Warren remained huddled at his seat long enough to lose track of the sun without looking up to it. He couldn't bring himself to gauge the time any longer and despite the constant numb in his fingertips he felt betrayed by seeking out the warmth of the day. It was better than he deserved and he would have given it up in a moment if he could have sent it to them. He resented his own weakness stopping him from being able to make headway, and once that thought crossed his mind its companions-in-misery leaped into the fray.
It was his own fault, he reasoned. He'd let things fall apart so much that she'd left him in the first place, oblivious to his own actions and how they made her feel. His inability to let go and trust her on her own shoved her away, and his inability to come to terms with her decision had given his closest friend all of the wrong ideas. Too many drunken words planted ideas in his head, and that had caused the two of them to intersect on their fatal junction. Again and again he pointed to his own faulty decisions that had led them to the slaughter.
Even his own insistence on trying to right things -as if magically somehow he could sweep into the snows and carry them away, like some fairytale!- had threatened the livelihood of his only remaining confidant. A chocobo, at that. Some valorous hero!
He shivered in the cold, his hood blotting out Dragonhead and muffling the going-ons around him. The voice startled him when it came and dislodged him from his self-flagellation.
"Ser Castille... are you awake?"
He blinked, bolting upright. It wasn't a voice he'd expected to hear and took a moment to bring his focus to bear, clearing his throat and attempting his best to sound normal.
"...Crofte? Twelve above, please tell me there's something you'd have me do."
"Aye, there is. The matter we spoke of before. Ser Melkire means to move this night." Before he could get his image in order, she continued. "Beyond that, are you well, Ser? Nymeia placed you in my dreams last eve.. they were quite troubling."
Warren paused for a moment, blinking hard to clear his vision and try to shake off the exhaustion. "I will be. Just point me in the right direction. I'm... not near the city. Where should I come landing? I'm taking an aetheryte."
Her reply was prompt and her tone as courteous as ever, professional in her countenance. "As you wish. We sail from Vesper Bay on the nineth bell of the eve."
"I'll be there."
Warren roused himself from his seat, groaning as his muscles cried out for mercy. A faint layer of snow fell from him and he looked towards the floating blue crystal set in the center of Dragonhead.
He hated taking the aetheryte. It always made him feel nauseous. He wondered if he'd even come out on the other side conscious. Heavy steps led him up the path towards it and he rested a weary hand on it, concentrating. A moment later and a flash of light later he was dispersed, but even while weightless he felt the crushing burden of Coerthas on his shoulders.
It was his own fault, he reasoned. He'd let things fall apart so much that she'd left him in the first place, oblivious to his own actions and how they made her feel. His inability to let go and trust her on her own shoved her away, and his inability to come to terms with her decision had given his closest friend all of the wrong ideas. Too many drunken words planted ideas in his head, and that had caused the two of them to intersect on their fatal junction. Again and again he pointed to his own faulty decisions that had led them to the slaughter.
Even his own insistence on trying to right things -as if magically somehow he could sweep into the snows and carry them away, like some fairytale!- had threatened the livelihood of his only remaining confidant. A chocobo, at that. Some valorous hero!
He shivered in the cold, his hood blotting out Dragonhead and muffling the going-ons around him. The voice startled him when it came and dislodged him from his self-flagellation.
"Ser Castille... are you awake?"
He blinked, bolting upright. It wasn't a voice he'd expected to hear and took a moment to bring his focus to bear, clearing his throat and attempting his best to sound normal.
"...Crofte? Twelve above, please tell me there's something you'd have me do."
"Aye, there is. The matter we spoke of before. Ser Melkire means to move this night." Before he could get his image in order, she continued. "Beyond that, are you well, Ser? Nymeia placed you in my dreams last eve.. they were quite troubling."
Warren paused for a moment, blinking hard to clear his vision and try to shake off the exhaustion. "I will be. Just point me in the right direction. I'm... not near the city. Where should I come landing? I'm taking an aetheryte."
Her reply was prompt and her tone as courteous as ever, professional in her countenance. "As you wish. We sail from Vesper Bay on the nineth bell of the eve."
"I'll be there."
Warren roused himself from his seat, groaning as his muscles cried out for mercy. A faint layer of snow fell from him and he looked towards the floating blue crystal set in the center of Dragonhead.
He hated taking the aetheryte. It always made him feel nauseous. He wondered if he'd even come out on the other side conscious. Heavy steps led him up the path towards it and he rested a weary hand on it, concentrating. A moment later and a flash of light later he was dispersed, but even while weightless he felt the crushing burden of Coerthas on his shoulders.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
