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The laughter was what drew Vrtra’s attention first, high and bright, echoing across the marketplace. He’d donned Varshahn’s form only briefly, with the intention of checking in on the new armor designs the Radiant Host were adopting, and had paused to survey the rows of stalls, pleased by the return of the cheerful crowds. At one, a woman was laughing, reaching for a fruit that the shopkeeper held just out of reach. Vrtra knew them both; they were childhood friends, and had been engaged for three months. The woman had a slight limp from a childhood injury, and worked brewing dyes. The man had inherited his father’s business after his death during the Final Days. Despite this, the joy on their faces was palpable as they teased each other, and Vrtra felt the corners of his own mouth turn up in a smile to see them.
“No one drives a steeper bargain than you,” the woman was saying through peals of laughter, straining to reach the bright orange fruit that the man held just out of reach.
“You wound me,” the man teased back, “this is a bargain! Everyone else I ask for coin– from you I ask for just a kiss.”
Both spoke as if this was a running joke with years of history, and after a moment longer the man lowered his hand, holding the fruit out to the woman. She took it, and then grabbed the collar of his vest with her other hand, pulling him in for a kiss that they both laughed into.
Startled, Vrtra took a step back, bumping into one of the stalls just behind him, and tore his gaze away. This was hardly the first mortal kiss he’d been witness to over the years, and yet…
There were limitations to what this form could feel, but he could feel the simulated fluids in Varshahn’s veins pumping, could feel himself biting his tongue. The way they’d joked back and forth, the tenderness in the way she’d pulled him close… he touched the lips of his vessel with cool fingers. Were they this smooth because of this body’s artificial nature? He pictured them chapped from brisk winds, broader perhaps, tilting in a smile under his fingertips…
A warning jolted through his body as he bit through his tongue, and he snapped out of his daydream. He could feel now, within Varshahn’s mouth, the way his tongue was still and unresponsive– it wasn’t the first time he’d damaged a vessel with careless behavior, but what a silly way for it to happen. Vrtra shook his head, pushing all thoughts of lips not his own from his mind, and turned to weave his way through the crowd. He would have to pay a visit to the High Crucible today after all.
The alchemists looked up with delight when he entered, although their expressions turned to alarm when he tried to greet them and all that came out was a formless noise. Vrtra frowned, and with hand gestures requested paper and pen. There had been a time, when he’d first worked with his most brilliant people thousands of years ago to develop his first simulacrum, when they had been incapable of speech, and he’d spoken through his hands if at all. His simulacrums then had been clumsy and difficult to control, and no one could deny that the techniques had progressed with the years. He threw a longing look toward a sealed door across the room where a current project progressed much slower than he’d like, but he knew he must attend to the matter at hand first. He wrote his current issue with Varshahn’s tongue down on the paper provided, thinking of how the ability to hold a pen would have been difficult with one of his older bodies.
“Bitten through the tongue?” the alchemist exclaimed when he handed her the paper, “However did you manage that?”
One of Vrtra’s hands fluttered in the air in response, as if to say, does it matter? Truly, he did not want to explain that he’d been so consumed with thoughts of a certain mortal’s mouth that he’d forgotten what was happening in his own.
“I’ll need to take a look,” the alchemist told him, and Vrtra obediently opened mouth so that they could peer inside. “Looks like a clean cut,” they said, “did you fall?” Again, the hand flutter, but they weren’t paying attention to anything but the damage. “We’ll probably have to borrow Varshahn for a day or two. Would you like to leave him here, and we can have someone convey your eye back to the Meghaduta?”
Vrtra shook his head. He wanted to check on the other project while he was here, and he didn’t much like the idea of losing track of his eye for the trip. Before he could find a way to express that he would have Varshahn delivered to the alchemists sometime that evening, she continued, “What if we flagged down your dragoon friend? I heard folk gossiping about him helping a merchant this morning, so I’m sure he’s not far.”
