86 Missed Calls From Home

Joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn meant joining a group that was made up primarily of academics with bleeding hearts. Meaning, they were annoyingly invasive and intent on solving his problems.

“You jumped off the airship in flight,” Thancred thought it bore repeating, lest Estinien continue to labour under the impression that was the best way to dismount. He gave a pause to let that sink in, “to avoid a conversation with your partner.”

Notes:

I was finally doing MSQ, then I got to this portion of the game and was absolutely struck dumb but the fact that CLEARLY something happened between Estinien and Aymeric. Then I could not proceed until I wrote some of my feelings out. Apparently I had a lot of feelings. Now that it's done I can finally finish Endwalker ;_;

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The concept of beauty was truly a fascinating one, worthy of his attention and study. Some things intrinsically captivated and were thusly considered beautiful. A perspective that is taken purely from the view of the beholder. Yet, more intangible attributes as well could add beauty, such as rarity, value, or the sublime marriage of form and function.

Like all men Urianger liked beautiful things. Again, taking into account that beauty was solely attributed by the person assigning a given value of ‘beauty’. (’Bollocks,’ Thancred, deep in his cups, slurred, just admit you are a leg-man. The longer and more shapely the better.) He was not the type to hoard them away, the beauty of knowledge was only magnified when shared. The beauty of a good book however, he did have a certain weakness for hoarding. That was an entirely separate matter, not to be considered at the current moment. Beautiful things were appreciated best as they were allowed to serve their function. Take for example, his favourite coffee cup, a delicate glass construct with gold and silver inlay in a tessellating pattern, was most beautiful when filled with freshly poured coffee. Flowers were more beautiful when viewed as they bloomed in the sunlight rather than placed in a vase. A fine quill, when jotting down observations.

People too, were most beautiful in the perfect balance of form and function. Those who contained such multitudes within them and the endlessly expansive capacity for greatness. Augmented perhaps by the physicality of themselves. Simply, ‘nice legs’, as Thancred and Papalymo would tease him about, would mean very little without the ability to revolutionize the field of aetherology at a whim. As an abstract example.

“Greetings, Scions,” the Sultana, with her ever present shadow Pipin, greeted them at the doors of the meeting chamber with a regal curtsey. “I believe we are the last to arrive. Let us be quick, lest the Admiral take to teasing me,” Her smile indicated that this was not so much of a problem.

He often considered these things around meetings with the heads of state of Eorzea. Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn terrified him, but she was undeniably beautiful. A heady mix of danger, not unlike the tempests which swept across the sea and swallowed men whole, and eminent capability when it came to keeping a disparate band of otherwise lawlessness in line. The plunging neckline of her uniform existed as a dare towards those brave enough to weather the storm.

They had begun already, so they took their seats quietly.

Urianger could not swim and would be weathering no storms, but he could appreciate beauty where he found it. Now, without the comfort of the shadows cast by his hood, he was extra careful to keep his admiration to the sharp angles of her face.

Although this meeting he found himself not lost at sea but instead in an endlessly dazzling sky. Twelve have mercy on him.

While he had listened to the tales from the Dragon Song war, Tataru’s offhand ‘Oh you would like Ser Aymeric’ did not prepare him adequately for meeting the man who threw open the gates of judgement and was leading Ishgard into the wider world. His voice was smooth and fine as the most expensive of Ul’dahnian silks, he spoke with the eloquence of someone passionate, well educated, and well-practiced in debate and persuasion. All things Urianger had a specific weakness for. His words carried weight, for he clearly weighed each one carefully before he uttered them. His bottom lip was akin the delicate curve of a perfectly ripe fruit.

There was very little practical about a specific shape of Elezen ear. Although, most would admit to a preference of width or length, an appreciation deeply ingrained as it was into the very marrow of every Elezen. Long and slender, drawing the eye, adorned in such pleasing little baubles that made one yearn to see how they would look naked. Peeking shy around black curls as if to tease. It was probably for the best that the remainder of the man was hidden by his armour. Although Urianger had some theories based on the lovely shapeliness of his arms and hands as highlighted by the dragonskin long-gloves he wore.

“Your crush is showing,” Thancred said low, under his breath and just loud enough to carry no further than Urianger, and most likely Y’shtola, if he was interpreting the twitch of her ears correctly. Which he was sure he was, the woman had a singular talent for picking up these sorts of things. That and incredibly expressive ears.

“Tis doing no such thing,” he muttered back.

Thancred’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Tongue in your mouth. Focus, Garlean civial war and all that,” his tone was one of mocking condescension. Had Urianger been a lesser man he would have rolled his eyes, long-used to Thancred as he was, he didn’t even bother to reply.

“Let us move on to possible directions of action,” Lord Speaker Aymeric said with a wave of his elegant, hand. Would those fingers produce beautiful music? Mayhap a particularly beautiful handwriting?

The remainder of the discussion was marginally less interesting than the process of pooling intelligence, he had no head for tactical theory, and less interest in the politics which governed exactly which state would be requested to offer which resources. Although, he did appreciate that it was a delicate as any dance and required a degree of skill. It did give him ample opportunity to observe. He reminded himself not to stare, spending time exclusively with the fae-folk had done little for his social skills.

When the meeting adjourned, he stuck by Thancred’s side. Y’shtola wandered to engage in her favoured activity of engaging in a verbal sparring match with the Admiral over the state of Limsa Lominsa, the tip of her tail twitching with a predator’s focus. While delightful to observe, Y’shtola tended to attempt to draw him into it, if only to have someone else to dance circles around.

“Thancred, well-glad am I to see you looking so well,” Aymeric approached them. Urianger straightened, schooling his expression as he oft had to remind himself to do since doing away with his hood for garments with greater range of mobility and visual acuity. Coincidentally, they were much silkier against his legs, a pleasing balance of form and function. Urianger was tall, even for an Elezen, yet was still surprised to find himself tilting his head down slightly to observe the other. Aymeric’s presence had seemed so much larger than the physicality of him.

“Lord Speaker, it has been awhile,” Thancred said with a polite nod of his head. “Hard to look worse than running naked through the Dravanian wildness with the Gnath,” he added with a smile. Urianger had not been aware they were familiar.

Aymeric’s mouth curled in the most pleasant shape. “Yet, I have been instructed to extend their greetings should ever our paths cross again. You left quite the impression,” those eyes turned on him. “And you must be Urianger correct? Tataru has spoken at length about you.”

“Lord Speaker,” Urianger greeted, noting his own voice did not sound quite as smooth. Thancred shifted so his face would be out of Aymeric’s field of vision so he could smirk in a particularity smarmy fashion.

“Pray you two, after all the Scions have done not only for Ishgard but Eorzea as a whole, call me Aymeric.”

“Aymeric then,” Urianger repeated, winning him a dazzling smile. Up close, the blue of his eyes was every bit as faceted as star sapphire. His ears were no less than could be described as perky.

“Would that we could be meeting under better conditions. Tataru informed me that you had an interest in tales of regional folklore,” Urianger nodded. Overly enthusiastically, if the amused expression Thancred gave him was any indication.

“While there is likely little of special interest from Ishgard itself, most of our lore is passed through doctrine-- which appeals more to those who lean towards theology. I have found recently through the process of untangling the history of Ishgard that comparing multiple sources with those told by dragons have resulted in a much deeper interpretation. I would love if you had any sources from other regions, while to our knowledge dragons, as we know them, do not currently live outside of Coerthas, they do have very long memories and a love of listening to stories.”

Urianger may have felt a little weak in the knees. That sounded divine. He must extend this to G’raha, while folklore had been a hobby of his, it had been an area of study for the other Archon. “Mayhap when the world is saved,” he said a little faintly.

“Yet one more reason to succeed,” Aymeric agreed.

Lyse appeared at his shoulder, smiling at the two of them. “I would love to catch up with you two, but I find that’s better done with ale in hand. If I could have a word Aymeric, I have some questions about the sources you used when outlining the house of commons. Well. Okay. Raubahn does, but I don’t think he will have time today and so I can at least collect them to help out—”

Their conversation trailed off as they wandered towards the other end of the cavernous meeting room. Urianger was left a little stunned in the wake of such an encounter.

“Whatever you are thinking I’d put a stop to it- lest a certain Ser Estinien catch wind and skewer you upon his lance,” Thancred said cheerfully.

“I have no impure intentions,” Urianger defended himself, Thancred laughed.

There was something utterly charming about the idea of the beautiful Lord Speaker being guarded jealously by his faithful knight. It was a scenario akin to the more lurid tomes he collected and swapped with Tataru.

“Fullglad am I of that, I do not think myself up to the task of defending you from him.”

“Where beauty resides, it is to be admired,” Thancred said along side of him, having had this conversation enough times throughout the years. Only before everything, Thancred had been usually trying to push him towards whatever beauty had caught his attention. Afterall who would know unless you tried, he said usually with a ridiculous wiggle of his pale eyebrows.

He didn’t need to try to know what would happen should he ever attempt to approach Admiral Merlwyb.

“I would dearly love to meet a moogles,” Krile sighed. Could they pass messages through the dimensional boundaries the way the Fae could? Had they ever tried? Were they related to Fae? That remained one of her favourite parts of the story of how the Dragon Song War ended. Moogles! In the sky, truly life is stranger than fiction.

Foundation was even more imposing up close than it was as they were approaching it from the sky. Perched over a yawning chasm, surrounded by sheer walls peppered with cannons and other armaments, half fortress and half city. It stood as a stark contrast to the white stone and sprawling design of Sharlayan.

“Well they are quite fluffy and much stronger than they look! Maybe we should start our search for Estinien in Moghome,” Tataru grinned sharply. Krile huffed out a laugh.

“While I do think he’s in Coerthas somewhere we should probably start in Ishgard,” mayhap she made a point. Moogles, after all, were blessed with the uncanny ability to find people.

“Oh well that’s fine too, at least we don’t have to chase him all the way to Kugane this time. Although it is always nice to scare Hancock a little. Keep him on his toes. It’s been a while since I’ve checked in with Gibrillont. I’ve told you about him right?”

“Runs the tavern, quite sweet on you if I recall?” Krile replied. Despite the circumstances that drove them there, Tataru spoke quite fondly of her time in Ishgard. In opposition, if you listened to Alphinaud complain of the cold, you’d think that they had been in two separate cities. Then again, Alphinaud had never weathered failure well, and likely would have had much to complain about had they instead sought refuge in Costa del Sol.

“Only my ability to sweet talk drunken soldiers into behaving maybe. Taught me a great deal about how to best collect information, he really was a huge help when we were hiding here.” Tataru’s eyes were fond when she looked out over the city. It’s ragged edges and piercing spires were unsettling to Krile. It seemed almost brutal in its design. Or maybe that was just the wind, by the gods was it cold, she swore she could feel the inside of her nose freeze as she breathed. Dramatic as he could be, she would concede at least part of the point to Alphinaud. “Anyways, we almost there, I have a nice VIP parking spot,” She grinned. The large soft pink scarf wrapped around her neck and mittens matched the pale blue ones she had pushed on Krile ere they departed.

Krile was quite certain Tataru had made them, but when she had found the time to do so was the real mystery. Mayhap she learned some sort of time magic, it would certainly explain a lot. Still, full glad was she for them for their journey threatened to freeze her solid.

It was only a short windy walk until they were on the airship landing proper.

“Oh, Lady Tataru,” The helmeted Temple Knight called out as they opened the gate for the two of them, marked by their distinctive chainmail. While she had been at the front of the fighting, it had been somewhat of a surprise to find that despite the faceless mask of the helms, they seemed to have no trouble identifying each other. Even if the rest of the alliance struggled to do the same. Certainly not helped by the Temple Knight’s tendency to mingle mostly among themselves. “If you are here to see the Lord Speaker, his vessel should be arriving shortly.

“What luck, if Estinien is here Aymeric will surely know about it. Come there is a stall that sells mulled wine just over this way. It’s the most pleasant way to keep warm.”

Krile followed in Tataru’s wake, listening to her point out important buildings in the skyline.

Had they the time Krile would have loved to speak with the Astrologians guild. Apparently they were able to use the stars to track dragons, which Krile had never known it to be able to do. General statements regarding the future, yes, but never anything so specific. Ishgard’s culture and practices were so different for all it was part of Eorzea. No where else would you find this kind of astrology, or dragoons, or the level of advanced arial weaponry. A whole nation whittled down to only what was needed to survive a never-ending war. Evolving in isolation by its own policy. Even now, looking around the busy plaza from their vantage point there was none of the mixture of styles one would see at the port of any of the other city states.

Tataru had been quite right about the mulled wine of course. “It’s delicious,” She murmured absently in response to Tataru smacking her lips with relish.

How the rest of the alliance benefited from the Gates of Judgement opening. While the alliance struggled to find enough black mages with the level of skill needed to deal with flying magitek, any troop could wield the dragon killers against flying foes. Although, mayhap they should look into a name change.

Would that Tataru were to share her time magic, so that Krile would have the time to learn the secrets of Ishgardian astrology. She was utterly certain that by the single act of opening itself to the world Ishgard had sparked many a Sharlayan thesis project.

There was a general increased murmur of activity which drew her attention from the curious outfits of those coming and going from the Athenaeum Astrologicum. Grandfather would have been a fan of those charming pointed hats for certain.

“That must be him,” Tataru covered her mouth as she giggled.

The whispers grew in intensity as a tall man in a bright blue coat swept through the entrance gates speaking to a blond woman in muted red armour at his side. People stopped to watch, careful to keep out of his way.

“Aymeric!” Tataru called out, on their small terrace, Krile wasn’t certain he would be able to spot them but his eyes found her immediately. He waved and held up a hand, indicating they wait a moment. Tataru downed the rest of her mulled wine and stood, brushing the fine dusting of snow off her clothes.

Krile watched as he turned to the woman with him and spoke with her for a few moments, she nodded, gave him a snappy salute and walked into the opposite direction. Ser Lucia, if Krile had to guess. Known Garlean defector and unofficial ambassador of the budding Garlean Quarter of the Firmament. Ishgard remained the only Eorzean safe haven for Garlean refugees and defectors, a curious turn for the otherwise reclusive nation. Although it made a certain amount of sense, Garleans were distinctive and would find no succor from the populations of the other city states. The third eye that marked Garleans, carried no associations to the average citizen of Ishgard.

“Tataru, my friend, what brings you to Ishgard on this day?” He seemed utterly immune to the stares as did Tataru. “Is there aught I can help you with? More ceruleum mayhap?”

Oh, so he was the one who gifted the warrior with a whole airship of the stuff when they needed it. Even now he was smiling as though that wasn’t worth a small fortune. The offer appeared to be entirely genuine.

“Information today, my good Ser,” Tataru giggled behind her hand.

“A much more precious commodity for certain. Shall we move to my home or mayhap the Forgotten Knight. You were quite a deft hand at information brokering there,” His expression was gentle as his words were lightly teasing.

“Ah you know me well.”

“I do not believe we have met, you are of the scions?” Aymeric turned his smile on her, and Krile’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe not of her own volition, Estinien’s memory and his emotions were so vivid still even so many moons later. Although he certainly was fair, for an Elezen.

“Krile Baldesion, of the Sharlyan Students of Baldesion.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he gave her a formal bow and she curtsied on reflex, still a little breathless.

His smile was different than the one she remembered from an Aymeric she had never met.

He (Estinien), and by extension she, was drunk, the world slightly fuzzy around the edges, thoughts slowed and syrupy in their fondness. His face was warm despite the chill of the wind. His ears more so.

That may have had something to do with the warm body pressed against his side. It was a constant source of amusement how poorly Aymeric held his drink. Too used to sipping on fancy wine probably, it had left him with a weakness to ale. Copious amounts of ale at any rate. An embarrassment to the Temple Knights. It was a good thing Estinien was there to finish his cups and scrape him off the steps when he decided that this was just where he was going to sit down.

Aymeric staggered into his side again, and Estinien reached out, pulling him in by the shoulders to brace him before he could bounce off and land in the gutter.

“Oh! You’re here,” Aymeric gasped, staring at him with glassy eyes that didn’t quite focus properly on his face. He looked utterly delighted about this.

“Where else would I be?” Estinien rumbled. Aymeric tried to eel out of his hold, so he changed his grip tugging him tighter against his side with an arm around his waist. The slight rise of his hip fit perfectly into Estinien’s palm, pulled close and all but tucked against his chest. “And where are you trying to escape to?”

“Not,” Aymeric said, grinning at him. He leaned backwards forcing Estinien to wrap both arms around him or let him crack his pretty head open on the stone steps. Aymeric laughed faintly about it. Estinien should have been annoyed but it was too much effort to be. Not when Aymeric fit so perfectly into his arms, as though the Fury had made them to match. Light and dark, soft and rough, idealistic and jaded. T’was foolish to think, but he was drunk and allowed to be a little foolish just this once.

“Right here is good.” Aymeric said against Estinien’s shoulder where he allowed himself to sag.

“You want me to leave you to sleep in the street Lord de Borel?” He mocked, trying to put a little distance between them. Reminding him of his prior plans was useless, the drunk rarely listened to reason.

“If you--” Came the mumbled reply.

“If I what?” Estinien considered the merits of coaxing Aymeric into walking again versus just carrying the idiot the rest of the way to the barracks. Would hardly be the first time a knight arrived thusly.

“If that’s where you are,” Aymeric sighed, breath hot and sticky against his neck now. Estinien’s fingers flexed where they were holding Aymeric against him.

“You can hardly sleep with me,” Estinien chided.

Aymeric pulled himself away enough to stand on his own feet, the most ridiculous pout on his face. Even tits over teakettle sloshed, he was the most beautiful man Estinien had ever seen.

“But I want to,” Aymeric wavered towards him, pout pulling his gorgeous mouth downwards, “’S not fair.”

“You’ve got a perfectly good bed-“

Aymeric was kissing him, well the corner of his mouth while clinging to his shoulders for support. “N’Fair,” he muttered again, accidentally catching Estinien’s lip between his own as he spoke. “Always make me want it, teasing me,” he sighed, breath sour with ale, right against his face. Estinien’s good sense was somewhere far away, banished as soon as Aymeric’s lips touched his own.

“You’re drunk Aymeric,” he said, reminding himself just as much as he was reminding Aymeric.

“You’re drunk. I want kisses,” Aymeric said, rather emphatically. As though that was a reasonable thing to do, to want. Usually Aymeric only wanted an unholy amount of meat pies when he was this drunk. “You never kiss me,” he complained. As though that were a thing they did, and Estinien was just being unreasonable.

Estinien swallowed hard, he had wanted this for far longer than he would admit.

“You want that?” His voice was barely a rasp, Aymeric whined wordlessly at him. He was hardly steady as their lips met, wavering like a sheaf of wheat in the wind. But those were undoubtedly Aymeric’s wet lips against his own, his breathy little sigh of pleasure. Estinien was only a man, a foolish besotted man, he couldn’t help himself, licking across Aymeric’s bottom lip.

Aymeric’s fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, and Estinien went to draw him even closer, when a hand on his chest pushed him back, seconds before Aymeric threw up all over his shoes.

Aymeric of course remembered nothing of it the next day. He thought their first kiss was after Estinien showed him to an out of the way alcove an easy leap to a sheltered part of the roof of the Congregation. Under the full moon and stars, mouthing wordless promises and confessions against each other’s lips.

Krile really had just been teasing Estinien about an embarrassing memory, bluffing, right up until Hydaelyn decided to show her that. When the ringing in her ears faded and she was able to straighten back up from her vision, Estinien had looked as though he saw a ghost. He’d agreed on her word she would never breath a word of whatever she saw, he hadn’t even demanded to know what it was.

It had surprised her at first, that Tataru never once asked her what she had seen of Estinien’s past that day. It seemed like exactly the kind of information she would relish. It wasn’t until Tataru had been pacing tight circles in the Rising Stones one day, Estinien late for a check-in while deep in Garlean territory, that Krile realized that Tataru considered Estinien a friend. She would never hurt her friends, and so whatever Estinien’s secret was, it was between him, Krile, and Hyedaelyn.

