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It had begun with a letter. A simple, mundane piece of heavy parchment. Like so many others in form and function, only this one was of a thicker and finer quality and the envelope bore the seal of the Holy See. When coupled with the familiarity of the fine penmanship on the envelope and doubtless the missive inside, the letter had been given priority over the dozens of others that seemed to arrive at the Rising Stones on a daily basis. All addressed to the hero of Eorzea, and all somehow finding their way to the Scions despite the fact that W’ynter was relatively certain she’d never told anyone her ‘address’. Bloody moogles, no doubt. Somehow always able to track her down, and she would have bet a sizeable sum of gil that either Krile, Tataru, or both had a hand in it.
This letter, however, had been an exception to that rule as she had given the sender leave to contact her at his convenience and Aymeric was hardly one to be inundating her with hastily penned requests that she make appearances or kiss babies or christen grand openings of this establishment or that.
Most likely because he himself had to deal with a similar sort of ‘celebrity’ status in Ishgard and knew how gods-damned irritating it could be.
The letter, when she had broken the blue wax seal and actually taken the time to read it, had been a prettily worded note of congratulations - damn Estinien, he was the only one who could have said anything - on her engagement and a request that she visit Ishgard at her earliest convenience so that the Borel-Wyrmblood household could tender their congratulatory gift to her and her intended. Whom he himself looked forward to meeting. And though she had rolled her eyes and shaken her head as G’raha laughed and commented that he had always wanted to visit the Holy See, it had been the scrawled crayon drawing of the two of them and a curly-haired child at the bottom which had made up her mind. Obviously Yasha remembered them and had been a party to this and it wouldn’t do to disappoint the child.
Or her ‘intended’, as he had been described; who had made the most delighted face upon seeing the little drawing and insisted on folding up the parchment so they could prop the small gift up on the nightstand beside their bed. And even if she hadn’t already decided to take Aymeric up on his invitation...that face was enough to sweep away any doubts that a visit was in order. Not to mention that this would at least get Tataru off of their backs about how both of them needed and deserved a vacation. Scions didn’t take vacations, and heroes - whether self titled or otherwise - didn’t get them. But arguing with Tataru was not only pointless, it could be downright detrimental to the further health of said person and she had wisely declined to do so. Primals and other such threats posed enough hazards to her Eorzea-beloved person that there was no need to add an even greater one.
They had taken a longer route to Ishgard, eschewing the much faster method of aetherytes and instead borrowed a spare manacutter from Cid for G’raha. Because no matter how much he had tried to convince her, and how much she understood the appeal of ‘but I’ve never gotten to actually ride in a Magitek armour’...there was simply not enough room in Maggie’s cockpit for the both of them to fit comfortably. And especially not given the way he had gone on about how much he was itching to get his fingers on the books in the Vault’s library. W’ynter had already made a mental tally of how much gil it would cost to hire a caravan to transport all of her scholarly fiance’s new acquisitions back to Mor Dhona and the figure would have given Tataru heart palpitations.
But the manacutters had proved to be an acceptable compromise, and his constant excited babble via their linkpearl had swiftly driven away any lingering mental complaints about how much simpler it would have been to just use the aetheryte network. They made a stopover at St Coinach’s, taking a short break for G’raha to catch up with Rambroes and his fellows before getting the bulk of their trip underway and it had warmed her heart to watch the redhead cavort like a youth again while she played Triple Triad on the fringes. Hero of Eorzea she may have been, but the scholars here had known them both before that. When her fame and acclaim had been in its infancy and ‘normal’ had been a bit easier to find and most of those here still treated them both the same. It was refreshing, and she made another mental note to encourage G’raha that they should visit here more often when they had a minute break from Scion duties.
The remainder of their voyage to the Holy See passed without much of note. Sightseeing wasn’t really W’ynter’s pastime, but she made a point to take them on a longer route so that she could point out certain landmarks to G’raha as they went. Teasing him with subtle comments about how he had always wanted to travel the world with her and it would be rather rude of her to miss such an opportunity. And despite the driving snow and the bitter cold, her companion hadn’t made so much as a peep of complaint amidst his near constant questions and exclamations regarding every new sight.
