As you pass through the city gates, a familiar voice calls out in greeting. Honoroit, Lord Emmanellain's manservant, has made a full recovery and is eager to resume his duties. As the boy and his master make up for lost time, Alphinaud and Lord Edmont bid you welcome as well, congratulating you and your comrades on your rousing victory over the Alliance. Emboldened by their words, Ser Aymeric declares that the peace conference is to be reconvened at once -- that they will make peace with Hraesvelgr's brood and hasten the Dragonsong War to its end.
Alphinaud reveals that while he knew of your journey to Falcon's Nest, he refrained from joining you there for fear of turning to you for guidance. Master Matoya's words left a lasting impression on him, and he desired time alone to reflect on his life's course. Though he is yet uncertain about a great many matters, there are things he would say to you... but only after the conference is concluded.
Falcon's Nest is once more bustling with activity, the main square filled with spectators awaiting the commencement of ceremonies. Amidst the hubbub, you find Lord Artoirel, who thanks you for looking after his younger brother in the grand melee. Alas, he cannot speak with you at length, for duty calls, and he leaves you and Alphinaud to wait for the conference to begin.
For one thousand years have generations of Ishgardians and Dravanians lived and died, unable to conceive of a world without war. But when, during the unveiling of a relief celebrating the union of Saint Shiva and Hraesvelgr, Ser Aymeric and Vidofnir come together and speak of peace, such a world seems more than mere fantasy.
The dream endures for all of an instant. Without warning, Estinien leaps down from on high and drives his lance into Vidofnir's back, the white dragon's blood painting the relief a deep red. As the dragon collapses, Ser Aymeric seizes a bow and looses an arrow at his friend's heart, duty guiding his hand. The dragoon has naught to fear from worldly weapons, however, swatting aside the deadly shaft and regaining his perch atop a nearby tower. Silence.
All present strain to see the man who once embodied Ishgard's defiance. Estinien's now crimson armor radiates a malevolent power which pours forth from two massive, twitching eyes fused to his arm and shoulder. And when he speaks, it is not with the voice of a man, but a wyrm. Nidhogg. The wrathful shade declares that the final chorus of the Dragonsong War is nigh, and that all will soon answer for their sins. He then throws his arms wide, and with a bestial roar, transforms into his draconic form, taking wing for distant skies. Ser Aymeric's face is a mask, unreadable, his eyes fixed upon the wyrm as he whispers an oath you cannot hear for the cries of the crowd howling for Nidhogg's blood.
Alphinaud watches as the last guests leave Falcon's Nest. Vidofnir will live, he tells you, though it was surely not by accident. Nidhogg's declaration of war was doubtless also a demonstration of power for Hraesvelgr's brood -- and for the Ishgardians, who could do naught but watch as he wielded Estinien as an instrument of his vengeance.
I cannot help but wonder what would have happened had you lost... Fantastical though such a state of affairs unquestionably is. I daresay the world would simply have ended.
I never imagined our humble gatherin' of like-minded souls would grow into somethin' proper, let alone a force fit to trade blows with the Alliance's finest. Can't say I didn't enjoy it, neither. Funny how things turn out, eh?
Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I have largely recovered from my ordeal, and I have naught but several scars to show for it. Which, I have been told, some women may find...appealing.
The messengers spared not their chocobos to bring us word of your victory in the grand melee. I cannot well describe our elation when we heard the news.
It called to mind the day we rejoined the Eorzean Alliance, when I glimpsed hope rekindled in the eyes of the people.
They say you dueled General Raubahn within a ring of flames. I did not think the man so ostentatious. Would that I could have seen it...
After we parted ways in Matoya's Cave, I returned here to speak with Tataru. We agreed to tell the others only that our search for Minfilia had reached an impasse.
I subsequently learned that you had left for Falcon's Nest, but I thought it best to keep to myself for a time. I am wont to rely on you overmuch when we are together, and I needed time to think. To reflect.
I still do, I suspect, but matters here seemed to be coming to a head. In short, there are some things I feel I must say—though nothing so urgent that it cannot wait until after the conference.
So let us make for Falcon's Nest, and see if Lord Artoirel has need of our assistance.
