"Interesting," he muses, shifting as he tries to get out of bed and almost immediately buckles. He makes a grumpy noise as he crawls back in.
"Being like this is intolerable," he grumbles, sitting back with a huff, arms crossed. "It's as if I'm still human and able to get sick." Which, by implication, he also greatly disliked.
He draws his legs up to his chest, his tone almost sulky when he speaks next. He rests his chin on his knees.
"It's weakness," he mutters, looking away. "Being human earned me little, except heartache and injury. That's what being human is. Some wax poetic about it, but I detest the reminder."
They're too alike, and there's a pang in his chest that he doesn't want to examine. How long has it been since he'd thought that about another person? Even as someone in service to the dark lord, he'd kept his distance; he was friendly enough, but his first thought had always been of work, of his missions. It was too risky to become attached, to reveal those vulnerabilities and feelings that still ached in him.
"Oh, that's not very heroic. If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you don't hate me that much after all."
Avery hums and stares thoughtfully at the opposite wall. "I don't think I do," he admits. "Odd as it is to admit... I, uh... I think you might be my first friend."
"Well, yes. They were around but that doesn't necessarily mean they were anything more than acquaintances." He folds his arms behind his head and leans back. "Most of my adventuring was spent with a goal in mind and whenever I got back, someone would come around and make sure that I got involved in 'noble' endeavors." He makes a face at the thought and shakes his head.
"And that's not even getting into how many people just gathered to gawk and leech off whatever fame I might have. Everyone always wanted something."
His gaze slides to Ekkehardt.
"I think it's telling that the only people who bothered to try and come 'save' me were soldiers with chains, don't you?"
"That's true," Ekkehardt says, after a moment, uncurling a little. "I did think it odd that they just left you down there, after all that. I would have thought someone would have at least tried."
He knows he would have, if it was the hero who had earned his loyalty, rather than the dark lord's. The only reason he hadn't come to his lord's rescue is because he'd been killed first, which he had to admit had been a good tactical judgement, even if Avery probably hadn't seen it that way at the time.
"Exactly." The word is practically hissed, dripping with venom.
"At least you didn't pretend. You didn't sing my praises only to leave me to the wolves. Even when we were on separate sides you were honest and upfront. Infuriating, but honest in your intentions.
"And, of course, you were the only one to pull me out of there, despite having all the reason in the world to leave me to rot."
"Breaking you out wasn't exactly out of the goodness of my heart," Ekkehardt says dryly, waving a hand, "but you've made your point. I suppose it must have been annoying to go through your life having nobody be honest with you."
He decides it's not at all a good time to ask not even your wife? Perhaps it will never be a good time. He's not touching it, either way.
He can't help but laugh a little. He knows Ekkehardt didn't do it out of kindness. His attitude when he had first dragged him out of there had been a testament to that. But even afterwards he had let him stay. He'd been harsh and standoffish, yes, but he had treated him as if he were just another man--still treats him that way.
And, Avery finds, he's someone that he doesn't feel the need to smile around. It's a new feeling, unbearably fragile, but nice.
"You sure you don't want to go through with your master's old plan?" he asks, half-joking.
"I'm not much of a lordly type," muses Ekkehardt. "I suppose I could muster the strength to murder a kingdom's nobility, but then what would I do with all that new space? I'd have to think about it."
It's very hard to tell if he's joking or not. He sounds the same as ever.
"True," Avery concedes with a wave of the hand. "It'd be nice, but having to clean it all up is another story entirely." He should probably be more disapproving of how easy it is to slip into the mindset of killing them all, of achieving his own personal freedom and revenge all in one fell swoop, but it's so hard to care about that kind of thing anymore.
"At the very least, it could be fun to hang them from the side of a tower by their pantaloons."
"That might end up killing them anyway. Out of embarrassment." A pause, and then he laughs a little and waves a hand himself. "Not that I'm disagreeing."
He wonders how lonely his life must have been, to think that living with an enemy is so much easier to connect with than his previous lofty status. For the first time, he doesn't quash those thoughts immediately.
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"Being like this is intolerable," he grumbles, sitting back with a huff, arms crossed. "It's as if I'm still human and able to get sick." Which, by implication, he also greatly disliked.
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And then the tone hits him. "And from the sounds of it, you didn't exactly care for being human, did you?"
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"It's weakness," he mutters, looking away. "Being human earned me little, except heartache and injury. That's what being human is. Some wax poetic about it, but I detest the reminder."
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"I probably should say something about how humans aren't that bad or 'wax poetic' as you said, but... Honestly, I can't say I blame you."
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"Oh, that's not very heroic. If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you don't hate me that much after all."
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"Me? Truly?" How does that even work? "Surely you had other people around you, as a hero?"
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"And that's not even getting into how many people just gathered to gawk and leech off whatever fame I might have. Everyone always wanted something."
His gaze slides to Ekkehardt.
"I think it's telling that the only people who bothered to try and come 'save' me were soldiers with chains, don't you?"
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He knows he would have, if it was the hero who had earned his loyalty, rather than the dark lord's. The only reason he hadn't come to his lord's rescue is because he'd been killed first, which he had to admit had been a good tactical judgement, even if Avery probably hadn't seen it that way at the time.
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"At least you didn't pretend. You didn't sing my praises only to leave me to the wolves. Even when we were on separate sides you were honest and upfront. Infuriating, but honest in your intentions.
"And, of course, you were the only one to pull me out of there, despite having all the reason in the world to leave me to rot."
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He decides it's not at all a good time to ask not even your wife? Perhaps it will never be a good time. He's not touching it, either way.
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And, Avery finds, he's someone that he doesn't feel the need to smile around. It's a new feeling, unbearably fragile, but nice.
"You sure you don't want to go through with your master's old plan?" he asks, half-joking.
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It's very hard to tell if he's joking or not. He sounds the same as ever.
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"At the very least, it could be fun to hang them from the side of a tower by their pantaloons."
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He wonders how lonely his life must have been, to think that living with an enemy is so much easier to connect with than his previous lofty status. For the first time, he doesn't quash those thoughts immediately.