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Ser Alberic was not who Fafnir expected. He was mild mannered and polite in speech. He looked mildly alarmed at a seven fulms tall Au Ra walking towards him, but did not reach for any weapon which was better than the guards at the entry to the camp.
This was still the former Azure Dragoon, though, and Fafnir could tell. There was a weight about him that betrayed his experiences, a way about him that reminded Fafnir a bit of Thancred — a forced lightness that didn't match his steps, a tightness in his eyes. He had seen things. Fafnir could only imagine what.
Alberic also did not seem to be disturbed at all by Sebek’s appearance, though he did seem worried that it would be too cold for them.
“Perhaps tis a little cold,” Sebek agreed. Alberic handed Fafnir a spare scarf, which they wrapped around Sebek’s torso with some difficulty. Sebek accepted the gift even with the mild humiliation of having to be swaddled.
“My apologies for the hasty job, but we shall be able to equip you better after the week’s supplies are delivered,” Alberic said. Sebek shook their head, tapping their claws on the icy stone.
“This is most kind of you, ser. Do not worry yourself further. Please, teach us more about the art of a dragoon.”
“Can you jump well?” Alberic's daemon, a mountain goat with a pair of horns that Fafnir was jealous of, asked. Sebek shook their head. “Well, that is disappointing.”
“Zechariah, please,” Alberic murmured. “Regardless of the daemon, one can learn to be a dragoon. It just may be a bit more of a challenge. You shall have to get used to being some distance from each other. If that is a problem, best to know that now.”
Sebek huffed, neck turning to look up at Fafnir. “If this is what you need to do, then I will endure any inconvenience for you.”
Fafnir raised an eyebrow. Sebek nudged their leg, tail waving back and forth.
“Alright,” Fafnir finally said.
“Oh, and you best not be scared of heights. That may prove troublesome.” Alberic gestured towards the gate out of the camp. “Now come. Let me explain what I need your aid for. If you can succeed with this, then we may make a dragoon of you yet.”
And that was their first meeting.
Estinien was what Fafnir expected. He was a lean Elezen with a rumbling voice, literally covered in cold metal twisted into spikes. His daemon, a snow leopard with patterns so striking that it was remarkable that he could disappear into the drifts, was large enough that even Fafnir felt sufficiently cowed.
He tried to kill Fafnir. Or at the very least maim them.
Fafnir jumped out of the way as Sebek scurried off, trying to run from the leopard hunting them down. Estinien moved with great speed, not at all burdened by the cold or the snow. He swung his lance with deadly precision and it was all Fafnir could do to block each strike. Their armor was bulky, built for more temperate forests, and sparks flew up as Estinien’s lance flew across their pauldron.
Then the Eye of Nidhogg flared red, Fafnir felt power surge through their limbs, and they… Well, they did not trounce Estinien, but it was a close thing.
“That did not go how I expected,” Alberic confessed once they were back at the Observatorium. “Are you well?”
Fafnir nodded as Sebek shook their head. “I thought that I was going to get eaten. His daemon fought like a whirlwind. And traversing the snow is proving more of a challenge than I imagined.”
“Michahel is very protective,” Zechariah replied. “I can show you how he moves and aid you in defeating him. Though it may be difficult if you cannot move quickly across the ground.”
Fafnir punched the palm of their hand. Alberic waited for them to say something else, anything at all, but nothing came.
“Your training shall begin as soon as you are ready,” Alberic said. Zechariah let out a bleat and kicked at the air. “And pray, try your best not to hold his actions against him. Tis clear that Estinien is not in his right mind.”
“We will see. I do not tend to like people who try to kill me,” Sebek replied. Fafnir nodded.
And that was the day they met Estinien.
****
Ishgardians did not like Fafnir and they very much did not like Sebek. That was unsurprising. It was dreadfully inconvenient, but such was life.
Between their work with the Scions and their continued training as a dragoon, Fafnir found themself traveling frequently through otherwise deserted areas. It gave them plenty of time to sightsee at least, taking in Eorzea in its full glory. Sebek liked Ul’dah the most of their ventures, partially because they did not have to wear a sweater — which Tataru had knit them and was a pleasant shade of gray — while Fafnir admitted that something drew them to Coerthas.