Tataru did all the talking as they settled in a comfortable sitting room, idle chit chat about the state of things, Mewsette (Aymeric’s cat), Tataru’s unending quest for the perfect ledger book (paper thick, but not too thick with a faint catch of her quill), the latest trends in Ishgardian fashion (more ruffles), their conversation bouncing around as the picked up and put down old topics. Krile followed silently, surprised at the level of familiarity. Aymeric’s steward had appeared with long flat stool that made it very easy to climb up to sit on the plush couch. Tataru must really have been here more than Krile would have assumed for him to have something like that on hand.

Once settled, with a tea in hand, Tataru finally broached the topic they had come her for. Good that she did, Krile wasn’t certain how to intercede and remind her of the importance of their mission. In relation to the weave of different types of lace.

“We were actually looking for Estinien. The enemy has brought a dragon into the fray and I think there none better suited to fighting dragons,” Tataru said, blowing on the steaming surface of her teacup. It smelled heady, different from fruit blends Krile was used to. It was bitter against her tongue, now she knew why Aymeric had stirred several spoons of syrup into his first. The height of the table and the distance made it too difficult for her to reach for it herself. “We have reason to believe he is in Coerthas and thought you would be the one to ask.”

His placid smile didn’t change, nor the easy way he held himself but something palpably shifted around him. No vision popped forward, and yet Krile couldn’t be certain she wasn’t feeling something of his emotions through the power of the echo. Tataru hadn’t reacted, making that a distinct possibility. Krile had manifested the echo when she was quite small and still sometimes couldn’t differentiate between what was normal empathy and what was people’s surface memories bleeding into their aether making her into an unwitting voyeur. “If Estinien is in Coerthas this would be the first I know of it.”

“Oh well, maybe he isn’t here. Tracking people by their aethereal signature isn’t perfect after all, but then he must have been here recently,” Tataru said to herself, tapping her fingers on her teacup in thought.

“He may very well be in the area and simply does not want me to know of it,” for all it was said flippantly Krile was entirely certain that the hurt in his voice was real. Tataru smiled as though again she didn’t notice anything.

“Maybe we should put a mark on him with the Centurio guild?”

Aymeric huffed, hiding a laugh behind his cup.

“Mine apologies, I have had little more to offer you than tea,” his shoulders lifted in the smallest of shrugs.

“Of course not, I love a bracing cup of Ishgardian,” Tataru took a deep sip. Krile took a more dainty one, careful to keep her opinion off her face. Aymeric smiled at her.

“Tis bitter, not all of us have Tataru’s constitution. I promise it tastes much better if you sweeten it.”

“Please,” Krile said handing over her cup when he reached for it.

“I have been told the way I drink it is a little much, but this should be much better,” he stirred some thick cream and a bit of the brown syrup into her drink and passed it back. When she took a cautious sip, she found the strong herbal taste to be cut with a sweet creaminess that didn’t hide the taste but rather balanced it.

“Oh! It’s delicious,” She said without thinking about it and Aymeric tilted his head in her direction, taking a sip of his own cup in wordless agreement.

“It’s supposed to strong, I daresay the Sharlayan scholars could learn something about how three cups of this will keep you awake for days,” Tataru laughed. She was drinking hers as though the bitterness truly didn’t bother her. Well, she could keep it, Krile didn’t have the pride to argue.

“Have you gone through the last shipment yet? I can have more sent,” Aymeric asked.

Tataru shook her head. “It goes much slower now. While F’lhammin still enjoys her evening cup, with the Domans returned home no one else has a taste for it.”

“The tea is much like Ishgard herself, well tolerated by those used to it, but not to the taste of many,” his smile was wry.

“It’s beautiful,” Krile offered. Unsettling, stark, she didn’t add, but beautiful.

“It is, and kind of you to say so. Yet, you have not had to endure a night in the cold yet, and if the gods are good, you shall not have to. The skywatchers are calling for another storm to roll in before the morrow, if you intend to search the highlands, I would recommend you start soon to best avoid it. However, should you wish to put it off until the weather is more favourable, I am in need of dinner companionship, there is more than enough room to host you both.”

“You know I would love too dearly. I always learn so much from cooking with you. Unfortunately matters of the safety of the star and all that,” Tataru stared at him wistfully.

“And I you. Now I believe Marcel would have wrapped up a selection of treats and lunch you can eat on the move if I know him,” Krile hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Lost in thought on the way here as she was. An all to common occurrence.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to come work at the Rising Stones?” Tataru laughed and Aymeric smiled at her behind his teacup, bright eyes creasing in a way that seemed more familiar.

“I pray he does not, I would be utterly lost without him if I am being honest.”

“A pity, I shall have to carry on packing my own treats,” Tataru sighed with faked despondence.

“I shall have to make it up to you next time you are able to get away for dinner.”

“Consider it a promise,” Tataru placed her cup on the cushion beside her. Krile had been holding her own empty cup, she’d found herself drinking it quickly once it hit the perfect temperature, still unable to reach the table.

“Please leave it aside there, I apologize for how inhospitable the furniture is, I do not have enough occasion to host Lalafell,” he had clearly noted her indecision and spoke to ease it ere she needed to ask. She placed it gratefully next to Tataru’s. Scooting towards the edge as it seemed they were wrapping up Aymeric added with a sly little quirk of his lips. “I am somewhat dreading the Sultana’s first visit almost as much as I am looking forward to the chaos it will cause. It may be a bit presumptuous of me, but I believe her Grace would play along.”

Krile nearly slipped getting off the couch, surprised by the candor. Tataru hid her giggle behind her hand. “Please invite me as well, I would hate to miss it!”

“Of course. We have only one Lalafell ambassador,” he swept the cups onto the low table with a deft flick of his hands.

As promised there were two baskets in the front hall waiting with their jackets. The same white, haired Elezen who took their coats was waiting. “I took the liberty of preparing you something for the road Miss Tataru.”

Her smile stretched wide across her face. “Thank you Marcel, you are an angel.”

“You flatter me overly,” his smile was gentle.

Their coats were laid out on the chair next to the door. Marcel took to one knee grabbing Krile’s coat and holding it out for her. It reminded her of the times she had visited the Levellieur estate when she was young. It had always made her feel as though she was a princess from a fairy story.

Much to her surprise Aymeric too crouched down, holding Tataru’s coat out in much the same way. Tataru allowed him to help her into it. Soon they were standing outside the manor-house with no more information, but enough food to tide them over a whole day if the heft of the basket was any indication.

“That stupid man,” Tataru hissed suddenly, shocking Krile. “I can’t tell if he is doing it on purpose or honestly doesn’t know how badly it hurts Aymeric,” Tataru breathed out through her nose in an inelegant snort.

“Pardon?” Krile blinked. Tataru looked at her and sagged, all her anger leaving her looking just sad.

“It’s nothing. I promised I wouldn’t interfere, but I don’t like seeing him so unhappy. It’s worse than I thought.”

It was nice to know she hadn’t been imagining things. Small wonder Tataru had taken such care to ease into the conversation if she had known it may be a sore spot.

“Oh,” Krile said softly. Thinking back to the fondness that seemed to rock her very soul, the way Estinien had looked at Aymeric, even with vomit on his shoes and Aymeric collapsed into a low shrubbery. How had so much changed?

“Well, he’s right about the weather, let’s get a move on before we get trapped.”

Shaking it off, as Tataru shook off most things, she marched off towards their airship.

There where secret parts of Mor Dhona you could access with a little swish of the staff and a levitation spell. Places where one could see the Crystal Tower, shining and blue in the distance. G’raha was well and truly free of the tether that kept him bound to it, two pink flesh and blood hands still somewhat of a surprise when he saw them- a vivid reminder. Still, it was a comfort to be able to see the tower. To know that the warrior could simply pass through the portal there and see how the First was flourishing, even if he could not. He had oft imagined he would run from it as far and fast as he could when he was finally freed.

That and this place was quiet and away from the crowds. Mor Dhona was like the Crysterium in the way it was a constant clash and riot of peoples from everywhere doing their best to make a place for themselves. All the arguing, yelling, and general disturbance that brought with it. He had loved it dearly, but it could be too much at times,

Tonight, it was also away from Y’stola who had been teasing him mercilessly all evening. While he was certain she had forgiven him for his deceit, agreeing that the ends justified the means, even if she didn’t agree with the means. He was beginning to wonder if it had been better when she didn’t like him. At least then she avoided him. Although, it did remind him somewhat of his childhood best friend. The first to laugh at him when he fell out of the scrubby tree in her backyard. Also the first to fly, claws first, at the children who made fun of his eyes.

“Hello,” G’raha hummed as he allowed his feet to make soundless contact with the ground again, the soft blue glow of his magic fading into the softer background glow. It seemed this was not only his sanctuary this night.

By his estimation, their little jaunt together in Azys Lla and fighting side by side at Paglth’an, by scion standards, made them practically friends. Estinien had agreed to join them, so maybe this was just a little twist of fate.

Estinien grunted in his customary greeting.

“Apologies, I was unaware that anyone else frequented this,” he paused looking for a better descriptor and failed find one, “nice flat bit of roof.”

Estinien cleared his throat in a way that sounded suspiciously like a bark of laughter. G’raha congratulated himself silently and hoped Estinien would give him more cues than usual about how best to proceed around him. His body language was easier to read out of his armour, sat in such a way he could look out towards the Crystal Tower as well.

“Sit.” He nodded with a tilt of his head. G’raha was obeying like a Nu Mou before he could even think about it, folding into a comfortable position. “Unless Tataru sent you, then you can float right off again.”

That was—almost a joke?

“I assure you, I come up here of my own will.”

Estinien answered with a low rumble of sound. Then there was silence as G’raha shifted until he was comfortable and both Estinien and the tower were in his line of sight. Estinien appeared to be looking out over Silver Tear Lake? Or maybe simply at the dazzling crystal formations that took over the countryside. G’raha couldn’t even begin to guess at what lay behind brooding silence.

“I must admit I am surprised to find another here, I had thought it quite inaccessible. Of course, I had failed to consider those that could just jump,” G’raha dearly wished to witness Estinien in battle. There was no other warrior even similar to the Dragoon Knights of Ishgard. To witness a Dragoon in a dive! The former Azure Dragoon, Estinien Wrymblood, no less. By the time he had visited Ishgard the Knights Dragoon were no more, existing only in legends performing feats that seemed hardly possible. Well, they did in fact, seem possible.

“Neat trick that,” Estinien tipped his head to indicate G’raha’s staff. As though it was perfectly normal to jump to the top of a fortress and not worth commenting on.

“It’s actually quite rudimentary magic, many of the scholars from Sharlayan can use it,” buoyed by the prior almost-a-laugh, G’raha gave a little chuckle. “They say it originated out of spite from the first Lalafellen scholar, so that they could place things out of the reach of the predominantly Elezen population.”

Estinien chuckled lowly. “Sounds about right. Right vicious little folk they are.”

This had to be the single most successful conversation with Estinien so far. He could feel his tail flick faintly in pleasure. Estinien’s eyes caught on the movement and G’raha froze.

“I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, M’iqote are not common in Ishgard, ‘tis curious is all,” Estinien shrugged, as though that wasn’t the most information on his thoughts he had ever volunteered before.

“Most are not fond of the cold,” He agreed. “Lalafell as well I suppose. Tataru claims she is the first Lalafellan citizen of Ishgard.”

“She’s probably right,” Estinien replied. His gaze trailed back towards the expanse, the air around him immediately cooling. Not the correct direction then, even if Estinien had been the one to bring it up. Nothing in the records of him commented on how difficult he was to speak to. That seemed like a gross oversight. Although he supposed that was the difference between reading history and living it. The deeds of a person didn’t define how they were, not even the Warrior could be entirely defined by the lengthy list of their amazing accomplishments. Most of G’raha’s would never actually exist. A whole history wiped clean; his own personal story gone without leaving a trace except that which lived in his mind. His eyes were drawn again to the tower, his old friend, the fulcrum of his existence.

“Funny, that’s not one of the things that history remembered about her,” G’raha mused.

“Right,” Estinien drawled, “you were the one who knows the future.”

“Knew,” G’raha corrected. “The past anyways, I knew how history described your future.” It was a little circular but the less said the better. It was easier than explaining how to mourn someone who would never exist in the way you knew them. Most likely never would.

“And that’s different?”

“Yes. Of course it is! There is no way to accurately record a living, breathing person, every decision is made based on countless smaller ones, history records only the big ones and can easily paint a villain into a hero. This is why multiple sources of recorded history are so important when trying to interpret anything. You for example are nothing like the history books paint you to be.”

Estinien snorted. “Oh? And how does history remember me?”

“The Azure Dragoon, and last great leader of Ishgard.”

“What?”

Estinien’s pale eyes were barely lit by the ambience but the focus in them was suddenly terrifying, his ears flattening back against his head without him even thinking about it. Where he had seemed intense before, now it felt as though he was trying to peer into him, as if he could pull the answers he sought with none but his gaze. In the myths, it was said a dragon could hypnotize with its eyes, G’raha had thought it superstition.

“Um. Well,” G’raha’s tail made the faintest sound as it whipped back and forth across the tile in his sudden agitation. “Prepared as Ishgard was for siege, it was the last of the Eorzean city states to fall.”

“Why would I lead Ishgard?”

“I don’t know? You were the Azure Dragoon were you not?” G’raha wasn’t proud of the way his voice wavered just a little under the intensity of his presence, inhuman as it was.

Estinien visibly reigned himself in, staring out across the lake again, muscle in his jaw twitching. He didn’t need a tail to display his agitation.

“And of Aymeric?” G’raha scanned through the texts in his head, cross-referencing what fragmented accounts existed until he was as sure as he could be without any further material. He had never bothered to consider where Aymeric vanished from Ishgard’s narrative before and didn’t want to present a half-formed hypothesis.

“I do not think there were any first hand accounts, but I believe that he did not return from the front lines after Black Rose was first deployed. You led Ishgard in the years that followed.”

Estinien looked stricken. G’raha fumbled for the correct words to say, alarmed by his expression more than he had been by the prior intensity. It was as though he was back when he first arrived at the first, facing a crying child having witnessed their family literally ripped apart in front of them. People looked to him as though he was supposed to know what to say. Time and books had not made it any easier. Any words of comfort died on is tongue, as they always had.

“I failed then,” he said at last, hard and flat, an unpalatable truth swallowed down.

“It is hardly the same timeline, I don’t imagine the scions would have tasked you with the Black Rose investigation had I not… well, purposefully on accident pulled them into another world.”

Estinien was quiet for long enough that G’raha considered levitating away as suggested earlier. His earlier gruff yet charming demeanor entirely replaced with a palpable tension. Although he had ceased that terrible stare.

“Nay. Tis only,” the words seemed to catch, just a moment, enough for G’raha to realize it wasn’t anger but sorrow he felt, “the situation where I survive and he does not can only mean I failed him.”

If he didn’t know what to say before, he definitely didn’t know now. History books were funny that way, the more academic they were the less they said, implying things in small phrases and snippets as if taunting with a truth that wasn’t important enough to state directly. In a different world perhaps a whole thesis could be made about the implications of the relationship between the Lord Speaker and the Azure Dragoon during the fall of Ishgard. History would speak of Estinien’s valour, of how he would decimate the Garlean forces with a ferocity and dedication unparalleled. As well would it speak of how he would charge, first into battle and last to leave. Never did it state that he held any specific compassion towards his fellow soldier to explain why he would behave in such a reckless manner.

No academic text would pretend to know, and none would not say as much, but in that moment G’raha was entirely certain it was his own death Estinien chased. Penace for a perceived sin, yet it had carried a whole nation with it. Only none were a match to him to grant his wish, and so he continued to lead in the place of the man he failed. Count Fortemps personal memoire was the most fascinating recounting, the most human of the remaining texts. That had spun a tale of two warriors close as brothers and utterly dedicated to each other’s cause. Even that offered no context.

“It didn’t happen. Doesn’t happen,” G’raha eventually felt the need to add as the silence stretched out until it howled and grated against his ears.

“But it did,” Estinien grunted. It did, but in history that only lived in his head.

G’raha looked at the tower again. Should he ever leave a memoir of the likes of Heavensward, oh how the scholars would wet themselves!

The meeting between the beast tribes and the alliance was huge news! Tataru had no interest in personally attending, too many very important people, each taller than the last, it put her teeth on edge. But she did dearly love hearing about it and looked forward to Y’shtola’s scathing recollection of the event. She did the most hilarious impersonation of General Aldynn she had ever seen, including keeping her arm out which Tataru understood to be the Sultana’s perch.

Would that she could convince someone to carry her around like that, mayhap Hoary Boulder could be convinced it was a proper Scion duty. It would certainly save her a lot of dragging the step stool around when working on the taller part of the airship. Making it sized for a Lalafell would have been much easier and would have served them right to boot! Urianger existed at that height to spite her personally. She was certain of this.

The click of boots on stone behind her joined the clicking of her knitting needles and served to let her know she wasn’t alone in the kitchen, even this late at night. Meaning it wasn’t Riol, he delighted in scaring her like the ill-bred son of a Goobbue he was. The steps were too harsh to be Alianne who walked as though she wasn’t entirely certain she was allowed to do so; even now.

Tataru looked over her shoulder to see Estinien standing in the doorway, dressed down without his armor. The shirt seemed finer than anything she would have expected him to own, although the seams over the left shoulder were coming apart as if it was well worn in. Or he had grown broader since he had first donned it. Still, the fabric was good, it wouldn’t be difficult to fix. She would need him to stand for proper measurements if she wished the alter it in any meaningful way. That might take a support unit, mayhap if she called it a quest and offered the Warrior a pudding if they would hold him down to help her measure.

“Do you want me to fix that?” She offered in lieu of greeting. Estinien cared not generally to open with the usual exchange of pleasantries. “It won’t take but a moment.”

“What. Now?” He asked gruffly.

“Why not, I’m right here and the pastry is going to take a while yet but I cannot leave it,” she put her knitting aside and put her hand out expectantly.

She had been surprised at first how docile he could be when directed, so as long as it was something he wanted to do. While he would never compromise, he cared not for details of things he had no interest in. She had never met a man worse at planning, how he survived this long was beyond her. Even discounting the dragons which used to try and bite off his limbs. Surely he should have been destitute and starving by now.

He paused for a moment before shrugging. He hooked his hand behind his neck and pulled the whole thing off, handing it over without further comment. It was still warm from his body heat when she held it, soothing some of the chill in her fingers.

The shade of blue was lovely and the weave thick and even yet soft to the touch. Such a garment was clearly expensive. The part of her that liked horror stories and couldn’t look away at the trainwreck of Ocher Boulder’s attempts at courting Alianne, while her grandfather stood right there, radiating a menacing aura, wanted to ask her how much he paid for it. There was no good way for it to end but she still wanted to know. “This is a fine garment,” she said probingly.

Estinien was unconcerned with being half naked, digging through the bowl of fruit on the counter picking each one up and testing it with a delicate squeeze of his fingers, finding it lacking in some way and moving onto the next.

“I am craving something sweet,” he eventually found each fruit unsatisfactory and turned to look at her. “It was a gift,” he nodded at the shirt in her hands.

“Ah,” well that does it explain it at least. Her heart could take that response. Alphinaud came from a family so filthy rich he had no concept of money, what could Estinien’s excuse possibly be? She pulled the emergency sewing kit from her bag and found a blue thread that wouldn’t look out of place, not that she was sloppy enough to leave any of her stitches visible.

