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He only mentions it once.
After they’ve successfully infiltrated a laboratory and sit deep in celebration at their small camp.
Their band of misfits are several cups in when the topic of lovers and trysts come about. Estinien is quiet as he usually is. Gaius is surprised the dragoon is there at all, much less nursing his own cup.
“And what of you, Estinien? I can hardly imagine any lady in her right mind would step near you despite your illustrious title.” Valdeaulin taunts with a single laugh.
Gaius doesn’t expect Estinien to respond, waits for him to get up with a huff and stalk back to his tent with grumble.
Yet, he does none of that.
Instead, he looks tired, all of a sudden. His eyes look past them and into the horizon, malms away from where they sit now.
“I have someone waiting for me at home,” he says quietly, barely heard above the crackling of the fire.
The mood dips after that, Severa elbowing Valdeaulin with a whisper of a reprimand. Gaius takes a peek at Estinien. The elezen stares stoically into his cup, the faintest of reds spread across his face.
Frankly, he looks miserable.
Severa speaks up after a bit, trying to bring their spirits back up again. “Tell us about her! I’m sure she’s wonderful.”
Estinien lets out an amused huff and looks up into the night sky, sees something they cannot. Gaius would never have described Estinien as gentle until this moment, when his eyes soften just the slightest.
“Radiant and blue. A light to guide Ishgard out from its festering sickness. Someone I do not deserve.” The last sentence is but a hushed whisper, as if speaking to himself.
Gaius watches him shake his head with a bitter smile before downing the rest of his cup and stalking off to his own tent.
Estinien never speaks of it again, but Gaius finds himself listening with one ear when Severa and Valdeaulin try to guess who this mysterious maiden is.
-
An injury.
One careless mistake.
Estinien doesn’t take it well and lashes out to anyone trying to help him despite them knowing he can’t properly take care of a place he can’t reach.
It’s not until Estinien starts showing signs of infection that Gaius has had enough and steps in.
He barges into Estinien’s tent, manhandles him despite the growling and yelling. It takes a minute of struggling for him to trap Estinien on his stomach, legs trapped by his own, forcing Estinien’s hands up and away in his own grip. He brings the back of his free hand up to feel Estinien’s forehead and frowns.
“As I expected.”
Estinien jerks his head away from his hand, “I don’t need your help!”
Gaius tightens his grip, pushes Estinien’s head down against the cotton of his sheet. “You’re of no use if you’re ill,” he chides, “You’ll be a burden on all of us or get yourself killed.”
Estinien glares at him from the little he can see in this position, speaks through his gritted teeth, “A fever is nothing. I have bore much worse and come out more than whole. Leave me be.”
“And what shall I tell your lover when I come back with your corpse?” Gaius spits out at him, “That the Azure Dragoon was taken down by some unassuming guard because he was sick from stubbornness?”
“Do not speak of him!” Estinien roars, sees a flash of warm blue eyes, and grinds his teeth so hard that Gaius is worried they’ll crack.
It takes a moment for him to fully process the scream. Leaves him raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.
Him?
He shakes his head. He’ll dwell on it later. Estinien lets out a sigh and goes limp under him, voice dry.
“Do what you must.”
He shoves up Estinien’s shirt, hisses at the sight of precariously wrapped bandages around an infected sword wound.
He curses. “A lesser man would be dead from this,” he scolds, carefully peels the gauze stuck to his mess of a back until it’s laid open.
Before Estinien can bark back a reply, Gaius is shoving a rolled up rag into his mouth and pouring alcohol over his back.
Estinien bites down and holds back his yelling, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the sheet underneath him to ground himself.
Gaius sets the alcohol aside and takes the rag out of Estinien’s mouth, hears him curse twice before shoving it back in and goes onto cleaning the wound. He makes quick work, experienced and practiced in his age. With the way Estinien quiets himself and closes his eyes, he assumes that he must have fallen asleep.
He gets off him with a sigh, tugs his shirt back down, and drapes a light blanket over him. With a turn, he opens the tent flap and is about to pass through when he hears it. Quietly.
“Thank you.”
-
The following week has Gaius playing nursemaid. Estinien is an absolutely dreadful patient and barks at anybody who comes near him.
Except Gaius.
To everyone’s luck, his fever doesn’t worsen, stays mild before it dissipates after a few days of rest and warm soup. His back has nearly fully recovered by now, leaving a scar in its place. One of many.
