Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a beautiful day, out on the parapets of one of Ishgard’s many fortified walls, air chilled but not freezing thanks to the rays of sunlight that dabbled across old stone pathways, breeze strong enough to blow about some of the lighter bits of rubble that had yet to be swept away but light enough not to knock down anyone sure-footed. Whisps of heavy clouds dotted a bright blue sky, the gentle winds from below a near-torrent above as the skies shifted second by second, swirls and shapes forming and reforming as white streaked across the heavens in an ever-shifting formation. 

In the distance, a dark smudge floated among the clouds, gentle and light, before swooping down in a rapid plummet, suddenly twisting back into ascent before it could collide with the mountaintop below. A second, lighter smudge descended to meet it. Slower, more carefully. But just as graceful - its grace simply having taken on a different form rather than exceeding or failing to meet that of its companion.

Two members of Hraesvelgr’s brood? Or perhaps one of Hraesvelgr’s and one of Nidhogg’s? They certainly weren’t both members of the latter - though their sire was dead, most of Nidhogg’s children avoided Ishgard as though if either party laid eyes on the other, war might break out again. Hraesvelgr’s brood was still cautious, but less avoidant. With the new peace between dragons and men, they could reclaim some of their ancestral lands. Or rather, the skies above them, the lands still dominated by the men who had first come some millennium and change before.

Something about that thought tugged at Estinien. 

How much they had taken. 

How much had been taken from them. 

(Simultaneous thems. 

How much they, the Ishgardians had taken- stolen , as they had torn the heavens away from those who could use them as they could not, from those who were born to live and thrive in the expanse above. And how much they, the dragons, had stolen, as they instilled fear in every Ishgardian who saw a speck of darkness in the sky that might have been as innocent as a bird but could ruin a whole night as fearful citizens cowered in hideaways, waiting for the signal to let them know it was merely a false alarm. Where one stole, the other lost. Where one lost, it was because the other had taken.

Estinien was Ishgardian. He had helped steal the skies from the dragons. And he had been not just a Temple Knight, but Azure Dragoon as he did it. He’d been more than just a simple participant, standing and soaring at the forefront of those efforts, lance in hand.

And then there was the other. The part he oft embraced, oft struggled with.

The Ishgardians had tried to take the skies from him too, though they had hardly succeeded. It was the young ones who suffered the most for the loss. Those who were born and died while their elders slumbered, either passing the time until the next attack or attempting to heal wounds they had borne in their previous assaults. When he had taken the skies, the Ishgardians had not taken them back until he gave them their victory, his heart content for a time with the bout of suffering he had wrought. 

…

It was a heavy thing, being a part of both sides. One and then the other. One longer than the other. Both at the same time. One as both. 

There was a line there. He knew where he had been in relation to it, his mind and memories firm on each place he’d stood. But no man should ever have been able to see both sides as he had. No single man could.)

The dragons chased each other through the sky, dancing in the winds and making obstacle courses of the clouds. Dark blurs pierced through white veils, shifting the color of the sky as bright blue lightened and thick white dimmed. 

They flew and flew and spun and twisted until they ducked behind the mountain, finally out of sight.

A pity. That had looked like such fun. Even if he wasn’t able to do it himself, to watch such play brought warmth to Estinien’s breast, peace to his mind-

“Estinien?” a familiar voice called, drawing Estinien out of his reverie.

He turned around, finding Alphinaud standing on the ground below the walls, the stone’s shade falling across his form. The boy wore a thick coat, its fur collar practically engulfing his neck in fluff. It was something that was perfect for Alphinaud’s business in Garlemald and would have been much more appropriate for Ishgard’s weather than what he’d worn his first time in the city, had the afternoon not been part of an uncharacteristically warm summer’s day. 

“You’re an unexpected sight,” Estinien called down, tilting his head to get a better look at the boy. Had he grown taller? It hadn’t been that long since they’d last seen each other. Mayhap he’d finally hit the first ilm of his growth spurt. 

A chuckle escaped his lips as he imagined standing eye to eye with the younger man. Fury, wouldn’t that be something. The years really were flying by.

When Alphinaud cupped his hands around his face as if to shout, Estinien motioned over to a set of stairs some fifteen yalms down. He’d rather not have the boy yelling loud enough to alert the entire Brume with whatever it was he had to say. Though Estinien himself had reached his position via Jump, it wasn’t impossible to get there on foot. It simply took a bit of extra time on the ground. And less in the air. Which Estinien had found himself longing for more and more as of late. A longing that had seeped into his limbs, into his legs, into his aether, into his soul , pulling at his heart and begging him to return to where he belonged, to fulfill his birthright and satiate the need to-

He shook his head. Alphinaud had reached the top of the stairs and was walking along the parapet. It would only be a few moments before the boy reached him. He didn’t have time to get so captured in his thoughts. 

“Quite the lovely day,” Alphinaud commented once he was only five or so yalms away, stopping with only a yalm between them. He adjusted the collar of his coat, fingers dancing along the edge as if he was considering removing the thing. Had he not been so polite and proper, he likely would have. A little lord to the bone, much as the boy liked to deny it. “Hardly any clouds in the sky. If you could remove the last few and bathe the whole city in sunlight, it would be perfect. I’m sure the citizens would be happy for the extra warmth in the stone.”

Estinien hummed, gaze drifting back out toward where the two dragons had played in the sky. “The clouds are perfectly fine as they are. We’re getting plenty of sunlight down below, and it’s-” so exhilarating to fly through them, to feel the mist surround your wings and tickle your face before breaking back out into pure air “-much more interesting to see a painted sky than a plain one. More for the eye to catch on.”

Alphinaud nodded, turning his head as he did a quick sweep of the skyline. “That’s a fair point. It is quite the lovely sight like this.” He let out a chuckle, bright and accompanied by an honest smile. “I suppose my time in the quite-overcast Garlemald has left me more desperate for sunlight than most. Fair skies do break out occasionally, but I’ve spent so long in sunny places I’ve grown accustomed to brighter skies.”

Was he referring to the First, Estinien wondered, or to the various areas of Eorzea he’d had the chance to visit during his time as a Scion? Estinien had learned some facts about the light-stricken Shard during his time with the Scions, but knew little about its weather other than the fact that it had dealt with Eternal Light until the Warrior of Light had performed their little miracle. Which was different than sunlight, but how that difference manifested was never fully specified. He never pressed Alphinaud or the others about it either. Starting conversation wasn’t his strong point. If they wished to speak of it he would participate in the conversation, but he wasn’t going to bring up any potential unpleasant memories if they didn’t initiate the topic themselves. The Scions enjoyed an exchange of issues - one would mention something they had dealt with and be given advice, and another would open up about a problem of their own in return. Estinien didn’t want to take and not give, but he didn’t want to offer up any stories of his own either. So he tended to wander off when they seemed like they were moving toward one of those sessions. He had never been openly berated for doing so, even if he’d received a few judgmental looks from Y’shtola and a few disappointed gazes from Alphinaud. There were some principles he wasn’t willing to break.

He sighed, directing his gaze from the skies and the dragons who’d yet to disappear to his companion even as he faced his companion.

“What are you doing in Ishgard? I can’t imagine your work in Garlemald has already come to a close,” he asked. Unless more time had somehow slipped away from him than he thought.