“How sweet?” She asked as leaned back on the food prepping counter. His chest and shoulders were a map of scars, some faded into silvery lines, and some still raised and angry pink. A few of them were obvious, the points of a dragon’s teeth in a pattern on his left forearm, an old burn on his right hip which disappeared into the waist of his trousers. The pocked marks where she assumed the eyes had been fused to is armour. Still it didn’t make him any less of a fine specimen. He would look lovely in something with a lapel, to pull the eye to how broad his shoulders were in comparison to his tight waist. The Ishgardian styles were made for a physique like his.

Not really at all to the liking of a Lalafell, whose standards of beauty were entirely separate than those of Elezen. Generally appreciated softness in a partner. But he was not half bad to look at.

“Cakes?” She offered.

Estinien hummed, clearly not convinced. “Is there more fruit? Maybe berries.”

“No, I used it all when I made syrup earlier and I think the rest was put into the latest experiments with preserves Linette has been up to. The tea infused strawberry spread was pretty good.”

“Jam, do we have bread and jam? I want that,” he nodded. “Not the tea one,” he added after a pause and Tataru laughed.

“I am sure we do, try the middle shelf of the pantry, the bread should be right near the door.”

“My thanks,” he replied as he walked away giving her a view of his back. No less impressive than the front.

She knotted her stiches; confident they would hold up to any strenuous movement. She then ran the rest of it through her hands. Unsurprised to find one of the hems fraying where it had come loose. She set about mending that while she had her hands on the garment. The shirt seemed well worn and well loved, unlikely to have come from his recent travels. From what she knew of him from her time in Ishgard there was really only one person who would have bothered to gift him something so clearly expensive.

Her mouth briefly turned into a frown at the memory of Aymeric’s face. She had regretted it as soon as she spoke. Her casual assumption that Estinien would seek him out had clearly hit something sore. Aymeric was not the type to have allowed anyone to see such a thing, to say even that much in front of Krile surly he must be hurting far more than she could imagine. She assumed the fact that he was looking more and more worn each time she saw him had more to do with wrangling Ishgard and managing a war, but clearly this too weighed on him. All of her friends took on burden after burden, with little should do to lessen it.

‘He wouldn’t want you to dig.’ She reminded herself to show restraint. Estinien did not deserve her ire either. She could not believe that he would harm Aymeric on purpose. He had been so protective of him during their adventures in Ishgard. Circumstances continued to conspire against her friends, and she could do nothing about the fickle whims of fate. She could however gift Aymeric with the mittens she was making! He would be obliged to wear them if she did so, she thought devilishly. Mayhap a comfy sweater. She would need to see if she could find that particularly rich shade of blue he favoured.

Estinien returned with a jar of deep red preserve and a loaf of bread wrapped in a thin cloth.

“You know, I’ve made all the other Scions their clothing. It’s practically a rite of passage,” she teased.

He grunted, more interested in opening drawers until he was able to locate a suitable knife (it wasn’t the right one but before she could say anything he took it to the loaf hacking off a ragged portion of bread).

She had to put his half-mended shirt down as the clock turned over. Hopping down the step ladder she dragged it over to better look inside the oven. It hadn’t puffed up yet. She hoped it only needed more time and not that she had failed to follow the recipe.

She kept one eye on her pastry. The rest of her attention on Estinien, who had slathered the bread with jam and seemed to be quite pleased with himself and his snack. It was kind of cute, a bit horrifying, but mostly cute.

“I was unaware you took up armour-craft,” he said belatedly licking jam off of his lips.

“How hard could it be?” Tataru asked flippantly. “Besides, it isn’t like you wear your armour otherwise nude.”

He snorted, cutting off another irregular chunk of bread. She was beginning to form a suspicion as to why he had come out with the whole loaf and was both alarmed and curious to know if she was correct.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her pastry finally rising like the fabled phoenix- beautiful and perfect. Stepping down she went to grab her gloves to fish it out of the heat.

Estinien was silent except for the sounds chewing and once, alarmingly, slurping. She was about to return to her perch when she had a better idea. She checked the Magitek kettle, she had pretended not to see the inscription on the bottom ‘to dearest Tataru’ when she received it, still uncertain what she wanted to do about his crush. Maybe when the world was saved she would deal with it. Still, it was an excellent kettle and within moments it chirped at her to let her know the water was at the desired temperature. She added some fresh leaves to her recently emptied teapot and filled it with heated water.

She walked past Estinien as she made her way back towards her perch.

He paused, another piece near his mouth. As she suspected, almost two thirds of the loaf had vanished into his maw. “Is that Ishgardian black?” He asked her, clearly having smelled it from there.

She blinked, surprised despite the fact that she shouldn’t have been. “Yes.”

He finished what was in his hands and turned his attention on her as she picked up his shirt again to finish her task.

“You drink it black?” He asked. She wondered if he too was thinking about how sweet it must be when Aymeric was finished preparing it. Or maybe he was thinking about something else entirely.

“Aye,” she replied, settling in and picking up where she left off.

“Tis bracing,” he agreed with a nod before beginning on the last piece of bread. She smiled into her work.

“Did you want some?” After all his snack must have been sweet, the jar of preserve was more than half-empty now.

“No,” he was silent long enough she started working again, certain the subject had been dropped. It came as a surprise when he spoke again, “where did you get it?”

“Aymeric,” she said simply, not feeling the need to hide from the madrid in the room.

“I see,” Estinien replied just as shortly. “So you’re the one feeding him information,” he added bitterly.

Tataru looked up at him sharply. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, “it has nothing to do with you.”

“How could it not?” Estinien glared right back at her.

“Not everything about him has to do with you. I’ll have you know the man has the most divine recipe for snurbleberry tart I have ever tried,” Estinien looked surprised and she couldn’t have leashed her tongue if she tried, her earlier restraint holding on by the barest amount. “He’s so busy all the time but he always makes time for tea with me, he- he got a stool for the chairs in his house so I can move around easily. We talk about airships or poetry and baking.”

He looked unsettled by her outburst; she felt a pang of guilt. He was still uncertain around the scions and she was desperate to make him feel welcome but— Aymeric’s face when they last met haunted her.

“I know you stayed here to avoid him, and I am not going to say anything because you are my friend and I care about you, so don’t make me.”

He stared at her wearily as if to test if she was done. She looked down at the shirt in her hands and couldn’t help herself. “He gave this to you didn’t he.”

“Aye. A long time ago,” Estinien replied.

“It’s a nice shirt,” she held it out, a peace offering. Hem good as new.

“… It is,” he looked at it, absently rubbing is thumb over the seam she fixed. She waited to see if he would add more but he didn’t. Instead moving to pull it back of his head. The colour really was nice on him.

“I was going to make tarts tomorrow, what flavour would you like?”

“Anything is fine,” he grunted.

She wondered if he would say anything if she made it with snurbleberries.

Not even the turbulent wind on the way back from Carteneau was loud enough to carry away the conversation happening on the far side of the airship. Estinien’s low growl of a voice carried so very well, even hidden from view on the far side of the small storage cabin. Thancred looked at Y’Shtola, his ears were sensitive by training, hers by design. He asked if she was listening with a raise of his eyebrows and she responded in the affirmative with a flick of her ears. He looked to Urianger next who shifted guiltily and let his gaze skitter away. Ah, a yes then, a less than subtle one.

It was less obvious if the others had overheard the tense beginning of their conversation. Aymeric’s polite but pointed greetings rebuffed with annoyed honesty. G’raha was starting at the Warrior with unwavering interest, it was hard to tell if he was trying to ignore the awkward situation or not- because that was also his default state.

“What were you doing there?” Estinien growled, clearly fed up with Aymeric trying to get him to explain Tiamat’s involvement.

“I daresay the same thing you were, no less than the protection of our star,” Aymeric replied primly. His higher voice was more hushed but clear irritation had given it enough bite to carry.

“And I left word for you to stay in Ishgard, that I would handle it.”

“I cannot simply hide within her walls-“ Aymeric began when Estinien spoke over him.

“We discussed this, after Ghimlet Dark, and still you were in Paglth’an. Now this, do you act just to spite me?”

“No you spoke and left again before we could finish discussing the matter.”

“What discussion is there, you have no place on the battlefield,” Estinein replied. It seemed a little harsh, Thancred thought, Aymeric was a perfectly capable warrior. While his great sword was slower than Thancred’s gunblade by virtue of the weight of it he moved as smoothly as any dancer and was quite clearly comfortable with it. Thancred wouldn’t hesitate to allow him to watch his back if the need arose.

Alisaie shifted at his elbow, she had her forearms braced on the railing but had shifted her gaze from the world flying by under them to where the muffled argument was coming form. Feeling his eyes on her she looked up at him eyebrows drawn together in shock. She went to push off her perch, he shook his head to stay her hand. Looking unsettled she remained at his side.

“No place?” Aymeric replied venomously, “while the rest of the alliance brings arms to bare? While the other leaders-“ Once again Estinien cut him off. Thancred figured that was the only way someone as reticent as Estinien could hold is own against a seasoned debater.

“It wouldn’t matter if they died.”

“Estinien!” Aymeric’s voice raised, “you cannot say that.”

The Warrior and Alphinaud’s conversation slowed, barely holding up the charade of not eavesdropping. Thancred met Y’shtola’s eyes again, the faint swish of her tail put her in wordless agreement with his unasked question. They would run interference if any of the more earnest among them tried to step in. For all they were unwitting voyeurs, it was not for them.

“Would Gridania fall apart without the Elder Seedseer? If she died in battle, would it tear itself apart without her to lead? Ishgard can ill-afford to lose you without bickering itself back into the dark ages.”

At the very least Thancred had to concede Estinien’s point, while he was no expert in Ishgardian politics, the noble attempt at radical change to the whole of the foundation of the city state had left her in somewhat of a precarious position, held in delicate balance only by the capable hands of her unwavering leader. “Who would take up your cause? Lucia? She would not be accepted, Artoirel Fortemps? He would crumble under the pressure within the moon.”

For a time Ul’dah teetered in such a balance, those holding the wealth and power would have been more than happy to see the Sultana’s efforts ended, they would not have hesitated a breath to undo her legacy. As she came into herself, she had been able to write into immutable law her vision. While that was an entirely different situation, which could not be compared without a great many caveats, for one, you would never find her in the midst of a battlefield.

“Lord Hien-“

“Lord Hien is a swiving idiot who would have died at Ghimlet Dark had I not stepped in,” Estinien all but shouted back. While stated bluntly he spoke only the truth.

The Warrior stilled, staring wide-eyed while Alphinud visibly flinched. G’raha once again looked distinctly guilty, although Thancred was certain if allowed to travel through time once more even knowing what he did, he would make the same choices again and again. His guilt probably stemmed from not being able to perform a second miracle flawlessly.

Alphinaud went to take a step forward, it was Urianger who put his hand on his shoulder holding him in place. “Peace,” he murmured quietly. Alphinaud chewed on his bottom lip but didn’t fight it. Thancred cast a quick look at his own Leveilleur to ensure any well-meaning but potentially disastrous urges were not brewing.

“Keep your tongue in check,” Aymeric snapped, “I will not ask my knights, who are finally free of a war most assumed they would die in, to give their lives in a foreign land at only my word, when I myself would hide in Ishgard’s walls.”

Once again Thancred would concede the point was a valid one. Ishgard’s involvement in the Garlean conflict was entirely based on alliance rather than immediate defence or historical conflict. More akin to the tribes of Azim Steppe, those only answered when directly called upon. Yet, Thancred had watched the Temple Knights, in their distinct chainmail, give no less than the troops of the Grand Companies, most of which had lost comrades and loved ones to the Garlean forces.

“Not all knights gave up their commission as soon as they were able,” Aymeric concluded coldly. Once more Alphinaud went to step forward, brows drawn in anger, pulled back by his tunic by Urianger who looked distinctly uncomfortable. He disliked to look upon emotional displays, this must be akin to torture for him, clearly wishing to hide behind a hood he no longer wore.

“You would go there now?” Estinien snapped.

“And you would presume to tell me what to do? Having deigned once to see me in the moons past? Do you think the handful of letters sufficient to appease our bond? An itemized checklist of the supplies you needed,” Aymeric’s voice raised until it was shrill with affront. “What could you possibly know of the state of Ishgard? Mayhap Artoirel has risen to the demands of his station. What are you doing? Estinien do not dare-”

There was a long silence followed by a low hissed. “Fury.”

There was a roar as a dragon flew just under their airship making it rock from side to side and them all to brace against the buffet of large wings.

Thancred looked at the pilot, stuck closer to the middle and looking quite like she wished the battle had taken her.

Much later, in the Rising Stones, Estinien sat in a far corner the expression on his face keeping most who would offer their elation at his official joining of their numbers at bay. Hoary had been the bravest, offering a greeting and the half-touched ale that still sat warming in front of Estinien. He had received a grunt in acknowledgement which seemed to be more than he expected. Riol, the most familiar with Estinien kept his distance. Thancred knew the two of them had an almost pleasant working relationship. He was also familiar with Riol, who was the veteran of many battles himself, had a sense for when a man needed to be taken out of his thoughts following a battle and when he needed to be allowed to stew in them until cooked. Riol had been an unexpected support in the days following the loss of Minfilia, back when Thancred swung between despair and fury. The others had learned to take their cues from him, and too kept their distance.

Thancred had no such intentions, he had the benefit of knowing the storm in Estinien’s heart had little and less to do with the losses and injuries related to the latest conflict. In fact, unlike everyone else here, Thancred was sure Estinien wasn’t even the least perturbed by unknown malicious intents and plans to end the world.

Urianger would rather skin himself than navigate the conversation with Estinien following the overheard spat on the airship. Y’shtola wouldn’t flinch from it but they were too alike. While probably effective, it would hardly offer any succor, more like cleaning a wound with a scouring pad. Alphinaud and Alisaie had little experience by way of real-life relationships, he was certain they had both read books on the matter and would consider themselves thus experienced. He had his suspicions G’raha was in a similar boat, alas, he was too uncertain to approach either way. Tataru would have been a good option had she been privy to the event. Finally, the warrior wasn’t really one for talking in general.

This left Thancred, both experienced in matters of the heart, and unafraid of Estinien’s scowl.

“You jumped off the airship,” Thancred stated, in lieu of greeting, as he sat across from him.

“Onto a dragon,” Estinien replied, as though that made it normal.

“You jumped off the airship in flight,” he thought it bore repeating, lest Estinien continue to labour under the impression that was the best way to dismount. He gave a pause to let that sink in, “to avoid a conversation with your partner.” While neither of them had said as such there was little doubt. Thancred had his suspicions following his brief trip as Aymeric’s escort through the Dravanian wilds. At the time it had been an idle thought, his was a mind that soaked up information about people and places in case he needed it, idle thoughts gained interest like saved money. knowledge of such things often added depth to an assumed façade.

“Heard that did you?” Estinien’s gaze was sharp, but no more than the rest of him. Thancred suspected that was just the way he had been born, that he leaned into it when avoiding people.

“Hard not to,” Thancred agreed.

Estinien grimaced, “I suppose that explains the looks.”

While Thancred was certain he could have faked ignorance, there was little chance of others in their number would be able to do the same. Aymeric had appeared impressively unruffled when they landed. He smiled and assured them it was no trouble, polite and charming, that it had been his pleasure to assist the Scions in any capacity. Even as he spoke of appreciating the opportunity to see that Estinien was well for himself, nothing gave away the blazing row it ended in. However, he was not the actor Thancred was. He could see where Aymeric had been deflecting and shielding with habit instead of truly leaning into his act. Immersing himself in the flawless persona as the Lord Speaker, as he assured them that they would be able to handle the towers and that the Scions should focus on the things only they could do.

“Mayhap,” Thancred agreed, “although those here are just happy to have you join us. They all had stories to share of your feats during our prolonged repose.”

Estinien snorted but didn’t add further comment. At first Thancred had taken most of it as conflation, some of it hardly seemed possible. No one man could decimate a squadron of Magitek units, headed by a predator no less. Having seen Estinien fight, the way bright red aether twisted around him as he called on forces beyond normal men, much in the same way the warrior was wont to do on occasion, he had reconsidered the veracity of these tales.

“I fear those two would drag me back no matter how many times I fled. Hardly past my knees, and more persistent a burr I have never met.”

Thancred quirked his lips in a smile. Tataru and Krile had seemed confident when they claimed they were going to find Estinien. He had learned long ago not to doubt Tataru when she put her mind to something, but it was still somewhat of a revelation each time. The events that drove them from the Waking Sands had only hardened her and honed her skills into deadly efficiency. If there were an Archon title to be granted for organizational skills, he knew whom he would elect. Louisoix had said so many times before, and nothing since his death had abased Thancred of the opinion.

They lapsed into silence, Thancred’s presence inadequate to pull Estinien from his thoughts.

The part of the argument that had struck Thancred was the vehemence with which Estinien had declared that Aymeric had no place on the battlefield. While the reasoning was sound, Estinien hardly seemed the type to argue logic so strenuously. He was much like Y’shtola in that regard, always able to offer a sound logical argument to hide the deep emotions which drove her. Aymeric was hardly inexperienced and clearly held no qualms about getting his hands dirty on the battlefield when he was needed. He was a boon when standing at the front of his men, each willing to fight twice as hard at little more than a word or glance from him.

Nay, it echoed in a part of Thancred’s still broken heart. A gaping wound which could not be reapproximated and left to heal from the bottom up slowly, leaving gnarled scar in its wake. Nary untouchable by the cold light of logic.

“I would not presume to claim knowledge of your circumstances, your relationship faces hardships hardly common, singular if I had to offer an opinion.” His own lengthy possession had ended a dalliance he had been barely keeping up, he doubted either of them lost sleep over the loss. “What I would offer is a story, if you would do me the honour of listening.”

Estinien shrugged, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “do as you will.”

“There was a girl, not what you are thinking,” he said on reflex, “whom I cared about deeply. She was one I wanted to nurture and protect- her potential was endless. She was as though light incarnate, even so she cared little for herself when compared to her self-assigned duty. Although she did have the right of it, there were no others who could do as she did. I just wished he spared some of that compassion and kindness for herself. I never had the occasion to tell her as much when she was alive. I hardly did right by her at all. I was not the man she deserved and so I kept my distance supporting her in what ways I was able. When it truly mattered and she needed me- I failed her.”

“Condolences,” Estinien grunted, not unkindly.

“Thank you. For everyone here her loss is still fresh, for me it is years past, as such it is difficult to speak of with those that cared for her as I did,” he was too disciplined to allow his gaze to shift to where he F’lhaminn would most likely be. Estinien hardly needed the full sordid details, or all the bloody context, “while in the First I had occasion to meet the girl who inherited her will.”

Estinien’s eyebrows lifted. He supposed their problems had that in common, that they were singular in circumstances.

“She was sheltered, powerful but not allowed to grow into her abilities. Her circumstances entirely different but they were similar in ways that harkened to each other. I could not bare to let her leave my side even as she grew stronger under my tutelage. I did not know the distance my guilt and sorrow kept between us. I think that I assumed she knew, through my protection, that I cared for her. After all, I hardly would have trained any waif I came across.”

Years they spent like that, he assumed her occasional tentativeness to be nerves. They were hardly ever safe outside of the short stretches they spent with Urianger, surrounded by his wards and neigh army of fae who were inexplicably fond of him. Urianger had mentioned it several times, uncomfortable but his willingness to breach the topic lending his opinion weight, but when asked Minfilia-turned-Ryne was always quick to reassure him she was well.

“I did not know how much my distance and silence hurt. She would hardly tell me as such, looking back at it I think she feared I would abandon her if she asked for more of me. Eventually, she broke, the events of the active war her and own destiny added more pressure on her. When the opportunity arose, she offered her life for what she thought would make me happy.”

Even now the words hurt as they scraped across his throat on their way out, scar tissue buried deep in his chest between is lungs pulsing with it. He had been happy in a way while they were together, fulfilled with his purpose and company, as they laboured to keep Norvrandt from destruction.

“And?” Estinien asked, gruff yet hushed in deference to pain of the memory.

