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It started with the crunching of snow under his boot.
At first, Ishgard seemed like a punishment. It was far from the sunny fields and sandy beaches the Warrior of Light was used to in his home of La Noscea.
But the snow slowly turned to heated stone halls, echoing of plans for a brighter future.
Cold winds warmed into the crackle of fires and friendly company in The Forgotten Knight.
Grey skies turned into glittering blue eyes, stealing glances from across an ornate desk.
In the beginning, they felt as if they were on accident. Not meant for him. They were too intense, filled to the brim with such realistic optimism that it seemed to not be him that Aymeric was staring at, but the possibility of what he could bring. Not a person, but a means of victory. But the elezen was kind and welcoming, not even batting an eye at letting them into his city after what transpired in U’ldah. It made the warrior’s heart flutter ever so lightly, but it was easily brushed off as exhaustion.
When parchment was passed between them, there was always a brush of fingers, followed by a warm blush covering both men’s cheeks. Maybe Alphinaud noticed, or maybe he deemed it wasn’t his place to say. Yet it happened every time, the duration increasing every time.
Only one late evening, when the rest of their friends had retired for the evening, leaving the warrior and Aymeric to themselves, did it take a new turn. It seemed accidental, but the way the Lord Commander took hold of his hand seemed more than that. It was a grasp of the back of the warriors hand, warm but worn with calluses from battle. It was silent, the air thick with uncertainty as to who would make the next move. It would have been the Lord Commander, if the door hadn’t opened with a breathless guard to warn them of a Dravanian attack nearby.
The moment was gone and wasn’t spoken of ever again after that. Duty called.
The stolen glances then turned into yearning. Unspoken words spoken to each other every time they gathered to discuss what next, but only they weren’t missed by the others in the room. It seemed that they made themselves known when they could afford to, allowing the moments between the warrior and the commander to be longer, yet nothing ever seemed to come of it. In a way, there was an unspoken agreement that only they knew. They were going up against an ancient power. There might not be a tomorrow. They had to believe there was, otherwise what was the point in going out to face danger every day? But there might not be a tomorrow for them. Their feelings were for naught if it meant the destruction of Aymeric’s people.
However, that didn’t mean in their moments of privacy, that all was abandoned. Sometimes the warrior would sit on the edge of Ayermic’s desk, just allowing closeness while he watched over the dark-haired man write letters. A form of intimacy they could afford. And when Aymeric would stand, they would occupy the same space, breathing the same breath. With eyes closed and hands spread on the wood of the desk, they would stay still, just soaking in one another’s presence. It was so quiet the two could hear their own hearts beating in their chests. Steady and calm.
Other times, when the Warrior of Light found the nightmares too strong to deal with alone, he would wander to meet the commander in the one place he knew. Some nights Aymeric would still be awake, scribbling sweet, diplomatic nothings to some Lord on parchment. Other nights, he would be asleep at his desk, cheek pressed up against his long arms, quil still in hand. If the warrior was lucky, he’d sometimes find fresh ink pressed to the commander's cheeks, earning them both laughs when he woke. But more times than naught, the warrior would slowly make his way to the other man, a dull candle lighting the way, and gently run his fingers through raven hair. Gently, so he wouldn’t wake him. He felt that seeing the man asleep was one of the only times he ever saw him at peace and that it was such a rare sight, he kept it stored away at the front of his memory. It was the first thing he could think of when his strength wavered in a fight, the only thing he wanted to see when traveling when they would be facing death. It was the one thing that made him fight just a little harder to return home, just so he could see it again.
It all seemed to come to a head the day Aymeric declared he would talk to his father. There was something deep in the warrior’s gut that said something was going to go wrong. He didn’t need the echo to sense it. Then when word had come that the Lord Commander had been taken in for interrogation, the feeling only grew worse. It was hard to keep up with the emotions swirling around in his brain. Hurt, rage, regret were only a few he could focus on. They all built up and turned into stones in his chest, making him feel heavy and slow to react. A small vow was made that if he found him alive, there would be no more what-ifs and wondering what life could be like.
Then Haurchefant was struck down.