Alphinaud shook his head. The motion was more reassuring than it ought to be. “You’re right about that. It will be many weeks if not moons more before anything close to true stability is reached, and years before a new government accepted by the people and able to deal with the fallout of the empire’s actions can take hold.” 

Estinien nodded to that, thinking of the many troubles that plagued Ishgard, whose government was undergoing a rearrangement of its own. And it had been far less damaged by civil war than Garlemald. There had been a few assassination attempts, a few small uprisings, and various other issues as those in favor or opposed to the separation of church and state and reduction in the church’s power came to outrage, but it was nowhere near the level of chaos Estinien had witnessed during his brief forays into Garlean territory. Aymeric and the Houses were dealing with things as best they could. It was messy, as was inevitable when trying to clean up a millennium worth of lies, but proceeding well enough. Or so it had been last Estinien had spoken to Aymeric. Which he’d meant to do on this trip, but alas…

Alphinaud sighed, mind clearly racing with the many obstacles laid out before him and the many steps that had already been taken. Then he continued. “Lucia had an urgent delivery for Lord Aymeric, and needed someone who had attuned to the Aetheryte in Foundation and had enough aether to make the trip there and back in a reasonable amount of time to give it.” He frowned, looking down to his coat pocket before taking out a small bag. “I did not ask her what it was, nor did I ask Aymeric what he gave me in return. She and Maxima were meeting with some of the former Cerulean Miners today, else I’m sure she would have gone herself. Though she has not said it aloud, I’m sure she misses him. She was his second for years, and believed in him enough to defect, didn’t she?”

Estinien looked at the small bag in Alphinaud’s hand. If he had to guess, Lucia had given him some sort of local knicknack she thought Aymeric might appreciate and Aymeric had handed Alphinaud some random paperweight in return, as to seem more professional. Alphinaud was a prodigy and nothing short of genius, but he was still only a teenager. He shouldn’t have nearly as many responsibilities on his shoulders as he’d taken. Estinien would have to thank Lucia for giving the boy a break, short as it was. If he could figure out how to call her Linkpearl. Supposedly there was a way to insert a new number, but he still hadn’t figured out how to call anything that hadn’t been on the damn device before it had been given to him and wasn’t about to ask. Bloody complicated trinket. 

“Yes,” he replied, “though you shouldn’t be saying such things where others can hear us. Thankfully the breeze is blowing our words away from the city, but there are those who are still looking for any piece of information that could be used to implicate Aymeric, and I’d rather not give them any more material.”

Alphinaud blinked, realization dawning on his face. “Oh! My apologies. I’d thought it was common rumor, but I’ll be more careful.”

“It is common rumor, just as it is common rumor that Aymeric is the previous Archbishop’s bastard son. But no one who would know the truth of the matter has ever stated either as if it were fact. That would give the gossipers a gleaming sharp arrow for a quiver previously full of dull heads.”

“I see,” Alphianud muttered, having brought a hand to his chin. “Then let us not speak of such things. Instead, can I ask why you’re here? Has Vrtra released you from whatever duty he asked of you?”

Estinien snorted, a grin making its way onto his face. “ Released me? He’s barely allowed me to start. I knew with how well he was treating me it would be quite the ordeal, but somehow I hadn’t expected this .” He shook his head. “I’m to search for Azdaja. He’s not heard from them in ‘many years,’ which I take to be centuries if not a millennium knowing wyrms’ skewed perceptions of time-” knowing how time seemed to be drifting away from even him “-and worries for them. His call managed to rouse even Midgardsormr from his sleep, if only for a few brief moments, so their silence is troubling. Though he did request I first pass a message onto Hraesvelgr, which I did on the morn. After our conversation I thought to visit Ishgard after leaving Zenith in hopes of having lunch with Aymeric, but when I approached the Seat of the Lord Commander I was told he was busy with someone else.”

Aymeric really was much too busy. At times Estinien had entertained the thought of dragging Aymeric out for a trip to Thavnair, thinking the man would enjoy the colors and sights to be seen there. He’d actually made up a package of a few lovely cobalt silks he knew Aymeric would enjoy some few days before, thinking it might help convince the man to take a short break from his duties. But Estinien had found himself stuck when trying to think of the letter to send along with it. What to say? How to phrase his thoughts? He could always send it without a note, or with a short ‘I know you like blue, this is blue, do with it what you will.’ 

Well. He’d get to it eventually. Probably.

Alphinaud furrowed his brow, oblivious to Estinien’s minor inner turmoil. “Someone else…” Then his eyes widened, frown dissipating. “Oh! My apologies, had I known you meant to meet with Lord Aymeric I would have gladly cut our meeting short, or just invited you in. We talked of little of import - Lucia has been keeping him informed of Garlemald’s progress and her health via Linkpearl, and so it really was just friendly chatting. You could have interrupted at any time.”

Estinien merely shrugged in response. “‘Twas no trouble. I still haven’t fully formed the ideas I meant to tell him.” He’d spent far too much time these past weeks gazing up toward the heavens, dreaming of things that could not and would not come to be. Things that had once been, but would not be again.

(The sweet embrace of the skies, the gentle touch of the clouds, the loving brush of the wind, the warm breath of the sunlight at an elevation beyond that of any mountain or jump, the aether swirling around his wings-

Beautiful. Exhilarating. Comforting. 

Home. 

Lost.

Taken.)

“...Are you feeling well, Estinien?” Alphinaud asked, concern lacing every syllable. When Estinien’s eyes drifted back to the boy - which he hadn’t realized had gone back to the sky and the shifting clouds until Alphinaud had spoken to him once more - he saw the boy had inched a few ilms forward. Maybe even a fulm. “You seem…distracted.”

Distracted. “You needn’t pretty your words for my sake,” Estinien huffed, cursing himself when it came out harsher than he meant it to. His frustration was with himself, not Alphinaud. He took in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out in a slow exhale. “‘Tis good to be polite when in polite company, but we’re comrades who’ve fought and bled together. I’d prefer blunt honesty than skirting around the issue.”

Alphinaud’s expression fell, then rose into something more firm. “My apologies. But you look… almost disturbed, to be quite frank. Unsettled. As though something is crawling under your skin and you’re trying to brave the discomfort but cannot shake yourself of the unpleasantness.”

Estinien let out a wry laugh, tilting his head up so his bangs covered his eyes. He supposed that was a good description

He let the wind toss his hair about, a sudden uptick in the breeze helping relieve some of that discomfort that Alphinaud had correctly mentioned, but not fully erasing it. Because it never went away anymore. It faded, it waned, but it did not disappear.

Alphinaud must have noticed the fleeting but timely uptick in the breeze too, for even in his thick coat he let out a shudder loud enough for Estinien to hear the rustle of fabric and the short chatter of teeth. 

Where the breeze brought Estinien comfort when he had longed for it, it seemed only to disturb Alphinaud. As Alphianud muttered something about the chilled gust, Estinien silently apologized, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to.  

After a few seconds Estinien dropped his chin, his laughter dying into something between a sad smile and an almost bitter sneer. “I never fancied myself a good actor, but I spent enough of my life trying to rid myself of emotions that I thought I could at least pretend to be unbothered. But perhaps the absence of the threat of possession has left me without good enough cause for a passable act.” It was the result of that successful possession that had left him as he was, right and wrong all at once. Knowing he had once had something more, and thinking that perhaps he could take it back, but fearing what that might require or entail. “Your words paint a fine enough picture of my feelings. Or state. However you might think of it.”