“I do not know why,” Sebek said on one such journey. “I do not like snow. It is cold and wet and gets everywhere.”
Fafnir shrugged. They did not like the snow either and did not like the stares they got walking to and from quests, but there were moments when it felt like the whole world was gone and it was just the two of them. It could be quiet in a way that it never was in the Black Shroud or in La Noscea. Not that their heart didn’t still soar every time they smelled sea salt in the air, but the smell of snow was crisp and refreshing.
“And that dragoon, Einstein—” Sebek shook their head. Fafnir did not bother to correct them. “I know Ser Alberic says that we should be understanding and kind, and I am sure that Ba and Ma would agree, but I simply cannot. Whatever he thinks he is doing alone, he should stop. T’would be for the best if he accepted our help. Look at us — we help everyone we meet.”
Even the refugees who would rather stab us in the back, Fafnir thought. They held no ill will towards those from Ala Mhigo, even if they carried the scars from the encounter. They just wanted their homes back and Fafnir understood that desperation drove people to do terrible things.
The scars would take a while to fade, was all.
“Now, if everyone was like Haurchefant, then I would like Coerthas more,” Sebek continued. “He is a good man.”
Fafnir snorted. “You like Ursa,” they corrected.
Sebek could not blush because lizards were not capable of such, but Fafnir could still tell they were flustered. “Well, she is just — she is very big.”
Ursa was a polar bear that barely fit in the door of the great hall. She seemed to spend most of her days sitting next to Haurchefant, providing glib commentary and encouragement to recruits. She had also complimented Sebek’s scales, which was a quick way to their heart.
The two of them had talked for quite a while when their respective person was otherwise occupied that night. Fafnir had not asked what they discussed. In turn, Sebek had not questioned the marks that were visible on Fafnir’s neck. Some things were best left unsaid.
“You do not like Haurchefant,” Fafnir continued. Sebek shook their head in denial. “You left claw marks on his door.”
It had been funny, not that anyone had asked Fafnir. When he saw, Haurchefant's laughter had echoed through the fortress, so Fafnir didn’t feel bad. It was also hard to feel any guilt when Haurchefant had been moaning their name the night before.
“All I am saying,” Sebek insisted, “is that we should go help anyone else. Even Alphinaud.”
“You threatened to eat Diana.”
“I did not mean it.” Sebek hissed. “Besides, she is too small. She would get stuck.”
Fafnir rolled their eyes as the conversation went downhill from there. They wondered if they could find time to stop by Camp Dragonhead, somewhere between preparing to fight Garuda and dealing with Estinien.
Probably not, they decided, and did not say anything else.
****
Because life was funny, the next time they met Estinien offered Fafnir his hand. Not literally, as he was still several yalms away. But he said that he wanted Fafnir’s help to kill Nidhogg and rid Ishgard of the dragon threat before jumping away. His daemon disappeared into the snow with him.
Alberic sighed. There was a forlorn expression on his face, aging him far past his years.
“Well, I suppose he is right about one thing. I cannot simply gift you my armor. But this is hardly the place for this conversation. Come, let us head back so we can talk out of the cold.” He yelped when Zechariah headbutt him in the side. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Do not mourn someone who is not dead,” Zechariah said. “We will knock some sense into Estinien and Michahel.”
“I will leave Michahel to you. It is proving harder than I thought to adapt to fighting in this accursed snow. And he tore my sweater.” Sebek sounded genuinely disappointed about their sweater. They sneezed, snot flying through the air. Fafnir pat them on the head before gesturing to where the Observatorium lay.
Once they were around a fire, it was much more tolerable to talk of dragoon business.
“There is power in our steel. We bond with our weapons and armor until they are almost a second daemon. I had planned on providing you my former armor, after obvious modifications, but that shall not do. You will need your own.” Alberic sighed, hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. “If you wish to earn it, then there are a series of challenges you shall have to complete. But then the title of Azure Dragoon will truly be yours.”
Fafnir raised an eyebrow. They gestured at their horns and then at Sebek. By now, Alberic was used to how reticent they were and did not wait for words.
