Chapter Text
“Are you going back to Ishgard?”
Estinien looks away. He hadn’t been to see Alberic for years and somehow he still had the ability to cut right through his shell only when he was desperately avoiding a specific conversation. He’d always attributed it to parental instinct.
“I don’t know.”
Alberic hummed in a non-committal way before getting up from his small dining table and going to poke the fire. Estinien knew he wasn’t going to drop the conversation and was probably giving him the chance to think over what he actually wanted to say. It was a tactic he’d been using since he first took Estinien in. After all, he’d never been good with words.
“You know, I half expected you to actually join the Scions. I recall you caring pretty deeply about the boy. What was his name?”
“Alphinaud.” Estinien grips the mug of tea he’s been sipping on just a little bit harder. The warmth radiating through it feels nice against his freezing fingers. “I think I’m done with devoting myself to grand causes. It did not end so well last time.”
“But you’d help them if they asked?”
“Aye.”
How couldn’t he? He owed Kalinessa and Alphinaud his life. Even though he knew they’d never think of it as anything more than helping a friend some small part of him would always think of it as a debt he could never repay.
“Then I suppose if you’re going anywhere but back to being something of an adventurer it’d have to be Ishgard. Aymeric is there after all.” Estinien almost throws the mug he’s holding at Alberic but thinks better of the move and just breaks eye contact again. Alberic laughs. “Are you really going to keep denying it?”
“I’m denying nothing.”
“For a man that’s seen more than thirty summers you sure do act like a child sometimes Estinien.” Estinien glares but it does nothing to dissuade Alberic from coming back to the table after he’s content with the fire. “You could do a lot worse than a man like Aymeric.”
“And he could do a lot better than a man like me. This conversation is over.” Alberic sighs but admits defeat. Years of experience have taught him it’s all but impossible to keep talking when he gets like this.
“Fine. Go see if any of the knights or merchants need help while I make dinner then. After that you’re not getting it for free.” Estinien doesn’t even so much as glance back at Alberic as he walks out the door. For all the show he puts on Alberic knows he’ll be back to eat dinner and have a warm place to sleep until he decides where he’s going after this. He also knows that Estinien knows he’d make him dinner regardless of whether or not he actually went and helped the other people in the camp.
True to form the door opens two hours later to a slightly less grumpy looking Estinien. Alberic decides it best to avoid the topic of Ishgard and Aymeric de Borel for the rest of the night. Estinien isn’t talkative, but then again he rarely ever is. At least he’s answering the questions about where he’s been, even if it’s with as little detail as possible.
---
Alberic awakes in the dead of night to Estinien crying and whimpering in his sleep. He doesn’t know what to do besides put the blanket that he’d kicked off back on top of him.
---
Estinien stands looking at the Steps of Faith and almost considers turning around and walking to wherever his heart, the wind, and his coin lead him. Out there is uncertainty and freedom, even if it is an oxymoronic freedom. Only his own moral sense and survival can dictate his actions, but the need for food and shelter limit him in ways that life in Ishgard never did. The politics and millenia old social structures of his home had not been on his mind once since the beginning of his journey.
What right does he have to return anyways? He, whose own arrogance nearly destroyed the city itself, had no right to walk amongst the home of those he nearly killed. That it had once been his home mattered not. He forfeited that luxury the moment he was foolish enough to pick up both eyes.
And, as loathe as he is to admit it, the wide world beyond the gates of Ishgard presented one other unique problem.
Estinien was, in the simplest terms, lonely.
It was his own fault, that Estinien would willingly admit. There was no doubt that Alphinaud would let him into his little party of do gooders before he could even finish asking. Dedicating himself to a cause so grand was more than antithetical to what he was so determined to run away from though. He had wondered on a number of occasions why he was so conditioned to gravitate towards grand and just causes even if he was trying to escape from a lifetime of a grand and just cause that had all but killed him. His own heart struggled to let him take the break his body and mind so greatly desired.
That loneliness was what had brought him back to Ishgard in the first place. If he wasn’t going to continue to assist the Scions in their endeavors there was only one other person he could turn to.
Aymeric de Borel.
Unfortunately, returning to Ishgard and returning to Aymeric came with far more baggage than just the annoyances of Ishgardian customs. Ever since Niddhog had relinquished his grasp on Estinien he’d been dealing with feelings that had been buried deep under the wyrm’s nearly all consuming vengeance and anger. He hadn’t purposefully been ignoring them all those years, at least not towards the end. He’d admit to himself and himself only that their repression was far more intentional early on.
In his defense, there had been more pressing matters to attend to than his childish crush on his once peer and eventual commander.
His feet had brought him to the Steps without really thinking and so he resolves to do that before making any more decisions. It doesn’t take long for him to find a decently sized rock to sit on. It’s next to a small stream that is somehow not frozen over. There is something in his gut telling him that if he chooses to go back he won’t be able to leave again. He wouldn’t be able to make himself leave again.
“When did you become like a child in love,” Estinien angrily questions his reflection in the stream. “You are the only one that has claim to your heart and freedom.” Estinien sighs and looks to the sky, letting the cold Coerthas breeze dance on his skin. It stings, but in a familiar way that somehow makes it less unpleasant. He stays like that until his eyes start to water.