He shifted slightly, tightening the grip his hands had on the outsides of his crossed arms. Holding himself firm as though it would keep him together and help the feeling that something was missing. 

All it did was make his arms and hands rub against the light shirt he wore beneath the armor, disturbing the scattering of scales that had formed along his forearm when the Eyes had merged to his person and had never fully gone away. He tried not to think about them. Thinking made them itch. Sometimes he swore the patches of blackened skin and scale expanded the more he thought about them, the more he channeled Nidhogg’s Aether to fight and gave in to the parts of him that were so much older than his person and yet had only been a part of him for a handful of years. It was one thing to acknowledge he bore many of Nidhogg’s memories. That many of Nidhogg’s thoughts and feelings had wedged themselves into his chest. It was another to gaze upon how they had altered his outer form.

“Is there aught I can do to help?” Alphinaud asked, ever the helpful citizen, ever the caring friend. This time Estinien was certain the boy had shifted a few ilms closer- Alphinaud’s right hand, now raised as though he was debating whether or not he should place it on Estinien’s arm for comfort, was only a hair away from making contact.

Estinien sighed, turning and walking a few steps down the parapet before looping back toward Alphinaud. He stopped a few ilms away from where he’d started. A safe distance. A safe fulm. Hopefully not too impolite. 

“Unfortunately, no. Not in the way I long for, at least. Perhaps I could prepare some sort of substitute for my desire; some sort of alternative that could make do for a time, but even if there was, I’m sure I would have found it by now,” he explained. “I can live with it. It’ll be fine.”

For what was he supposed to do when the longing that had set him so on edge was the longing to fly? To reclaim a place among the heavens, to feel the wind beyond wings that he did not bear? Once, when weeks of memory-dreams of flight had made the pull of the heaven near-unbearable, he’d spent an entire day Jumping as high and often as he could, only stopping for a bell or so when he’d gotten the idea that perhaps more satisfaction would come were he to start at a higher elevation, and had gone hiking to reach a mountain peak. And so he’d tried the Jumps again, until finally some bell or two past sunset his knees finally gave out on him when he landed and he spent the night on the ground where he’d near-crashed, staring up at the stars that had seemed to mock him from their place on high that try as he might he could not reach.

He’d had a dreamless sleep that night. The first in weeks. The pull was not gone when he woke, but it had faded into something much more bearable. The ache that stabbed at his entire body from the combination of the physical and aetheric strains of Jumping had helped with that.

Once, when visiting the site at which he’d chosen to remember Lady Iceheart in Azys Lla, his mind had drifted to the properties of summoning and the principle of hosting a primal in one’s own flesh. Many were the times Ysayle had called down a phantom of the Elezen Shiva, drawing on numerous crystals to provide the massive amounts of aether that even a temporary summoning had required. Her Echo had protected her from tempering, and so she’d been able to share a form with the Saint on countless occasions as the strength of their bond and the primal’s power granted her abilities beyond that of any mortal elezen and morph her form into something more.  

In that place had Thordan too called upon a primal, drawing upon the massive amounts of Aether stored in the Eye of Nidhogg retrieved from Haldrath’s body in order to morph himself into an altered ‘King Thordan’ alongside the Heavens’ Ward. In retrospect, from reports on the Ward’s behavior and his own unpleasant interactions with them in the moons leading up to that final encounter, he knew they must certainly have been tempered in advance, but at least Thordan had seemed to remain himself. Perhaps his idea of King Thordan was so in line with his own sense of self that there was no personality difference, or at least not one noticeable to an outside party and certainly not to himself. Estinien doubted Thordan had used the Eye before his transformation, likely relying on crystals until the moment he chose to reveal his plan to the Warrior of Light and the Ascian that had tried to use him. But Thordan had certainly already hosted the primal before his final fight in Azys Lla, else the Ward would not have been tempered, and that said a certain something as well.

If one had enough Aether, they could transform their form into that of a primal. 

And if one were looking for that Aether, the Eyes of Nidhogg proved an effective source.

One of the primary requirements for a summoning was faith, yes, but an idea and aether made a considerable contribution to the transformation as well. And one could have faith in oneself, couldn’t they?

And so standing in Azys Lla, for a moment much less brief than Estinien would like to admit, he had entertained the idea of calling upon the Aether that had been gathering in his flesh to transform himself into the something that had existed on the Steps of Faith - that being that was not quite a man but not quite a wyrm but certainly capable of flight, probably not a primal but so bound to Estinien anyway that he felt even if it was something of the sort, he as a person would not be influenced in any noticeable way once the transformation was released. He’d just have to draw on the Aether for a few moments. A few minutes. Enough to get a taste of that feeling he’d longed for - a few brief minutes of the wind on his wings and the aether in the air and all would be well. He probably had enough of it. Krile had pulled him aside once and told him that he was apparently unconsciously drawing in Aether from the air at all times as if to store it, accelerated when he drew on Nidhogg’s power to fight but never fully stopping. ‘Like a Dragon drawing Aether into its Eyes,’ she had told him. Like a wyrm working to strengthen his power and build up his form. Unconscious and constant. Not enough to damage or leave lasting effects on the area they drew from, but enough that someone monitoring aether levels might notice a slight depletion as it occurred.

His time with Nidhogg had left more than a few unexpected ‘gifts.’

But the moment had fallen away as sense had returned to him. No matter how much he longed to relive those memories, those dreams; to satisfy the pull and the call and the roiling desire, there were some things he could not do. Things he would not compromise.

(And, there was a part of him that worried that if he let the Aether engulf him and satisfied that urge to let his form shift back to that thing, he might get so caught up in the feeling that he would lose himself completely.

Up to the heavens, into the clouds, away from the land, away from who he was and who he cared for. For though it was hard to admit at times, there were many whom he cared for, so, so deeply. He’d spent years trying not to let that care show. But he’d also spent years, though many fewer, feeling what it was like to have emotions long-shut-off return in a slowly-widening cascade that had left him unsure of how to deal with it all.

The heavens called to him. The winds sang his name. But so too did those he loved and cared for call to him, just in a different, quieter way. And those he would indulge.)

He did not call on the reserve of Aether that had been building within him since Nidhogg’s fall that day. Instead he set down his bouquet and teleported to an Aetheryte firmly on the ground and walked away.

And so he could not fly. Not on his own. Men did not have wings, and Estinien didn’t either. He would have to make do with Jumping and visiting mountaintops when he had the time. The elevation was nice. It wasn’t what he truly longed for, but it could help ease the ache in his bones and the hum in his blood that asked, begged he do more.

But how to explain it all to Alphinaud? Conversation wasn’t Estinien’s strong suit. He didn’t hate it, exactly. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t speak to others - he’d spent long enough in positions of authority within the dragoons and Ishgard that he was certainly capable of maintaining a conversation and entertaining others even if he wasn’t nearly as good at it as certain silver-tongued comrades of his, and he had fun chatting with others when the topic or subject was one he cared for - but some things were much harder to talk about than others. And he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to convey his thoughts and experiences in a way that properly expressed his feelings when it came to the matter at hand. Not to mention how he wasn’t particularly keen on burdening Alphinaud with the weight of it all. Alphinaud had enough to worry about without Estinien’s troubles adding to that. 

