Estinien boggles, first at what Jaskier is saying, and then at the tiny dragon in his hand. He hasn't seen one quite that colour, though its features remind him of an elder wyvern like Vedrfolnir. Estinien stares, between the tiny dragon and Jaskier, lingering for a long moment before abruptly standing, his back turned to the both of them.
At first, it seems like he's about to get mad and storm off, with how sudden it all is. There are no words of explanation, after all. Yet, he stops several paces away, staring up at the man-made sky. His fists clench at his sides.
Estinien has been reluctant to use creation magicks ever since he awoke from the stupor he first arrived in the Horizon with. Some things don't concern him as much - he'll make hay for his sheep, and grow plants to treat them with, and alter small things about his valley. At the end of it, though, he's been hesitant to create more life than he already has. He certainly isn't going to create more dragons - not after the mockeries he created of Hraesvelgr and Tiamat while still unaware of himself. They still linger in his valley, resting out of sight, only warning him of incoming threats.
It's not his place to create life like that, now is it to take it away from the creatures he's already made. It reminds him too much of behaviour he wouldn't consider aspirational - appeals to a small, unspoken fear that the power of the Singularity could make monsters of them all.
No, if he's going to answer this request, he'll have to do it himself. At least - sort of himself. After all, things in this regard have gotten awfully complicated for him.
The wind shifts in the vineyard, rising and swirling around them, with Estinien at the center. It's in the same moment that he opens his eyes, searing red swallowing up their whites and leaving nothing but a slitted pupil down their center. Around him, darkened aether fluctuates, expanding along with his physical wings, until the spiritual shape of a wyrm seems to mirror his own body.
It's then that the song begins. Nidhogg roars, and the first words on his tongue are that of agony and vengeance. Even though Estinien's mouth doesn't move, the sound is clearly coming from him - it radiates, like a sound and like a feeling, cutting through air and flesh and manifesting in the mind as a tale told through will alone.
It's the melody of the Dragonsong War, the struggle that had consumed Estinien's entire being. It's the song that had brought Nidhogg's horde to their sire's side without question. For a dragon, its meaning is as clear as day.
Though normally a man would be unable to understand it, he wills that Jaskier hear it true. Despite the rawness of its notes, though, he tries to prevent it from causing pain. He can only hope that Jaskier will be able to appreciate it, despite the ugliness it bears.
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At first, it seems like he's about to get mad and storm off, with how sudden it all is. There are no words of explanation, after all. Yet, he stops several paces away, staring up at the man-made sky. His fists clench at his sides.
Estinien has been reluctant to use creation magicks ever since he awoke from the stupor he first arrived in the Horizon with. Some things don't concern him as much - he'll make hay for his sheep, and grow plants to treat them with, and alter small things about his valley. At the end of it, though, he's been hesitant to create more life than he already has. He certainly isn't going to create more dragons - not after the mockeries he created of Hraesvelgr and Tiamat while still unaware of himself. They still linger in his valley, resting out of sight, only warning him of incoming threats.
It's not his place to create life like that, now is it to take it away from the creatures he's already made. It reminds him too much of behaviour he wouldn't consider aspirational - appeals to a small, unspoken fear that the power of the Singularity could make monsters of them all.
No, if he's going to answer this request, he'll have to do it himself. At least - sort of himself. After all, things in this regard have gotten awfully complicated for him.
The wind shifts in the vineyard, rising and swirling around them, with Estinien at the center. It's in the same moment that he opens his eyes, searing red swallowing up their whites and leaving nothing but a slitted pupil down their center. Around him, darkened aether fluctuates, expanding along with his physical wings, until the spiritual shape of a wyrm seems to mirror his own body.
It's then that the song begins. Nidhogg roars, and the first words on his tongue are that of agony and vengeance. Even though Estinien's mouth doesn't move, the sound is clearly coming from him - it radiates, like a sound and like a feeling, cutting through air and flesh and manifesting in the mind as a tale told through will alone.
It's the melody of the Dragonsong War, the struggle that had consumed Estinien's entire being. It's the song that had brought Nidhogg's horde to their sire's side without question. For a dragon, its meaning is as clear as day.
Though normally a man would be unable to understand it, he wills that Jaskier hear it true. Despite the rawness of its notes, though, he tries to prevent it from causing pain. He can only hope that Jaskier will be able to appreciate it, despite the ugliness it bears.