[so he is awake. francel presses his cheek into the pillow and closes his eyes, mostly because he knows he will lose his nerve if he allows himself to look at aymeric now. his fingers curl in the sheets.]

...I think... I have been... unfair to you. But there are so many things that I feel... and all of them are too difficult to explain.

[he knows aymeric might not understand; he takes a breath and continues before the man can ask any questions.]

Before the archbishop was slain, I was not the man that I am now. I could wake up and expect to see Haurchefant... plot the reclamation of the Steel Vigil... drive off the fire and fangs of the Horde. I believed in the Fury. I dreamt of salvation. But now...

I wake... in the mornings... and expect nothing. I think nothing, I dream of nothing... because there is nothing left to long for. And I know that the people are happy... but I no longer feel joy.

[his eyes sting; he is crying into the pillow. it doesn't matter. he brings an arm up, wipes his tears.]

...I wish you could have met me when I was a better man.