But the boy was persistent. And though he didn’t take another step closer, Estinien could see the fire of determination light up in his eyes as he pressed further. “Though I may not be able to solve the problem of whatever ails you, I ask that you at least give me the chance to try. Maybe there’s something I can do that you can’t, or something you may have overlooked,” Alphinaud suggested.

Perhaps insistent was a better word. The boy wasn’t going to give up until he’d gotten what he’d wanted, wasn’t he? Esitnien supposed he could admire the tenacity, enough that his lips curled for a moment before the beginnings of an amused smile were replaced by the downturn of a cry. Because at times that persistence was a pain. 

Estinien took in another long breath. Deep, and slow. He tapped his fingers along his armor, the soft clink of the sharp fingertips making contact with hard metal peppering the air. Where to begin?

“The dragoons have long been the pride and joy of Ishgard’s military,” Estinien said slowly, enunciating each word properly as he formed what was probably an acceptable start. Further back than it needed to be, but it allowed him to delay speaking of things he was less comfortable speaking of. “Though she has put much faith and effort into bolstering tools such as the canon and the size of the Temple Knights, Ishgard’s few bards have always favored the dragoon as the star of their stories. And for a good reason - to call the requirements and training to become a dragoon ‘challenging’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s a good reason there have been so few of us, even before the tragedy that cut our number by over half, years before you ever set foot in the city. All Temple Knights have historically been faced with the possibility of facing a dragon in combat, but dragoons have ‘ere been Ishgard’s primary dragonslayers, so long as it has had a need for dragonslayers. While the war raged on, the Temple Knights existed to keep the peace and ensure the safety of our nation, which meant clashes with dragons when they encroached upon Ishgardian territory, or at its outskirts and beyond when an Archbishop or Lord Commander grew bold about driving the dragons back. The Order of the Knights Dragoon instead existed to slay dragons. This would help keep the peace, yes. But the order of priorities differed. 

“For the past thousand years, Dragoon has been the name given to exceptional lancers who have mastered an aerial form of combat particularly effective at slaying dragons. Aerial enemies are much easier to combat if you too can take to the skies, after all. 

“But even with our jumps, the dragoons of today have nothing on the air time of the original dragoons. For the original dragoon was not merely a soldier with a lance who could touch the sky for a few brief moments through aetheric manipulation, but a soldier who rode on the back of a dragon to make the skies their own. The winds welcomed them, staying by their sides…”

He’d gotten to experience something similar to what those original dragoons must have felt those few, unforgettable moments he’d been allowed on Tiamat and Vrtra’s backs. The heavens had received them as if greeting beloved companions, the sky practically singing its salutations. Or the wind did, ever-present, all around.

Dragonsong was a well-known part of dragons’ lives. Men knew little of what the songs represented, of which cries were simple calls and which were odes or epics. But they knew song was a major part of dragon culture. That much they understood.

And as Estinien had joined Tiamat up in the heavens, he’d wondered if the dragons had been inspired by the sound of the wind that surrounded them as they played and hunted and journeyed through the skies. Dragoon’s helmets were crafted in a way such that as the wind coursed through them during jumps, the sounds that rang in their ears were meant to mimic dragon cry. Or perhaps song, given Ishgardian’s poor understanding of which sound was which. They weren’t the same. Dragonsong was more melodious. But with the wind’s cries meant to mimic dragonsong, at times he wondered whether the original order had been the reverse.

(He could probably find an answer if he looked toward that part of himself that had not always been himself but now was. The knowledge was his. The memories were his too. His and not his. Old and new. His.

But there were times he felt comfortable drawing on that knowledge, times he felt comfortable trying to call upon those memories, and times he did not. Sometimes they came unbidden. Sometimes he did not realize the information he was considering had come from that side of himself until he was well into his considerations. Sometimes he had moments where he could not clearly remember which part of him some bit of memory or knowledge came from until he paused and thought deeply enough to identify it. Those were not common. Usually he just thought of something without regard to which part of him it came from. Because regardless of the part, it was from him. It was all him, now. Where some knowledge or memory came from mattered little in the long run, as he was guardian and inheritor of it all.

…But if he could not bring himself to look within for the answer, he had three great wyrms whom he could ask. Three wyrms whom he held so dear, whom he loved, whom he knew at least cared for him back regardless of his odd status as both brother-killer and not-brother at once.)

The breeze picked up once more, tossing Estinien’s white locks to and fro. His bangs tickled his cheeks, his ponytail brushing against what part of his neck was not covered by his armor. He melted into it, slightly, relaxing the firm grip on his arms that he’d yet to drop without letting his fingers peel away. 

The clouds continued to shift. Streams of sunlight passed over Estinien and Alphinaud, peeking through the gaps in the white vapor above. They were warm, and for much of his life - particularly after the Calamity had brought eternal winter to his homeland - Estinien had thought them the most comforting touch nature could give.

But then he’d been captured by the song of the wind. And sunlight, while still nice and always appreciated, had fallen down a few pegs.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure whether the wind’s caress made him feel better or worse. It was a relief, in part. Part of what he sought. But it was also a reminder of what he did not have. What he had never truly had. What had been taken; what he had lost.

Then it surrounded him again, and he was reminded of the conclusion he’d always made since that itch beneath his skin had first arisen: it was a gift. Even if he could not ascend to greet it in the heavens, it could come down to greet him, reminding him that it had not forgotten him, that he had not been entirely abandoned.

He bit his lip to hold back a chuckle. There he was, acting as if the wind was some sentient being. It had no feelings. Surely it didn’t. How disturbed was he to let his mind wander so? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. What a place for them to go.

A fulm away, Alphinaud had taken up a thoughtful expression of his own, lips pursed and eyes slightly narrowed. “Did Nidhogg ever partner with any dragoons? Back before Thordan and the Knights Twelve…” Alphinaud shrugged, the words following his trail obvious enough he had no need to say them, once more helping bring Estinien out of a spiraling reverie. He was too polite. Allowing Estinien to stand and stare for Fury knew how long, captured in thoughts he could have had anywhere in the world when not on a mission or with a friend standing before him.

“No.”

Estinien’s answer was short and firm. Near devoid of emotion, though a hint of anger had seeped into that otherwise blank response. It was a simple fact.

He had never forgiven man for what they had made of Bahamut and Tiamat. He had not always fought them, but that didn’t mean he was amicable to them. Ratatoskr was the one so enamored with men, and Hraesvelgr somewhat so after the birth of his beloved Shiva, though he never cared so much for them as he did his heart. Nidhogg dealt with them because they were members of his star. Midgardsormr had once been its guardian, and Nidhogg had appointed himself its protector in his father’s stead. He tolerated man begrudgingly. When Ratatoskr had approached him with her precious elezen, showing off a new form of unified combat that she was so proud of, Nidhogg had scoffed at her. She was inviting danger, he’d said. He scolded her and said he’d take no part in her venture. He thought it doomed to fail, even as the dragoons multiplied and more and more members of Ratatoskr’s brood found themselves paired with men who dared approach the heavens they were never meant to occupy. But he never stopped her - for she was his dear sister, and he loved her, and much as it angered him to see the corrupt men who had brought about two of his siblings’ downfall get so close to one he loved, he could not bring himself to force her to stop. For she was clearly happy with her little alliance. And who was he to destroy that happiness? It had hurt him when he warned her to stay away from such a traitorous race and saw the hurt flicker in her eyes, an ache manifesting itself in her breast, so much so that he’d have taken back his words had he not been any more devoted to his duty as the star’s protector and any more sure of his obligation to warn his sister against any possible sources of harm.