This left the warrior sitting alone, hands still stained from the blood of his friend, snow collecting in his hair. It didn’t feel cold anymore. It felt empty in a way. Even when Aymeric found his way to the step next to him, things still didn’t feel the same. They shared no words, both afraid to say the wrong thing and cause more harm than good. So they shared silent tears. Ones they couldn’t shed before in front of the others, though no one would have faulted them if they did. For once their hands finally met on purpose, their bodies pressed together so the warrior’s weary head could lean against the commander’s shoulder. Their souls were heavy, but they felt a little lighter after that.
That small vow that was silently shared no longer seemed to be the most important decision that the Warrior of Light had to make. Yet, there didn’t seem to be much democracy about it. They were going to kill Thordan. And by they, they meant him. He could feel the light in him waiver ever so slightly, like a ripple through his soul he felt the need for revenge. For Aymeric, for Haurchefant, for all Ishgardians, and now for Y’sale. But ripples have to disappear eventually, and when they finally did, it left an unbearable quiet. Thordan laid dead at the Warrior’s feet after what seemed like too short of a battle. There were hardly any wounds left over his body, but it seemed too easy. There wasn’t enough suffering for what the archbishop had done. It was over all too fast. But then again life has so many other plans.
Estinian’s kidnapping weighed heavy on everyone, but it did seem to weigh differently on the Lord Commander. Not in front of the Scions or his knights, but in private there seemed to be this longing look out the window, come day or night. Maybe he was looking for the inevitable flight of Niddhog and his army, or maybe he was hopeful for something else. Whatever it was, there was a small pang of jealousy in the Warrior’s heart. There was something missing now, but he wasn’t sure of what it was.
The dragon descended on them sooner than they had planned. It was Aymeric and his mens’ jobs to hold the horde back, to give the warrior time, but he couldn’t help but look back, seeing parts of the battle with the wyrm. But only glances of a spark from a spell or flashes of a weapon were visible from where he stood. But that meant the other man was still alive on the battlefield.
When the dragon fell, it didn’t seem real. A thousand years of battles and loss came to an end. Just like that. Their friend was back, safe but struggling. The eyes were tossed into an abyss where they hoped to never see them again. It all seemed so hopeful for the first time in centuries. The change they wanted was finally coming.
There was a small moment before Aymeric was to deliver his speech in front of his people, to end their struggles and bring them into a new age of peace. He was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself to make sure he didn’t forget any words, when the warrior happened upon him. It was completely silent as they smiled at one another, the warrior stepping closer to his Lord Commander. He reached up, helping fix his coat and armor, though there really wasn’t much to fix. Aymeric was as perfect as ever. His hands paused against Aymeric’s chest, resting above his heart, trying to feel his heart beat. The cloth and metal was too thick for that, but he could just pretend for a moment. Aymeric reached up and took one of the Warrior’s hands, squeezing it ever so softly. They glanced up at one another, eyes searching each others faces as their heart beats started to rise. It only took a moment before they were on one another, lips crashing against each other as hands moved to try and get underneath layers of armor and clothing. Their fingertips were cold against their hot skin, but it was barely noticeable as the warrior was pushed back up against the wall, the stained glass of the window across from them painting them in a soft blue. It was what they yearned for this whole time, to just be close to one another. Words didn’t need to be said this way, their rushed kisses and rough grabs were enough to tell the other just how much they were wanted and needed. It almost broke the Warrior’s heart. How long had it been since he had been able to indulge in something of his own? To say that he wanted?
Bells tolled heavy and loud above them, vibrating the cathedral they stood in. Maybe one day it would be in celebration for them, but for now, it was a call for the Lord Commander to appear before his people, to speak out what their steps of the future would look like. They broke apart and stared at one another’s eyes, sharing their breaths. The Warrior reached up and cupped his cheeks, giving Aymeric one last soft kiss before pulling away. He readjusted his clothes while Aymeric did the same to his own, sheepish smiles shared once more before a longing look was given by the Warrior as he quickly made his exit to join the masses of Ishgardians outside.
There was the whole city gathered to listen to him speak, but the only one the Lord Commander cared about was standing right in front, glowing as he smiled up at him. It made him feel bold, speaker prouder than he ever had before. Their future was bright.
The moment they had talked about forever had finally arrived. The Borel family home was just as amazing as the Warrior of Light has heard it was. It seemed empty, but the second Aymeric walked around the corner, it seemed so full of life. He looked every bit the aristocrat he was, though he sometimes tried to pretend he wasn’t. But the night wasn’t about politics or elaborate speeches. Tonight was about them. Finally.