It’s nearing dusk and Gaius visits him once more with a bowl of soup and a handful of healing supplies.
“I’d say you’re well ready to get back in the field now.” Gaius says from behind him. Estinien can feel his back tingling from where Gaius runs his finger up the scar.
He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he feels a hand on his forehead and he turns his head into it.
A vision of a gentle smile forms in his head followed by the whisper of his name oh so sweetly.
Estinien jerks back and opens his eyes, spooked. Gaius hides his look of surprise well, but Estinien can feel something seeping between them. Something that will stick and stain, will seep into his very veins.
It scares him.
“Leave,” he says gruffly, shuffling his shirt back on and turning away from him.
Gaius goes without another word.
-
It finally connects when they’re on the battlefield. The Eorzean Alliance and the forces of Garlemald clash once more in a skirmish and Gaius arrives to the scene alone, the others having gone to separate areas.
“Ishgard!”
He lands behind a pile of debris and watches an azure sword rise into the sky, connects it to a shining ensemble of gold and blue, and hears the elezen shout a resounding cry only to be repeated by his men before leading the pack forward into the fray.
He should have figured it out sooner, recalls back to that night by the fire.
Radiant and blue. A light to guide Ishgard out from its festering sickness. Someone I do not deserve.
The Lord Commander.
Aymeric de Borel.
Of course.
He’s ripped away from his thoughts by a nearby explosion and makes his way through the battlefield, masked and hooded.
It’s a grueling battle, as is any battle against Garlemald. Gaius makes his way around the field, taking out enemies left and right, looking for any Ascians who may make themselves known.
He can feel the shift in spirits as the tides turn in favor of Eorzea.
And then, he feels a powerful presence step into the field. He runs towards it, gunblade out and ready.
He runs past bodies on the ground and his veins freeze when he notices that the all wear the colors of Ishgard. He sees one of their banners muddied and torn in the dirt.
He hurries to the open field, sees blue kneeling on the ground, the enemy with their weapon up and poised to strike.
His body moves before he can come to a solid decision.
He fires a round and the figure jumps away defensively, stares him down without moving to strike back, only watches as Gaius kneels down next to the panting commander.
Gaius glares at the mysterious figure. His body itches to fight. It would be the perfect time to duel-
“Estinien?”
A body presses against him and he grabs the azure sword laying on the ground and quickly reaches around to sheath it in its matching scabbard. He scoops Aymeric into his arms none too elegantly, hears him groan and breathe heavily. The smell of iron invades his senses and he looks down to see red staining blue.
Too much red.
He runs.
-
He arrives on a ledge near the Eorzean campsite just in time to hear shouting and chaos.
“Where is he?” Estinien barks to the cowering elezen infantry. He makes a terrifying figure dressed in his dragoon armor, lance red and daunting against his back.
“Where is he?!” Estinien growls, picks up a knight by his collar and shakes him.
“W-We lost contact from the cavalry near the end, Ser!” The poor boy stutters, falls to the ground when Estinien lets go and rushes out of the camp a moment later.
Gaius activates his linkpearl as soon as he sees Estinien run off. Better to be discrete and away from prying eyes.
“Come to the eastern ledge above the campsite.”
“Fuck off.” Estinien barks through the line.
“I have an important package for you. Better come before he bleeds out.”
There’s no reply and he watches Estinien take a sharp right turn and leap up onto the ledge before sprinting towards him.
With his helmet off, Gaius can see the anger seeping from his face as he comes closer, replaced with a moment of pure relief before his brows furrow with concern.
It’s the most expressive Gaius has ever seen him.
Estinien comes to an abrupt stop before him, panting, and reaches out to gently cup a pale cheek and brush a lock of Aymeric’s hair out of his face.
“He passed out on the way here.” Gaius hands over his load, watches how carefully Estinien holds Aymeric and cradles his head against his shoulder.
The Lord Commander’s arm slips from where it rested on his waist and Gaius leans forward to place it back carefully, pulling away to find blood on his hand.
“You need to get him to the healers.” He wipes his hand against his coat.
“Thank you,” Estinien says sincerely, pauses for a moment as if he has more to say, but his words seem to have failed him. He nods and disappears back to the campsite.
-
He slips into the Lord Commander’s tent a day later, unnoticed.
Well, except for Estinien whose lance is sitting at the base of his throat.
Estinien glares at him until it registers to him that it’s Gaius and lowers his lance.