And then the worst had come to past. Beyond the worst. Until it had occurred, Nidhogg had thought not even the worst of men capable of such horrific treachery.

So Nidhogg had never allowed a man on his back. No dragoon would ever stand upon his scales, save the few Azures who managed to Jump high enough to land for a few seconds before being flung to the ground from the force of Nidhogg’s motions. 

The original dragoons were not allowed on because of their potential for betrayal, and for the sins of their race.

Once Ratatoskr died at the hands of her precious elezen and the first Azure tore out Nidhogg’s Eyes, no later dragoon was allowed on because of their history of betrayal, and the sins of their forefathers. 

Never again would Nidhogg so much as tolerate man. It did not matter what any of his surviving siblings said, not that any had the courage or idiocy to approach him in an attempt to change his ways. Men had proven their treachery time and time again. They deserved only suffering.

Estinien’s grip tightened once more as a millennium-old rage set his blood boiling, increasing bit by bit until he felt giving himself any more room to think would leave him with a bloody lip and potentially dented armor from how hard he was gripping and biting down in an attempt to keep himself from doing- something. 

It was over. All creatures were capable of betrayal. All those with conscious thought. Was man to forever be beholden to the sins of his forebearers? 

They should atone, certainly. To continue wrongs because one did not know their source did not make them right. Amends had to be made.

But who was he to judge and spite man for what it had done when he’d spent so much of his life taking part in the violent lie? Serving as the head of it, in his time as Azure Dragoon. Haldrath, Thordan, and the rest of the Knights Twelve did not deserve forgiveness. But the man of the present was not that of the past, and letting his anger overcome him at their doings would present him little benefit. He was working to make amends. He did not deserve forgiveness, but he could still devote his life to trying to make up for at least some of what he’d done. 

Another deep breath. He could deal with these emotions. With their source. He’d been practicing.

“Ratatoskr was the one who helped form the dragoons,” Estinien finally explained, distinctly not looking at Alphinaud, who was clearly growing more and more concerned the longer Estinien’s pauses went on. “She was ever a lover of man. She wanted to share the skies with them. And when they took the skies from her, they would never experience them again. Not as they once had.” His voice softened. “No airship can capture what it felt like to fly on a creature meant to live in the air. Not fully. Not in a way anywhere near satisfying enough.”

Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. “Not even the manacutter? You seemed to…well. Perhaps enjoy that is not the right word. But I don’t think it was entirely terrible, and from what I understand you’ve used it on more than one occasion since leaving the Aery.”

Estinien laughed, more a snort than anything. “The manacutter is even more confined than an airship, which is far more confined than the back of a dragon. Less wind on your skin, or on the armor a dragoon wears as if a second layer.”

He did feel far more in control when on a manacutter than when on an airship. That was nice. It touched at one of the things he was missing, even when on the back of Tiamat or Vrtra - moments which he treasured for the calm and elation they’d brought. But it was an exchange - a benefit for a loss. There was no perfect solution.

Alphinaud nodded, then perked up as an idea came to him. “Tell me, does Vrtra ever go out to survey Thavnair? Whether to visit his people or just to get a taste of the outdoors now that he needn’t fear being exposed for who he is?”

Estinien raised an eyebrow. “He does.” Though not nearly often enough, in Estinien’s opinion. He didn’t even have to do anything when he went out- he just needed to leave that confined room at least once a day during the periods he was awake. It wasn’t healthy to stay in so long, and the wounds from where Vrtra had pried off his own scales had long since healed so the acceptability of that excuse had come and gone.

Alphinaud’s expression brightened, back straightening as he made himself taller in his excitement. “You should ask to join him then! I know you may be leaving for a time, but when you return I’m sure he’d be happy to let you on his back. Though he may not have been the most keen on it the first time, I think he looked as though he’d enjoyed himself when he let you off. If you asked him to take you with him, I’m sure he’d say yes. You might even propose a few extra outings of your own…? Some people like to go on hikes while they chat; why not fly instead? Dragons seem so graceful in the sky, I can’t imagine it takes that much more energy than walking.” Alphinaud proposed.

It didn’t. It took less for most, actually.

But this time Estinien did snort, a wide grin overtaking him. “Ah yes, let me just teleport back to Radz-at-Han and waltz straight up to Vrtra’s room, telling him I miss flying and demanding he take me for a ride because I’m incapable of doing so myself. I’m sure it will go over swimmingly.”

A blush overtook Alphinaud’s cheeks, the boy spluttering his response. The sight only widened Estinien’s smile. Fury the boy was fun to tease.

“I- I didn’t say you should order him to take you, just that he might be amiable to you asking!” Alphinaud cried, cheeks puffed in a hilarious pout. Then he cleared his throat, taking a moment to collect himself. “But yes, I agree - it will go over swimmingly. He clearly likes you. Why not do a friend a favor? Especially if he has something to gain from it himself, as I imagine it can’t be comfortable to remain confined for so long. I can’t imagine he dislikes flying.”

“Any dragon who dislikes flying does not have wings. They choose their forms by the aether they surround themselves with, and so if they detested flight they would not have chosen wind as one of their favored. ‘Tis in a wyrm’s nature to love the skies and to take flight. To embrace the wind with all their being. Most dragons who cannot are several generations removed from the first brood, or have been forced to take grounded forms to protect a certain cause…”

Images of the armored dragons of Ultima Thule passed through his mind. Dead walking. The lost. Forsaken. The wind had abandoned them.

There were flightless dragons on the Source- on Etheirys too. But they were different. Things were different. The two could not be compared.

(And oh, how it hurt to think of what he had seen there. So many dragons bereft of hope. Their young dead or corrupted, the tiny bodies of dragonets decaying in shells from which they had not properly hatched, the fetid smell of it filling the air as its sorrow permeated every ilm of Estinien’s being. 

None deserved what they had been through. 

First, the death of their own. Then the corruption of their young. Then the permanence of the reminder of all they had lost, all that had been taken, all that would never come again.

The wind had abandoned them. Their people were gone, and their lifeblood had gone alongside it. No wonder they found little strength to hope. Several of the armored dragons had lasted somewhat longer, less connected to that wondrous force. But even they must have missed the feel of the wind on their backs, which should have been lesser on the ground but never entirely gone until their end had come to claim them.

And that was a heartbreaking thing.)

“The wind…” Alphinaud breathed, voice barely audible as some realization slotted itself into this voice. “...How long have you felt like this? So…out of place?”

A good question. One that Estinien had no good answer for.

