Work Text:
There’s a growing fondness developing between the lord commander of Ishgard and Eorzea’s Warrior of Light and it was obvious to everyone but the both of you.
In your eyes, you spy a blue-claddened commander that had fought tooth and nail to reach his position. A man that, despite all the odds placed against him, dreamed of reformation and valued pragmatism in a city bound by religious tradition. A soul that, no matter how anyone could look at it, was gifted a mortal body that appeared to have been delicately carved by the gods themselves. (Because somewhere, deep down, you know that there’s absolutely no possible way a single being can be so attractive and unconsciously seducing.)
In his eyes, Aymeric finds a warrior - an entity he allowed himself to become interested in through the rumors of your deeds alone. He finds a friend amidst the chaos, a life raft in the sea of lies and slander that he had painstakingly learned to differentiate. A soul that fights for the sake of what they believe in, for what they have come to love.
Aymeric holds a great deal of respect for you. After all, you had chosen to fight in a war, for a cause that wasn’t your own, and ended up championing many facets that will surely go down in history for eons to come. Your heart has bled with the loss of a dear friend - mayhap he was something even more - and he was there to bear witness to the mortality behind a seemingly immortal being. That being said, the more he talks with you, the more he becomes enamored.
The more he wants to discover the “real” you behind your persona as the Warrior of Light.
It is in this desire to learn that Aymeric would always invite you to have dinner with him. At the beginning, the dishes were purely among the best of Ishgardian cuisine. That is, until you started describing the tastes you have discovered along your journey; until the lord commander, and unbeknownst to you at the time culinarian, found out where you hail from. Then, it becomes dishes that remind you of home.
You share stories with him over the course of the meals. Knowing that Aymeric has had little experience of the world outside of Ishgard, you try to paint as vivid a picture for him as you possibly can. You can tell that your words are ones he would gladly listen to compared to what he has to hear as the lord speaker; you wouldn’t dare imagine being in his position, after all.
Aymeric sees the twinkle in your eyes when you speak of the new vistas you’ve visited or the new techniques in the combative art you’re learning to master. How he wishes to join you on one of your many expeditions, to fight on the field with you for leisure and wanderlust rather than a matter regarding man’s impending doom. He wonders if you feel the same way.
He wonders if you feel anything more.
Yet, despite his desires, Aymeric is a political man. He has his duties as you have your own. Thus, when dinner comes to a close once more, he steels his heart for your inevitable departure and musters the resolve needed to delude himself into thinking that you have scant time to even breathe let alone consider being courted. He will, much to his dismay, pretend not to notice the veracity of his and your emotions - because neither of you have time.
Being the gentleman he is, Aymeric escorts you to the manor’s entrance. He thanks you for indulging him with your presence and you remind him that taking breaks every so oft will prove beneficial in his work. He laughs and lists a number of people that could have tattled on him behind his back (even though both of you know full well it was the first commander). Smiling at your mirth, Aymeric straightens the scarf around your neck, careful not to make contact with your skin for propriety’s sake though you already feel your heart fit to burst.
“Have care,” he bids of you as he opens the door. “Do send my regards to Lord Edmont.”
As you nod and turn to leave, a manservant calls out to you with a small parcel in hand, claiming that you had forgotten and nearly left it behind. You make a face and apologize in earnest. After all, it would be a shame if you had forgotten the souvenir that you meant to present to Lord Edmont, Artoirel and Emmanellein. Beside you, Aymeric is applauding his manservant for his sharp eye. Then, as he is reaching out towards the man to take the parcel from him, he didn’t realize that you had reached forward to do the same.
That’s when it happened.
There was a spark that electrified your body with the touch. Indeed, the contact was a mere accident and surely as chaste as it could get. However, as your fingertips brushed against one another, there was an array of emotions tumbling within your heart as it began beating erratically and out of control. You fight desperately to hide your blush as you look towards Aymeric, who was looking just as baffled as you were feeling.
The sight of it sent a slight panic into you as you turned to the manservant to quickly retrieve what you had forgotten. You stumble on words as you thank the lord commander for his hospitality before bristly walking off in the direction of the Fortemps manor.
What you don’t notice in your refusal to look over your shoulder to sneak a glance at Aymeric is the way he watches you leave - even going so far as to step outside of the front door to take a closer look. You don’t see how the apple of his cheeks had flushed a light shade of pink and how he was silently thanking Halone for your sudden retreat. His manservant calls to him but only succeeds in catching his attention at the third attempt as he is ushered in.
In your respective places and at the same exact moment of time, both of you lift your hands to stare at the place your hands met. It still burns with passions you have suppressed for the most part, igniting the flames of carefully guarded kindling in your hearts.
There’s a growing fondness developing between the lord commander of Ishgard and Eorzea’s Warrior of Light. Anyone that has seen the both of you together would repeat the same thing. Whether the masses wish for happiness for the both of you or they would not approve because it would fracture the already shattered status quo remains to be seen. What they do not see is the wildfire burning out of control in both of you. The intensity of emotions muted for the sake of appearances aimed pointedly towards bare walls or upside down parchments of paper.
They did not see the match being struck.
But they will most certainly bear witness to the flame.