[His father — the archbishop — the archbishop had cared not for the impassioned words Aymeric had offered.
Deep in the lowest portions of the Vault, there is plenty of cold and damp and maddening quiet to contemplate the depths of his own failure. Aymeric has been down here once or twice before, usually on some service for the Temple Knights; it is in these lowest and most hidden of places that the deepest blasphemies are cleansed, far away from the sight of any who might fall corrupt to it by mistake or proximity. Down here is where the priests keep the icy wellspring used to cleanse heresies; that the rejuvenated faithful almost always die of exposure soon afterward is but mere proof of the depths of their sins, that it taxed their mortal flesh so bitterly to be expunged of them. Here is where the noblest of the dragoons claim command over the Eye of Nidhogg, where accursed blood is injected into their veins.
Here, in the Vault, is where the church does its most pious and terrible work.
And here he hangs from chains, languishing in wait for his blessings to come. Bastard-born noble fool that he is, the priests will soon come and try to save his soul, while the Heaven's Ward looks on to bear witness.
He wonders idly how they will seek to redeem him. There are so many possible ways of drawing pain out of a body.
But worse still than the thought of his imminent redemption is the cold understanding that he has failed his Ishgard and the Warrior of Light both. He had not impassioned words enough in all the world to turn his father's ear away from a thousand years of corruption and lies. His efforts were in vain. The war would continue. The deception would persist.
Failure is hardly an uncommon state for a bastard, and yet it tastes so bitter on his bloody tongue. He could weep from his frustration, but he dares not, for fear those same tears would soon turn to those of anguish and pain and self-pity.
His salvation is coming, whenever the priests finish their preparations and return.
He's terrified of it, and bows his head from the shameful weight like the way he hangs from his chains.]
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Deep in the lowest portions of the Vault, there is plenty of cold and damp and maddening quiet to contemplate the depths of his own failure. Aymeric has been down here once or twice before, usually on some service for the Temple Knights; it is in these lowest and most hidden of places that the deepest blasphemies are cleansed, far away from the sight of any who might fall corrupt to it by mistake or proximity. Down here is where the priests keep the icy wellspring used to cleanse heresies; that the rejuvenated faithful almost always die of exposure soon afterward is but mere proof of the depths of their sins, that it taxed their mortal flesh so bitterly to be expunged of them. Here is where the noblest of the dragoons claim command over the Eye of Nidhogg, where accursed blood is injected into their veins.
Here, in the Vault, is where the church does its most pious and terrible work.
And here he hangs from chains, languishing in wait for his blessings to come. Bastard-born noble fool that he is, the priests will soon come and try to save his soul, while the Heaven's Ward looks on to bear witness.
He wonders idly how they will seek to redeem him. There are so many possible ways of drawing pain out of a body.
But worse still than the thought of his imminent redemption is the cold understanding that he has failed his Ishgard and the Warrior of Light both. He had not impassioned words enough in all the world to turn his father's ear away from a thousand years of corruption and lies. His efforts were in vain. The war would continue. The deception would persist.
Failure is hardly an uncommon state for a bastard, and yet it tastes so bitter on his bloody tongue. He could weep from his frustration, but he dares not, for fear those same tears would soon turn to those of anguish and pain and self-pity.
His salvation is coming, whenever the priests finish their preparations and return.
He's terrified of it, and bows his head from the shameful weight like the way he hangs from his chains.]