“With help from one who has helped more people than either of us can ever know, I realized that it wouldn’t have ever made me happy. I had come to an uneasy balance with the loss of Minfilia, but I wouldn’t be able to withstand losing Ryne, even if it meant gaining her back. More, that I needed to let her know instead of leaving her hurt to fester,” the relief in her gaze had been the twist of a dagger, she had truly, deeply, believed he would sacrifice her. That she would have let him, “that I was able to make my goodbyes and finally let Minfilia know how much I cared was more than I could have asked for. I will live with the regrets of not letting either of them know my heart sooner for the rest of my days, but that is an old ache.”

“What of Ryne?”

“I did all I could to ensure she was prepared for the struggles she will face as she saves her world,” while he doubted Gaia had enough interest in saving the world or the common sense required to do so, her shoes spoke this, he did not doubt her devotion. He knew how jealously one who had nothing would protect that which they held dear. She would save that world on Ryne’s word, if only to offer it to her, and Ryne would take the reigns and steer them all into a new dawn, or dusk as it were. He believed this with his whole being, anything less would be unacceptable, “I will never be able to see her again. Even in death the life streams between the worlds are separate. I count myself lucky that the Warrior is still able to pass letters between worlds, and they they have an unusual interest in a career as a postmaster in addition to saviour of nations and worlds.”

Well barring that, the most powerful of the fae could whisper across the void and yet delighted in tormenting Urianger in his sleep. He seemed oddly pleased by this in a way that Thancred was determined to deny was sweet.

Estinien frowned. It was unclear if it was due to the lack of closure to his story or the comment regarding the times the Warrior would don a postmaster hat that they must have obtained from a moogles somewhere. Estinien was not fond of moogles, nor subtle about it.

“I was hoping to find you.” Y’shtola hummed, pleased to find him alone and otherwise free of the busywork that was so common to anyone who would call themselves an adventurer. Estinien looked up from where he had been reading one of the books pulled from the shelves. She hadn’t realized they stocked the Rising Stones with any books that would interest anyone aside from an Archon, yet she didn’t recognize the cover nor did Estinien seem the type for aetherological theory. One of Urianger’s collections of poetry mayhap. They were finally abandoning the Waking Sands and consolidating their headquarters proper at the Rising Stones per Tataru’s assessment of their finances. It would make sense that his personal library too would move.

Interesting. She would need to see what has been added. More drivel to amuse the masses she could only assume, but it did help keep up with popular opinion at the very least. Y’mhitra used to devour them, she had a way of summarizing that was dramatic and engaging that Y’shtola missed. At the very least it saved her from the oft terrible prose herself.

What other gems from his collection were there? While he was in repose, had they found his more hidden book collection to be transferred? The thought made her smile. Mayhap she would find him later and grill him about it. Last time, he had actually teleported away from her- a new personal achievement.

“What is it?” Surprisingly he put a torn piece of parchment to mark his page instead of placing it face down the way she had seen so many do. Alisaie was a particular menace to books, although she was not comparable to Thancred, the cultureless swine, who used to mark the page itself by bending it until she had persuaded him otherwise. Another pleasing memory. “More unsolicited life advice?” He asked with a pointed raise of a pale brow.

Ah, the airship. She’d forgotten about that considering the other rather world-ending events. What he did, and whom with, mattered little to her. One of the others must have spoken to him. Certainly not Urianger, he would rather skin himself. The twins were otherwise occupied. Krile was still in Sharlayan. For all the warrior’s earnest helpfulness, they usually only acted when prompted to do so. “Thancred?”

“Aye.”

“I have no such intentions, nor anything helpful more than likely,” Her knowledge came mostly from books, which were hardly helpful in the messy realities of romance. While Aymeric and Estinien could easily fit the archetype of a Prince and is Knight, a popular trope, at the very least. You’d think Aymeric Menphina incarnate, if you listened to Urianger tell it. “I wish to study you.”

“And why would I agree to such a thing?” He scowled at her, thin lips drawn into a tight line.

“Knowledge is its own reward,” he did not look particularly moved by her reasoning which was disappointing. She didn’t know him well enough yet to best barter for his time. Food mayhap would work, his appetite was voracious.

Eventually he grunted, ending their little staring contest, “what would you have of me?” Surprised, but pleased, she wasted no time.

“Observation,” for now, “I wish to see how your aether is drawn for battle. Dragons are not of this star and I would know more of how they interact with the lifestream.”

“We would need to leave the city. Lest I bring the building down around our ears,” from anyone else she might think it bragging, but Estinien was as straightforward as he was terrifyingly powerful, “the flats outside Silver Tear Lake.”

A fission of excitement made the tip of her tail twitch, it always betrayed her. She flicker her ears in what would be clear agreement to any other Miqo’te, for his benefit she added. “Let us be off.”

He rode ahead of her, poise comfortable on chocobo back, its colouring was dark black shaded with pale similar to one the warrior occasionally called upon. She could only guess where such distinctive colouring had come from. His aether was curious to look at, with him faced away she could stare all she wanted. For all Matoya’s needless concern, the loss of her vision had been an unexpected boon. The world was so much richer this way, what was the loss of colours and much of the shades of things when compared to what she gained?

Estinien’s aether was bright and was constantly in flux, it reminded her of the Warrior’s when it had been tainted with an overabundance of light. A similar duality, although it twined intimately rather than a hungry gnawing or struggle. He steered them towards an empty portion of the flats with a confidence that spoke of familiarity. It was far enough from the wandering monsters that none would bother with them.

He dismounted and whistled sharply, the bird left with a soft chirp and enthusiastic shake of its large head. Her own mount lurched as if to follow and she dismounted quickly and much less gracefully to allow it to do so. He looked out towards the lake, she followed his gaze and found little more than the ruins of the Keeper of the Lake. From this distance, to her eyes, the skeletal remains of its wings and the Garlean ship were dormant, no different than the ambient atmosphere.

“He is gone but the echo of his song remains, it hums,” he explained, tilting his head as though listening. “The father of all dragons,” He clarified for her.

“I hear nothing,” she said, only the rustle of grass in the wind and the faint hiss of the lake cobras that hunted nearby .

“Dragonsong is not a song that can always be heard with your ears,” he shook his head clearly trying to parse through the words to explain it. Despite her many questions, she kept her silence and waited for him to continue, “it does not travel through air, it vibrates through the blood. All dragons descend from Midgardsormr, and so all can hear it but the more distant the relationship the less it travels. The distant descendants of Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg murmur at each other but it is quiet, Vidofnir is one of Hraesvelgr’s first and she is louder to those of his descent. And louder than her children to others.”

“I see,” Y’shtola tapped her chin with her claws, the information was fascinating, “I had wondered, while not a primal it seems they were able to compel others to their cause.”

Estinien shook his head, “’tis a choice to listen although perhaps not in the way we understand it. Blood ties are what defines them, as such, none would think to disobey. Those that still hold Nidhogg’s grudge and attack any who come too close chose to do so now of their own will.”

“Fascinating. I had thought your possession to be similar to that of Thancred, similar to the actions of Ascians,” at this Estinien finally looked discomforted. Belatedly she realized this might be less of a pleasant discussion. Thancred too would not discuss the finer points of his possession no matter how she appealed. It was one of the few times he had ever truly rebuffed her. “Mayhap the difference is the use of a physical manifestation of their power, or mayhap it is unique to dragons. The Warrior carries the will of Midgardsormr, and yet his memories remain his own. Does Nidhogg speak with you the same way?”

Estinien shook his head, “we are no longer separate. His power is mine own, his memories are as mine own. Sometimes he … offers an opinion through the use of memories.”

“Such as?” Curious. To persist beyond the death of the body is more Ascian, yet the loss of the body yet has such an impact on the mind and soul. Did the Ascians have bodies given up so long ago that the moment the heart stops no longer impacts the strength of the spirit?

“He offers memories of Tioman and Ratatoskr when I think of Aymeric,” the admission came out stilted.

Questions yet remained, but she was reminded of how he had leapt from the airship to avoid speaking of it and she was weary of him leaving or refusing to speak further. Who knew when she would get this chance again, events were poised to sweep them up once more. More than likely they would soon have little time for such idle pursuits.

“Is it his aether you call upon? Or is it a direct extension of your own?” She changed the topic to something he seemed more comfortable speaking of.

“I’ve never thought of it in those terms.”

“Let me rephrase. When you need to say, destroy a cannon the size of a building versus a lake cobra? How does the process differ?” Herself, she could expend less energy to call upon ice aether in a minor form for minor threats but the energy was her own to expend.

He snorted, “I suppose I use mine own to beckon?”

“Show me. I would see the aetherical process. I do not need to see you expend it, only the process you use to call upon it. I would see if it is the same as the Ascians or a complete separate process.”

“That’s well for there are no such cannons here and I have no intention of entirely obliterating a lake cobra,” he drawled, she snorted.

“Come Nidhogg,” he said, did the words mean anything or was it a focus for him to channel aether the same way they taught children to do when they were first learning arcane magic?

She watched intently as his aether lit up, sparking in the air around him. He seemed to draw in the ambient aether, no it was being drawn not from the air but through it, a separate plane of being mayhap.

The great twisting form of a dragon rose from him as steam from a kettle, large, feathered wings for a moment highlighted his form as if they were his own before it settled along him like armour. The twisting portions of his aether straightened out enough to see it was an entirely separate being, leaving just his own as the beating heart at the core.

What the symbiosis meant she could not say. It was entirely separate to how the Ascians appeared, they ripped who portals open to move an entire consciousness through and did not touch the aether of those they inhabited, for all they remained sperate beings. Slowly the effect bled away until he appeared as he did before.

“Sufficient?”

“It was beautiful,” she said without thinking. His cheeks flushed; she couldn’t help but laugh, “the effect is striking.”

“It’s useful,” he grunted, “now that I am in control.”

“Obliterated a few lake cobras?”

“A few,” his lips twisted wryly.

When she was younger, she had crafted a fireball, curious to see if she could amplify the effect she had wove and twisted it to see if she could not coax it larger. Larger it became, the spell echoing on itself beyond her control. She had destroyed the whole room, it was only Y’mhitra’s shielding ability that kept her from harm. Y’mhitra herself had been wounded in the process.

The shame of it still burned. Matoya had found her in her room sobbing in a way she usually never let herself. Frightened of her own power, terrified of what happened, suddenly certain that she would never be able to wield it.

It had taken moons for her to face Y’mhitra again, the burns on her legs still ugly and red as they healed, making her wear dresses to ease the pain. That she could hurt the only family she had left haunted her every waking moment, looking upon what she had wrought too painful. Matoya had left them to work it out between themselves, more focused on how Y’shtola had managed such a feat.

When she had finally managed to stutter out an apology, Y’mhitra had called her an idiot, clinging to Y’shtola’s neck as she cried. Y’shtola remembered how small her younger sister had felt then in her arms. Fragile, despite the arcane power she knew they shared.

Mayhap she did have some advice after all, “let us head back, you have given me ample to think upon.”

He tipped his head, looking out over the lake once more.

Once they were outside the stables, she had decided on what words might be helpful, “I do have an observation to offer,” he paused waiting for her to continue, “power gained too fast is as terrifying as it is dangerous. I have harmed those I love on accident, and it hurt far more than any of my mishaps that injured only myself.”

“I thought you weren’t going to offer unsolicited advice,” he gave her a flat look.

Y’shtola shrugged, “no good deed goes unpunished. You are one of us now, and all the benefits and annoyances that entails.”

“Was that all?” He crossed his arms over his chest in clear annoyance. Unfortunately for him she was immune to such things. Years of dealing with Admiral Merlwyb had left her unimpressed with such posturing.

“It seems to me that you may yet still hold the heart of a powerful, wealthy, and to hear Urianger tell it, incomparably beautiful-“

“What—”

“-man and if you lose it, the odds of one such as yourself doing so twice is nigh impossible.”

She was Alisaie Leveilleur, granddaughter of Louisoix Leveilleur, daughter of Fourchenault and Ameliance Leveilleur, and sister of Alphinaud Leveilleur. Lastest of her name and heir of one of the great families of Sharlyan.

Former heir.

Yet, at least she was one of those things still, she thought bitterly looking at her brother curled up and fast asleep. As always, whatever they were now, they were together. Aside from the brief trial separation when they first came to Eorzea, they had always been together. Foil and mirror of each other’s worst faults and greatest strengths. She couldn’t imagine going through this alone.

Somehow, she never thought her homecoming would be one of disgrace. She had left to follow Grandfather’s footprints, looking for some form of closure. Something to cauterize the still-bleeding wound and allow her to get back to real life. It was that what drove them apart when they first landed on those shores. How childish they had both been. In her grandfather’s wake she had found meaning of her own, picked up from his mayhap but hers now in all the ways that mattered. Theirs, her and Alphinaud, and the Warrior.

On the other side of Alphinaud the Warrior was also asleep, head tilted back and mouth slightly open. She bit back a smile at the scene. Such power, yet they remained as unassuming as ever. If only she could emulate a fraction of their composure in the days to come.

Movement in the corner of her eye, the glint of lamp-light off of metal. Estinien was heading top deck oddly soundless for the armour he wore.

T’was foolish. She reminded herself. She had more than enough trouble, there was no need to go around courting more. She should stay her tongue and let these thoughts strangle themselves until they were no more.

She was already disowned. What could happen? She become more disowned?

Yet, the thought sat heavy in her stomach, thrashed against the inside of her ribcage. She was used to swallowing it, hiding it. She didn’t even like him. Was that better? If she didn’t care what he thought maybe—

All this dithering wasn’t like her.

Do it or don’t. Two options. Action or inaction.

Alphinaud murmured something in his sleep fingers twitching like he was writing something. Summoning carbuncle perhaps, even in sleep. She took the blanket from around her shoulders and used it to cover his legs.

Estinien wasn’t hard to track at first, the highlights of his armour caught the half-light of the moon. Then he wasn’t there anymore. Looking up there was a small platform half-way up the mast and what might be an Estinien shaped shadow.

She looked at the distance, considering, maybe. Won’t know if she never tried. Taking a few steps back she took a running start and crouched as she pushed herself as high as she could. At the arc of her jump she reached out, aether spooling from her fingertips to anchor to the railing and used that to pull herself further.

The landing was less graceful; requiring her to tuck and roll to burn off the last of her momentum before she flung off the other side. Uncurling onto her feet again with a little victorious bounce she found herself face to face with Estinien, he had a single pale eyebrow arched.

“I wanted to see if I could,” she reasoned. And she did it “tis more difficult to anchor inanimate objects, as usually it is the aetherical signature I tether to,” she explained.

“Aye, that’s a neat trick,” he agreed. Surprised by his praise she didn’t know how to respond immediately.

“May come in handy,” she replied slowly.

“It may,” he agreed with a hum. “Your landing was clumsy.”

“Excuse me,” She huffed, “I wasn’t even sure if it was possible.” Normally, when she anchored and pulled the aetherical tether taught, it was to add momentum and power to her sword while on the attack, she never really put much thought into the landing.

“If you know to jump then you should know to land,” he shrugged simply, “saves energy and time. What you did was fine but inefficient and impossible with any form of armour, let alone if you had your sword drawn.”

She had needed both hands, “and what would you suggest?”

“Go higher,” He responded with a little shrug.

“Pardon?”

“Instead of letting go when you hit the level of the platform push yourself higher. Momentum upwards comes down while forward only goes forward. Normally you’d land on the enemy or follow into an attack with your sword, correct?”

“I suppose.”

“If you push yourself up high you can then either land with your sword at the ready or on top of something.”

All the times she had jumped off of something and landed, jarring her bones flashed through her mind. Her thoughts must have shown on her face.

Estinien snorted, “jumping is the easy part, landing without harm takes practice. Do you think Dragoons are born with these skills?”

“You are saying what, that you would teach me?”

“Aye, if you have a mind to learn. I know naught of your brand of swordplay nor the spells you draw upon, but if you wanted to do that,” he nodded at the railing, “and land with nary a sound. That I can teach you.”

“I don’t think I will be taking up the lance any time soon, but mayhap, if we have time—it could be helpful,” she once more reminded herself she didn’t like him.

“Pity, you have the proportions for it. Better when you finally grow,” there it was, she bit the inside of her lip against comment as her ire rose. Despite three years in the First neither her nor Alphinaud had grown any taller, and she could only pray that was a result of those not actually being their bodies and not that the next three years would pass without her hitting her long-promised growth.

Her eyes had adjusted to the lower light this far from the lamps that lit the deck and she noted he was smirking at her. He was joking. She blinked and huffed a half laugh.

“What, and content myself with one weapon when I can wield this with my magic as well?” She affected a haughty tone, not dissimilar to her impression of Alphinaud, to let him know she was playing along.

He laughed, a low and rasping sound. She found herself smiling back.

They lapsed into an almost comfortable silence. From up here the bubble of light around the boat barely touched the darkness. The ocean was a featureless void mere fulms from the edge of the bow. The moon was bright enough to see by but there was nothing for it to light up and so it was as though the world ceased to exist past them. Just the two of them. Even then, she would still be Alisaie Leveilleur, granddaughter of Louisoix Leveilleur, daughter of Fourchenault and Ameliance Leveilleur, and sister of Alphinaud Leveilleur.

Taking a bracing breath, she hopped up to sit on the railing so she wouldn’t need to see Estinien while she spoke. Still the words were slow to come. He was silent as a ghost behind her. This was why she followed him out here. The words begged her to say them.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her heart raced and her cheeks felt hot. Voice a lot smaller than she wanted, tentative and unsure.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

Still, she found herself hesitant to reveal the long-held secret in her heart. What could happen? She reminded herself, she was already disowned by her family. Alphinaud had stood next to her on the battlefield, in the ruins of once great cities, and at the end of a world, he was hardly going to abandon her for something like this. Still the fear was there.

She was already far from the little girl her mother had wanted. Once freed of matching outfits she had not the interest in dresses mother hoped she would. Mother looked beautiful and regal at all times, in contrast to Alisaie who put the bare minimum into her appearance. She wore lip rouge and tinted her nearly transparent lashes, she wasn’t a monster, but that was the extent of her make-up. Nothing compared to her beautiful, glamorous, woman her mother was, who was the epitome of a matriarch and spoke of grandchildren.

She was hesitating again. T’wasn’t lady-like of her.

“H-how,” she cleared her throat, difficult to do around where her stomach had lodged there too, “I mean,” she cursed her clumsy tongue and coward of a heart. “You and Lord Aymeric you are both … men. It’s, how did--?”

She could feel him considering her half-formed sentence and she stared hard at a whole lot of nothingness.

“I don’t follow,” his rough voice was pitched low, soothing even. She smiled wryly to herself where he couldn’t see. He was making it difficult to dislike him right now.

“If you are—like that,” different, unladylike, extremely unlikely to beget grandchildren, “how did you know, that he liked you, that he could like you, like that.”

“Ah,” he hummed.

She dare not turn to look at him. These were words she had not even spoken to Alphinaud of. It felt like standing in front of a scissor jaw unarmed and trusting it not to devour you.

“Tis not an easy thing,” he agreed, “I didn’t notice at first, it wasn’t like I had many friends. For awhile I thought it was normal to want so much of his attention all the time.”

“Then you knew?” The words were tiny, half-formed, nearly carried away on the wind.

“Aye. I realized that I hated the idea of others approaching him, I wanted all of it him to myself, not just his friendship or his time. For moons we continued like this, I would go out of my way to spend as much time with him as I could, sparring, eating, anything to just be around him. It seemed hopeless but I couldn’t stay away. Then one day there was an,” he cleared his throat, “incident with a lot of ale after we felled a dragon. It made me question how much of himself he had been willing to give me. For all I was desperate for his attention, he always gave it to me.”

He paused and she took his words, turned them around in her head.

