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After fastening Iceheart, the armor Hraesvelgr had bestowed upon him—which once belonged to the dragoons of eld, who did not yet slay dragons but rode upon them—Estinien had humbly asked him to bring him back to Sohr Khai. He wished to spend more time contemplating in the serene expanse of Ratatoskr’s sanctuary, in remembrance of a sister he himself never had, but grieved all the same.
The wyrm had acquiesced, and left him to his solitude. Sohr Khai meant ‘apology’ in dragonspeak, and whilst Estinien knew it had been named thus by the dragons who could not protect Ratatoskr from the greed of men, a part of him felt as if, in coming here, he was the one apologizing. He wondered if the Warrior of Light and their companions had felt the same, when first they came.
As the dragoon wandered amidst the white towers, something catched his eye on the ground. ‘Twas an earring made of gold adorned with a bright, dangling blue gem. He could recognize it by touch alone, by its color even moreso; for Aymeric’s eyes were of the same hue, and the earring was his.
He heard the thunderous flapping of his wings before the Great Wyrm spoke.
“Thou seemeth surprised. Didst thou not knoweth your comrades hadst been here? Four have undertaken our trial, and four hath succeeded. Ysayle needed not being tried so, for her unquenchable passion to restore peace betwixt our kinds hadst been plain to me from the very beginning.”
Estinien was privy to the fact Montblanc, Moss and the little lord had petitioned Hraesvelgr for his aid, and surmised later—when he learned she still lived—Ysayle had been there as well, so dear making peace with the dragons was to her. Yet that Aymeric had come here, and was tried as all the rest came as a surprise; as Hraesvelgr most certainly had read upon his face.
They all had spoken about it, when he awoke in the care of the chirurgeons; and still Aymeric had said naught, humble to a fault—as was his damnable wont.
“The one who lost what thou hast found hadst spoken of thee in terms I hadst regarded as evidence of the treachery that lurketh in the hearts of men,” declared the wyrm, with a measure of bitterness. “Only when the shade of mine brood-brother hadst fallen didst I see how treasured thou wert to him.”
The dragoon’s eyes widened despite himself. Were men as children to Hraesvelgr’s kind, whose unruly emotions were made transparent in the light of all that they had seen in their nigh endless time?
“As I seeth plainly now, in thine eyes also.”
It seemed indeed. Estinien sighed—he found not in his heart to deny the truth of the wyrm’s words, and he would most certainly see through the charade regardless. The dragoon chose to focus on the earring in his hand instead. Its clasp was broken—he would need to repair it, should he give it back to Aymeric.
In thinking about his oldest friend, Estinien was reminded of why he had followed him into battle for all these years—of why he could not anymore, and had to leave, lest he hindered all that the Lord Commander had ever toiled for.
(After all, the blood on his hands—of man and dragon both—had not yet fully dried.)
“Aymeric is steadfast in his convictions, and will not flinch from his duty, ‘tis true. But a better man I know not,” the dragoon replied, as the earring disappeared in one of his armor’s many pouches. He would not give it back. “Do not doubt the sincerity of his words, nor his desire to make amends. He genuinely means to foster peace between our people, and shall not cease ere his life is spent.”
The wyrm seemed to ponder his answer for a moment.
“I shall remember thy words, dragoon,” came Hraesvelgr’s reply in turn, before he took wing, leaving once again Estinien to his own thoughts.