Despite the fact that it had been Aymeric who had sent the letter, it was the silent dragoon who met them at the airship landing. A solitary figure in his armour, eyes glinting crimson as he kept a careful grip on the small child clinging to his shoulders while she waved at them. G’raha had only met Estinien in passing once or twice, and further introductions would have to wait as her scholar made a beeline for the child. Scooping her off of her father’s shoulders and tossing her up into the air in a way that had her squealing with glee while Estinien shook his head and sighed. W’ynter mirrored his expression with a small smile of both fondness and exasperation as she fell into step beside the dragoon. Following behind and catching up as Yasha excitedly directed them through Ishgard towards the Firmament as though this was her own personal mission that would be carried out come hell or high water.
Simple greetings and pleasantries were not something that either her or Estinien tended towards, and their quiet conversation drifted more towards what Tataru would have termed ‘shop talk’; what scrapes she and the Scions had been into recently… how his dragon-riders at Bregne were coming along in their training… whether the House of Lords would ever allow Aymeric to relinquish his post so he could go back to being merely the Lord Commander again. The answers being in order; more than she could relate, well enough though they annoyed him, and not likely unless he threatened them which he had been forbidden from doing by Aymeric.
That selfsame man had been tied up in one of what Estinien dubbed his ‘endlessly tiring pageantry’ when they arrived at the cottage in the Firmament, though he managed to extricate himself and join their small party within the hour. And once initial congratulations and introductions had been made, she had been more than content to settle herself into the warmth of the plush couch. Leaning against G’raha’s shoulder as the redhead engaged Aymeric in deep and animated conversations about the Holy See. It was...nice, to put rather a simplistic term to it. Nice, and comfortable, and she couldn’t deny the warmth that Aymeric so easily brought to the room. Or the subtle little signs of the bond between him and his dragoon. From the simple gestures - a brush of Estinien’s hand against black hair as he silently reached to refill their glasses - to the soft glow of affection in blue eyes as Aymeric seemed to almost unconsciously seek out his husband across the room where Estinien was teaching Yasha the proper way to polish a blunted dagger. It was almost as though they had been adopted into this small little family and that thought had a lump rising in her throat.
She’d been lost in thought, adrift in her own fancies when she’d realized that Aymeric had ceased talking and was waiting for a response from her. Blinking mismatched eyes, she shook her head and gave an apologetic frown for having allowed her mind to drift as she asked him to repeat whatever query he had posed to her. But it was G’raha who had spoken up with a wide smile, explaining that their host wished to present them with their gift if it would not offend.
The idea that offense would be taken by such a thing was laughable, and she’d told him as much in chiding. There was hardly any need for such a thing, and whatever it was she had no doubts that it would be well received and enjoyed.
Champion of Eorzea, hero of Ishgard, defeater of primals and other threats alike…. And she had been struck dumb when the grinning commander had led them a scant half mile down the street. And presented her with a key to a corner cottage. It had taken G’raha less time to break from stunned stupor and declare that they couldn’t be serious. That it was lovely and such a generous thought but that a house was far too much. They had a room at the Rising Stones, surely there were others here who could use this space, it would be too much of an imposition. Every argument met with surprising - to anyone who didn’t know him - stubbornness from Aymeric. Who refused to take ‘no’ for an answer, and insisted that after all that she and the Scions had done for Ishgard...providing a home to her saviour was the very least that they could do. That a mere room in the Scion headquarters was hardly the same as a home of their own. One they could share and make theirs. A place to grow together and raise any children they may one day have.
It might have been that comment. Or the fact that G’raha didn’t know Aymeric well enough to have put up a strong argument against it. Or...the fact that Aymeric was right; a room in Revenent’s Toll wasn’t the same as a home of their own. But arguments were soon quashed and they had migrated from the Borel-Wyrmblood household to their own new home as Aymeric showed them around it and he and G’raha fell right back into their animated conversation.
That had been where they - Estinien and W’ynter - had left the pair when she’d commented that she wanted to take a bouquet of Nymeia lilies up to Haurchefaunt’s grave and the dragoon had offered to accompany her. The two of them had taken Yasha with them, leaving the scholar and the knight deep in their discussion of Ishgardian history and doctrine. Relatively certain that when they returned an hour or so later, that they would find the two in exactly the same place they had been left.
In hindsight, W’ynter would concede that she should have known better than to expect as much.