“While my fellow Ishgardians may have their… hangups on granting an outsider our power, as dragoons we have a level of autonomy that other branches may not. Besides, us dragoons know the difference between wyrms and Auri such as yourself. If you can earn your armor, none shall stop you from donning it.” Alberic leaned back in his seat. The aged wood creaked under his weight. “I am certain you have much to think of. While I heard you assisted Ser Haurchefant and Lord Francel, I would not blame you if you did not wish to entangle yourself further in our politics.”
“Nidhogg’s death would end the war?” Fafnir asked. Alberic started, not expecting their voice. He nodded.
“Aye. Of that I am certain.”
“Then I will help.” Fafnir did not look at Sebek for approval. This was a decision made unilaterally.
Sebek clacked their claws against the cobblestones.
“We can survive any challenges we face, Ser Alberic. Even if there is too much snow,” they said. Alberic laughed, a light returning to his eyes.
He reached out to scratch Zechariah behind the ears. The goat bleated in happiness.
“It appears there is hope for us washed up soldiers yet,” Alberic said.
“I could have told you that,” Zechariah grumbled, but he was too glad to get scratches to say anything else.
“You can do the challenges on the morrow. If you wish to stay here, I am certain we can find a place to rest,” Alberic offered.
Sebek nudged Fafnir. They locked eyes. No words were exchanged but they came to a decision nonetheless.
“We have another place to stay,” Sebek said. Alberic nodded.
“Very well. Zechariah and I will be here in the morn’ when you are ready to begin.”
****
Haurchefant and Ursa were more than happy to have Fafnir and Sebek take advantage of their hospitality. He didn’t act odd just because they had a night of, admittedly, really good sex. He handed Fafnir a mug of warm cider, made sure that the fire was stoked for Sebek, and settled in to catch up.
“Interesting,” he said once Sebek had conveyed the events of the last few weeks. “I have never met the Azure Dragoon myself — neither Ser Alberic nor Ser Estinien. Both are known to me, but only through the same gossip that all Ishgardians hear of. Ser Alberic raised Ser Estinien ever since he was a child and all that.”
It did not sound like the topic brought much pleasure to Haurchefant, so Fafnir merely shrugged. Sebek turned so that their other side was facing the fire. They now could look at Haurchefant without twisting their neck.
“I had a question about their daemons,” they said. Haurchefant gestured for them to continue. By his side, Ursa shifted her weight. “They are both male, are they not? Do all Azure dragoons have daemons of the same gender?”
Fafnir withheld a groan. While people generally did not ask questions of other people’s daemons out of fear of being uncouth, the daemons themselves tended to have less boundaries. This was accepted as long as it was a discussion between daemons. Sebek, though, had always been bold and ready to speak with people with frequency that other daemons avoided.
Haurchefant pursed his lips. “I confess, I had never considered the question. But tis known that it takes a… specific sort of person to become an Azure dragoon.” If he glanced at Sebek and then back at Fafnir, well, it was quick enough to almost miss.
A reminder, if nothing else, that people looked at Fafnir and their daemon and saw warriors. Beings capable of violence. Nothing else. Nothing more.
“We can do whatever we wish,” Sebek insisted. Haurchefant laughed, light and gentle, and the tension in Fafnir's shoulders was gone.
“I believe that. You are one of the most talented people I have ever met,” he said, looking directly at Fafnir. Despite their earlier thoughts, they realized that they were flushed. They blamed it on the cider, though they knew there was no alcohol in it. “We are most fortunate to have you aid us. I beg that you always remember that you have friends in Ishgard.”
“Thank you,” Fafnir said. Haurchefant gave them a gentle smile. The fire flickered in his eyes before he looked away, examining his mug. There was silence in the room, peaceful and comforting.
Ursa rumbled softly, her snout nudging against Haurchefant’s arm. He tilted his head.
“Yes, my dear?”
“If you want to entertain Fafnir again, this time let us back in once you are done. Tis too cold to be in the great hall without a fire,” she said in as low a voice as she could manage, which was not very low at all.
Fafnir gave up pretending that the red on their face was anything other than embarrassment. Sebek huffed and clawed at the stone floor, though not from anger. Haurchefant let out a nervous chuckle, swirling his cider in his mug.
