping, not for improving. This is just letting the inner beast that Emet-Selch has a very tight leash out to play; sometimes, that's frightening.
"Mmm." Estinien looks off and to the side, mulling his words over. "We had been speaking of...the nature of grief and vengeance. A matter, as I'm sure he is loathe to let you forget, that he struggles with. I told him how I had made piece with Nidhogg, in part through having merged with his shade and felt his rage inside of me."
He falters not when speaking about his trauma, but in speaking of his confusion. "And he made some comment to the effect that he had not had such an experience with you, but mayhaps I had. I was...unsure of his meaning."
He had been smirking at the time. Estinien already has a bad feeling about this.
Gaius blinks once, and then reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"I think you know exactly his meaning, Ser," Gaius said, voice flat. Rarely does he inflect anymore, or raise his voice. Instead, he keeps his measure level. "He meant to suggest that we were finding time to take abed and indulge as soldiers on the front do. Twas a jibe at both our expense, that's all."
Gaius's expression, already smooth with stoicism, somehow manages to flatten out further. Really, we're doing this? "The balance of power between Valdeaulin and I exists in a skew that you do not realize. He's merely exerting his power, knowing there will be no consequence for his troublemaking. To remind me of debts owed, and to not grow leisurely or content with the work. You're just his pawn in the game."
He picked up his letters again, and prepared to resume reading them. "Surely, you're man enough to rise above such small, petty politicking. Don't let him drag you into this mummery for his own amusement."
Estinien is quiet for a moment, letting Gaius read and considering his options. His head tilts to the side sightly, then back up again.
"I understand his desire for vengeance, even in small ways. A restless hunger that is never truly sated but can be quieted by small bites of this or that." Even if Estinien's quest was against something far bigger than a man - but so is Valdeaulin's, and he still puts the entire Empire's sins upon the one man in arm's reach. Estinien cannot say he didn't do the same. "But this is a useless aggression on his part. Worse than useless, if it makes us less efficient in our work. Whether I am bedding you or not should make no difference to him."
"It doesn't matter if you are or you are not," Gaius points out, looking up from his notes. Obviously, Estinien understands this kind of hate, the weight of this sort of rage. He explained he was merged with it, after all, held it in his hands, in his body, in his heart and soul -- if Gaius could believe in a soul.
"He cares that if I find a shred of peace, he may soil it in some way. I am, in essence, his prisoner and he my captor. In the absence of an attempt to rehabilitate me or kill me, he must remind me that I am weak. The Black Wolf, defanged, muzzled, with Valdeaulin's hand on his leash. It is merely him reminding me of his hand on my collar, and he cares not if you tangle in the lead," he says, watching the elezen for a betrayal of emotion. He is Gaius Baelsar, and while he can be kind, there is no real reason to be here. Not at the moment, anyway.
"Did you shed tears when heretics turned up in your path, tangled in draconic machinations, forcing your hand to cut them down -- even when they were your kith and kin?" he asks, steady as stone and twice as stoic. "Valdeaulin does not care if you suffer along side me; you are merely an Ishgardian that, by his measure, was absent in a war that you were protected from by virtue of your own, embittered conflict. He cares that I suffer and if you do too, so be it. The work will be done, and I will see it through, regardless of small humiliations. He knows that. You should too."
"Yes, yes," Hyth soothes, patting him further as if he's a child in need of comforting. "But it's refreshing to do this, every once in a while, yes? It doesn't hurt anyone. No one is deprived because you've shapeshifted your genitals into a more interesting configuration for a time. Right?"
There's a flicker of emotion there, yes, but it's...pity. Sadness. A strange emotion on Estinien's normally sharp and derisive features that softens the edges of his face. But the pity is not for Gaius.
"I could tell him how many lives that road has claimed, both by those walking it and by innocent bystanders. If anything Ishgard should serve as an example to the world of the price paid for the indulgence of mindless, eternal vengeance." He can't help but think of Nidhogg in such a place. Chained, declawed, kept alive but harmless in the bowels of the Holy See - would that have made the life of a single child in Ishgard any better? No.