Finding the small house conspicuously empty of the Lord Commander and the scholarly Scion, any concern had been alleviated by the small neatly penned note that Aymeric had left for them stating the two had gone out on a sightseeing venture. Likely to the Crozier, or to the towering bookstacks that she knew held dusty vigil in the recesses of the Vault. Estinien didn’t seem in the least bit bothered by the notion, but by the time dinner had grown cold and a drowsing Yasha had been carted home to bed, they were both beginning to grow a bit concerned. While she could definitely see G’raha easily losing track of time while surrounded by musty tomes of long forgotten knowledge… Aymeric was predictably punctual. If his appointments or plans changed unexpectedly, he left a note or sent word via Lucia or Estinien or one of the Temple Knights. And the reappearance of Estinien at the door confirmed that no such missive had been left at their home either. She still sought confirmation as she reached for her bow to sling it onto her back.
“No word from Aymeric either, then?”
That curt shake of head was all that she needed before they were out the door. Silently dividing their attention and mapping out a search grid without the need for words. Each one knowing full well that while the likelihood was greater that no cause for alarm was necessary...life did not have a history of tending towards such likelihoods.
It proved to be relatively easier than expected to track their wayward partners; a stopover at the Crozier yielded a wealth of commentary on how delightful it had been that the Lord Commander had stopped in for a visit, how polite and charming his friend had been, how ecstatic they had been to learn that the young redhead was none other than the intended of the Saviour of Ishgard. And from the multitude of accounts, the two had done a full circuit of nearly every merchant here while the tall knight spared no expense to see that his friend could purchase anything he wished and it would be delivered by the morrow. Her own internal sigh as she made mental calculations of how much gil she would attempt to pay back to Aymeric was made slightly less tedious by the faint tick of a vein in Estinien’s forehead. Obviously those same figures were flicking through his mind as well and she couldn’t help the snort of amused laughter. “It’s fine, I won’t allow them to beggar the two of you.”
“You speak as though Aymeric would accept any manner of repayment from you.” The white-haired man replied with a dry scoff as they turned to make their way towards the Vault. Traveling along the same route that one of the merchants had said their absent companions had been heading. At least, that had been the general direction the two had been heading, but the elderly woman couldn’t say for certain of their specific destination. “The only reason your new home is relatively unadorned is because I reminded him that you would likely wish to decorate it yourself. Otherwise it would doubtless be as jumbled a nightmare as the manor. Stuffed with all manner of foppery of which you have little need.”
That...wasn’t wrong, and W’ynter was forced to grudgingly acquiesce with a sigh. “There was no need to go to such lengths, you know.”
A further snort of dry amusement told her that Estinien knew quite well, just as he knew that there were few in Ishgard who would agree with that statement, and even fewer who could have been convinced otherwise. It was simply the lot that those called ‘hero’ were given in life, and it was a lesser headache to accept and move on than to try to argue.
The Vault, predictably, yielded similar results; the two had been there, had spent over a bell poring over dusty tomes and orders had been given that G’raha was to have unrestricted access to whatever he wished to study during his time in the Holy See, and given carte blanche to borrow so long as a proper record was kept of any tomes or scrolls that left the shelves. At least this time they were able to gain a bit more information, as the bookkeeper distinctly remembered Aymeric suggesting that they stop by the Forgotten Knight for a bit of refreshment before continuing their sightseeing.
“This should be promising.” Estinien commented as they approached the well worn door of the tavern. “Gibrillont is as skilled in gathering information as he is in pouring ale.” Nodding as she reached for the wooden partition to lever the heavy door open, W’ynter followed him inside only to slam right into his armoured back as the dragoon froze on the landing. Staring down into the noisy tavern in stunned silence. Muttering something about dragoons and stone walls, the petite woman stepped around her taller companion to see just what had prompted the sudden cessation of his movement, only to be stunned into an equal stupor.
Well….they had found their missing companions, at least.
The tavern beneath them was packed almost to overflowing. Bodies jostling as tankards rattled and ale was passed around in a manner that seemed more fitting to the eve after a well won battle than an ordinary Tuesday. Conversations and chattering created a cacophony that almost made her ears hurt with it’s din. And in the center of it, seated not at but on a table, atop an overturned wooden crate...was her missing fiance. Grinning face almost as red as his hair - and the rest of him - somehow shirtless and engaged in an incredibly animated discussion with a half dozen equally inebriated patrons.