Vrtra shook his head again, more emphatic this time. The last thing he wanted to do was to try to explain to Estinien how he’d damaged his vessel!
The alchemist looked surprised at his vehement refusal, and that made Vrtra’s stomach do a weird little flip– he wondered why on earth they would build a simulacrum with the ability to feel queasy. Perhaps that wasn’t an intended feature at all, but more a sign of wear and tear over centuries. Why else would he feel suddenly so unmoored at her obvious assumption that he’d trust Estinien more than his own people?
He held out his hand for the paper, swallowing hard, and wrote down, I will send the vessel tonight. Thank you for your assistance as always. Then he turned his eyes toward the closed door. The alchemist laughed.
“Yes, go take a look, although it’s not much closer to being done than last time.” Her tone was fond, and perhaps not particularly respectful, although Vrtra didn’t mind. He liked it better when his children treated him with familiarity rather than reverence.
The door was locked with a mechanism that required a password, but Vrtra was well familiar with it by now, and it took only a moment to press the necessary carvings in the right configuration. The door swung open, and he entered the inner workshop.
At first glance, it looked as though the form on the worktable inside was a sleeping man, although anyone looking closer would soon see the truth. It was another simulacrum, perhaps three quarters completed, with chest and stomach opened to show the complex mechanisms within. Vrtra stood over it, touching the curved horns with one small hand. Many years ago he had chosen a child’s form for his own reasons, and that had suited his alchemists just fine; the fact that they had made his simulacrums live and breathe was a miracle in itself. It had been no issue that they had trouble harnessing the aether to power a larger form. A child was easier overlooked, and the excuse of being a messenger or aid wore better on smaller shoulders.
He had told his alchemists, months ago now, that he wished to meet the world eye-to-eye. His true identity had been revealed, and yet many (most) places weren’t built with his size in mind. If he wished to meet with other leaders, he would need a form they would respect and see as an equal.
This was true. And yet…
His fingers traced the horn to the base, brushing back strands of turquoise hair. He had chosen coloration similar to Varshahn, hoping the similarity would help people to recognize this form as an aspect of himself. The scales, too, were the same brushed green, and the eyes (which had yet to be installed, but he could see them on a side table) the same bright red.
He had spent more time than necessary on the face. Oh, he knew his people would accept and recognize him were his nose to be crooked, or his scales ill-shaped. He was not afraid of that. But he had waffled over the nose, over the jaw, over the set of the eyebrows. He knew he was being vain, and it was embarrassing beyond belief, but he wanted… he wanted…
For the third, fourth, fifth time he wondered, perhaps I should have requested that this new form be shorter . He was most comfortable with the form of an Au Ra, and with being seen as male, but even the shortest of adult men of that species were taller than an Elezen man. But perhaps that was… good?
Vrtra frowned, touching a fingertip to the bridge of the vessel’s nose, tracing the path to the tip and feeling the bump of the scales along the way. He had never before worried about whether his vessels were handsome. The beauty standards of mortals were a baffling puzzle to him, though he’d tried to make discreet inquiries as to the standards of the times. But even that wouldn’t help in the end, because it was not the eye of the average mortal he wished to catch, but…
His touch drifted to the dip below the nose, and then to the lips. As smooth and featureless as Varshahn’s. Still and unmoving like this, it was hard to believe that he would ever use them to speak. What would Estinien think , he wondered, then gasped and snatched his hand back the instant he recognized the thought.
He was acting like a lovesick youth. He shook his head briskly and turned his back on the vessel laying on the table, resisting taking one last look as he went. It would be finished when it was finished, and he was not going to cause trouble for his alchemists just because he was impatient.
As he left the inner workshop, the alchemist he’d been speaking with turned towards him, and he bowed to her in thanks. She bowed back, beaming.
“Still to your liking, then? We can always add the tail spikes if you change your mind.”