So Estinien lied to himself. He told himself that he could shove all his silly romantic notions so far down in his soul that he would take them to his grave. He told himself he’d be able to leave Ishgard whenever he wanted. It was just to see the city again. Maybe he wouldn’t even go and see Aymeric. Yes. That was it. He’d just get this lonely nostalgia out of his system and then be off to continue his adventuring.
Or so he had thought up until the moment he entered the city proper and realized darkness was already falling. He no longer had a room at the Temple Knight barracks and it had been long enough since he’d taken the job from Tataru and Krile that he was all but out of money again, so an inn was out of the question.
That left Estinien with three options. The first and least socially awkward was leaving the city immediately and hoping he could make it back the Observatorium before the night cold sets it too deep. He’s not quite sure he can, especially with the way the winds were blowing when he entered the city and he doesn’t have the equipment to rough it after his time spent in warmer climates. There was the added threat of dealing with Alberic knowing he’d failed too.
Camp Dragonhead is closer but he knew Emmanellian was currently in charge there and he just knew that if he so much as stepped foot into the Camp that word of his reappearance in Coerthas would spread like wildfire.
He could sleep on the streets of the city but then he ran the risk of a Temple Knight recognizing him, something he had been skillfully avoiding. Those years spent wearing nothing but dragoon armor had their small perks.
The third, and most daunting socially, was to go to the de Borel manor. It promised a soft bed and warm food and that tempted him greatly. When was the last time he’d slept in something other than a bedroll or the always uncomfortable inn beds aside from last night? Aymeric would be there though and that was troublesome.
He’d spent a handful of nights at the de Borel manor when he was younger. On the rare occasion he’d actually go out drinking with Aymeric and the other knights he’d sometimes end up back there, he and Aymeric’s drunken selves too tempted by the plush beds and cozy blankets to return to the barracks instead.
Estinien quickly regretted thinking about a much younger, drunk Aymeric because the memories made his breath catch just a little bit. He’d always been too affectionate and too oblivious when he was drunk, never actually realizing what the way he wrapped his arm around Estinien’s shoulders or breathed too close to his ears did to him. Even now Estinien could recall the exact way Aymeric got drunk. His ears flushed first and once that happened it was already too late. A drink or two later he’d seem a little sleepy and then he would get overly affectionate. A hand too high on Estinien’s thigh, his head resting on his shoulder, dark hair tickling his neck as he laughed at the jokes of everyone else at the table while Estinien was a ball of anxiety beside him.
Those moments had spurred on more dreams than Estinien would like to admit.
Estinien jumped to the nearest rooftop quickly, deciding he needed to be thinking about anything but that. Of course now was the first time in a while the quiet whispers of a soul not his were nowhere to be found.
His movements after that were all muscle memory, leaping from roof to roof along the same paths he took when he had been charged defending the city.
There was nothing to defend the city from now though.
The methodical nature, the reliance on muscle memory, did calm him down a bit though. It had been simpler when all he knew was fighting. This, dealing with feelings more complicated than revenge, was hard. Logically, he knew that the people he was so desperately running from were no danger to him. None of them would ever take advantage of the strange vulnerability that he’d been beating back for too long. He knew that.
But being vulnerable scared him more than any dragon or man ever. Dragons and people he could kill. No spear would ever destroy his most vulnerable and complicated feelings.
Eventually Estinien found himself sitting on a roof in The Pillars staring at the night sky. It had been hours since most people had gone to bed and the night air was starting to numb his ears and fingertips. He picked at knots in his hair. It had been too long since he’d brushed it, let alone washed it. And that was to say nothing about the state of his clothing.
Appearances had never been something Estinien had cared about extensively, especially since he’d started wearing armor that covered most of his body, but the amount that he’d left himself go in the last few months embarrassed him a little bit. What would Aymeric think if he saw him like this? He’d spared no words criticizing Estinien’s hygiene practices when they were first becoming friends and he was markedly worse now.
“By the Fury, why do I care so much about what he thinks of me,” Estinien muttered to no one, question lost on the wind as soon as it left his mouth.
---
Maybe it was the cold or maybe it was sleep deprivation setting in or maybe it was Alberic’s words from the night before replaying in his ears, but at some point something broke down his will and he found himself in front of the de Borel manor. It was dark and Estinien was sure that the few staff Aymeric had were either asleep or had retired to their personal homes. He hesitated for a moment before knocking and finally admitting defeat to the loneliness in his heart. If Aymeric was to claim his heart the way he had then at least he could take responsibility and give him a warm place to sleep for the night.
It took a few knocks before Estinien heard someone moving quietly through the manor and then saw a light go on in the parlor. Just a moment later the door opened slightly.
“Hello?”
Estinien was glad for the wind for the first time that day because it had already given his cheeks and ears a pink hue. Aymeric was far too cute for a grown man, soft pajamas hanging just slightly wrong on his frame, hair messy from sleep, eyes only half open. It’s dark enough that Estinien decides it’s okay to smile just a little bit at the sight. It’s also dark enough that he can ignore the dark bags under Aymeric’s eyes for the time being.
The Lord Commander’s expression shifts quickly from tired to surprised to elated.
“Estinien, is that you?” Aymeric rubs his eyes a few times as if he’s making sure they aren’t deceiving him.
This was a mistake. He cannot handle the way Aymeric looks at him, sleepy eyes all to gentle for someone like him. He can hardly handle the urge to reach out and touch the other man, pull him into an embrace so tight that it makes bare all the insecurities plaguing him.
“Aye. It’s me.”