Eventually he continued, “I was still unable to approach him, looking back, it was cowardly of me. I became a little more bold, allowed myself friendly touches, nothing salacious, but what I had refused myself before. He had always been the more courageous one and all he needed was the smallest hint I felt the same way.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t quite imagine it, but once the two of them must have been so young. They both were men who seemed so utterly confident in themselves that they could have never felt the way she did now. Uncertain and vulnerable.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. It was a lot of honesty he had gifted her with. He hummed.

She relaxed incrementally, heart rate coming back to normal. She had spoken the words, well implied them anyways, and the world had not ended. She looked over and found him exactly as he was before, armour limned in moonlight staring out with a pensive expression.

He caught her gaze and gave her a faint twitch of his lips, “’tis not an easy thing, but it’s worth it, the fear and uncertainty, all the things others will never understand.”

“What is?” She blinked, not quite following.

“Love. Loving, being loved.”

“Oh,” She honestly hadn’t gotten that far, half convinced she would be trapped forever, unwilling to embrace what she wanted versus what was expected. Dithering, stagnant. She thought of shy smiles and the unassuming strength and dedication of Tamsleen and how Alisaie had dearly admired her. Wanted to spend all her time with her. Her heart throbbed with the loss still, she had not been in love, wouldn’t let herself be. But she could have been.

It wasn’t like she could be more disowned. Still it felt good, even if only one person knew.

“Mayhap one day I will know,” she said softly, closing her eyes and just for a moment pretending she wasn’t Alisaie Leveilleur, free to love and be loved how she chose.

“I have not known anything to stop you yet.”

She laughed, “you’d think after you take down a few millennia-old Ascians nothing would scare you anymore.”

“An Ascian can only kill you.”

“Charming,” she turned to face more of him and once again found nothing judgemental in his posture or his stare. Mayhap some day soon she would be able to speak of this with her brother. Honestly more worried he would become too involved and she wouldn’t survive the embarrassment.

She wanted to offer something in return. She could only repeat herself, “truly, Estinien, thank you.”

“T’was only my story, if you take heart in it—well then I am glad. Mayhap it will save you a few mistakes.”

“So don’t kill a dragon and get drunk?” She teased gently.

“I never said that.”

“You’ve been training Alisaie.” Alphinaud had meant for it to be a simple observation, but the tone made it a little sharp, he winced. Too high-strung under the weighty and judging stares.

“Aye,” Estinien agreed easily. He had taken to walking along the piers and basking in the sun of Sharlayan while they were sorting out what to do next. This was where Alphinaud found him, basking like a lizard and idly observing the movements of good and people around the docks, “I think she is still mad at me for mixing you up.”

Alphinaud bit back a sigh, he had come to simply accept their physical similarities. One day they would grow into themselves, he just had to remind himself of that. Mayhap never fully separate individuals, but enough not to be mistaken for each other. If he liked his hair any less, he would have cut it. Something like Urianger perhaps? He looked cool.

“She does quite take offence to that,” he agreed, “you know, when we were young it used to be somewhat of a game. We once spent three whole days pretending to be each other before grandfather caught us. He could always tell, him and mother were the only ones.”

Estinien never spoke of family, Alphinaud had spent long enough in Ishgard to be familiar with the types of stories usually attached to that. The things that would drive a man to become Ishgard’s strongest champion. There would be nothing happy there, but he wished he knew, nonetheless.

The silence was comfortable and Alphinaud relaxed into it, the sunlight glittered off the water and Estinien was as a shield, the glances slid right over him when in such stalwart company. Tension he hadn’t quite noticed easing from his shoulders. Would that he could follow the Warrior around for the same effect. No sooner had they settled in than the Warrior vanished, as they were wont to do. Alphinaud encountered them delivering books earlier that morning while also asking after a missing doll. He had learned not to ask.

“Are you well?”

“Pardon?” The question surprised him enough into turning to face Estinien. He found him looking back with calm grey eyes. It was still so novel even after all these days to be able to see his face in its entirety. Alphinaud was quite certain that if they had been able to lock eyes before, it was unlikely such an expression would have graced his face.

“A lot has happened recently,” Estinien prompted and Alphinaud felt his stomach clench. It had been painful and liberating to look at his greatest mistake in its entirety, to debride the wound where he had hidden it and left it to fester in light of bigger and more important problems. Even as he was keenly aware of the pressures placed on his shoulders, terrified that he might again fail everyone.

“I will not deny that it stings to be disowned and denied my name, however I am hardly a child,” the exact age difference between that which his mind had lived versus that which his body had lived remained a debate among the scions. Without the turning of the heavens the First had measured time using a different metric which was not directly comparable to the rate of time passing in the source.

“You were though,” Estinien cut him off before Alphinaud could launch into his prepared response, “before Ishgard, when this all started you were little more than a child. Don’t give me that expression, I mean it not as an insult. Children are far more capable of enduring hardship then oft given credit for. You’ve grown into a fine young man, but young all the same, you take too much of the burden for yourself.”

“I can hardly expect anyone else to bear the responsibility of my decisions,” he argued.

“You must, that is what it means to lead. You aspire to leadership and one day you will make a fine one. Part of that means learning to trust others to bear the weight of your decisions.” Estinien’s gaze was steady, confident. Comforting.

“You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“Not mine own,” he shook his head. “I led as was needed by my station, but I have no interest in being a leader of men. I saw what it took to grow into one. Stood by him as he learned these lessons. How do you think he fared the first time his mistake cost men their lives?”

Minfilia. Wilred. Recent events had pulled to the surface events long since passed for him. Forcing him to acknowledge that he had yet to come to terms with his own hand in their passing.

“It hurts,” Alphinaud replied. More than a physical wound ever could.

“Aye. There are not many men equal to the task. You remind me much of him when he was younger. You have the same drive, the same hope and idealism.” His father’s words about the ugly realities of war echoed faintly across his thoughts. What had it been him who sent Arenvald into the tower? The agony of waiting to find out had he lived or died. What good had idealism done for him? “Mine intent is to support you much the way I did him,” to put a name to the one they spoke of would be too obvious.

“Estinien, I don’t know what to say. Your support means much to me.”

“What little it is when you consider the rest of the company you keep,” he snorted. Alphinaud smiled, wry, it was little ridiculous.

He mulled over Estinien’s words.

“And how did he fare?” Alphinaud eventually asked.

“He puked his guts out, pretended everything was fine for a week before he finally wept like a babe,” there was no judgement in the words, if anything he seemed proud for all it didn’t paint Aymeric as a particularly stalwart leader. “Then he returned to his post and continued onwards because he knew none other would do what he believed needed to be done. That is the price of leadership, the knowledge that others will bear the consequences of your decisions. Had I died he would have been the one who sent me on that assignment, and he knew that.”

Had Admiral Merlwyb faced the same doubts when she brought the pirates to heel? Enforcing change because it was the right thing to do despite resistance from all sides? Somehow Alphinaud doubted she had ever cried, even as a child. He couldn’t imagine such a terrifying and driven woman as a babe, no, she had been born fully formed and ready to run. She hadn’t flinched as she spoke of killing her sire, at staring down her own pistol. Would he be able to find that same confidence? Conrad had persisted when others would have given up.

“Yet he handles much and more than that with nary a break in his stride now. I have much to learn from his example.”

Come to think of it, G’raha has been somewhat of a civil and military leader after a fact as well. His relationship with G’raha was must less complicated, discounting three years of tenuous half-truths. While Aymeric had never been anything short of gracious, welcoming, and thankful, Alphinaud remained uneasy in his presence. When he looked at Aymeric, he remembered the bitter envy and despair he felt when they first met. Alphinaud, at the lowest point of his life, suddenly presented with the manifestation of everything he had failed to be.

Estinien gave him an oddly startled look before he shook his head slightly.

“Just don’t pick up his afternoon sweets habit, that can’t be healthy. He’s going to make himself sick.”

Alphinaud smiled. On anyone else he may have described it as fussing, “thank you for sharing that, you have given me much to think on.”

“I was trying to make you feel better,” his faint frown brought a grin to Alphinaud’s face.

“Mission accomplished my friend.”

“Good,” Estinien grunted. Alphinaud closed his eyes and focused on the way the sun warmed his face. There were no less questions, no fewer burdens, but somehow he felt comforted all the same. Grandfather, Merlwyb, Aymeric, Hien, Conrad, the price of leadership, of doing what was right was a burden that could never be placed aside. Yet, none of them had ever flinched from their duty no matter the cost. He would learn to do the same. He must.

“If I may say as much, you have changed for your travels. I do not think you spoke so freely before.”

“Wasn’t much to say,” he replied, “although, you do have the right of it, I am hardly the same man you met. I had much to learn of myself.”

“Finding your purpose?” Alphinaud mused. Pretty words he had used when making his argument for his sojourn to Eorzea all those years ago.

“I had a purpose, I needed to figure out what else there was without it. I have Nidhogg’s memories, I feel them as he did. If this is what the echo is like- it’s bloody annoying. His fury and his anguish, it was every bit a match for mine own. It felt as though they burned each other out leaving nothing behind but ash. Carrying these pieces of him helped in a way, to make sense of what happened.”

Alphinaud thought that when Estinien cast aside his helmet it was no mere metaphor. He spoke freely, with kindness that wasn’t new but far more apparent. “Well, I for one am full glad to have you with us. I am certain the rest of the Scions feel the same. And I assure you, Alisaie will forgive you eventually.”

“It’s not so bad,” Estinien agreed. After a length he added, “even if you lot seem to enjoy meddling, prying, and being generally invasive.”

Alphinaud smiled at him, that sounded like the Scions. For all they were focused on their mission, it was undeniable how much they cared for one another. He’d only caught glimpses of Thandcred, Y’shtola, and Urianger comforting each other following the loss of Papalymo. As much as he longed to help, he didn’t have the words nor the long familiarity to intrude on something so personal. Sometimes the gap in experience between them was imperceptible and other times the chasm seemed yawning.

But he could help now.

“Pray, would you allow a little more meddling?” Alphinaud said trying to sound a lot more confident than he felt about it.

Estinien sighed but didn’t seem like he was about to stop him.

“Are things well between you and Lord Aymeric? To me, of late, it appears—tense.” A nice, diplomatic say to say it, “by your own admission, your relationship was once quite close.” While he had never seen them offer each other more than what would be expected between friends, the way they spoke of each other made it seem as though there was more to it than that.

“I don’t imagine there any many left alive who have known him longer,” Estinien agreed.

Once again Alphinaud wondered about their past. Where they childhood friends? Schoolmates perhaps? What had drawn two people, whom on the surface appeared at odds with each other, together? The rumours in Ishgard around the subject had less to do with how they became so close and more lurid theories on the ways the Lord Commander had managed to turn the Azure Dragoon into his loyal dog. Alphinaud had paid little mind to it, aside from a brief fantasy of what it must be like to have the absolute loyalty of one so strong and dedicated. What a comfort it must be to have such a shield and sword.

Eventually Estinien continued, “he’s angry with me, I think, only he won’t just say it. He asks all these needling little questions, polite as though I’m some diplomat. It’s all fake. It’s annoying.”

“He’s polite?” Alphinaud frowned.

“No. It’s,” Estinien sighed, “he speaks to me as though he were speaking with you. He’s not saying something, and I don’t know what it is.”

Alphinaud thought back to the fight on the airship. It had seemed a straightforward argument, to hear Estinien speak of it, it was only a symptom of some deeper disease.

“If I may, it is true you have changed much, mayhap so has he? To be a military commander during war is one thing, to govern a nation undergoing radical change is quite another. So too are your circumstances entirely new,” Alphinaud found himself warming up to the theory, “it would only make sense that what may have gone unsaid before might be lost. What worked before may need to be reassessed.”

Like trade agreements, the literature following the calamity are filled with examples of harmonious agreements that lasted decades suddenly falling through as the circumstances of both parties changed rapidly. Somehow, he didn’t think Estinien would appreciate the analogy and so stayed his tongue against citing his sources. The other man looked thoughtfully out at the water, mayhap his words had rung with some bell of truth.

“Unless,” Alphinaud ventured, “you wish to leave things as they are? Our journey being what it is, tomorrow is not a guarantee.”

Estinien snorted, “I don’t need a welp to tell me that,” he paused, added, “a smart welp. I will speak with him again.”

“Excellent! Let us check how much the aetheryte fee is.”

“What, now?”

“We are waiting from word from the Alliance and have nothing pressing, you shall go get word from an Alliance leader,” Alphinaud gave him a cheeky smile.

They looked at the fee schedule, Alphinaud squinted, shrugged, “it doesn’t seem that much, I shall give you the gil, consider it a gift.”

Estinien frowned, “I guess it isn’t that much.”

Later, Alphinaud was quite pleased to see Estinien was not at their little dinner. “He had other matters to attend to,” he said with a proud little tilt of his chin when asked. Alisaie gave him a narrow-eyed look but held her tongue when he met his eyes to reassure this was a good thing. The purse of her lips indicated clearly that she expected they would speak later. Both of their attention was pulled towards the Warrior making a sound of delight over some baked vegetable dish. G’raha was quick to serve them more of it.

A normal person would be having dinner right about now. Estinien’s stomach twisted to make sure he was aware of this. At home, at the dinner table, was one of the least likely places he was going to find Aymeric.

The side of the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly was flat stone, although time had worn it down so there were familiar foot holds and cracks that he could us as he navigated upwards. He had done this so many times he it was reflexive. As long as he kept his momentum it was easy to scale it in a series of small jumps until he could balance on the narrow edge of the windowsill. The first few times after Aymeric had been promoted to Lord Commander had not been nearly as smooth.

As expected, the lights in his officer were still on, the candles freshly lit to stave off the encroaching night. Although no one was in the main room, he slipped the small length of metal he kept hidden next to the sill to pop the latch from the inside.

Aymeric’s coat and gloves were tossed across the back of his chair, the cuirass and pauldrons had been placed on their armour rack in the corner. Estinien frowned, sniffing at the air delicately, under the scent of the fire was the metallic tang of blood.

The door to the closet-to-bedroom Aymeric had set up in here was cracked open.

“What happened?” Estinien frowned, keeping the growl out of his voice through force of will. Aymeric looked up through his bangs where he had had a bandage held between his teeth, using water to try and peel dried fabric out of a gash on the back of his arm.

“Here,” Estinien murmured, taking the bandage from his mouth to set it aside, where it wouldn’t become dirty, and pulled his gauntlets off.

“Naught much to cause concern. Just a slightly awkward position.”

Estinien didn’t bother to answer. Down Aymeric’s elbow and smeared all the way to his wrist was smudged blood. The weapon must have been infused with something to slow clotting. He picked up the cloth Aymeric had been using to try and clean it and took over. Eventually Aymeric stilled and let him work.

“I asked what happened,” Estinien reminded him. Aymeric didn’t so much as flinch when he picked at the fabric dried into the deepest part of the cut.

“I needed to discuss something with the Sultana. Good fortune that I did, for I was on hand when there was an attempt on her life. Much of her own personal guard is being redeployed in our new initiative, from what I understand this was too good an opportunity for her enemies.”

“You were hurt by some merchant crooks?” Estinien scoffed.

“A calculated decision, we were taken by quite surprise and her Majesty is far more vulnerable than I. It is a minor wound.”

Finally cleared and cleaned Estinien agreed. Most of the damage seemed to have come from the status effect. He grabbed the minor healing salve that Aymeric had laid out on the narrow bed next to him. He was gentle as he smoothed it across the torn skin. It was the work of moments to bandage his arm securely to keep the salve in place as it worked.

He dipped the cloth in the water again and began to wash Aymeric’s skin of blood. When he looked up Aymeric was staring at him, the expression on his face was unfamiliar. The corners of his eyes seemed red as though he was about to cry. Estinien paused. “Does it hurt?” He frowned, Aymeric was right, a shallow cut like that was nothing to a warrior like him.

“Nay, tis fine. Thank you,” caught staring, Aymeric looked away, watching the fire through the open door that connected to his office.

Estinien scowled. It was always the same when he saw Aymeric lately. He wouldn’t just say what was wrong. He’d always been quick to hide weakness from others, and it rankled to now be counted as ‘others’. Had Aymeric not always trusted Estinien with all the parts of him? He doubted Aymeric found solace in another during his absence.

“I appreciate your assistance, but why are you here?” Aymeric said deftly avoiding his gaze, “I am quite certain that there must be a far more pressing matter to attend to.”

“Alphinaud bade me receive word from the Alliance,” said in jest, but a handy enough excuse.

“Oh,” the response was flat. Aymeric finally looking at him with a smile that would have fooled no one, let alone anyone who knew Aymeric as well as he did. Estinien frowned.

“It seems as though there was some cause for concern,” Estinien nodded at his arm.

“I am well, as you can see it was only a minor injury,” Aymeric moved his hand away where Estinien had been cleaning his wrist. “I apologize your trip was for naught, I am not requiring any dramatic rescuing this time. Nor do I have any words to offer yet. Our plan is almost finalized, despite some, more pointed disagreement. I will be more than happy to be the one to send word to the Scions when we are finally ready to act. I assure you it will be soon, there are only some final adjustments to complete.”

Estinien had been letting Aymeric lie to him when they saw each other. If he didn’t want to say what was wrong, Estinien wasn’t going to bother trying to pull it out of him when it just started a fight. Let him spin his little half-truths, he knew Estinien hated it, so how was he to blame when it was easier to just ignore it? He hadn’t needed Tataru to tell him that Aymeric was upset with him. Had been for moons now, but he wouldn’t say anything about it. Estinien grit his teeth against the irritation, this would be the part where Aymeric would continue to pepper him with polite questions without saying a single damn word of importance.

“Did you require anything ere you leave? I should be able to get some leftovers from dinner sent up, may even still be warm.”

“Why didn’t you see a healer?” He said instead. It would have taken only a moment and would have saved Aymeric a lot of awkward twisting to have someone else clean it.

“For a scratch? It’s hardly worth the trouble.”

“Far more trouble to clean yourself,” Estinien reasoned. Aymeric could be ridiculous, but he was usually ruthlessly efficient with time management.

“There was a clash recently with the Lunar Primal near Xelphatol, compared to other injuries I am quite capable of tending to myself.”

“Are they so busy that none can spare a moment for the Lord Speaker himself.”

Aymeric’s jaw tensed, his face smoothing with what seemed to be pure force of will, “I assume Alphinaud did not send you here to defend me from a scratch, so it hardly matters.”

“Just tell me.”

Aymeric stood, walking back out into his office proper, posture utterly perfect, his voice was cool when he spoke, “Lizabelle has been assigned to the newly formed Ilsabard contingent and is on her way to the staging ground, Jiyaux is running the hospital of the field camp. This leaves Almoix is the current acting head of the hospital, they have strong ties to many in the House of Lords who oppose Ishgard’s involvement in matters beyond our walls. Do you think most in favour of joining another war when we are finally free of one? When our own city still needs repairs? The church is in disarray with power struggles, leaving a void in those who normally provided succor to the impoverished. Should word of my injury gained on a diplomatic trip, no matter how minor, reach them it would be fodder to their argument. I would not be the reason opinion sways. Not when we find ourselves again at a critical juncture.”

Estinien scowled. As the Azure Dragoon he had been expected to pay at least lip service to the political game that raged behind the scenes in the walls of the High Houses. He wasn’t oblivious enough to not see Aymeric’s hand in keeping him out of it. He had never come to a decision if this was a kindness or mitigation strategy. Aymeric danced to the tune of it as deftly as he would if he were at any of their balls. Wielded his words with the same precision of his draw.

“I would remind you; it was only a scratch,” Aymeric leaned back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. The linen of the bandage stood out against his skin and the silky material of his black undershirt. He seemed smaller, as he always did when he was shelled of his armour.

“Mayhap you need saving from the House of Lords,” he grunted, conceding Aymeric’s point.

“I doubt anything could save me from them at this point,” Aymeric shrugged, “Pray allow me to send someone to see if there is any food leftover from dinner.”