Before wine even touched their lips they were giddy, laughing at absolutely nothing like they were young school boys. It was the first time the Warrior had heard such a beautiful sound. This topped every other sound that the Twelve could have created, and Aymeric’s face when it happened, oh what magic.
Small wrinkles appeared in the corner of his eyes, maybe even a hint of dimples in his cheeks. The Warrior hoped that someday he would get to thank whatever divine being created the man in front of him.
It was as though time felt had frozen while in the mansion. It was hard to even tell what time it was outside from the window.The warrior denied another glass of wine, knowing he didn’t need one. But the words still slipped from his mouth as if he’d accepted another one all the same.
Why don’t you come with me next time?
They both knew it couldn’t happen, Aymeric was too important, his people needed him to guide them. Just because the war was won didn’t mean that his work was done. But to travel the world together, wouldn't that be something. It was nice to pretend for a night. But the world was calling for its warrior. His wants were for later days, if he survived them.
There was always another primal to be slain, another Garlean warlord to dismantle, or another rebellion to aide. So when word came that they needed to make haste to the Fortemps manor, it was of no surprise to him, but the pang they both felt still tugged at their hearts. Almost palpably so. They wanted to remain hopeful that it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other, since that thought crossed their minds every time they separated from one another. Aymeric survived an assasination attempt and The Warrior of Light was surviving primals. What could one rebellion do to them?
It could do its worst apparently.
They stood next to each other on the battlefield, reunited once again, The Warrior was used to fighting other peoples’ battles for them. But the Warrior’s soul was heavy and it could be read on his face. His life had not been his own for a long time, and even as they glanced at each other across the battlefield, magitek exploding nearby, it was evident to Aymeric that his time away in the east might not have been as kind as he hoped it would have been. There was an unrecognizable darkness that was slowly creeping into the light that once shone behind the Warrior’s eyes, even a blind man could tell it happening. It was also evident in how he fought Zenos. There seemed to be a wild abandon in the way he moved against the Garlean; it was the first time Aymeric had seen the Warrior of Light fight with such anger.
Then he fell. Lifeless, at the feet of Zenos.
Time seemed to stand still as the Lord Commander struggled to reach him before the sword found its place first. There seemed to be so much in his way, soldiers doing their best to create a barrier to keep him from reaching the Warrior of light. But Estinin got to him first, carving a path for Aymeric, The dragoon watching over the lifeless body of their hero.
Aymeric kept vigil for the warrior forr days after the battle. There were many things that needed his attention: they had lost so many in the fight, yet their enemy remained at large. But for the moment, they were victorious. He had to welcome their small victories. The Warrior of Light was alive, for one. There were many sleepless nights spent in contemplation as Aymeric watched over him, hoping and praying to any god that would listen to bring him back.
Too much had been left unsaid.
When the steward came to tell Aymeric that the Warrior had woken from his slumber, he ran down the halls, not entirely believing that he was there. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him as he stood in the doorway, staring at the other man sitting up in bed. All of the things he wanted to say went straight from his brain, none of it as important as seeing the man before him breathing.
When he finally moved to sit next to him to catch up on all that had passed, it felt like a weight was lifted. But of course, their champion only wanted to know what happened after his sudden sleep. There seemed to be less burdened on his shoulders, for a soft smile here and there quirked at his lips.There seemed to be much on his mind, and once again, what they wanted to say was pushed back for a better time, a time when the world didn’t seem to be ending. It seemed to be a selfish thing to talk about feelings when the Warrior had to make a difficult decision on how to save his friends. It was a fight Aymeric could not help him fight, not this time.
When the Warrior left, Aymeric went and saw him off from afar. They shared the same look, hoping the other knew what it meant. The hope of coming back to each other alive. Then they would share their thoughts and feelings for once. They had to.
So Aymeric busied himself with his duties while the warrior did with his own, and before he knew it, word came to him. The Warrior of Light had succumbed to slumber, just like every other Scion. The unopened letter from Tataru stayed on the Lord Commander’s desk for much longer than he liked to admit, coming in day after day, hoping that it would fade away, as if it never happened. It remained, its contents mocking him. He didn’t need to read it, he already knew what it said.
And far away in the First, the Warrior of Light’s eyes opened, petals falling from the trees above him.
It reminded him of snow.