And if that wasn’t enough to have her mouth falling open in shock, Aymeric was equally red faced at the end of the table, looking just as enraptured by whatever story G’raha was telling as the rest of them. The heavy sigh and muttered curses from Estinien broke her enough out of the trance to reassure herself that this was, in fact, really happening. And not some trick of the Aether or the side effect of food poisoning or...anything else. “Are they both…?”
“Incredibly drunk? Yes, they are.”
The answer came not from Estinien, but from Gibrillont, who had somehow managed to make his way through the crush of bodies and up the stairs to stand beside them. Resting his arms on the railing with a sigh as he took in the scene as well. “It began innocently enough when they arrived, until word got around the Brume that not only was the Lord Commander visiting, but that he had a most esteemed personage alongside him.” He raised an eyebrow at W’ynter with a snort of amusement. “It would seem that your husband-to-be had gained a status akin to your own, simply by virtue of being your intended. And of course, what better way to show your appreciation and adoration than by purchasing a round of drinks for such heroes.”
Estinien groaned at that statement, raking a hand down his face in a mix of frustration and understanding. “And what well bread noble lord would refuse such a generous offer when given. Fury’s tits…”
His sigh was mirrored by her own as she couldn’t help but agree with him. Neither of them - G’raha or Aymeric - would have felt able to refuse such a thing, especially not when it doubtless came alongside praises and gratitude heaped upon them both. They were both too self-effacing, too generous, and it would now be up to the sensible duo of this foursome to extricate the Lord Commander and the former Crystal Exarch from this muddle of their own making. “You take Aymeric, I’ll handle G’raha.” She muttered as she pushed away from the railing and stepped around the two Elezen to make her way down the stairs.
It was difficult at first, trying to shove her way through the mass of inebriated patrons, but soon enough someone recognized her and a wide path opened up with cheering on either side. Likely in assumption that she had come to join in the ‘festivities’ herself. Approaching the table, she crossed her arms with a sigh, waiting for the redhead to notice her as he chattered excitedly. Oh. He was talking about his time in the First, and apparently his lack of shirt was in an effort to show how much of himself had been encased in crystal.
Thank the Twelve he hadn’t decided to shuck his trousers as well yet…
That silent musing - and the realization that it could become reality any moment - was enough for her to loudly clear her throat at her scholar and he spun around in a wobbly motion only to break into the widest smile ever. It was...rather adorable, if one didn’t consider that he was half clothed and drunk off of his ass in the center of a tavern. Or the fact that he tried to lunge for her in what she assumed was an attempted embrace...only to tumble off the table and land on his face.
Both amusement and tired frustration forgotten, she managed to catch him enough to avoid anything more serious than a bruised nose and a spilled tankard of ale. Leveraging her shoulder under him to help him balance as he curled around her with a delighted purr. Much to the happy cheering of their new ‘audience’. Slurring his words as he began to regale her with the tale of their afternoon and how he had made so many new friends and how Ishgard was just wonderful and amazing and they were going to live here now.
Dealing with drunkards was hardly something new; she’d helped an equally done looking Urianger drag an inebriated Thancred to their room on more than one occasion, and so she knew perfectly well that it was pointless to do anything other than nod and agree with his rambling statements. Like conversing with a toddler who fully believed that the political machinations of their play group were the stuff that world empires were built on. Sparing a glance for Estinien, she couldn’t tell what he was saying to Aymeric, but the tension in his jaw was enough to assume that this entire scenario was a headache. A headache that he was obviously tired of dealing with as he scowled and gave up speaking. Simply acting, as he tossed the drunken Lord Commander over one shoulder like a sack of popotoes and turned to catch her eye.
What a delightfully simple idea, and the Warriour of Light returned his look with a wicked smirk before doing the exact same thing with her own ale-drowned partner. Although it seemed as though G’raha took it in a better stride than Aymeric, who she could hear trying to argue with Estinien that he was ‘perfectly capable of walking on his own, thank you very much’. An argument that was stoically ignored as the white-haired dragoon simply turned and walked out the door with his blue-garbed parcel over his shoulder. Likewise paying no heed to the cries of disappointment as she followed, W’ynter took her own time getting out of the noise and clamor of the tavern to find Estinien quietly threatening to gag his husband if that proved to be necessary before he made more of a fool of himself. Aymeric, it seemed, had decided that it was easier to just go along with his dragoon’s demands, and had lapsed into sullen silence where he hung over Estinien’s shoulder. Satisfied that at least this night wasn’t about to become even more of a trial, Estinien heaved another long-suffering sigh before he addressed her again. “Do you need any assistance in getting him back home?”