Before he could answer Aymeric was already moving to do as he pleased. Estinien washed his hands of Aymeric’s blood. He kept one eye on Aymeric as he did, although he only peeked his head out of his office door, speaking with someone Estinien couldn’t see.

“There,” Aymeric offered him a small smile as he walked back, instead of coming to a stop near where Estinien stood he kept his desk between them, “unlikely to be much, but hopefully it will be warm.”

Estinien gazed around the office as Aymeric began to sort one of the stacks of paper on his desk. Not much had changed, only the addition of more shelves and more chests, slowly crowding out the few personal touches Aymeric had ever kept in here.

“I had thought to give this to you later, or have it sent, but since you are here,” Aymeric opened a drawer in his desk and pulled a heavy envelope, it made a metallic sound as he set it down on his desk.

Estinien picked it op and looked inside, there were several sheets of heavy paper and a metal key. He fished it out with a frown, “what’s this then?”

“The deed to a house in the Empyreum. Many adventurers have set up accommodation there recently. I figured you can hardly stay in the barracks anymore.”

Estinien had barely stayed in the barracks when he had been a Dragoon. Most of his time was spent in Borel manor, where he kept the few belongings that meant anything to him. Aymeric’s huge soft bed was so much nicer than the one given to him even as Knight Commander of the Dragoons. Even if it had not been, Estinien would have been wherever Aymeric was. Frozen nights and rocky ground were so much more palatable with Aymeric next to him.

The key seemed heavier and colder than could be accounted for by any sort of metal.

When he looked up Aymeric was staring into the fire. He looked tensed as though for a blow, fingertips pressed into the wood of his desk until the tips went pale. Seven hells.

“I haven’t the chance to have your things moved yet, if you desire it can be arranged for the morrow. I do hope you like it,” for all the words themselves were pleasant, Aymeric sounded wretched.

“Why would I possibly want this?” Estinien rubbed his thumb across the metal of the key confused. After so many years together, he knew Aymeric’s mind, had thought himself beyond this level of bewilderment. As through missing a step that should have been there, suddenly finding yourself sliding.

Aymeric sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, “so that you might visit. There are those that miss you here Estinien, I would not have you stay away from the city to avoid speaking…” To me.

“Fury’s sake Aymeric,” He hissed. The same well-worn surge of guilt and shame curled hot in his chest. It made him irritable, to want to lash out to sooth the discomfort. It wasn’t like the rage had been, there was no direction for this feeling, no way to work it out or move past it, subsume it inside something bigger. He could only avoid it. The feeling was only amplified in Aymeric’s presence, as if to mock the fact that Aymeric had once been the one safe place he had.

The silence that followed was subdued from Aymeric’s end and angry from his own. He looked at the key in his hand, the envelope had his name spelled in Aymeric’s loopy hand, under it read ‘Care of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn’. He had intended to mail it to Estinien, would there even have been a letter to explain himself? Estinien was certain it would have read cheerfully, as Aymeric had clearly intended despite the sorrow on his face.

“I don’t want a house,” he growled.

Aymeric sighed tiredly, “then you may sell it, its yours to do as you wish.”

Estinien paced the length of Aymeric’s office. When he strode back Aymeric was trying to pull his coat on. It sat awkwardly without the mail he usually wore under it.

Aymeric had always melted when Estinien peeled him out of his armour. Sighing sweetly when they fell away as though they weighed more than metal and cloth. That he was trying to pull that barrier up between them now was telling. Once too, had he been Aymeric’s sanctuary.

That was the expression he couldn’t place before. Never had he seen Aymeric look so lonely. Even the endless night that followed his rescue from the Vault had he not looked so. Aymeric burned with passion, an inner light that shone like a beacon and called others to follow him. Estinien had never seen it sputter as it did now.

“Aymeric.” He reached out to stay Aymeric’s hands where they struggled with the fastening at his neck.

He used the same motion to tilt Aymeric’s face up to look at him. Aymeric’s lips pressed together into a line that may have seemed angry again, had Estinien’s hand not been on his chin where he could feel the way Aymeric did so to hide the way he trembled. Aymeric maintained eye contact for a brief moment before he closed his eyes. Trying to hide himself away in whatever way he could.

“Just say what you mean,” Estinien begged.

“I cannot,” Aymeric replied softly.

He could leave it. If Aymeric wanted him to know he would have said as much. Estinien couldn’t leave it. The idea of going back to silted politeness, of being ‘other’ to Aymeric ached as poorly healing wound. It would clear in time, but the scar would be ugly. G’raha and Y’shtola in one way or another had reminded him that he could very well lose Aymeric.

“Then will you tell me why you are mad at me?”

“I am not mad at you,” Aymeric’s eyes fluttered open to look at him. Estinien was surprised by the lack of anger. There remained only sadness. He thought of the story Thancred had told him, for all the pain he had inadvertently caused, this Ryne, if pressed would she have claimed her anger?

“You are hurting, and I am powerless to help unless you tell me why.”

“There is naught you can do to help,” Estinien had ever been able to see through Aymeric’s lies, this one was especially feeble.

“I hurt you,” Estinien confessed, the squirming truth, the kernel of his guilt. Ashamed that it was his own weakness that resulted in his leaving Ishgard. His own cowardice that kept him away.

“You and most of Ishgard. At the very least, I do not believe you intended to,” Aymeric replied softly.

“That does not change the fact. I would have you yell at me if it would grant you a measure of peace.”

Aymeric looked away again, chewing on his lower lip.

“Please,” Estinien pressed, pride immaterial in the face of Aymeric’s pain. Strung tight as Aymeric was, it was only a matter of pressing in the right place and in the correct way before he broke.

That seemed to be it.

“I—” Aymeric tried to pull away but there was little room to do so and Estinien continued to invade into his space, “I have treated you poorly, acted shamefully and spoke to you in a way I should not have in front of others,” Estinien bit his lip against a curse. He was about to try again when Aymeric continued.

“I am ashamed,” He whispered, “I failed you. I know you left because you needed to, none suffered the way you did to bring about peace. I thought to make myself a home for you to return to. Yet, I am not strong enough.” The tears that had been threatening finally began to fall, “how can I be mad at you when it is my weakness at fault? You fulfilled your oath to me, and mine to you. To be angry now that you would not give more is mine own fault. To offer you harsh words because I am putting my own pain above your needs was unfair of me.”

“Aymeric,” his name slipped past his lips unbidden.

“I am angry at myself because I need you. When you, and all of the star, depend on me to be more than I am. As you said, who else would take up my mantle? Maintain the line while you are to strike at the heart of the enemy. As ever has been my duty.”

He was a fool to have underestimated the pressures Aymeric would place on himself, that others would heap upon his stalwart persona. To have been deceived himself by the self-same act when he should have been the one to know better. Estinien should have known, Aymeric wasn’t one to hold grudges, for all that he was belittled and denied, his worst enemy had ever been his own mind.

He tugged Aymeric up and out of his chair and into his arms, held him as tight as he dared when still in full mail. He was nearly left breathless with the sensation of relief, contentment that moved through him as he held Aymeric close. This was what they had both been missing, Aymeric stripped of his titles just the man he had been when Estinien first met him.

Aymeric’s face was warm and wet with tears where it hid awkwardly against the side of his face, pressed as close into Estinien’s neck as he was able. He ran one hand through Aymeric’s soft hair. The rumbling sound Estinien made was more dragon than man, aimed to sooth where words were clumsy. If Aymeric thought it odd, he said nothing.

Eventually the trembling of stifled sobs petered out. Estinien kept petting his hair and purring to keep him settled.

“Come with me,” Estinien said, gently tugging Aymeric’s hair until he could look at his face, reddened, wet, and heartbreakingly beautiful, “just for a moment.”

Aymeric closed his red-rimmed eyes and nodded slightly. Estinien kept one hand wrapped around his wrist as he returned to the window.

He could just see the blush under the splotchy redness as Aymeric guessed what he was about to do. While tossing him over his shoulder was much easier to balance, it was hardly the mood he was trying to set. He swept Aymeric up into his hold, Aymeric’s arms coming up to wrap around his neck, tucked close.

He made the descent in a series of shorter jumps than he would have had he not been laden with so precious a cargo, so as not to jar overly much in the landings. When they reached his destination, he placed Aymeric back on his feet. He watched his face as Aymeric realized where they were.

It was a small flat spot on the roof of the congregation, shielded from the accumulation of snow by an eave series of parapets.

“Oh,” Aymeric said, looking dazed, “this is where—”

“Aye.”

“Our first kiss,” Aymeric looked as though he was about to cry again, this at least was expected, he was the sentimental sort. Which is why Estinien had kept up the lie after all these years. Their actual firs kiss was hardly romantic.

Aymeric had spoken of the oath they swore to each other. They had been young, comprised of little more than ambition, rash decisions, and the tender feelings they both refused to admit was anything as silly as love.

‘I will get you to Nidhogg.’

‘I will support you in tearing down the High Houses’

Estinien hadn’t really believed they would do it, he had quite honestly forgotten they had even promised each other such a thing. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Aymeric did, or that he attached so much weight to it. At the time he had said it in lieu of ‘I will always stand with you.’ Aymeric had known that and responded in kind.

Mayhap they should have clarified.

“You have suffered when I should have been there to shield you,” Estinien said, easier now that it was darker. He kept speaking, if only to stay Aymeric’s tongue as he clearly meant to object, “I left to keep the power I have now from hurting anyone. To reconcile these memories which are not my own and lay my vengeance and my anger to rest so I could find what was left without them. It was my shame that kept me away after I found my answers. My guilt that stayed my hand. I was ignorant of just how deeply my actions hurt you, for allowing you to doubt my devotion, and for that I would beg your forgiveness.”

“You have it,” Aymeric replied instantly, “all that and more, anything you desire of me.”

“A bold statement,” Estinien smiled. Aymeric made a soft sound in the back of his throat, part embarrassed and part pleased. “I would have you accept a new oath.”

“Oh?”

Estinien slipped his hands under Aymeric’s coat so he could wrap his hands around narrow hips, while Aymeric kept his arms looped around his shoulders. This was he could see Aymeric’s face as he made his promise, to leave no doubts.

“I will do what is needed to safeguard the star. Wherever that takes me, I will come back to you – I swear it. I will always come back for you Aymeric.”

“I accept,” Aymeric smiled at him, dazzling in the starlight, older now, more worn around the edges and scarred from the battles between, but no less the man Estinien fell in love with years ago. “In return, I swear I will keep your home safe, so you will always have a place to come back to.”

“You are my home,” Estinien said, “so no running into the front of the battle.”

“I will do my very best,” Aymeric was still smiling. That was the best he was going to get out of Aymeric for this particular argument. They could disagree about it next time, and the time after. Estinien would see to it.

Not everything was resolved, far from it, but he was confident when he went in for a kiss that he would not be turned away. Aymeric’s lips were faintly salty from the tears still tacky on his cheeks, still the sweetest thing Estinien had ever tasted. They fit together perfectly through years of practice. Although familiar, the sensation of Aymeric melting into his touch was no less shattering than it had been the first time.

Aymeric made a little whine of loss when Estinien pulled back. The hands that brushed the back of his neck were icy.

“Tis cold,” he said, giving into the smaller pecks Aymeric pressed against his mouth.

“Tis always cold,” Aymeric argued. His cheeks and ears were an endearing pink when Estinien pulled back. While he had still been beautiful, splotchy and miserable, his smile was that much more stunning. All the great and terrible things he had seen in his life, none moved the heart and threatened to steal his breath the way Aymeric’s happiness did.

“Would be warmer in your chambers,” Estinien offered. Or his new house he supposed, but he didn’t want to address that particular problem until he needed to.

“How forward,” Aymeric laughed. Leaning forwards to place a kiss on his cheek, then another on the side of his mouth, and one on his lips, “can you spare the time?”

“For this? Yes. You need it don’t you?” Estinien tipped forward until their foreheads touched, Aymeric brushed their noses together. He could feel the furious blush from his cheeks in the otherwise cold night.

“I would like to argue my pride, but it has been so very long and I want it too badly.”

Estinien drew back just to watch him squirm, cheeks and ears flushing under his scrutiny, “I would not have us wait any longer when there is a bit of time now. If what you are planning goes forward it may be awhile yet until we can meet again.”

“That is a point I concede,” Aymeric said with a smile.

“Do you need your armour?” He thought of it on the stand in his office, his own gauntlets remained discarded on the floor. There was a narrow bed in there that they had fucked on many a prior occasion. If they were to consummate their new oaths, he would prefer the expansiveness and privacy of Aymeric’s master bedroom.

“No?”

“Dinner?” Estinien hadn’t been terribly invested in barracks leftovers either way.

“There is likely to be something in the pantry.”

Necessities taken care of then.

With a faint smirk Estinien tossed Aymeric over his shoulder this time, if only to hear the sweet yelp of surprise. Holding him secure Estinien took a running leap off the edge of the building, Aymeric’s curse was lost to the to sound of rushing wind.

The route was familiar, even taking into account shorter jumps to avoid driving his armour into Aymeric’s unarmoured abdomen. It wouldn’t be the first time he absconded from the congregation with the then-Lord Commander tossed over his shoulder.

He set Aymeric down on unsteady feet on his doorstep, there was no one around to see them, Aymeric with his hair mussed from the trip and wearing only his coat without all the armour and baubles he normally wore with it. Aymeric clung to his shoulder as his breathing settled. Estinien frowned to himself, it was hard to tell as his own strength was much different from before, but Aymeric seemed lighter. Perhaps it was how rarely he was out of his mail that was so jarring a difference.

“Walking is a perfectly good way to get around,” Aymeric complained with a faint huff, didn’t sound truly angry.

“Faster,” Estinien argued.

Aymeric shook his head as he opened the door and held it for Estinien to enter. The manor was quiet and dark, chilled but safe from the wind. Aymeric shed his coat and moved deeper into his home. Estinien followed reacquainting himself with the portraits on the walls, the arcing staircase up to the second floor.

He caught Aymeric’s hand as the door to his bedroom closed behind them, used it to pull him back into his embrace for more kisses. They were not chaste for long, Aymeric’s mouth opening under his own in a blatant demand. An invitation Estinien would have been stupid to ignore.

They stood there, kissing by the door until his lips felt bruised and he had mapped every ilm of Aymeric’s mouth. Thoroughly reacquainted himself with the desperate little whine Aymeric made when Estinien sucked on his bottom lip just so. Hands tugged at his armour this way and that looking for the latches he was unfamiliar with.

“Let me handle it. See to the lights, I would watch you.” Estinien growled against his mouth and Aymeric sighed against his lips, he could feel the smile even as Aymeric pulled back.

He still mourned the loss of Aymeric’s warmth, of his mouth, when he moved away to do as he was bidden. The new set was, by design, a far cry from his previous armour. While the style mattered little as function, he had only one request of the armourer- that it be blue. He shed the cuirass first, setting it on the empty armour stand.

Aymeric moved around the room, tending first to the banked fire, expertly coaxing the smouldering embers into catching anew. Next the touched the lights, giving them the little push of aether required to ignite the fragments of crystal within. By the time he was done Estinien was down to the soft and warm layers he wore under his armour.

Aymeric’s bright gaze trailed down the length of him, slow and heavy enough to feel almost as a caress.

Estinien sat himself on the edge of the bed. “Strip,” he had thought to make it a question rather than an order, something tender, but is tone betrayed him. Aymeric flushed, although he looked pleased. He probably should have guessed this was what Aymeric would prefer after so long without. Any could fuck, but Estinien was confident only he could offer this. The only person Aymeric would ever trust to cede control to. Aymeric had fought hard for every ilm of the power he had, only Estinien knew the extent of his struggles. It was a precious thing to be given. No one else, save himself, would cherish the gift as they should, for they could not possibly know what it meant.

It wasn’t a smooth seduction as Aymeric undressed, and all the more enticing for Aymeric’s obvious eagerness. He tugged his undershirt over his head revealing the long and lean lines of his torso. Aymeric had not fully taken to the sword until shortly after being promoted to first knight, as such he carried far fewer scars as an archer than Estinien did from leaping straight at the snapping maws of the enemy. His skin was Estinien’s perfect canvas.

He had secretly always preferred it that way. While he hadn’t stood in the way, he had been dissatisfied with Aymeric’s choice to switch, for it placed him in the fore rather than the rear. Although by that point they were hardly ever fighting side by side where Estinien could protect him, so it was best he was in a better position to protect himself.

Estinien smiled, amused, watching Aymeric trying to smoothly remove his breeches despite the way they clung to his long muscular legs. “All of it,” Estinien prompted before Aymeric could pause at the tight linen smallclothes.

Ears glowing red Aymeric allowed those to drop as well. He paused to pick up his discarded clothing to set over the back of the chaise. Bared as he was, he was a vision of sensual delight. Every ilm of him attached to some memory of heat and sweat. There, along his armpits where he grew warm and musky when he exerted himself. The smooth patches of skin just on the inside of his knees where Estinien liked to press his cheek when he had Aymeric’s legs over his shoulders. Sucking and biting at his nipples until they were flushed and raw, how he squirmed and complained the following day when they rubbed at his soft shirt, stuck in a state of buzzing arousal. The taste of his cock. That particular desperate whine he made when Estinien sucked on the flushed tip of his ear.

“Beautiful,” He said, all to aware suddenly that he had been in danger of losing this. That no other would ever compare. The Fury herself could hardly be as fair, “come here.”

Aymeric stepped delicately towards him, the lights dancing over is skin. Estinien’s scarred hands should have looked incongruous against his hip as he tugged him to stand between his spread thighs. Instead, it only reminded him that many of these scars had been earned serving Aymeric, just another part of Estinien which belonged to him.

They had been so foolish to deny themselves this comfort.

He pressed a kiss to his sternum, sliding his grip up his sides until he was holding Aymeric’s ribcage between the span of his palms. He could feel it expand and contract with Aymeric’s breathing, the soft small motions of living, flexing as he rebalanced his weight even as he pressed into Estinien’s hands.

“Ere we proceed you must know; I had hoped to rid myself of the residual manifestations of Nidhogg. I was no more successful in that than was in ridding myself of his memories. I do not think it likely I will ever be able to, we were fused for too long.” It was not something he had wanted to subject Aymeric to.

“Tis hardly a trifle, I would take anything you would give me regardless,” Aymeric hummed, his words vibrated between Estinien’s palms. His hand traced across Estinien’s neck, up the sides of his face and gentled as they smoothed down the length of his ears. It provoked a flare of heat in his stomach where he had been letting it smoulder, threatening to catch. But not yet.

“And I would give you all you can take,” he growled, biting at the muscle just over the arch of Aymeric’s rib cage. He worried the skin between his teeth, as fingers tightened around his head holding him in place. “First, I want you to make me a promise,” he pressed the words against the give of Aymeric’s skin, “my strength isn’t what it was, I could hurt you with barely an effort,” he looked up through his bangs, Aymeric smoothing them away from his face until they could see each other clearly. His ears were still glowing, but the look on is face was soft, open in a way Estinien hadn’t realized he missed quite so dearly. “Promise you will tell me before it gets to be too much.”

“Of course,” Aymeric replied easily. Pressed as close as they were, he could feel the way Aymeric reacted to his words, the shiver that traveled the length of him. Estinien nipped the red patch he had worried at before. Aymeric’s whole chest flared with the sharp breath through his teeth.

“I mean it ‘Meric, I know you, I’ll not have you holding your tongue out of some misguided attempt to please me,” he looked embarrassed to be called out as such, “I would not enjoy myself if I knew I could hurt you.”

“You made your point my love,” Aymeric touched his lips with the tips of his fingers in place of a kiss, “I promise.”

“Good,” He would still worry, but threatening his own enjoyment would work far better than begging Aymeric to think of his own. He released his hold on Aymeric’s chest and leaned back to snag one of the silly embroidered decorative pillows arranged at the top of a bed that had clearly not been disturbed recently. “Kneel, I would have you see for yourself what is ’hardly a trifle’.”

