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He had, admittedly, lost track of time. At first he’d been determined to avoid the Scions—they didn’t need him, and the unsettling twinge in his chest whenever he thought of Alphinaud’s tearful smile wasn’t something he wished to dwell on—but finally it had been too much to bear, and he’d allowed his steps to wander ever closer to their base in Ala Mhigo. If he happened to be in the area for a job, if he coincidentally decided to see the city...well, what of it? He wasn’t trying to bump into anyone he knew. After so many moons, it was doubtful they’d even remember him.
Even as the thought flitted across his mind, he knew it was a lie. Alphinaud and the Warrior tore Nidhogg’s eyes from me with their bare hands. They will remember me, if their comrades do not. And...
Specula Imperatoris, falling to pieces. The screams and the fire.
...’twill be good to see that the boy still hasn’t gotten himself killed.
Ala Mhigo was still the same sandy-brick maze he remembered, but he thought he saw more signs of life. There, colorful awnings replaced Garlean banners; there, a band of children played with marbles on the same bricks he was sure had previously housed the remains of magitek reapers. He kept walking, striding purposefully down side streets as he wound his way closer to the old palace. The council hall and dignitaries’ quarters, now—and also, most conveniently, the place where bulletins would be placed for local adventurers seeking work. He wouldn’t be the only man with a strange weapon and a strange accent at the doors.
When he finally reached the foot of the great staircase, he stopped in confusion. The boards were empty. Impossible. I refuse to believe a land such as Ala Mhigo has no wandering monsters to be slain!
A woman’s voice sliced through the air like a knife. “What do you mean, none of these are fit for an adventurer of my caliber?!”
He turned to see an elezen woman haranguing the attending guard, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere but here. Between her mask and her unfamiliar garments—something quilted and fluffy-looking—it was hard to tell, but Estinien had a terrible feeling that he knew her. His suspicion was confirmed when the guard swallowed nervously and stammered, “I can hardly ask a primal-slayer to deal with what our local boys can handle just fine, miss—uh—madame—uh—Scion.”
He was probably expecting her to summon an egi to tear his head off. Estinien felt very little sympathy for him as she reached instead for a weapon he’d seen fell heretic queens. The dismayed, somewhat pouty stare had never worked on him, but it had always distracted Iceheart from their latest argument. Something about guilt. “Well, whyever not? I could handle these while your men refine their skills!”
While he stuttered, Estinien considered. It was risky—though they’d bonded somewhat on the road, he and the Warrior had never been close friends—but she had ever been fond of her leader, and would surely know how he was doing. If he’s alright, if he thinks of me— He squashed that thought ruthlessly. “Because, Warrior of Light, if you slay everything in your path there’ll be no work left for me.”
“Estinien?!” Papers slipped from her grasp with a slithery thump as she spun to stare up at him, eyes wide. “You...”
And then she marched over to him, punched him in the shoulder hard enough that he still felt the impact through his armor, and grabbed him by the elbow before he could mount more than half a defense. “Estinien Wyrmblood you absolute—you useless kedtrap, do you know how long it’s been since we’ve heard anything of your whereabouts?! I was half thinking you’d died, and here you have the nerve to show up in new armor looking hale as anything—Alphy was worried sick when Tataru mentioned she’d heard someone of your description taking on Hells’ Lid!”
It was like facing a small, angry whirlwind. A whirlwind whose clawed gloves were digging quite painfully into his arm. “You should know better than to worry for me.” The knowledge felt like a hot coal. Alphinaud still worries for me. He still...gods, he’s a fool, but…he worries. About me.
“Alphy doesn’t. You know him.” She was already spinning on her heel, bodily dragging him towards the stairs to the palace. He moved with her, deliberately half a step behind. “C’mon, he’s going to want to see you.” As they passed the guard, she added, “Sorry about the papers, urgent personal matter.”