Embarrassed, Vrtra shook his head, and raised a hand in goodbye, before turning to go, his mind full of the schedule changes he would need to make now that Varshahn was out of commission.
…
In the end, Vrtra found himself pushing back a handful of non time sensitive duties to next week, to when Varshahn would presumably be fixed. This left him with several unexpected windows of free time, and though he moved some of his other meetings to fill them, he also ended up freeing up several evenings unexpectedly.
It was not because that was when Estinien visited him, of course. That was just how it worked out. Vrtra reassured himself of this fact yet again as he watched Estinien work his way through dinner. Perhaps it was because Estinien was new to Thavnair, but sometimes Vrtra thought that no one enjoyed the food here as much as he did. He’d ask questions too, as he ate, about what this or that was made of, or how it was prepared, and Vrtra was always happy to respond, eager for the chance to boast of his children’s skills.
Now, though, they lapsed into comfortable silence as Estinien worked his way through a dessert drenched in rosewater syrup. Vrtra stretched, refolding his wings as he settled back down into place.
“Is there naught you miss from Ishgardian cuisine?” Vrtra asked after a moment. Estinien paused to think, cup halfway to his mouth.
“Not really,” he said after a moment with a careless shrug. “In my travels there’s been a few things I wouldn’t mind having again if I go back, but once you’ve eaten here or in Kugane, the food back in Ishgard doesn’t exactly compare.”
Vrtra gave a pleased rumble– he liked to hear compliments on behalf of Thavnair, but he liked to hear them from Estinien even more.
Estinien leaned forward to drink and rather than respond, Vrtra watched him. Perhaps it would be more traditional to sit so they were face to face, but the table was already set up so that Vrtra’s advisors could speak to each other, with Vrtra watching over them as a whole. Plus, this arrangement allowed him to watch Estinien’s profile, which he did not at all mind doing. Estinien had never complained about the arrangement, and Vrtra wondered if he found it easier not to make eye contact as he ate. At times he did seem almost nervous, however; as Vrtra watched he set down the cup, rubbing his hand across the nape of his neck. He had his hair tied up quite high today, Vrtra noticed, and a small curl of hair had escaped in the back– Vrtra was reminded suddenly of the scene he’d witnessed in the marketplace the other day between the woman and the fruitseller, the way her hand had curled around the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair…
A palm pressed against his nose. “Vrtra,” Estinien said, his voice hoarser than usual, and Vrtra blinked, coming back to himself.
He was very close. Lost in thought, he had leaned closer and closer to Estinien, and was now barely a fulm away. Who knew what he would have done had Estinien not stopped him.
“I– My apologies,” he said hurriedly, pulling back and collecting himself. Estinien still had his hand outstretched, his head bent over his plate. In the evening light his cheeks almost looked red, a phantom flush that, if real, seemed to have spread to the tips of his ears. Vrtra hoped he hadn’t offended him.
The silence stretched between them, heavy now, and just as Vrtra was pushing himself to speak, Estinien cleared his throat.
“I saw it,” he muttered, turning his head away.
“Hm?” Vrtra couldn’t imagine what he meant. He didn’t hide much from Estinien. Or perhaps this was something even he didn’t know about? Estinien was perceptive, and he spent time with Vrtra’s people that he could not. He was always grateful for Estinien’s input.
Estinien was silent for a long moment, and then said, “I saw the new vessel.”
Vrtra reared back, his claws scrabbling on the floor. “What?! That– it’s not complete–” His mind went blank as he fumbled for excuses.
Estinien turned to face him, finally, and his face was screwed up in some emotion Vrtra couldn’t name, his cheeks blotchy and red. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he almost didn’t get the next words out, but Vrtra heard them as if he had shouted them. “The alchemists said I wasn’t supposed to see it– they said it was meant for me.”