He sighed, a slight aura of apathy coming over him. “It depends on what you mean by ‘this.’ The last time I was truly at peace was when Ferndale still stood. The last moment I had before something other began to disturb me was the moment before I was chosen by the Eye of Nidhogg.” As the words poured out of him, Estinien realized how odd his life was, for him to be pouring out his life story to a teenager, who just so happened to be one of his closest companions. He’d ask where things had gone so askew, but he was in the midst of explaining it, wasn’t he? And Alphinaud had seen more than most men would in a lifetime. He was no child, even if he hadn’t enough years on him to have surpassed the height of most hyur yet. He was mature enough to hear and at least try to understand. “The wrongness of that was hardly noticeable back then. At least, it faded after a sennight or so into something more bearable, flaring when I let something bother me and emotions I tried to repress threatened to bubble back to the surface. Then came my falter in Azys Lla, and-” moons of being held hostage in a mix of everlasting terror and fury and momentary joy as his form got to experience something it never should have but its creator adored, contorted into that of Nidhogg’s as it was, “-afterward, I was left feeling…” Another sigh. “No words can describe it. Wrong.” 

“And it only worsened after Ultima Thule,” Alphinaud stated. It wasn’t a question. Not by the inflection in his voice, or the knowing look in those bright eyes. He was getting at something.

“Changed,” Estinien corrected. Worsened could be a word for it, he supposed. But he felt that implied it was the same sort of feeling, only intensified. It was different, now. More intense, yes. But the allure of the heavens wasn’t the same. The way it pulled at him wasn’t the same. Now it almost felt like something in him responded . It sang to him, and something in him sang back, even as his lips stayed shut tight, not a sound escaping.

“I felt off for a few days too, after Ultima Thule,” Alphinaud began, some of the confidence fading from his voice. “Just slightly. And it went away. But I have an idea that when our aether was scattered, something happened to us. Alisaie and I went together, and I swear we’ve been on even more of the same wavelength than we normally are since then. My guesses as to where she is when we’re apart are almost never wrong anymore, and we’ve come to the same realization at almost the exact same moment more often than even twins who’ve had the same education and developed the same sort of methods of thought should.” Alphianud’s voice broke, barely a whisper, only audible because the wind had once again shifted to blow from his back towards Estinien. “But you didn’t go with anyone else. When you left us, you turned into the wind. ”

The breeze shifted once more. Or rather, suddenly increased in intensity for a moment before dying back into something faster than it had originally been, but not so close to knocking them over as it had been a moment before when Alphinaud said his piece and then nearly careened into Estinien.

When Alphinaud stabilized himself, that knowing look was back on his face. And Estinien let a out a dry laugh out at that. That obvious, was it?

The wind. Always the wind. Of course the wind.

He took a step toward the merlons of the wall, releasing the grip he had on his arms in order to latch onto the stone instead. 

His upper body drifted forward toward the Sea of Clouds, nearly everything from the waist up hanging over oblivion. Memories of his day as Azure Dragoon and bearer of Nidhogg’s Eye came back to him, of times when his will faltered and the wyrm tried to subtly influence him to throw himself out to the mercy of gravity and a free fall. If he had given in, would Nidhogg have taken him over and given him the wings to escape, losing his mind and self in the process? Or was it simply an attempt on Nidhogg’s part to wretch his missing Eye from the Ishgardians’ grasp, hoping either he or one of his spawn could collect the Eye from the chasm below once it had left the hands of living men? 

The wind continued to blow. Estinien shut the world out, concentrating only on the air before him. 

He could feel it there. More than just a touch. More than just a physical thing. He was no expert on aether, but he had an idea he was sensing the traces of it in the air, or that perhaps his own aether was simply manipulating the wind even if the wind itself had no strong aether in it. Perhaps it would be a good idea to ask Y’shtola or Krile about it. Aether was certainly in all living beings. But did nonliving entities have it as well? With what he felt at the moment he assumed there had to be at least a hint of something, but for all he knew he could have been projecting. 

When Estinien next spoke, his voice was quiet. Serious. Sincere. “No dragon should live in a world without the wind to guide them. How are they to know their way? How are they to understand what it means to be a dragon? A creature born of the heavens, even if they at some point make the decision to remain on land - something done only out of necessity, not a wish to lose their connection to the skies and all its wonders.” He took a breath. “I knew what had to be done, and I was happy to play my part in it. Thancred had paved the way, and it was clear to me what needed to happen so that our world could be saved. So the Warrior and you and the others could proceed. I wasn’t sure how it would manifest- it was just a wish to provide you with a way forward.” Quieter still, voice so quiet that if he hadn’t wished for Alphinaud to hear, if the direction of the breeze hadn’t shifted once more so that his words were carried over to his companion, the words would have only been made known to himself. “But I couldn’t stand the smell.”

They were so small. They hadn’t deserved to die before being hatched. No life at all, fetid and rotting. Even had there been wind, their wings would never have soared upon it, their fragile bodies never taken flight.

“I wished to help you all, but I yearned to help the dragons-” his people “-all the same. If there was a way I could convince them there was still a reason to live, remind them of the joys they had once experienced, show them the strength of their legacy as it lived on in Etheirys…” He laughed, bitter and short. “Midgardsormr had soared through the heavens, the true heavens, to reach our world. To reach a land where the breeze still flowed, where the skies were his to rule and bask in. His eggs hatched, healthy and capable, and his children were able to experience the wonder of the skies and its winds too. Perhaps if the wind were to flow for those dying dragons, they might find a spark of life too. Perhaps if the stench of rot was carried away, the would be able to move on and create songs of hope rather than sorrow. Move on, rebuild their broods, or at least not sit and wallow in suffering as they were, even if they did not find it in themselves to take action. If only they could see their doom was not as certain as they believed it to be-”

He cut himself off. His voice had gone from a faint whisper to a near-shout. Any louder and he’d risk drawing the attention of any who’d felt like wandering from the main path regardless of the way the wind blew, and he didn’t feel like dealing with that. His emotions were enough of a mess as it was. 

Was the stabbing pain in his breast the part of him that was Nidhogg rising to the top? Was the crushing force clutching his heart the remnant of Nidhogg mourning the family he had never known? Was it Nidhogg seeing his siblings and children in the eyes and faces of the husks, dead and barely alive enough to be called living, that remained in Ultima Thule? Or was it Estinien? Was the fire in his blood brought by a wyrm’s familial bonds, or by empathy that any man might have over seeing such a tragic scene, hearing such choking grief from those left behind? Was it him as Estinien imagining Orn Khai lying there, prone and cold, the stench of decay rising from his body as Estinien stood helpless, knowing there was naught he could do for the dragonet whose life had been cut far, far too short? Was it him as Estinien thinking of what it felt like to have monsters fly down from the sky, raining down death and destruction until all that he knew and loved had been taken from him? Was it him as Estinien and Nidhogg both being overtaken by the all-consuming grief and rage and thirst for revenge that was being left behind, hope so close on the horizon and yet ultimately unattainable as they wondered why they had been the ones who were left when what they held most precious had been stolen from them?

“The wind would be their salvation, if naught else. My words could not convince them, much as I tried. Stubbornness runs in the blood of wyrms, no matter the star they reside upon. Fury knows it does. They had grown tired of suffering, and in their exhaustion abandoned all hope that aught might improve.

“And so I gave myself that you and your companions might move forward, and that those dragons who remained might move forward as well. Even if I could not forestall their impending doom, even if I could not bring the spark that would lead to their rebirth, I could prove to them that there was still a reason to try. That that which they loved was not forever unattainable, that even if they were so resigned to death they couldn’t escape it, at least they could go with a taste of what they once had on their lips, its sweet touch caressing their scales and wings…”

Let the wind bring them their salvation.

Let the winds carry the Warrior and Alphinaud and their companions to the next stage, so that Etheirys and those he held dear might have a future.