Aymeric slid to his knees gracefully, shifting until he was comfortable. He looked up at Estinien through his lashes. Why the Fury had gifted him with someone like Aymeric he would never understand. Beautiful, intelligent, powerful, and utterly willing to submit. He cupped the side of his face, letting his thumb rest against his bottom lip where it was pinkest. He tugged a little until the wet inside of his mouth was on display.

“Well, go on,” he murmured. Aymeric kept his head tipped up so he could stare at Estinien, groping at the fastenings to his breeches blindly. He mapped the ties out, tracing the hardening shape underneath. He offered no assistance, letting Aymeric figure it out. He loved that proud little smile Aymeric wore when he finally got it. There. That one.

“Oh,” Aymeric’s eyes widened, with their eyes locked he could see the way his expressions changed as he was feeling out the shape without looking. Estinien knew what it felt like, the new size and feel of it. Still felt damn weird in his own hand even after moons of re-learning how to pleasure himself.

“I suppose trifle was the wrong word,” Aymeric said with a coy little smile. Estinien snorted, he shifted his free hand until it was tangled in the softness of Aymeric’s hair, palming the curve of his skull reverently. Aymeric leaned into the hold slightly.

“Do you want to stop?” Estinien asked. It was a lot to ask of a partner to overlook.

Aymeric pressed a kiss to the fingers which lingered near his lips, “not in the slightest.”

“Go ahead, start slow, I want to watch you.”

Aymeric’s cheeks pinked, holding the thick base in place Aymeric got his first look at it. Longer, thicker, flushed a deeper red, more angled with a faint pattern on scales along the top that would raise to make subtle ridges. He didn’t pause, just tipped forward to press a wet kiss to the tip. Estinien let out a gusty sigh. He’d missed this, Aymeric’s mouth, the feeling of his soft hair tangled between his fingers. Getting to watch the Lord Commander get on his knees to suck him off. Lord Speaker now, he supposed.

His other hand he used to curl around the back of Aymeric’s neck, using his thumb to rub over the sensitive lobes of his ears. Such a pretty shape they were, perfectly angled like the rest of him. Blue eyes watched him as he continued to press wet kisses, creasing into pleased crescents when Estinien bit his lip to stifle a sound as he sucked gently under the head.

Teasing, Aymeric traced him out with lips and tongue until he was slick with it, swelling further as he hardened. It was a monstrous looking thing in comparison to lovely Aymeric kneeling there, paused with the head resting heavy on his bottom lip. Would that Estinien could keep him like this always. “So gorgeous,” Estinien hummed, “it really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

Aymeric shook his head slightly, letting his wet lips drag slightly back and forth with it, until he let his mouth go soft and open. The angled head slid against the silken inside of his lips and the warm soft drag of his tongue. Aymeric tilted his head, just enough so that the head slid against the inside of his cheek pushing it outwards. Estinien smirked at him, touching the shape of himself through Aymeric’s mouth. He vibrated with a low moan.

“We will need to train you all over again,” Estinien sighed, watching as Aymeric’s mouth was stretched wide around even just the head. “Until you can fuck yourself on it the way I know you want to.”

Aymeric’s eyes opened slightly, bright blue peering at him in offended embarrassment. As if they both didn’t know Estinien was only speaking the truth. The one time they had Aymeric tilt his head over the bed to better align his throat so Estinien could slide as deep as possible, to touch himself through the desperate clench of Aymeric’s throat. He had thought Aymeric would come from only that, choking on his dick and writhing in the sheets with nary a touch to his own aching cock.

Drool slid down from the corners of Aymeric’s mouth where he was having trouble keeping his lips sealed with the way his jaw was being made to stretch. The hand around his base slid up, catching it so he could pump that slowly as well.

“You are doing so well,” Estinien said, knowing it would make Aymeric moan around him. The feeling of it was like no other. Aymeric’s face flushed with his own ardour, desperately trying to swallow as much of Estinien’s dick as he could. “Let everyone else say what they will, your tongue was made for this,” his thumb skated across the messy corner of Aymeric’s mouth, rubbing at the edge of his lips and skin.

The words spurred him to try and take more. The girth with the angle foiled him, and his throat clicked as he choked on it. Estinien tugged him back with the grip in his hair, holding him there until Aymeric stopped coughing. Aymeric listed forwards, pulling at the hand in his hair so he might get his mouth around Estinien again. He tightened his grip, letting Aymeric do little more than kiss the tip with his ruined mouth.

When he kept him there Aymeric let out a plaintive little whine, looking up at him with a pretty pout. Estinien couldn’t help but smile, baring his teeth in pleasure at the desperation painting his lover’s expression. He held him there for another heartbeat to better savour the lewd sight.

“Gentle,” Estinien reminded him as he let up his grip. Aymeric wasted no time in sucking down as much as he could comfortably. Even moving slowly, he choked when Estinien hit the back of his throat, unable to relax and take him deeper. He didn’t make Aymeric pull back this time, instead he petted at his hair, careful to keep himself still as Aymeric struggled to take as much as he could.

Eventually, Aymeric was forced to pull back, coughing to clear his throat, when he looked up again his eyes were that much more blue, rimmed in red where tears had been forced from his eyes at the repeated battering of his throat.

“I think I will need practice,” he said, voice rough from the abuse. He tried to clear his throat again.

“There are worse problems to have,” Estinien pinned Aymeric’s bangs back so he could see all the wreck of his face. His mouth was swollen and red, chin and cheeks wet with drool and tears. And still, his gaze was adoring.

He tugged Aymeric up, catching him easily when he stumbled on legs that didn’t want to cooperate after being folded for too long. He pulled Aymeric down astride his thighs, so that he could feel the heat of his bruised lips with his own, lick the taste of himself from Aymeric’s tongue. Aymeric moaned into the kiss, clutching at is shoulders, his neck, and his hair, as though he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

Estinien’s helped him by lacing their fingers together, pulling on of his hands down between them where his cock was still wet with saliva. Aymeric too was hard, red and leaking against his own stomach without so much as a touch. “I think we both enjoyed training you the first time,” Estinien growled into the sliver of space between them.

“Yes,” the word lost between their mouths as Aymeric kissed him desperately. Using their twined hands Estinien pressed them together, so that Aymeric’s cock was slid right up against his own. Let him feel the difference, Estinien knew Aymeric was imagining it, taking it inside himself, tongue pressing into Estinien’s mouth with the same desperation. He could be less careful now; he rocked his hips forward to bounce Aymeric slightly on his lap and slide their dicks together between their combined grip in the same motion.

The kiss broke with a gasp, foreheads pressed together, gaze focused down to take in everything. Estinien was entranced by the picture it painted. Never once before this moment had he thought of the stain left upon his body as beautiful. Held in Aymeric’s hand, pressed up against him the contrast between them was sublime, Aymeric’s flexing abdominals as he rode the shift of Estinien’s hips, his own clothed thighs against the splay of Aymeric’s naked ones providing a glorious backdrop. He watched as the dripping head slid under Aymeric’s thumb, red against his skin, peeking up with the rock of his hips. He groaned, unable to contain the noise.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded. Aymeric rolled his forehead against Estinien’s in mute refusal, his lashes fluttering and tickling his cheek, “if you don’t ask, I can’t give it to you.”

“You know already,” Aymeric replied, his voice was nearly a whine. It made Estinien smile, hidden away where Aymeric couldn’t see it.

“I do,” he agreed, shifting so he could press kisses along the delicate arch of Aymeric’s cheek, “and I would have you tell me anyways.” Like this he could arch his neck just so, catching Aymeric’s ear gently with his teeth. He froze in Estinien’s arms with a faint whimper. Estinien grinned around his prize as Aymeric melted against him, turning his head slightly so Estinien had better access. Willing to show what he wanted even as he locked the words away. Aymeric’s thumb traced a teasing arc over the head of his cock, the rest of his hand remained tangled with Estinien’s and held immobile.

Outside the bedroom, a battle of wills could go either way. Here, now, when Aymeric was already ceding control one ilm at a time, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The journey to get there was a delight of its own right. He sucked on the skin of Aymeric’s ear gently, worrying with just the faintest scrape of teeth. The tip he knew to be particularly sensitive, when he worked his way down the length he kissed it first, letting is lips trace the soft skin and firm cartilage in the softest tease. Aymeric all but trembled in his arms, trying to rock forward or up into their combined grip. Estinien gave him naught the space to do so.

“Please,” Aymeric said eventually, trailing off into heavy breathing. Squirming where he was held tight.

“Come now, ask pretty for me,” Estinien coaxed. To underline his point, he rolled his hips up, rocking Aymeric forward in a slow drag between their hands.

Aymeric resisted for all of another slow rock of their hips, until he finally snapped under the weight of his own desire and Estinien’s unwillingness to indulge in what they both wanted until he asked for it. “Please I need to feel you inside of me or I will go mad,” Aymeric pressed a beseeching kiss to Estinien’s mouth, begging with is body and his words both.

“There we go,” slipping one arm under Aymeric’s bottom and the other across his shoulders he pushed upwards and twisted until they rolled onto the bed proper, Aymeric on his back and Estinien still between his thighs. Planting his knees, he dragged Aymeric up higher across the sheets, until he was situated closer to the center and Estinien could stretch out to where the jar of oil had been previously kept in the little set of drawers. Good, it was still there.

When he sat back on his heels, Aymeric was gazing up at him with his mouth parted and cheeks flushed. Estinien raised is eyebrow in wordless question.

“You are stronger,” Aymeric mumbled, voice made small by his embarrassment. Estinien snorted, despite his warning earlier, it seemed that this excited Aymeric far more than it concerned him. Estinien wasn’t surprised, Aymeric had always reacted strongly when Estinien pushed him around a little. Coming nearly undone when Estinien held him down, flexing against Aymeric’s testing tugs at his grip.

“Aye, and you are lighter. I could hold you down, or up, and you’d have to take it.”

Aymeric moaned, covering is mouth with one hand as though it could also cover his blazing cheeks.

“Like that do you? I knew you would,” No one, no one knew Aymeric’s pleasure like Estinien, “I think you prefer it that way, when I take away your decisions.”

Aymeric’s eyes were far brighter a blue against the flush of his face, “I do,” he confessed clearly, surprising Estinien, “it makes me think of naught but you.” Such honesty deserved a kiss, Estinien gave it to him, he wished to the taste the words and see if they were as sweet as they sounded.

They were, Estinien decided, there just under the faintly musky taste of himself. He broke the kiss, staying close so they could breathe heavily against each other’s mouths. Aymeric’s hands slid under the hem of his shirt, settling on the muscle of his waist. Estinien hesitated, while he was certain after Aymeric was willing to suck his cock that he wouldn’t be rejected, it was difficult to bare these parts of himself. Aymeric stared up at him, flushed and so beautiful in his desire.

He reached for the neck of his shirt, stripping it off to toss aside in a single motion so as to avoid further hesitation. Normally, the scales which covered his shoulder and spilled all the way down to his hip laid flat against his skin and were of the same texture as the rest of him. Normally, they looked as though they had been etched with ink or tattooed there. Now, with his body temperature elevated and the rush of sex lighting him up from the inside, they flushed with colour and lifted, rough against Aymeric’s curious touch. While in battle, he could feel them snag and catch against his clothing, they extended even further when he called upon Nidhogg’s residual aether. He didn’t know exactly how far they spread, and truly desperately hoped he was never in a position to find out. He did not relish the idea of fighting bare-arsed.

“Pretty,” Aymeric sighed, pressing a little harder so Estinien could feel the tug of them under his long fingers. Each scale was red, the edges of it drawn with a shade so dark as to appear black. While Estinien disagreed with his assessment, he had more important tasks to attend to.

“Remember your promise,” Estinien said, pulling Aymeric’s leg over his shoulder so that he could feel the scales against the soft skin on the back of his knee. The other wrapped loosely around his waist to ease the strain of the stretch. He slicked the fingers of the hand already positioned under Aymeric’s leg, “hands.”

Aymeric frowned slightly as he was forced to release his desperate grip on the bedspread.

“Above your head,” he ordered, Aymeric obeyed. Estinien grabbed one with his free hand and dragged it over until they were loosely crossed at the wrists just above his head. This way he could grip both of them in his one hand. He let that hand take some of his weight so Aymeric would feel it pushing him into the mattress, as he used his thumb to rub over Aymeric’s hole.

Aymeric arched under his hands with a moan, staring at Estinien as though startled by his own response or mayhap the intensity of it. Estinien couldn’t help the smug curl of his mouth if he tried.

He rubbed and pressed with the flat of his thumb until Aymeric was pressed up against is hold, trying to use whatever leverage he could get to rock back onto it. Estinien had him balanced in such a way that it was difficult to do more than lay there and accept what he was given. For all his desperation to be touched, Aymeric was still hard and leaking against his belly without it.

Eventually, he pressed a little harder until he forced Aymeric’s body to stretch and give way for him. This earned him a throaty groan. He liked the sound so much he pressed a little further, hooking his thumb and forcing Aymeric wider until he made it again. He pulled his thumb out to press inside with two fingers. Aymeric was tight, clenching against the relentless push, but the moans it pulled from his throat spoke to his pleasure.

Aymeric’s toes curled against his hip as Estinien rocked his fingers in and out just so, dragging his fingertips around the firmness of Aymeric’s prostate for the way it made him close his eyes and bite his lip to stop the desperate noises that leaked out anyways.

“Still take it so well,” Estinien hummed, delighted when Aymeric hissed at the praise, or the rub of Estinien’s thumb over his sensitive rim, it was hard to say. No reason not to do it again, and again when Aymeric’s arms twitched in his hold. The sound he made when Estinien teased him with the pressure of a third finger was almost cute in the plaintive note it carried.

“Oh, please,” Aymeric groaned, doing his best to entice Estinien into giving him what he wanted with flex of his waist. What he always wanted from these encounters, faster, harder, deeper, to glut himself on sensation until he was perfectly pliable in Estinien’s hands. And so Estinien gave it to him, pressed deeper inside and making Aymeric’s body yield to his demands.

“That’s right, open up,” he pressed his lips against Aymeric’s thigh, the tensing and relaxing of muscle under skin. ‘Sing for me’ he mouthed, punctuating it with a nip of teeth and soothed with the swipe of a hot tongue. And Aymeric did just that, crying out as Estinien mercilessly fingered him, focused on flooding him with as much pleasure as he could handle.

And then some.

When he relented, Aymeric’s leg was trembling against his side with how desperately he had tried to cling however he was able. His cock had leaked all over his stomach, wet streaks left as he flexed and twisted. It wouldn’t have been the first time Estinien took Aymeric to orgasm with just his fingers.

“You did well,” Estinien released him and shifted until he could press kisses against Aymeric’s gasping mouth. He smoothed his hands down shaking arms first, over his sides and down to the thighs that bracketed him. He smoothed the tension away until Aymeric was limp against the sheets, looking dazed as he tried to regroup. Estinien had no intention of letting him do as such.

“Mm?” Aymeric hummed, as Estinien sat back to look at all he had wrought.

“Roll over,” Estinien decided. The weight of more practical considerations were at odds with the more sordid fantasies that unspooled through his mind’s eye.

He helped when Aymeric wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking, pulling him up onto his knees. Estinien gripped the back of his neck lightly, he hadn’t needed to exert any pressure, Aymeric’s shoulders immediately collapsed into the bedding as though he had been pushed.

Aymeric’s hips fit perfectly into the divots of his palms as though they were two halves of some whole. He slid his palms back further, spreading his cheeks to admire the slicked and loosened hole. It was ever a sight that sent a thrill of heat through him, part anticipation and part the animalistic thrill of having turned someone so pristine into something so lewd. The both of them, stripped down to the give and take of heat and passion.

He let the fat head of his cock rest right where they both wanted it, yet looking for all the world as though it would never fit. Aymeric had taken it in hand, tried to take it in his mouth, knew the size of it and the new shape, and still he struggled to push back against Estinien’s hips. “Desperate,” he chided with a click of his tongue.

“Please,” Aymeric groaned, Estinien’s grip on his hip having proved unyielding.

“And you’ll get it when I choose to,” Aymeric didn’t need to know that Estinien was burning up with his own need. That it was torture to hold back, teasing them both. That he would be unable to bear much more of this.

“Fuck me,” Aymeric pleaded with a miserable whine.

“You do beg so sweetly,” Estinien had wanted to sound casual, to play as if unmoved, but his words came out lined with a possessive growl. Spurred into motion he held himself steady as he slowly pressed inside. For his part, Aymeric was obviously struggling to relax and take it, his face rubbing against the sheets as he rolled his neck to relieve some of the pressure building inside of him even as his body yielded.

Had Aymeric really felt so hot inside before? It seemed impossible, that the time between had dulled his memory so much. Perhaps his new anatomy was more sensitive heat. The long slide inside was blissful, pleasure shivering up his spine. Aymeric panted into the sheets, gasping out garbled half-words as he was made to take more than he ever had before.

Once fully inside his lover Estinien paused, kneaded at Aymeric’s sides in a soothing manner as he struggled to adjust. He would clench down on the thickness pressed so deep inside of him and moan pitifully at the helpless stretch of it, only to do the same thing over a few breaths later. Estinien gnawed on his bottom lip to provide some counter point to the feeling threatening to overwhelm him.

Aymeric needed for him to stay in control so that he might lose himself. Conversely, Estinien needed Aymeric to fall apart so that he may revel in having that control. His world too, narrowed down as everything unimportant fell away so he could focus fully on making Aymeric’s body sing for him.

“Deep,” Aymeric groaned, finally settling against the bed.

“Too much?” Estinien asked, if only to make Aymeric say it.

“Full. Mn, perfect,” the words were mumbled into the sheets, Aymeric turning until Estinien could see the side of his face.

Carefully, he leaned forward, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could slip the other under Aymeric’s chest, bracing him so he could pull him up just enough that their mouths could meet. Aymeric whined into his kiss as the position pushed Estinien that much deeper inside of him, the thicker base far more of a taxing stretch.

Their lips met and slid, over and over, in half-formed kisses as Estinien used his hold on Aymeric and his core to set them rocking together in incremental movements. Aymeric sagged into his hold, exhausted from the position and distracted by Estinien splitting him open. Estinien allowed him to collapse once again into the bedding, although he followed him down. With one arm braced against the bedding still, the other locked around Aymeric’s shoulders to pull him back against him tightly. Like this he couldn’t move quickly or swive him hard into the bedding, but every flex of his hips shifted penetration between deep and deeper.

Moving his weight to his elbow left him braced over Aymeric just as solidly, and freed his hand so that he could touch the back of Aymeric’s fingers, feel his desperate grip on the bedding. Lace their fingers together when Aymeric reflexively let go at the coaxing touch.

Estinien buried his face against Aymeric’s shoulder, the back of his neck. The end of his hair spilled forward, mostly still contained in its tail, and shifted against Aymeric’s shoulder with the rhythm of their bodies. “Are you thinking of aught but me?” He asked the sweaty skin of Aymeric’s neck.

“No,” he gasped out, breath hitching as Estinien pushed back into the heated insides, “only you. Pleasing you.”

Estinien rumbled in his chest, a sound he was quite certain he had never made before, primal, undeniably satisfied, “and you please me so well. My perfect ‘Meric,” he agreed.

Movement became easier, the slide less fraught with the tension of not-quite too much. Estinien pulled back, tugging Aymeric up as well. One hand on Aymeric’s hip, the other on his shoulder Estinien used his new range of movement to pull out a little more before pressing back inside. Aymeric let out a sound like a sob but rocked back into it all the same.

“Good?”

“More,” Aymeric tried to push into his hold until his grip tightened to keep him in place, prompting a little sigh of delight.

Rather than remind him of his promise again Estinien set his knees until he was perfectly balanced. Like this, pulling Aymeric back into the thrust of his hips and rocking him forwards in time would give that sensation of being used Estinien knew Aymeric loved.