She shifted G’raha on her shoulder just slightly, glancing back to find him happily studying the filigree work on her quiver and shook her head with a sigh of her own. “No, he’ll be fine. I’m sorry for the trouble. I’ll bring by a remedy for the headache they’ll have in the morning. Urianger taught me how to make it once when I helped him look after Thancred.”
“Likely it’s similar to one I already have, but I’ll not turn down the gesture.” He replied with a nod. “And there is no need to apologize. Had I been aware that babysitting was required, I’d have arranged for it.” The edge in his tone was obviously directed at his own husband, who returned it with a bleary-eyed glare and an incredibly undignified sticking out of his tongue. Insult though it was meant to be, she couldn’t help the snort of amusement at seeing the normally so composed Aymeric behaving like a stubborn child who’d been told he couldn’t have a second helping of custard after dinner. “Somehow I feel that the morning will bring about better punishment than either of us could mete out for them. The headaches they’re going to have when this wears off…”
The dragoon obviously agreed with her as he gave a harsh chuckle before bidding her farewell and heading off towards the Firmament at a much faster pace than her shorter legs would have kept up with. Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure that he was still fine, W’ynter shook her head again with a sigh before she began to make her own way back towards their new home. Muttering softly to her charge as she did so.
“Would it kill you to say ‘no’ every once in awhile? There’s graciously accepting a gift and there’s being a fool.”
Though she’d thought him too out of it to respond, that was obviously not the case as the redhead made a sound that was almost a giggle and wrapped his arms rather awkwardly around her waist from behind. And upside down. “But theys...loves yous so much… but I loves.. You more….”
His slurred declaration of devotion had her shaking her head despite the fond smile on her features. “I love you too, Raha. But you still didn’t have to agree to every drink they offered you. You’re going to wish you’d died in the morning.”
“Noooooo. O..*hic* only...okay to die….saving you. Never...wish it….”
Well that was...unexpected, and she raised an eyebrow slightly before answering him. “I’m glad you’d never wish it...but that doesn’t mean it would be alright if you did. Even if it was to save me. Especially then. Because I would blame myself. So please...don’t risk yourself foolishly.”
They were almost halfway to their destination, and she wanted to keep him talking. At least until they got there and she could make sure he wasn’t slipping into a stupor of a dangerous sort. Jostling him slightly on her shoulder, she gave a squeeze to the arm still wrapped around her waist. “I heard that you were given free access to any of the books in the Vault’s archives. Did you find anything particularly interesting?”
There was a pause before he began to babble again, going off on a tangent about a particular book or scroll and how it was this specific edition or volume and W’ynter smiled to herself as she nodded and replied when prompted, even suggesting that perhaps he should compose volumes of his own. Sharing the knowledge and experiences he had gained from his time in the First that could benefit all of Eorzea as a whole. Drunk though he was, that idea seemed to delight him and he kept up a running description of it all the way home. Which then turned into a commentary on their new home and how happy he was with it.
It was well past midnight, but by the time they got to said domicile, at least some of the ale seemed to have worn off, and he had settled into a comfortable silence. Occasionally purring or offering some other declaration of love as she got him out of his clothing and into a nightshirt. Nearly pulling her down with him as she maneuvered him towards their bed, she shook her head as she smoothed back touseled red hair and answered his most recent halfway slurred question. “Yes, if you want we can have kittens in the house.” Pets were fine, and she was about to state as much when his next question had a lump rising in her throat.
“Can they look like you?”
Okay. So apparently when he had said kittens he had meant… Swallowing back the lump, she pushed him back down onto the pillows with a soft smile and a kiss to his forehead before pressing her own against his. “Is that what you want, someday? Kittens that look like me?” He wound his arms around her with a smile and snuggled into the crook of her neck. “If you want too…Might be nice.”
He wasn’t wrong, and even though she wasn’t sure that was something they agreed on...But it didn’t immediately cause her to panic, and maybe in the future...they could talk about it. Continuing to comb fingers through his loosened red hair as she curled herself around him, W’ynter nodded with a smile. “How about we talk about it in the morning, okay? Get some rest, Raha.”