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Urianger wasn't sure what he was expected to say in the current circumstances. He's known secrecy, has dabbled and conspired with forces and beings that many a lesser would have fled from. Given the nature of the Ascians that were encountered, it could have been considered foolish to willingly parlay with them.
He still thanks the stars that the events with the Warriors of Darkness had not ended up worse.
This, however, was something significantly less complex and yet just as important all the same. Nevermind the implications that came of such.
All because she hadn’t expected anyone really to be there and he had expected the room to be empty.
"Say something, please," the miqo’te across from him pleads, hands balled into fists at her sides.
His voice fails him once more, as his eyes set upon the being next to her feet.
It's translucent and blue in form, ethereal in its own right. He only has recounts and tales from the other scions and the Warrior of Light concerning the appearance of the First Brood. The wyrm next to her, staring unflinchingly at him fits several of the criteria. Thorned wings, a set of two horns, spikes on its back that faced forward and fur that grew along its backside.
"I know it's such an odd thing to tell a person-"
He holds his hand up. “Would thou find it reassuring to find it is not my first encounter with thee?”
“You wha-”
So thou does remember.
Her head snaps down to the smaller form next to her. He recalls it, clear as day. At the time, he had considered it a cumulation of the light and his own exhausted mental state. Now though..
“Aye. Twas in the Waking Sands.”
The wyrm turns to her companion, amusement plain in its voice. I like this one.
“Why did neither of you say anything?” There’s something decisively less of an edge to her tone, as if she had expected this information to have swayed his opinions of her.
You worry too much little one.
“I am inclined to agree with our friend.” It wasn’t that he had tried to conceal their brief encounter but at the time, she had given no hints as to whether she knew what had occurred and even less on if she knew the being existed at all. “I presumed, with time, that thee would willingly come to me with any manner that may plague thine mind.”
“Again, this isn’t exactly a usual, completely normal thing to tell people. Frankly, if we hadn’t known each other for as long as we have, I think I would have been much more hesitant.”
“What convinced thee?”
“She did. Been bothering me about finally meeting you in person for some time now.”
That was a bit surprising to hear.
“What name doth thou answer to?”
The wyrm, pleased to be addressed directly, bows in what he recognizes as an attempt of partaking in certain customs of mankind. Ratatoskr, Lord Augurelt. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. He had his suspicions given the appearance but he hadn’t assumed it would be one of the First Brood long passed. Which begged the question of if it were possible for Bahamut to be tied to another in similar fashion. Of course, now he was curious if all and every dragoon was essentially “tied” to a deceased dravanian and if such stopped them from rejoining the aetherial sea.
That potential little pet project could wait. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Come then, the both of you. There is much I wish to see in our ventures. Starting with that stall with all those wonderful colors I spotted.
He knew from texts that this particular wyrm of the First Brood had been the most curious concerning mankind. To hear and see that, despite her death wrought at the hands of man, that her curiosity remained intact reaffirmed his belief in the concept of forgiveness.
A reminder he sorely needed given her withdrawal after the death of Zenos and the complexity of feelings she’d confessed to him about concerning such.
He startles briefly at the feeling of tiny pinpricks digging into the cloth of his arms and glances down, spots the tiny wyrm clawing her way up his clothing to set herself upon his shoulders. The echo of boots on the wooden floor quickly captures his attention once more, content with letting the ethereal dragon do as it pleases for the time being.
She’s staring at him namely where the wyrm, her wyrm on a technicality, has taken up residence.
“Well at least I don’t have to worry about the two of you not getting along.”
“If anything, I fear it may be the opposite,” he says, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to go forth.
Ratatoskr seems to agree with his assessment, a pleased rumble echoing through her mouth as she settles in her spot.
His companion mutters something he doesn’t quite catch as she exits before him.
It’s companionable between the three of them, quiet in between the bouts of questions the wyrm softly ask him. It is one particular question that he answers that has him asking his own, direct at the miqo’te walking at his side.
“Are there any other confessions thou wishes to make?” She seems to consider it for a moment and shakes her head.
He doesn’t catch the sadden look from the translucent form of Ratatoskr curled around his neck, under the cover of his cowl directed at his miqo’te companion. An exchange of words that would be had later that he’d never hear, even amongst the blanket of night.
That particular confession would be one he’d likely never hear. It wasn’t meant for his ears.
Not yet at least.