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“Leaving already?”
Estinien glances up from his bag. The bulk of the necessities we're packed the night before but double checking never hurt, certainly not for the direction he planned on traveling. Lord Aymeric de Borel crowds the doorway of his convalescent room. He'd assumed to finally have gotten some peace and quiet now that Alphinaud and his hero, their hero now, Estinien supposes, left for the day.
“Planning ahead.”
“And the staff's cleared you.”
“Are you coming inside-” He stands to his full height, Aymeric standing across from him. “Or do you plan to hover there like a shy maiden.”
“Ah.” Aymeric smiles, kindly like he always does, and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I feel as if I should apologize.”
“What do you possibly have to apologize for? You of all people.”
“May I?” Aymeric nods. It takes Estinien a moment to realize what he means, and he nods back. Aymeric sits beside the bag, near the man, “The feelings of guilt that I find myself having, that all of this great bloodshed could have been avoided, had I just-”
“Had you just what?” Estinien snorts. “Gone out and slayed Nidhogg on your own?”
“Seen my father's corruption. For what it was. Had I been more truthful with myself-”
“He was your father.”
“He was a monster.”
“Monsters are often fathers.” Aymeric looks up at him. His eyes glance at the bag, at the contents, and then back at Estinien. “I heard I owe you a debt of gratitude. You carried me down the entire mountain.”
“Ah-” His face tints a gentle rouge, in the low light of the room. “I felt as if I should at least do something.”
“...Can't imagine the armor was particularly enjoyable to haul.”
“I left you in it.”
“Preserving my modesty?”
“As best I could.”
The mood is light. For the first time in longer than Estinien can remember he can breathe with out worry. He had planned his route out already, a quick jaunt around Alliance territory before heading back up to the border and into the Empire. But here, in this room, a breeze through the curtains and a smile on Aymeric's face maybe he could find a few extra moments to spare.
He's vaguely aware of Starlight, a date not far on the horizon. He's vaguely aware of Aymeric's head on his shoulder. His hair is soft. They've not had a quiet moment to themselves in some time too.
“Tired?” A small nod. “Well how couldn't you be, with your new government, Lord of the Lords.”
“Preserve me.” Aymeric sighs. “In an ideal world I'd find the time to run off with you.”
“A trembling maiden after all.” Aymeric laughs. “I make for a poor prince. You've always been better suited.”
“But you wouldn't run off with me.”
“I could be persuaded.” Estinien nudges him and Aymeric laughs again.
His laugh alone really is a national treasure. No wonder everyone adores him. No wonder Estinien finds himself adoring him too. He's very charismatic, good for a politician he supposes.
“Could I persuade you to stay two more weeks?”
Until Starlight.
“Well I don't know. How convincing are you?”
“I feel like you'd only allow me to try if you're already on the fence.”
“A little bit of nudging never hurts, Lord Aymeric.”
“Must you?” But he's smiling when Estinien catches his gaze again.
“Absolutely.”
“Going to force me to shove a convalescent man?”
“Think about your poll numbers. I'm doing you a favor.”
Aymeric does push him down onto the bed, laughing the entire way. He stares up at Aymeric now, in the gentle light of the room.
“You call that a shove? Alphinaud shoves harder than you.”
“That's a compliment. Mr. Levellur is very competent.”
“He is.” In the quiet of the room it takes a lot to keep from saying what he's thinking. Why keep it in though, now of all time. Because Aymeric has a country to run and he has a quest to go on, a country to see. They've never said it to each other, despite how close they are, how often they find themselves having little kind conversations. “So are you.”
“Oh Sir Dragoon.” Aymeric says lightly. “You'll make me blush.”
“You mean to tell me I haven't already?”
Maybe he'll stay.
Aymeric's laugh makes it so hard to deny him.