Let the winds soar throughout the pale, remnant imitation of the Dragonstar, so that the dragons might be reminded of the reason they once lived, and be graced with hope for a reclamation of glorious days long thought lost. 

There was still hope. Midgardsormr had succeeded, his children and their broods proliferating throughout his star, even if many of them no longer soared through its skies.

And let Estinien find himself soaring with them, let him finally give in to the ever-present tug in his heart that urged him to take to the sky, to soar with wings his elezen form did not and could not bear. Let his companions journey forth so that they might slay their enemy and find their peace. Let his (his) kin be allowed to reminisce on their days of peace and joy so that they might find the strength to enjoy life once more. Let his heart satiate its longing, let the peace that had been ripped from him at the tender age of twelve, never to be fully returned despite the death of his enemy and the end of the war, make its way to the depths of his soul so that he might finally rest in acceptance of a life full of misdeeds, but containing enough rights that he felt at least part of his legacy might do some good.

And then he did.

His aether was scattered unto the heavens, his very being made into pinpricks of life and energy and wind which his heart, his very soul had yearned for for so long. His friends were given a path forward. The dragons were given a reminder of why they had once loved life. His peace was attained, knowing he had done all he could. 

And then he was brought back.

And he hadn’t been upset by that. He had half wondered, something in him even before the sacrifice entertaining the thought that that might not be the end, that the Warrior had pulled off enough miracles that it was entirely possible they might conjure up some way to return him and Thancred to them. He hadn’t counted on it though. He hadn’t given himself to the aether and the dragons and the wind because he believed his sacrifice would only be momentary. He’d dismissed the thought until he found himself standing in a field of glowing flowers, the ache in his breast replaced with contentment and a determination to finish what they had started and a fire that always alighted when the prospect of combat against a strong foe presented itself. 

He had ever been a fighter. Both of them. And they would do all they could to protect Etheirys, for they had made it their job, hadn’t they? 

Estinien wasn’t nearly as devoted to the cause as Nidhogg had once been. He didn’t consider himself Etheirys’ primary protector. He was just doing his part to protect the star he called home, using what strength he had to further his cause and the efforts of those who had called upon him to fight beside them. Nidhogg was the one who had thought himself guardian of the star in ages past, a designation that had fallen by the wayside in the face of his grief and fury following Ratatoskr’s death.

But Estinien was more than happy to come back for one final battle in the fight for Etheirys and the universe at large.

He had once lost all he held dear. But new things had arisen to replace them. And he wasn’t going to - couldn’t possibly allow some monster to take them away from him. 

The world had been dealt enough suffering. He would not stand for more to be added on top of that.

And besides - as he stood among the field of flowers, aether returned to his form, made whole once more, he could feel the wind continuing on without him. All it needed was a push. A reminder that it had once blown. Estinien’s sacrifice, impermanent as it had been, was enough to return the Umbral Winds to a land once bereft of breeze and air’s natural flows. He could ask for no more. 

When they had returned to Etheirys, Estinien was content. His time with the wind had brought him peace. Calm. It satiated the hunger in his soul more deeply than any days-long jumping attempts or mountain climbs or airship forays or even dragon rides ever had. It was wonderful. He hadn’t known it possible to feel so… right.

But then, a few days after his return, that tug began to return. 

It was subtle at first. Something was bugging him ever so slightly. He couldn’t identify it though, and so chose to ignore it, assuming it would go away. But of course it didn’t, and a fortnight later that pull was as distinct as it had ever been, except with the addition of a sort of resonance from something within calling to that without. A resonance likely caused by what he suspected might have been wind-aspected aether that resided within him. 

Was it dangerous to have such a leaning? From what he understood, the people of the First transformed into monsters called Sin Eaters because of an imbalance that left their Aether shifting dangerously toward Light. If his aether had become too wind aspected, would it have an actual effect on him too? Something that manifested itself in some permanent, unpleasant way? If it was just the feeling…he could deal with it. He was no stranger to discomfort. To shoving away something that tried to claw at his mind and body and control. 

(Though mayhap he’d come to accept it as a part of himself, different but still him. Just as he had Nidhogg. They were not one and the same. There was not a separate consciousness there, Nidhogg’s spirit dead and gone, but the memories and knowledge and feelings that the great wyrm had held had been passed on to the man who had originally inhabited the body Nidhogg had taken as vessel, and while there had been a period in which Estinien refused to acknowledge that part of himself, had refused to accept what that meant, he’d since come to terms with what he carried, what he guarded, the legacy which he’d been entrusted with and was determined to uphold in a way that did honor to them both. 

Could he come to terms with the wind too? Find similarities between himself and something that had no past, that had no shared experiences, no shared feelings, no shared knowledge, no shared desires, for it had no consciousness to hold it all? 

Could he reconcile his wishes with that of the subject of his dreams? Let the churning desire in his gut take hold of that inside-outside presence and bloom around the foundation it had laid? 

Something within him said yes. He was meant to embrace the wind. It would not corrupt him, for it was meant to exist alongside him. Within him.

He did not have to wonder what that something was, for how could he not know? How obvious it was. How right.)

“Once, for a few bells, I may have found myself among the clouds, one with the wind,” Estinien began, the breeze kissing his cheeks as it passed him by, definitely not of his own influence at least this time, “but as it stands, I’m a man. Not some manifestation of air or its motions. Some part of me longs for its embrace, but it isn’t as if I can’t find it on the ground.” It was better in the sky, yes. But he could make do. Couldn’t he?

“Should I speak to Krile or Y’shtola and ask them to check on your aether? See if there’s anything that-”

Estinien cut him off. “There’s no need.” He’d rather not subject himself to whatever their analysis might entail. Or whatever solution their analysis might lead them to try to find. He’d had enough of their torment, enough of their judgment over things they did not and could not understand.

Then again, had he ever really attempted to make them understand? Ever opened himself up to them and given them what resources they needed? He’d felt like a tool when Krile and Tataru first came to him and had never shaken the feeling off. He did what he was asked, for he’d understood the urgency in their voices and the further he got into his assignment the more he saw the need for his actions. Yet his discomfort with letting strangers into his life had prevented him from ever allowing himself to consider they might think of him as more than just that. Maybe, now that he’d been a Scion for a time, now that he had a chance to talk to them… if he could be honest, it might not be completely unpleasant. There was the potential for good there. Maybe.

Estinien wet his lips, continuing. “At least, not for now. As I said earlier, I can live with it. I’ll be fine.” Or so he claimed. But did he believe it?

There was a part of him that didn’t want to lose the feeling, as unpleasant as it could somehow be. Because for all the discomfort it caused, there were also those moments of peace, those moments of reassurance and solace where the wind’s presence made him feel as though all was right. The silent ‘I miss you’ of the wind’s caress, the not-so silent ‘welcome’ of its cries. The song of the wind and the response from his soul. 

“If you say so,” Alphinaud responded. By the slowness of his voice and tone in which he responded, he didn’t seem to believe what he said. Estinien almost wished the boy would press him more.

Instead Estinien huffed, taking a step forward to set a hand on Alphinaud’s head and ruffle his hair. His palm stopped higher than it used to. The boy had grown. “You have enough to worry about- you needn’t burden yourself with my troubles too. I’m no child, nor some helpless man unsure of what his problem is or how to deal with it. I’ll find some way to bring myself peace. And if I don’t, then I promise to come back to you or the Scions with a request for aid. Does that satisfy you?”