"None of his bitter words can harm me, because I don't care about his opinion. Perhaps it is the same to you. I worry about the collateral damage he may cause, though."
Hyth's vulgarity knocked him right back to himself. Emet-Selch peers up through his fringe of bangs, disheveled and not just a little bit sweaty.
"I beg pardon," he grumbles, putting up his comfortable, prickly front. "Must you be so crass after I have made you weep with pleasure? Did I not service well enough, Hythlodaeus?"
"Set your mind to ease, dragoon," Gaius says, sitting back in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose once more. "I do not think that Valdeaulin will risk the mission with more than pettiness. He knows it is too large, means too much. We hunt together, we break bread together, but he will be at my back when I need him in the fight. In the mean time, he needles now and again. He needs must remind me that there are shackles, even if no one sees them."
Tucking the papers aside, he lets his mind turn the thought over in his head, before something occurs to him. His gold eyes peer back up at Estinien. "Doesn't your church condemn the practice, anyway? Just tell him that and make your piece clear. What happens in camp is not what happens when a soldier re-enters civilian society, after all. Anything you do here is a nonissue, regardless of who you do it it. Nothing of this will make it back to Ishgard. Your reputation will remain unsullied. No one would believe him if he shouted it from the top of the Holy See."
Estinien snorted. "I have not cared what the church thought before, and I am hardly about to start now. Besides, I doubt Garleans are considered as unclean as Dravanians by Halone. What little I recollect of our lectures did not mention your people in the slightest."
The 'two men' part had gone right over his head, just as sure the dragons he wasn't allowed to fuck.
"I was trying to be encouraging!" Hyth pouts, trying to clean up that messy hair with his fingers. "Your service was exceptional as always, my dear Emet-Selch. Why do you think I work so hard to make sure you take a little for yourself as well?"
Gaius's brows knit up a bit as he was bemused by the comment. "I meant men laying with men, though I suppose it puts me at ease that mighty Halone does not see me as inherently unclean." His atheism is showing through, but Gaius doesn't care. Eikons are still eikons, no matter what the people of Eorzea call them.
"At this point I must assume you have laid neither with men or with Garleans, so the point is moot. Let Valdeaulin have his tiny amusements-- if you take offense, let it be for your sake and not mine, and make it clear to him. I have little influence in what he does or who he speaks to."
"I care for myself perfectly well," Emet-Selch says, still invoking perfect. He must be perfect, must fulfill his role perfectly, must be a light for the Star; that's why he was chosen. Because perfect Hythlodaeus turned it down, and Emet-Selch now must live up to the idea that his friend passed on something and now he must meet a bloody impossible standard.
Never mind that Hythlodaeus is right: he was better for the job. But it's come with it's costs, too.
Estinien rolls his eyes. "Haven't lain with anyone, really." The words escape his lips as a thoughtless mutter, and Estinien's stomach cringes the moment they are in the air. Shit. He does not need to be telling this man about his personal life, the man clearly could not give one single damn about him or his entire country.
Gaius' bemusement deepens, before something like a light passes over his face. He understands now!
"Ah, so it's offense that he speaks of an experience you don't have at all, and turn it into something newly mocking," Gaius says, relaxing a fraction. This gives him an iota of power, and he'll take it. "The truth is so far different it's doubly offensive. Well, if you get curious, there are soldiers of either sex that would gladly take the Azure Dragoon to bed. Severa herself casts a glad eye on you, if that's your interest."
If Estinien wants to become more worldly, a no-strings, no-feelings liaison in camp would absolutely be a good place to start. The elezen is comely with his silver hair and narrow eyes, cheekbones that could cut diamonds. Gaius is no fool: Estinien Wyrmblood is easy to look upon.
It will not get the reaction Gaius expects. Estinien scowls, turning his face away again. "No soldier with sense would get close to an Azure Dragoon. If your Severa pleases you, take her for yourself, I do not need such things."
People who get close to him die, or are maimed. The only exception so far has been the Scions and that's because they're powerful enough to protect themselves. An ordinary soldier would stand no chance. Even with the war over, the violence that acccompanies an Azure Dragonn seems to Estinien to be inevitable. A fact of fate.
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