“That — I would not want to presume. Not that you are not attractive, Fafnir, but I assure you that you can stay here without any other activities.” Haurchefant gave Ursa a friendly bop on the head. “You are so bold. Where do you get it from?”
“You,” she replied dryly. Fafnir chuckled, covering their mouth with one hand.
Haurchefant focused on them, expression impossible to decipher. Was the red at the tips of his ears leftover from his shame? Was the gleam in his eyes just from the fire? His mouth was slightly open and, as Fafnir watched, he licked his lips.
"I am not opposed," they said. They finished their cider off, setting the cup to the side. With a smirk, they stood and crossed the scant fulms between chairs.
Sebek sighed loudly as Fafnir leaned down, one hand cupping Haurchefant's cheek. Ursa huffed, moving away so the two had more space.
"Well, if you want," Haurchefant tried to tease, but there was too much earnesty in his eyes.
Fafnir pressed forward, their lips touching Haurchefant's. Their horns framed either side of Haurchefant's face, but if he feared their metal-caped tips he gave no indication of such.
"I think," Haurchefant said once he had time to breathe, "that we should move to my chambers."
They locked Ursa and Sebek out of the room for a few hours. Haurchefant invited them back after, though the bed was fully occupied. If Sebek slept tucked under one of Ursa’s large legs, well, that was neither here nor there.
****
"He is not terrible," Sebek said as they departed Camp Dragonhead for the Observatorium in the morning. Fafnir smirked, earning an indignant snort. "I know, I know. He is just another tumble in the hay. But I am simply saying—"
"He is kind," Fafnir agreed. The but that is not enough went unsaid, but Sebek heard it anyways. Haurchefant was attractive and kinder than almost anyone else Fafnir knew, but to pretend they could be more than a dalliance was an exercise in folly.
Fafnir knew better.
It was not snowing for once, though there was still plenty of the stuff on the road. Their trip was quick, relatively speaking, and Alberic was ready for them when they arrived.
"This is your last chance to change your mind," he warned. "If you fail, you may not live."
"That is not the first time we have heard that," Sebek said. "Whatever challenges you have prepared, we are ready to face them."
Alberic did not look enthused, but he nodded. Zechariah let out a bleat.
"Try not to die. T'would be a shame if you died after all our training." He pawed at the ground, hoof kicking up ice. "Even if you cannot jump."
"I am getting better," Sebek grumbled.
"Let's go," Fafnir said before the conversation could continue. Alberic gestured for them to follow him and off they went.
Three fights and one dragon confrontation later, Fafnir was strapping on the last of the dragoon armor. It fit them snugly, more so than any other scale mail they had donned before. But it felt good, cold on the outside but warm inside.
They gave Alberic a quizzical look, gesturing to their forearm.
"Aye, t'would be the enchantment woven in the scales. No matter how high you fly, you shall not fear the cold." Alberic looked both relieved and genuinely joyous. Fafnir decided to take it positively. "With this armor, none could deny that you are a true dragoon."
"Thank you," Sebek said. They were doing near continuous circles around Fafnir, only stopping periodically to sniff at them. Their tongue would dart out, almost brushing the metal. "It smells odd."
"You are smelling dragon blood. Tis infused in the metal to give it strength," Alberic explained.
Sebek looked at Fafnir. Fafnir looked at Sebek.
"And that is different from the dragon magic that the heretics utilize?" Sebek questioned. Alberic nodded. "I see."
"It fits well," Fafnir said. They flexed one arm, then the other. Though the metal seemed to almost be a second skin, it moved wonderfully. They could tell that it was built with maneuverability in mind, but they also had no doubt that it would protect them from all but the most grievous of blows.
"Good. That gladdens me to hear." Alberic opened his mouth and then closed it. "You are ready to face Estinien, then, and fulfill the purpose of your station."
At his side, Zechariah shook his head. "Nay, they are not. You need to tell them about Ferndale, Alberic."
Hearing his daemon, Alberic paled. Fafnir frowned, trying to make sense of what Zechariah referenced. Sebek went up to Zechariah, looking up at the goat.
“What about Ferndale? What have you been hiding from us?” Sebek hissed. Zechariah huffed, meeting Sebek where they stood. The two daemons glared at one another.