With a yelp of “hey!” Alphinaud gently pulled Estinien’s hand off his head, taking a moment to fix his bangs. Then he cleared his throat, straightening his back to return to that prim and proper look. When he spoke, his tone was far more assertive than Estinien had anticipated. “To be quite frank, no. Remember Estinien, you have many comrades who care about you and don’t wish to see you suffer. Don’t be scared to share the burden- we’ve offered to help you carry it for a reason. You needn’t wait until you’re at your breaking point. We want to help you, Estinien. All of us do. You’re more dear to us than you know, and part of being a friend is helping friends when they’re in need. Think on it. Please.”

“Hmm,” Estinien hummed as response.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his gaze out toward the sky.

There, curling about the other side of the mountain, were the dragons from before. This time soaring toward Ishgard, though they maintained a healthy distance. Now that they were closer Estinien could confirm his earlier suspicion - the light one was of Hraesvelgr’s brood, the dark of Nidhogg’s. The color wasn’t really what solidified that knowledge. Instead it was the thrum in his brood at the proximity of a member of his- of his brood. Only one. Which defined the other.

A smile made its way onto his lips. How happy they looked in the sky. How joyous they were as they flew and played together.

True camaraderie and peace. Satisfaction and happiness brought by the air and by each other’s company.

He thought back to Alphinaud’s words. Comrades who cared for him, those who were willing and eager to share his burdens. 

Did they, really? Were they, really?

Thinking back to how the Scions had treated him the past few moons, thinking back to all the other comrades and allies Estinien had encountered and made along the way…the evidence pointed to yes. Getting himself to admit that was hard. His heart didn’t want to accept that idea. He’d spent too long trying to distance himself. Those moments he let others in close were always sparked with a brief panic, even though he’d gotten better at repressing it and allowing himself to accept the help and happiness it brought. Alphinaud was one of the few who’d gotten close enough to skip the panic altogether.

And here he was, listening to Estinien wax on about his woes, doing his best to offer a solution. 

The more he thought on it, the more he realized Alphinaud was right. What good would it do him to go on through life permanently burdened by a discomfort which would never leave? How long would it be until he cracked? It was entirely possible he might never crack, that he could potentially carry it for a perhaps slightly-uncomfortable but otherwise bearable life. Not ideal, but survivable. 

But it was entirely possible he would crack some day. He didn’t want to think about how that crack might manifest. That was not a future Estinien wished to deal with. Not when the potential solutions to such an issue could potentially be found by something simple as a few short requests. Exposing his vulnerabilities to place such requests wouldn’t be fun, but if he could deal with the discomfort of the pull for so long, he could surely deal with the discomfort of having to ask a question or two of those who might be able to help. Especially if saying nothing would only hurt those around him by allowing them to watch him suffer, as Alphinaud had said. His burdens were his own to bear. He did not want to create entirely separate and potentially heavier burdens for others to bear because he could not rid himself of his own load. If sharing a burden was the only way to eliminate it and prevent the creation of burdens for other…

And so his mind was made up.

“Perhaps I will listen to your suggestion,” Estinien finally acquiesced, tearing his eyes away from the playing pair to address Alphinaud. He supposed the boy had won. Because of course it would when it came to a game of logic and reason. 

His options presented themself once again. Talking to Krile and Y’shtola would require more explanation and exposure than Estinien was willing to give at the moment, but they weren’t his only options. One was far more likely to understand the situation, newer (and older) a companion he may be. 

He raised his voice, going back to one of Alphinaud’s earlier comments. “Vrtra spends far too much time within the confines of Radz-at-Han. The more he gets out to see his people and enjoy the gifts of the open skies and land alike, the more confident he’ll feel, I’m sure. It does the soul good to spend time with nature- and for a winged dragon, the skies are the best part of nature of all. I’ll decide when I get to it whether I tell him he needs to take me so I can ensure he’s doing as I say, or whether I’m outright about my reasons. If I miss the skies and the open winds this much, I can’t imagine what he must be feeling. It’ll do the both of us some good.”

Even just admitting what the feeling was had taken a load off Estinien’s chest. Like the winds had responded to his honesty and had brought him some measure of peace. Standing out on the parapets where they could batter- embrace his form had already done him much good. But the admission had been even better. 

Yes. He could learn to live with it. He certainly could. Already the relief came flooding in. Acceptance had a way of doing that, and the prospect of going back up to greet the skies with Vrtra had his heart almost racing. How lovely it would be.

“I’m glad to hear it!” Alphinaud cheered back. He wore a smile of his own. “Do let me know what he says. You know how to call me on Linkpearl, right? If not I can call you, and you need only-”

“Estinien!” a new voice called out, cutting Alphinaud off as the two men turned to the source of the voice.

There on the street below was Aymeric, hands on his knees, chest heaving, and looking as though he’d just sprinted a malm.

“Oh thank the Fury I caught you before you could run off again,” Aymeric breathed, hiking over to the stairs Alphinaud had ascended earlier. He kept walking until he reached the two of them, stopping to straighten his coat and run a hand through his hair. It was even more wind-tossed than its usual curls. “When I left my office for a breath of fresh air Firmalbert told me you had been by but had run off when you heard I’d been occupied, and I’d worried you’d departed before I had the chance to see you. Full glad am I to see that’s not the case,” he explained, eyes bright as he looked at Estinien. He took a brief break from his look to give a nod and greeting to Alphinaud, who returned the expression.

“I think I’ll be taking my leave then,” Alphinaud said, backing away a few steps. “I have a few stops I want to make in the Jeweled Crozier before I return to Garlemald, so I’ll leave you to it. May our paths cross again soon.”

Aymeric smiled. “You’re always welcome in Ishgard, Alphinaud. If you ever wish to meet with me, you need only call. Or even just arrive, and I promise to make time for you.”

“Of course,” Alphinaud responded. When he reached the top of the steps he paused. Then, turning around, he addressed Estinien. “Please keep my words in mind. You needn’t shoulder the burden yourself, and if there is aught I can do for you - for this reason or any other - know that I am more than happy to lend a hand. Until next time.”

Then Alphinaud turned back and walked down the stairs, a minute later turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

When Estinien looked back to Aymeric, one eyebrow was cocked, a curious expression on his face. “May I ask what you spoke of? Or is it something you’d rather remain between the two of you?”

Estinien bit his lip. Exposing so much of himself once in one day had been taxing enough. To do it twice?

Worry was creased into Aymeric’s brow. He cared much for Estinien. As did Estinien care for Aymeric in return.

And he had essentially just promised Alphinaud to be more open, hadn’t he? Not in those exact words, but that was the idea that had been conveyed. To share his burdens with those who wished to help him with them. And Aymeric, his oldest friend, had always been open to doing just that. Had begged almost as much as Alphinaud, though he’d been more subtle about it.

So Estinien spoke. “You may, but I have a question for you first - if I were to wish to send you some fabrics, would you prefer something for warmer weather, or something with a bit more insulation? I’ve found something I think you might enjoy, but it isn’t necessarily suited for the Ishgardian outdoors…”

And so they spoke, of things little and large. And all the while the wind blew around them, from a breeze to a gale, and Estinien found himself content.