Praise Halone, I was beginnin' to think that scaffold would never get used! We worked like beasts to build the bloody thing in time, only for the protest to delay everything. Better late than never, anyway.
While I am here, my family are at home celebrating the birth of our grandson. Though it pains me to be so far away, my wife insisted that one of us attend the ceremony, to tell the boy of this day when he is old enough to understand.
The world he will know as an adult shall be much changed if Ser Aymeric's conference succeeds─and if each and every one of us lends him our support.
I held on to the anger for so long. It was the only way I could cope with my husband's passing. But my daughter, stubborn as she is, insisted that we attend.
I never thought this day would come. Never wanted it. Never needed it. But when I saw all these young ones... For their sake, then...and perhaps for his memory too.
It true that lordling fought in the grand melee? Bugger me, that must've been a thing to see. But they say he acquitted himself well enough. His way of making amends, I'll wager.
Much has been said of your role in the grand melee. Needless to say, more than a few of my subordinates have implored me to invite you to a training session, that they might benefit from your guidance─though such conversations can wait.
As Ser Aymeric hoped, Ishgard's success at the grand melee has done much to restore the people's faith in this endeavor. Look on their faces, Forename. Nervous, yet hopeful... Expectant, in a word.
After that disaster with the protesters, it seemed like the conference was doomed to failure. But now? Sometimes it feels like nothing even happened. I'm glad and all, but it's a bit surprising, even strange...
It true that lordling fought in the grand melee? Bugger me, that must've been a thing to see. But they say he acquitted himself well enough. His way of making amends, I'll wager.
Rest assured that we will take no chances this time. All guests have been questioned, and we will have people watching the crowd for the duration of the ceremony.
Well met Mistress/Master Forename, and thank you for looking after my brother.
They say he fought bravely—that he did not dishonor his house. But you, my lady/lord—to you we owe everything.
As you can see, we have made every effort to strike while the iron is hot. We made our intentions known, and that all would be welcome to attend. And so they came. By the grace of the Fury, they came.
The ceremony will not be a lengthy affair, but there is still much to be done! I would speak with you more, but I must see to my duties. As for you and Master Alphinaud—you will do naught but enjoy yourselves, is that clear? If any dare beg your assistance again, I will have words.
Our sire bade us hearken unto the whispers of our hearts. They spoke to us of a paradise lost—of bonds of brotherhood which they yearn to see restored.
Ours too yearn for such a restoration. And they have guided us here this day, that they might yearn no longer.
Brothers and sisters, ye who stand as witness, hearken to me!
Since the days of eld, when the bonds betwixt man and dragon were sundered by our hand, our peoples have known only war.
Bloodshed without end, losses beyond counting—and still we fought. And still we fought.
Some wounds do not heal. The dead cannot be returned to us.
But we the living can choose another course. Here and now, we can lay down this burden—this hatred, this vengeance.
Our forebears fought not so that we could die, but that we might live! So let us honor their sacrifice and spare our children this death sentence. Let us gift them a new legacy. Life!
Child of Dravania! Art thou grown so forgetful that thou wouldst forsake kith and kin, and consort with the spawn of Thordan? That thou wouldst dare contemplate peace!
Hearken unto me, all of you! The final chorus is nigh, and all will be held to account! All will bathe in the flames of retribution!
Till the coming of that day, look you on your sins and despair! For none shall 'scape my wrath. None shall 'scape my revenge!
There they go, the last of the guests. Having come hither with hope in their hearts, they depart with hatred and bloodlust...
Until the moment I saw him strike, I still held some small hope that what you had seen in Azys Lla was...an illusion, perhaps. But he acted without hesitation...as did Ser Aymeric.
For a mercy, Vidofnir's wound was not mortal, or so Lucia tells me. The dragon was spirited away to Anyx Trine to receive care from her brethren. We can but hope her recovery is swift.
...But such was surely Nidhogg's intent. To deliver a proclamation not only to the children of Thordan, but to his kindred. "War is coming, and ye who do not stand with us stand apart."
She was an example—a message to her brood. Another instrument of his vengeance...like Estinien.