“It is not so easy to explain,” Zechariah said. He snorted in warning, twin puffs of air leaving his nostrils. Alberic raised a hand, seeing Fafnir starting to reach for their lance.
“Peace, please. Zechariah, it is understandable that he is concerned.” Alberic sighed, shoulders slumping. “Ferndale was a small village in Coerthas. Estinien hailed from there — born and raised. It was burned to the ground.”
And Alberic shared everything.
When he was done, Fafnir sat on a nearby crate. Sebek rested at their feet. Alberic stood in front of them, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Around them, the Observatorium continued to move. People moving from task to task, adventurers stopping to speak with someone or flying overhead on chocobos.
Fafnir felt their scales start to itch and had to stop themself from clawing at their own throat. Even though it had been decades ago, they could still smell smoke as their home burned. They could hear screaming as Garlemond’s troops flooded into the valley, the rice paddies trampled underfoot and rivers turned red.
Dragons were different then men, but when magitek allowed men to breathe fire the distinction blurred.
“If you detest me, then I only ask that you contain your feelings until the business with Estinien has been resolved. After that is completed, then we may resolve this separately,” Alberic said. He was soft spoken and yet the weight on his shoulders was insurmountable. Perhaps the latter was the cause of the former — it was hard to speak with a mountain of guilt resting on one’s chest.
Fafnir shook their head. Sebek looked up at them, tongue flicking against their knee. For once, they did not seem to know what Fafnir wanted to say. They both could remember what it was like to believe they were going to die. It was not difficult to imagine Estinien experiencing that same terror, that same numbness. And to imagine that it could have been prevented—
Yet that would have resulted in worse, possibly. The corruption of Ishgard’s champion, her stalwart light falling against the darkness of the Horde.
Heroes did not exist, Fafnir knew. Only those vaulted beyond their truth. And if they had been in Alberic’s situation, they did not know what they would have done.
“If you need time to think—”
“No.” Fafnir looked at Alberic. The Hyur took a step back, the intensity in Fafnir’s eyes unlike anything they had displayed before. Not anger, not even sorrow. But pity and passion merged together. “I cannot judge you. Only Estinien can.” They stood, rolling their shoulders to adjust how their lance fell on their back. They gently nudged Sebek with one toe.
Sebek stood up, claws scraping across the ground. “We will help you,” they told Alberic. The look of relief on his face was palpable.
“Alright. Let us go and be done with this.”
****
Estinien looked less fierce now that Fafnir understood him better. His daemon, Michahel, snarled at Sebek and Zechariah as he paced back and forth. In contrast, Estinien was still as the ice that coated his armor.
“Alberic. I have long waited for this day.” Estinien raised his lance, pointing it at the two who approached. He then, in no uncertain terms, confirmed what Fafnir already knew:
He was more than willing to be judge, jury, and executioner for Alberic’s actions at Ferndale. However little Fafnir wished to be involved in what was functionally a family matter, they did not have a choice. In this case, what was a fight between father and son also would have dire consequences for Ishgard and the innocents there.
And Fafnir would not let any more children run from the fires consuming their homes.
Their lances clashed, sparks and aether half-blinding in their radiance. Estinien channeled the strength of Nidhogg, stolen from the Eye, and it glowed red-hot around him and his armor. His eyes were hidden behind his visor but his mouth was a sneer, a scowl, a mocking maw spitting hatred and vitriol.
Fafnir felt their blood burning hot only to be cooled as they were thrown into the snow. They rolled out of the way of a piercing strike, slush kicked up as the snow melted from the heat of Estinien’s lance. Sebek was sprinting through the snow, just able to keep away from Michahel’s claws. There was red staining Michahel’s muzzle and a few long gashes on his flank, left behind from strikes that Sebek had managed to land.
“Estinien, please, listen to me — I know that I failed you. I know that I can never atone for what happened to your family. But you are letting your rage control you. Nidhogg will consume you if you do not control yourself,” Alberic shouted.
“Silence," Estinien snarled. Fafnir took advantage of his distraction by slamming their lance into his side. Estinien was still too fast for a direct hit but blood flew through the air as he leapt backwards. "I can control it. I am not a craven fool."