Soon enough Aymeric was arching away or pushing into his hold between one heartbeat and the next, utterly unable to decide what he wanted more of. Without the bedding to muffle him, the symphony of sounded that left his mouth drove Estinien ever forward. It would be so simple to just chase after his own pleasure, he could feel his orgasm building, easy to deny for now but would blaze quickly, but he fanned the spark.

“Do you want to come on my cock?” Estinien growled. Aymeric’s affirmative buried in a whine.

He let is legs splay just a bit more, this time when he pressed his chest to Aymeric’s heated back it wasn’t to drape over him. One arm he slipped under one of Aymeric’s to wrap around the opposite shoulder to pull tight as a band across is chest, the other went around his middle so that when he sat back on his heels Aymeric was arched against his chest, knees spread wide on either side of his own and utterly helpless to do anything but cling to Estinien’s wrist and gasp.

“I didn’t even need to tell you not to touch yourself,” he praised, smug, “do it now, I want to feel you come around me.”

Aymeric rolled his head back onto Estinien’s shoulder, conveniently leaving his slender neck fully exposed in a beautiful display of submission. He could tell when Aymeric began stroking himself, not only because Aymeric’s hand fell away from his wrist, but he went tight with a bitten off sound. From the way he was shaking it wouldn’t be long.

“I love the way you tremble as though you can take no more, but you want it.”

“More than anything,” Aymeric gasped. He whined when Estinien picked a spot low on his neck and nipped at the skin.

Aymeric tried to hunch forward as he drew taught, trusting Estinien to hold him in place as he continued to drive up and into him, just the way he knew made Aymeric come the hardest. He pressed past the resistance of Aymeric’s tensing muscles, as he hovered right on the edge, drawing it out with his own touch.

Mine. The thought wasn’t new, but the urgency he felt was. Taste him, let him feel the claim of your teeth. It roared through his chest like fire rising inside of him. The thick muscle of Aymeric’s shoulder was much less delicate. He growled around the skin caught between his teeth, the rumble of it vibrating through Aymeric as well.

If it was the bite or the thought of it, didn’t matter. Aymeric shattered with a sharp gasp, writhing in his hold and crying out again and again as he reached his peak. Estinien would have him go a little further. He pressed on Aymeric’s hip until he was in just the right position for short rolls of his hips that drove him in hard. He stilled only when the desperate cries trailed into small whines.

“Inside, please. I want it,” Aymeric rasped at him, twisting to catch his gaze with watery blue eyes. Estinien caught his mouth instead in a sloppy kiss.

“As you wish,” Estinien agreed. Like a key turning in a lock he relaxed, letting his orgasm build with each rough shove of his cock into Aymeric’s pliant and whimpering body.

Struck suddenly with an urge he saw no need to deny, he pulled out leaving Aymeric with a hiss that threatened to turn into a whine when he was pressed back down into the bed on his back. Aymeric arched up, the press back inside dragged against his already battered insides, nerves scraped raw and still made to take him. That was his work, the ruined whine of Aymeric’s voice, the sweat along his brow, and the red blooms against his pale skin to show where he had been gripped just tight enough.

Dazed blue eyes stared up at him with unfiltered awe. Belatedly, Estinien remembered he hadn’t wanted Aymeric to look upon the scales which surely must have spread by now. Estinien leaned down over him to take his mouth in a fierce kiss, which was accepted just as sweetly as he could ever recall. Everything else was so much less important in the face of Aymeric’s devotion.

He muffled his groan into Aymeric’s chest, mouthing at his skin without purpose as his hips moved to grind deep, savouring the rush of heat that tore through him. It dragged out, each shift sparking against his skin far longer than he would have imagined. Eventually, he stilled, the thought of moving simply too much to overcome for long moments as he slowly gathered what remained of his scattered wits.

“You did good,” he pressed the words against Aymeric’s lips in a much more tender kiss and tasted his responding smile.

Once he’d regained his strength, he nipped at Aymeric’s chin with a quick ‘stay put’, the reply was lost in the hiss as Estinien pulled out.

If they had been in any less of a hurry, or the situation been more planned he would have filled the bath ahead of time and placed some fire crystals in the chamber underneath to keep it warm. He set it filling for now, tossing the fire crystals directly into the water. He would fish them out when it was the right temperature.

He peeked in the bedroom and found Aymeric lying on his side. Quickly then. Rather than the stairs, he simply leapt to the ground floor. He would prefer there to be better offerings but some stolen cheese with bread and honey would do. When he returned, Aymeric was not staying put, instead trying to sit up. Estinien placed the tray with the food on the edge of the table for later and went to his side.

Aymeric’s lips were drawn into a faint pout that Estinien smoothed away with his fingers, “don’t look like that. I haven’t left you.”

He laced their hands together and pulled Aymeric towards the bath.

Once they were both soaking, Aymeric limp against his chest and radiating contentment did Estinien stop to wonder at the smile he could feel tugging at his own cheeks. He didn’t fight the urge to purr, letting it rattle through the both of them. Embarrassing, but Aymeric simply hummed along.

“Are you well?” Estinien’s voice was low in deference to the silent house and softened mood.

“Perfectly,” Aymeric pulled one of Estinien’s hands towards himself so he could press a chaste little kiss against the backs of his fingers.

For all that he focused on Aymeric’s pleasure in these exchanges, ensuring that Aymeric could safely place himself in Estinien’s hands and let go of the weight of the world, Estinien too was utterly fulfilled in the aftermath. There was release in the trust that Aymeric could withstand his undivided focus until everything else fell away except them. He had always been more settled after any of their more intense nights.

“Good,” Estinien pressed his cheek against the top of Aymeric’s head, damp soft hair ticking his face, and warmth where his body heat had been trapped against his skull.

By the time they were both warm and dry, sitting on the couch eating the simple spread with their hands, well, mostly Estinien, Aymeric had nibbled here and there before deciding he was done, they had both calmed. He forced another hunk of bread on Aymeric, knowing he would only use it as a means of transporting more honey into his maw.

He watched, unsurprised, as Aymeric did just that.

“You bought me a house,” Estinien frowned.

Aymeric awkwardly cleared his throat and gave a vague affirmative sound.

“Why?” It seemed excessive, even for Aymeric who would give everything of himself once he decided someone was worth it. Staking his reptation on a Garlean spy, inviting unknown foreign nationals into their guarded city on only the word of a childhood friend. An airship full of ceruleum.

“It was, in hindsight, rather a desperate attempt to keep you from leaving Ishgard fully. Even if you didn’t want to see me, if you even came back to store your things, I would at least know you were well,” he stared into the fire, looking discomforted.

Answering at least. That was a marked improvement.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” He had always intended on returning. Eventually.

“Because you have seen the world now. Even in the small fragments I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, war torn as they were, are filled with so much. How small and backwards Ishgard must seem for all my efforts. You joined the Scions. Your world is so much bigger than just me now, so why would you come back. What else was left for me to do?”

“Telling me that. Asking me to come back, in those words.” Estinien couldn’t believe a child with no romantic skills had called them out on it.

“You jumped off an airship to avoid speaking with me.”

That had been, maybe, a bit dramatic.

“Do you know how frustrating it is when you speak without saying anything? Unending polite inquiries without telling me why you were angry with me.”

“I did not wish to burden you, I was trying to be nice,” Aymeric trailed off.

“I don’t need you to be nice. I need you to not treat me as though I am one of your political acquaintances. Mayhap my world is bigger now, but you are ever at the center of it.”

“I should have known-” Aymeric started, annoying bastard.

“No, you should not have. I could have sent word; let you know when I thought of you. I should not have assumed you could know my heart and mind when I myself did not.”

“We are both very foolish men,” Aymeric lamented.

Estinien couldn’t argue that one, didn’t even try, “take the damn house back, or don’t move my things, when I come back, I will stay here, with you, the way I always have.”

“If you insist-“ “I do.” “-then I shall see it put to better use.”

Aymeric laughed, the sound was a little wet, thankfully he hadn’t started crying again. Estinien wasn’t certain he was capable of dealing with that twice in one night.

“My heart is lighter with your promise to return,” Aymeric’s lips left a sticky smear of honey against his own, “however, I must ask, how did you get here tonight? It was rather unexpected.”

“Alphinaud gave me the money for the aetheryte, it wasn’t that much.”

“From Sharlayan?”

“Aye.”

“Oh, my love, but it is very expensive.”

Days later, when they were called to Gyr Albania to set off with the Ilsabard Contingent, Aymeric stood waiting for them, armour glinting in the sun. Fully armoured, with all the parts that belonged to Estinien only hidden away.

“If he asks after me tell him I am fine. Do not tell him about the hair cord.”

The sunlight in Ala Mhigo was stark, harsh this early in the afternoon. It burned at his skin pleasantly. Out of the corner of his eye Urianger noted Thancred positioning himself in the sliver of shadow available, for all his time in Ul’dah, the pallor of his skin didn’t agree with direct sunlight. The light caught the faint dark brown highlights of Aymeric’s hair, and the fine gold thread in his overcoat. He dazzled the senses.

It was only polite to keep his eyes on him as he spoke. Eloquent as always in his vernacular.

They were to go to Garelmald, he would need to soak up this little bit of sunlight ere they set off. There, sunlight heralded a further bitter cold, warming only when it snowed while thick cloud insulated the landscape. He would be glad for the Ishgardian support, if only for their singular expertise with ice and snow, mayhap dragons as well.

Thancred shifted, his attention sliding to the side. Habitually, Urianger tracked the other man’s gaze. And found Estinien too, gazing at Aymeric as he spoke. While his expression was flat, Urianger detected a hint of longing, maybe even wistfulness that hadn’t been there before. Had there been a mending of bridges? A meeting of hearts during a clandestine encounter?

Feeling Urianger’s eyes, Estinien caught his gaze. Urianger’s heart froze in his chest. Estinien’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

Urianger coughed and tried to ignore Thancred’s amusement.

They were going on a real adventure. To save a whole nation. It was every dream from every Starlight.

G’raha’s heart pounded with excitement. He gazed at the Warrior who was gesturing at Aymeric as they spoke.

Alphinaud knew he had bigger concerns. Nothing less than the fate of the star.

Still, he fought to keep the pout off his face following the brief interaction between Aymeric and Estinien. He had been certain when Estinien didn’t return until afternoon the following day, that he and Aymeric had worked things out between them.

Aymeric appeared as he always did, beautiful, calm, a bastion of poise and control. Then again, had he not heard them arguing on the airship he would have never guessed that anything was amiss. Estinien, while easier to read, was little help.

With a little sigh he forced his attention back to those bigger matters at hand. Saving the world, again. That was the only way he could ensure that there would be a later to deal with it.

With that ominous thought Alphinaud stepped into the royal palace to meet his new fellowship.

Ala Mhigo agreed with her, the colours and the steadfastness of the people reminded her of Ahm Arang. While she had never been able to explore the ruins in depth, she liked to think the inside of the Royal Palace may have been similar. It was beautiful in spite of the remaining ravages of war.

The audience chamber was still as sparsely furnished as it had been before. Except now it was filled with a curious mix of new and familiar faces. Unsurprisingly, most of the notable figures were acquainted with the Warrior. They would be the type to inspire people to set aside prejudice and strive towards the greater good. Just standing with them made her want to be a better person, to be worthy of her place at their side.

Lyse herself greeted them. Alisaie carefully kept her gaze on her big blue eyes, and not the utterly delightful cut of her dress. She wanted to say it was envy, that she couldn’t wear anything of that style. In the privacy of her own mind, now, she was willing to admit that it was because she really wanted to press her face right there.

Maybe she could find a way for them to go drinking. Without Alphinaud. There might even be some dragons around that needed slaying.

‘This decision has not made me a popular man’ had been something of an understatement. He mused watching them walk into the palace.

“I feel there are apologies I should make,” Raubahn’s voice rumbled pulling him sharply from his thoughts.

“I cannot see whatever for,” Aymeric hummed. He and Raubahn had precious little in common that he was aware of and less time to discover any further.

“To the Sultana,” Raubahn clarified, “I think I had underestimated the difficulty of being left to maintain the home front while others left for battle.”

“Like all things it becomes familiar,” Aymeric said with a smile meant to reassure, “one must remember that not only are we defending the home so that they may focus entirely elsewhere, but to build something for them to return to.”

Raubahn let out a gruff sound Aymeric had come to realize was akin to a laugh, “recent days have taught me well the difficulties of building as well.”

Aymeric should go, there was much to be done and very little time to do it. The loss of Lucia was not a small gap to bridge when he was already teetering. The coming days would be a struggle, the power structure, while sound on paper, was often rather more precarious. The Temple Knights had never been designed as a force to operate outside of Ishgard and the strain of maintaining it as such needed a delicate touch. He would once again need to step fully back into the role of Lord Commander and Speaker both.

“Aymeric!” The call drew him his attention and he couldn’t help but smile. Tataru hopped up and down waving. Her indominable spirit was a balm to his own weary bones.

“Tataru.” He greeted dropping to one knee to better speak with her. His greaves made the faintest click against the stone as he let his weight rest on it, “it is good to see you well my friend. That is a most lovely coat. A new design?”

“Yep, one of my own. I just love the fasteners from Kugane, the round knots just make everything look a little cute.” She tilted her head back so he could see the elaborate closure at her neck. Thin red rope curled into matching patterns creating a ball and loop closure.

“Beautiful, do they follow the same pattern or are there many variations?”

Her eyes lit up when she discussed her latest projects and there was a joy to be shared in watching her delight. Reminded him of why he had enjoyed cooking. When he had the time. It had always been more enjoyable when he could watch someone enjoy it.

“Which is why I went with this design,” she finished.

“I hadn’t considered it past the balance of shapes and colours, you are certainly a match for any of my tailors,” he conceded with a smile.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I was hoping I would run into you,” she rummaged around in her bag until she found what she was looking for.

Aymeric took them with a bemused smile, “tis pink.” They were clearly hand-made, the outside knitted with a perfectly even stitch, the inside lined with a soft fur. They were just loose enough to fit over the lightly armoured fingerless gloves he routinely wore.

“I could hardly find the correct shade of blue, and it would be worse to have it be off than an entirely different colour. Also, I thought it would look nice.”

Although it was warm in Ala Mhigo he pulled them on, the inside was soft against his exposed fingertips, rapidly heating up through insulating his body heat. They were a lot more flexible than they looked, he flexed his hands a few times. While he wouldn’t be wielding a sword with them any time soon it was enough for most other activities.

“A very thoughtful gift, thank you,” he pulled them off before his hands could overheat and stashed them in his overcoat. She was right, they were cute.

“I wanted to make sure I got them to you. I plan on leaving for Sharlayan, I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit again.”

He was certain that none of his thoughts crossed his face. One less ally, nay, one less friend, “I will eagerly away the stories of your deeds and misadventures.”

“More like adventures and misdeeds,” she hid her laugh behind her hand.

“Quite.”

“Oh! There they are, I need to speak with them before they leave for Ilsabard, until we can catch up again.”

“Stay safe Tataru,” He bid her, she smiled at him.

“You too Lord Aymeric.”

She ran off to intercept the Scions as they stood in the shade of the palace chatting. Aymeric stood up straight and dusted off the knees of his greaves with a quick wipe of his gloves. He really needed to return to Ishgard, he should not have personally seen the delegation here. A rare selfish indulgence, to see everyone off and wish them safely back again.

In deference to the small fleet of airships which would be ferrying the Ilsabard group, his was docked further out than usual when he was conducting business in Ala Mhigo.

“Aymeric,” the voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Estinien,” he greeted, turned to look at him.

A familiar stranger stood in front of him. The much beloved shapes of his face were the same, as was the silver-spun brilliance of his hair. The new armour was still unfamiliar.

“Are you well?” Estinien’s frown at least was a normal sight. He must be slipping if Estinien would keep asking him that.

“As can be expected,” Aymeric demurred. The elation following Estinien’s impromptu visit was waning. Although when he began to feel unmoored and overwhelmed, he remembered the press of Estinien’s fingers against his wrists as he pushed him into the bed. Using the memory as a ward even after the marks on his skin faded.

None of the words he wanted to say felt right. The new equilibrium too fragile for him to burden it with his selfish needs.

Over Estinien’s shoulder he saw the rest of the Scions, holding bundles of cloth, most likely Tataru’s latest labour of love. About half were openly staring, the other half trying not to look as though they were staring. Aymeric cleared his throat.

“Your friends await you, as does the safety of the star. Be safe.”

Once the words would have accompanied Aymeric’s fingers along Estinien’s jaw, the only parts of his face left uncovered by his armour, as the other man stood in his office prepared to depart on Aymeric’s orders. In those days he would have said ’Be safe, I need you.’ without hesitation.

Estinien sighed.

He leaned forward, Aymeric thought for a wild moment he was about to be kissed, under the bright sun and for all to see. Estinien leaned forward so his deep voice rumbled near the side of his face, words tucked away for just them, “I do not make promises lightly.”

With his piece spoken, Estinien took a step back and nodded before taking his leave. He was certain Estinien had heard the words that Aymeric didn’t say. That he understood that they were just as true now as they had ever been.

They exited the audience chamber ahead of the rest of the contingent.

Utterly filled with the ridiculous sort of characters that seemed drawn to the Warrior. Powerful idiots, bleeding hearts, and weirdos. Off to save the world.

Y’shtola was most interested in the woman in charge of this band of mummers. If Estinien had been one of Aymeric’s hands, she would then be the opposite in almost every respect. A highly ranked Temple Knight and Garlean both. She’d been utterly calm in the chaos, undaunted by the monumental nature of their task. The tip of Y’shtola’s tail flicked in interest.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Lucia enjoyed debate.

He was a Scion. An Archon. A spy. A nosy bastard.

Thancred cursed as he was unable to hear whatever Estinien had whispered. Be it sweet or spiced, he was unbearably curious. Still, it was heartening to see that the tension between them was of the more romantic sort.

“Did you catch that?” He asked Y’shtola.

She shrugged, being vague on purpose. Thancred was certain she was bluffing. Urianger shook his head before Thancred could ask.

Damn.

Lyse was quite certain that something was going on, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what. At least she was well versed in pretending to know what the other Scions were talking about, so she rocked back on her heels and waited for some clue on how to respond. They all seemed deeply interested in the conversation that Aymeric and Estinien were having. She couldn’t hear them, but the Mi’qote likely could, and Thancred too, the nosy bastard. It didn’t seem to be related to the mission or someone would have said something by now she figured. Thancred, Y’shtola, and Urianger were doing that creepy thing where they had whole conversations with vague glances as gestures about it.

She missed them, this. For all they were walking into what for many would be their last mission, there was a sense of safety in being with people she had, and ever would, trust with her whole being again.

She tugged Alisaie’s sleeve, the girl’s luminous blue eyes turned to her. “What’s going on?” She asked under her breath. “Should I be worried?”

“No it’s… complicated, I think.” She said delicately.

“Oh.” Well, that was unhelpful.

Moments later Estinien joined them again, his frown was foreboding. Did his face just always look like that? She had seen him in passing a few times and heard many a tale of his deeds from Alphinaud. Perhaps his face did just look that way.

“Is… aught amiss?” Alphinaud broke the silence she would have characterized as maybe a little tense. It made her want to bounce on her toes to ease the sensation.

Estinien shook his head.

Lyse watched Aymeric walk away alone. His presence had always been a balm in meetings, there was an air of command about him and a decisiveness that kept them on track. He was articulate in a way that should have made her feel dumb but didn’t. He had been nothing but kind with her.

Curious.

Lyse bit her lip. Damn, she hated being left out!

Notes:

Usually my first fic in a new fandom is something wild, like tentacles or straight ABO filth. But I needed to get this out of my head. Don't worry, I've got like 10k of dragon Estinien waiting in the wings :D

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