ESTINIEN WYRMBLOOD

                                      Game of Thrones sentences. | accepting.

                BLINDLY FOLLOWING THE ENDLESS THREADS of ancient lies, succumbing to his very own DESPAIR and HATRED which he willingly bore ever since his childhood, his mind had been  c l o u d e d  for so long – numb and still covered in ashes. Yet his purpose, his adamant determination to end this war with the Great Wyrm’s blood on his very hands, had always been as clear as the azure sky above. The SHACKLES of his past had suffocated him for two decades, the guilt and regret of a survivor whose lungs had been filled with smoke and ashes whilst the blackened corpses were scattered around him - lost and forcefully taken by the black veil.  As young boy who had once found pleasure in the GREEN and WOODS surroundings his small hamlet he had dreamed no nightmares – henceforth he lived them, bearing the deep, fleshy wounds of blackened CLAWS tearing his flesh apart and felt the forbidden heat of the raging inferno midst thick smolder.

Anything had  w i t h e r e d  in front of his very eyes like the flowers which were now covered by endless, icy snow – life, flesh, even HOPE. Relentlessly, driven by his own wrath and the impossibility of redemption unless he  c o n q u e r e d  death itself, he never possessed the PRIVILEGE to think any differently. Naught had survived the fire and the coldness in later years – naught but this sentimentality he had attempted to ignore for so long, the warm feeling of someone’s presence – and yet, after the LOSS of such feeling which was followed by the feeling of helplessness, suffocating him for too long, the very fear of losing it all over had been to dreadful, too  m e r c i l  e s s. Nonetheless, as naïve as he had been, he had embraced it again; filling the pitch black and burned holes inside his soul with the fatherly love of the man who had betrayed him from the very beginning.

Life and fate had  m o c k e d  him, leading him to this very lonely path of a man, who never had a CHOICE until this very moment. To continue breathing, to  w i t h s t a n d  the call of the harbinger of death to follow the same path his loved ones walked upon, had meant to fight – to bring VENGEANCE for all the orphans, the widows, the brave knights who had already fallen into the eternal slumber now and in long forgotten history. This had been his sole purpose – his FATE – naught more or less. The colors and the rank of the Azure Dragoon had been crimson since ancient times, bearing the stains of blood spilled during their tasks. They were the true WITNESS  of reaper, the black slumber and the eternal hatred of the wyrm’s kin. F o r s a k e n  champions whose fate had always ended in ruin. He of all, after feeling the suffocating, heavy claw on his own THROAT  for so long and the wyrm’s malicious whispers controlling his mind for so long, was  n o  better.

Estinien was not as presumptuous to not realize how the BURDEN on his old friend’s soul had become just as heavy as his own – and yet, despite all of this, their burden were not one and the  s a m e. Both of them were VICTIMS to events of the past, shackled by who they were – but in the very end the choice to freely breathe was one the former Azure Dragoon was still failing to fully grasp. His greyblue gaze was hidden beneath thick lashes for a moment, almost as if he did not dare to raise his voice in front of his friend – the one who had been the most truthful he ever had and also  w o u l d  have. One who had not hesitated to raise his own weapon against the threatening CREATURE he had  b e c o m e; one who would have killed his dearest friend on spot if their fate had been any  k i n d e r  to them. And in those seemingly endless nights when the NIGHTMARES haunted his mind again and the screams of the many innocents he had buried beneath rubble and burned to ashes, he still wished he would have.

The blood on his very own hands was visible to him even if such sin, the final sin of the dragonsong war, would not find its MEMENTO in the history books. Sins had always been covered with LIES. N a y, he saw no accusation in the azure eyes of Aymeric – only grief and regret. KINDNESS which he did not  d e s e r v e, not from him out of all people in Ishgard. His lips curled into a very rare smile – faint and almost  i n v i s i b l e. The memories and images of what had once been, of the burden he still shouldered even in peaceful times, were ultimately which reminded him to still be  a l i v e. To still have a purpose to fight – to live and also to die. There was no longer DISCORD in his heart, scattered fragments of wrath and hatred , but resonance.

                  ‘M a y h a p. Yet I shall remember ‘twas  n o t  the GREAT WYRM’s                    blind hatred that brought RUIN upon our kin. I do not seek                   your forgiveness or sympathy, my old friend. Lest you know                   there is  n a u g h t  you owe me.’

Forgiveness. REDEMPTION - even after receiving as much already, becoming truly  r e b o r n  from the ashes of the dead, rising to the azure skies once more, Estinien would never forget. His guilt, his sins – his wrong doings. His mind was finally free after living through an EON worth of an mortal’s life, seeing the wyrm’s memories like his very own – the kindness, the bonds, even the love – and such knowledge could not be  e r a s e d. It was in the  AZURE, in the bloody LANCE he still wielded and in his very own HEART.