Fafnir pressed their advantage, what little they held. They jumped up high, feeling the tug of their bond with Sebek as it was stretched to the maximum distance, and then plummeted to the ground. Aether spun around them, blue and white blinding in the otherwise gray sky.
Estinien dodged to the side, flipping in the air. He pushed off the ground and went flying at Fafnir. They twisted around, parrying Estinien's strike. Their arms strained with effort. It was like trying to stop a rampaging bull and they could find absolutely no purchase on the ground.
With a silent cry they tumbled away, eating a mouthful of snow for their trouble. They got to their hands and knees, shaking their head. The world was spinning.
"We could have defeated the Horde together. Now you must die," Estinien howled. He raised his hands in the air and his aether ignited . The sound of a dragon, of Nidhogg roaring, echoed through the valley and Fafnir felt their blood run cold.
But they could not give up. They staggered to their feet, raising their lance high in the air. A silent prayer went up to the Hydaelyn, to the Twelve, to anyone .
Please, they asked the world. Please.
Golden light surged around their armor and lance, a second presence summoned from beyond. They felt something caress their cheek and then fill them entirely. Confidence and strength settled into their skin and bones and when Estinien struck, they met him headfirst.
Fafnir acted on a level beyond instinct. They predicted Estinien's movements, read his forms like they had been fighting for years. They cut a long line across his cheek and they danced out of range of his retaliation. They slammed the dull end of their lance into his chest, knocking him back.
Michahel snarled, leaving his pursuit of Sebek to protect his person. Fafnir flipped backwards, unwilling to draw the blood of another's daemon even now.
Estinien panted for breath. He was on one knee, lance discarded in the snow. Steam rose from his armor. He raised a gauntleted hand and tangled it in Michahel's fur.
"This is not the end. Your weakness… your folly will be the death of us all," Estinien spat. Blood fell onto the snow. He stood, leaning against Michael as the two left for the wilderness.
"You will always be my son," Alberic called out. "You will always have a place in Ishgard."
"There is nothing for me in Ishgard," Estinien replied. And he did not look back.
Sebek walked over, placing their head on Fafnir's feet. While there were claw marks on their back, they looked shallow. Fafnir rest their hand on their head.
"That was dreadful. I hope we never see either of them again," Sebek said.
Fafnir silently disagreed.
****
Alberic was convinced of two things. One, that the spirit of Haldrath, the first dragoon, had temporarily joined with Fafnir to give them the strength to fight Estinien. Two, they absolutely should not be traveling so soon after such an experience.
"I realize you are a very capable warrior, but even the strongest of men must rest after such an ordeal," he insisted. Fafnir shook their head, taking a final moment to check that their chocobo was properly geared. "If you faint on the ride to your destination, I shall never forgive myself."
Sebek hissed, but there was no bite to it. "You worry overmuch. We shall be fine. If more is needed from you, we shall let you know. Otherwise you may send for us at the Waking Sands."
Alberic did not look very happy about this, but there was little he could do. Perhaps at the height of his strength he could, but now he was just a normal man.
“May the Fury watch over you,” he said instead.
Fafnir mounted their chocobo and started to trot forward. They were not the most experienced of riders, but they were confident enough to not fall. Sebek followed behind, content to walk.
They waited until they were some minutes into the journey to speak.
“So where are we going? The Waking Sands? Or shall we finish finding the crystal — the one Cid needs?” Sebek asked. Fafnir shook their head and simply pointed down the road. Sebek looked up at the sky. It was still bright out. If they hurried, they could easily make it out of Coerthas before the end of the day.
But they were not traveling towards Gridania. They were heading north, further from the border.
Sebek huffed in amusement. “I see. So we shall beg another night from Lord Greystone?”
Fafnir shrugged, a half-smile on their face. Sebek rose up a little higher than before, as if trying to keep their sweater out of the snow. It was a pale blue, having been made to replace the old one. If they were walking with a slight spring in their step, well, Fafnir would not point out such a thing.
Perhaps Haurchefant would only be a dalliance, perhaps they would never see Estinien again, but Fafnir had a feeling that Ishgard would be more important in their future than they could ever imagine. This was not the end.