Bullshite he wants to see me, I haven’t bathed in three days and—Fury, it doesn’t matter, I can just see that look on his face now. That wide-eyed, almost hopeful look that had done such strange things to his chest when he’d first seen it. For some reason, Alphinaud seemed to care about him. Perhaps it would be better if I stayed away. I can still aid him from afar, I don’t have to…
But then he wouldn’t get to see his face again. The teary-eyed yet unrestrained joy that had suffused the boy’s features when he’d (finally) woken up had seared itself into his memory; he’d found it swimming across his mind’s eye at the oddest times, and it never failed to set something squeezing painfully around his heart. He’d seen other expressions on Alphinaud’s face—exasperation, admiration, one or twice a very appraising look that was frankly baffling to him—but that one had struck him like a blow. When he thought about it for too long, he half swore he could feel the walls around his heart starting to crack, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could bear their full collapse.
And now he would be facing him again. They hadn’t been this close since he’d taken down the cannon at Castrum Abania, and then there had still been most of the Peaks separating them. He still remembered the chill that had gone through him, later, when he’d learned that the Leveilleurs (and what had Eorzea done to deserve two of them?) had taken to the field—and the relief that followed when he’d learned neither of them had been seriously wounded.
Pride welled up slowly in his heart. Two liberated nations in a year. He truly has made a fine field commander.
They passed now through dimly lit halls; here and there, brilliant slashes of sunlight from high windows punctuated the shade and lit up the dancing motes of dust that always seemed to be everywhere in Ala Mhigo. The Warrior remarked, “I think he’s still wrapping up a meeting with the ambassadors to Doma, but he’ll be glad to see you. And you—I want to hear everything you’ve been up to these past years, mate.” She paused, ears flicking, before adding, “Maybe not the stories behind any new scars. I know you Ishgardians think it’s a bonding experience, but I don’t need Alphy fretting himself to death again.”
He couldn’t help but snort. “It cannot be worse than when I awoke after Nidhogg.”
Her glare seared a hole into the side of his head. “Would you like a repeat? I assume not. Oh—here’s the meeting room. Titan!”
As her golden Titan-egi shoved the heavy doors open, Estinien’s gaze fell on the room beyond. Here were the same high ceilings and tall, narrow windows, the light from which illuminated floor cushions and low tables for the trio within. The diplomats—two highlander women—might have attracted more than a moment’s attention from him, but the third facing away from the door had to be Alphinaud and suddenly he wasn’t sure he was breathing.
His first, absurd thought was The boy’s grown tall. Nowhere near his own height, true, but surely at least as tall as the Warrior. He was still slender and fine-boned as a gazelle, but his shoulders had broadened and the cut of his coat—deep blue, the same shade as his eyes—revealed long, long legs encased in sturdy boots. He hadn’t realized such pale hair could be lightened by the sun, but when Alphinaud moved partly into the light it was nearly blinding in its brilliance, falling nearly to his waist in a single thick braid. The escaping wisps looked like fire, like a saint’s halo. If I touched him, would it burn?
“So, if that is all—” And his voice had broken. His voice had broken, and Estinien had missed the chance to poke fun at the attending squawks. Damn him for a fool.
The Warrior cleared her throat, straightening up. He might have thought it businesslike if her eyes weren’t gleaming wickedly. “Master Leveilleur? I brought you someone.”
Estinien wondered if it was too late to flee. Can I reach that window from here? Yes, if I use that pillar and rotate about 25 degrees...
But then Alphinaud was turning around. Just for a moment, he looked annoyed at the interruption—but then his gaze slid up to lock with Estinien’s own and gods, the flush that spread all the way to his eartips as his expression shifted from shock to joy seemed to send the temperature soaring. “Estinien!”
He’s the same as he ever was. He did his best to ignore the way his heart hammered at the insides of his ribcage as Alphinaud strode towards him—so close that if he dared, he could reach out and pull him in for a hug, feel that fluffy head come to rest against his shoulder. He thought the air might shatter if he did. He thought he might shatter if he did.
The Warrior was grinning. “Found this lump taking up space on the palace steps, thought I’d bring him in. I know it’s been too long since you two have met—you’ll have to catch up.” She was already moving past them; he hardly noticed the lack of her grip on his arm as she moved to help the diplomats to their feet.
The entire world seemed to narrow to Alphinaud, standing barely two fulms away from him and gazing up at him as though he would never tire of the sight. He could drown in those eyes. “It has been too long. But you...you look well.”
Oh, Estinien thought. The air seemed to waver as he took a breath.
Fuck.
Alphinaud was smiling.