He's not entirely sure why; by all logic, the place shouldn't be the most comfortable to him. It's not the cold - that he's more than used to, from dealing with Steppe winters - or the towering heights of the frozen city. It's definitely not the crowds - not exactly, anyway, because Velin loves the energy of a bustling city. But Ishgard is filled almost exclusively with Elezen - by all rights, with no family intent on welcoming, he should feel at least as much of an outsider as he always did back home. The shivering streets of the Brume tug at his soul, whenever he walks through - he's just one man, and kill primals he might be able to, but there's only so many hours in one day he can use to help people - and sometimes the pressure makes Velin want nothing more than to run away. There's worse pressure from those who know what he did in the Dragonsong War but don't know him, who hail him as a distant hero on a pedestal. And, well... he has bad memories here. Plenty of them.
But good ones too.
"It's the rebuilding, I think," the Miqo'te says; his smile is bittersweet, but there's more sugar than there is sorrow. His breath puffs out in clouds of white. "I couldn't stay away if I knew I could help, and once I was here I remembered all over again why you loved this place."
"Why I did, too," he adds (corrects?) after a moment. "...I wonder what you'd think of all the dragons who've moved in?"
Ysayle, Velin knows, would have loved it. The deepest desire of one person, the hearth and home of another - and neither of them around to see it. (So many others, too, that Velin didn't know as well - dragon and human. All of them as important to someone, in some time, as the people Velin remembers.)
(But there's thousands of people in that city that are still alive. Thousands still struggling along, day by day, with their own hopes and dreams and deepest desires. That's what has to matter.)
Velin stands, stretching; the snow glimmers under his feet. The skies are clear, for once - cold, as Coerthas always is, but you can actually see ten feet in front of your face. The spires in the distance are as awe-inspiring as always; behind him, Velin's footsteps trail down the hill and into the distance until they vanish.
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1 - Crux
He's not entirely sure why; by all logic, the place shouldn't be the most comfortable to him. It's not the cold - that he's more than used to, from dealing with Steppe winters - or the towering heights of the frozen city. It's definitely not the crowds - not exactly, anyway, because Velin loves the energy of a bustling city. But Ishgard is filled almost exclusively with Elezen - by all rights, with no family intent on welcoming, he should feel at least as much of an outsider as he always did back home. The shivering streets of the Brume tug at his soul, whenever he walks through - he's just one man, and kill primals he might be able to, but there's only so many hours in one day he can use to help people - and sometimes the pressure makes Velin want nothing more than to run away. There's worse pressure from those who know what he did in the Dragonsong War but don't know him, who hail him as a distant hero on a pedestal. And, well... he has bad memories here. Plenty of them.
But good ones too.
"It's the rebuilding, I think," the Miqo'te says; his smile is bittersweet, but there's more sugar than there is sorrow. His breath puffs out in clouds of white. "I couldn't stay away if I knew I could help, and once I was here I remembered all over again why you loved this place."
"Why I did, too," he adds (corrects?) after a moment. "...I wonder what you'd think of all the dragons who've moved in?"
Ysayle, Velin knows, would have loved it. The deepest desire of one person, the hearth and home of another - and neither of them around to see it. (So many others, too, that Velin didn't know as well - dragon and human. All of them as important to someone, in some time, as the people Velin remembers.)
(But there's thousands of people in that city that are still alive. Thousands still struggling along, day by day, with their own hopes and dreams and deepest desires. That's what has to matter.)
Velin stands, stretching; the snow glimmers under his feet. The skies are clear, for once - cold, as Coerthas always is, but you can actually see ten feet in front of your face. The spires in the distance are as awe-inspiring as always; behind him, Velin's footsteps trail down the hill and into the distance until they vanish.
"It's a nice view, anyway."