“How is he faring?” Gaius steps forward, takes his first real look at the famed Lord Commander.
High nose bridge, full lashes, plump lips.
Aymeric’s reputation does him justice.
“He has yet to wake up. The chirurgeons estimate that he will need yet another night before he recovers enough to do so.” Estinien sits in the seat beside the cot again, a wariness that Gaius has yet to see from him settling in his posture.
“Hm,” he eyes Estinien whose shadows seemed to have grown darker from yesterday. “And when have you slept?” He asks, pulls a chair in the corner in the room up to Estinien’s side.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” is the curt response that has Gaius rolling his eyes.
“I’m sure your dear lover wouldn’t like to hear that were he awake.”
Estinien turns his head towards him, eyes wide.
“How did you-” he sputters out, a stripe of red flashing across his face.
Gaius smirks and leans back against his chair. “It’s not difficult when you look at him as if he puts the sun and moon in the sky.”
Estinien grits his teeth together, crosses his arms and looks away from him with a huff.
“You should get some sleep,” Gaius suggests, “I can watch over him.” Both of you goes unsaid. He assumes Estinien won’t budge from his seat.
Estinien doesn’t respond for a moment.
“Why did you save him?” The dragoon asks quietly, focuses his gaze on the rise and fall of Aymeric’s chest.
And it’s Gaius’ turn to be rendered speechless now.
He hadn’t thought when he dived into the field. It was pure instinct that had driven him to do so. To protect what was dearest to Estinien. He feels a garble of emotion whirling in his chest and he won’t name it, doesn’t want to name it.
“Because you care for him.” He settles for, keeping his eyes on the recovering elezen and away from Estinien.
It’s silent after that.
Gaius broods in his thoughts, dwells on the warmth inside him that invades every part of his being. There’s a sudden weight on his shoulder and he turns his head to see white hair cascading over him.
Asleep then, finally.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but by the time Estinien stirs, the moon is high in the sky.
The dragoon awakens with a sigh, lifts himself off Gaius’ shoulder and stretches his neck, eyes immediately focused on Aymeric. Estinien leans forward and uses a gentle touch against his lover’s cheek before pulling back again, afraid of awakening him too early from his recovery.
He leans back against his seat again, legs crossed at the ankles.
“Thank you, again,” Estinien says quietly, voice dry and low from sleep, “for everything.”
“It is of no problem,” Gaius replies. He wonders, “Will you be returning to Ishgard?”
Estinien is quick to shake his head tiredly, “There is still much to be done. I will leave come the dawn.”
Gaius tilts his head, “You think he will awaken by then?”
“Nay.”
Gaius waits for him to continue, the silent question of why forming in his mouth. A bitter smile graces Estinien’s lips and his head tilts back to look up at the tent ceiling.
“That seems rather cruel,” Gaius muses.
“What is more cruel, Black Wolf? To spare your lover a tearful goodbye, or give him a moment of happiness only to rip it away from him again?”
Gaius hums, looks between Estinien and Aymeric, and feels a semblance of pity settle in his stomach.
He remembers the way that Aymeric had whispered Estinien’s name even on the verge of collapse, thinks to himself that Aymeric must have imagined his dragoon coming for him, yearned for it for him to say his name just so.
“Even if it may be cruel, I think that you owe it to him to stay. For him to see you safe for himself.” Gaius looks over at Estinien, lowers his voice. “‘Tis difficult for a man to feel secure when he only has a ghost of a lover.”
Estinien looks away, lost in thought again as he leans forward to take Aymeric’s hand. He doesn’t say anything when Gaius stays through the night or stands in the corner when Aymeric finally stirs as the sun rises.
Gaius watches with a small smile as lashes flutter to reveal blue eyes. They slowly analyze the room before finding the dragoon leaning over him.
“Estinien?”
There’s a nod, a moment of clarity, a squeeze to Estinien’s hand to see if he’s real, and Gaius sees the most radiant of smiles grace the room. Estinien smiles just as brightly from what he can see, watches as the dragoon forgets that they have an audience and cups Aymeric’s face and touches their foreheads together, leans in for-
He turns away.
He will not come between this.
-
Gaius waits several yalms away from the Eorzean camp. Estinien walks slowly up to him, footsteps padded in the dirt.
“Ready to go?”
The dragoon grunts and walks ahead of him.
Gaius doesn’t mention the stray tear track running down his cheek or the slight redness to his nose as they make their way to their next destination.