Oh. This was it then. Estinien hated the vessel, hated everything it represented. He hated that Vrtra wanted to be close to him, that Vrtra had wanted to touch him, had wanted him– his company, his advice, his protection, his time, his heart–
Vrtra felt frozen in place. He should make an apology, a proper one, and probably move back to give Estinien some space. But somehow he couldn’t do any of those things.
Estinien was still staring at him with that painful expression, but as Vrtra stared back he groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said finally, and pushed back his chair. Then, astonishingly, rather than flee, he stepped closer. “You look like a kicked wolf pup,” Estinien told him, his voice rough but quiet, and the tension seemed to bleed out of him a little.
Perhaps it was that release of tension, or the soft tone of Estinien’s voice, but the words began to tumble from Vrtra like a waterfall.
“They were mistaken– somewhat–” he insisted, his voice stilted, his tail lashing back and forth. “I wanted to use it to attend meetings, and for when I must meet in other countries less accustomed to my form– and yes, I hoped you might find it– pleasing, I suppose,” Estinien clicked his tongue, and Vrtra didn’t know if that was good or bad, so he continued on, “perhaps, I thought, you might find such a form more comfortable–”
“You think I’m not comfortable with you like this?” Estinien interrupted, his voice cutting across Vrtra’s in what was almost a growl.
“You do not understand,” Vrtra replied, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice. He felt as though Estinien had backed him into a corner like some prey animal, like he was going to cut him open and pass judgment on what he found inside. Estinien took a step closer, and Vrtra flinched back.
“Make me understand,” Estinien demanded, moving closer still, and Vrtra knew somehow if he didn’t say it that Estinien would reach in and drag the truth out of his chest, raw and bloody.
“I can’t kiss you like this,” Vrtra rumbled. The instant the words left him he wished he could snatch them back out the air. He hated how pathetic he sounded.
The only warning Vrtra got was Estinien grabbing one of his tusks and yanking his head forward before he felt it; a strange warm pressure against the base of his horn. He made a startled noise, but Estinien didn’t stop; he felt it again at the front of his snout, and then again just above where his teeth began. Estinien leaned to the side so they could make eye contact, his grasp still firm on one of Vrtra’s tusks. “I can kiss you just fine,” he told him with a wild sort of determination that made Vrtra think Estinien also felt out of his depth, “so what are you whining about?”
It wasn’t the same as what Vrtra had seen at the market, or many times before that. He couldn’t play with Estinien’s hair, or pull him in to kiss him back, or, well, a host of many other things that might be too difficult or dangerous with their difference in size. But it still made his heart thunder away in his chest– all of it, the feeling of being kissed, Estinien’s strong grasp, the expression that Estinien was making now, like he would lose courage any second– Vrtra bumped his head against Estinien’s chest, knocking him on his ass (but gently).
“Ow, hey,” Estinien protested as Vrtra rearranged them, Estinien supported now against one of his clawed feet. He nuzzled against Estinien’s shirt again.
“Now who’s whining,” Vrtra teased him back, “Are you telling me with all your training you cannot handle a fall onto carpeted floor?”
Estinien grumbled beneath his breath, his hands rubbing up along the side of Vrtra’s head and finding handholds again so he could keep kissing him. Vrtra let him, his attention narrowing to just the spots where Estinien was pressing kisses, growing bolder by the moment. Vrtra shivered as Estinien’s fingertips pressed into his scales, and when it grew to be too much he gently shook his head free before laying it down again so that the edge of his jaw lay across Estinien’s lap. Estinien was breathing heavily, and his narrow face had gone that blotchy red again.
“I still intend to use my new vessel when it is complete,” Vrtra told him after they’d both had a moment to catch their breath. “My children have worked hard. I don’t wish to tell them that all of their efforts have been for naught.”
Estinien sighed. “That’s fine. I’m not mad about the vessel. I was angry that you thought you needed it. That I wouldn’t… care for you without it.” He ground the last few words out from between clenched teeth, an effort so obvious that Vrtra rumbled with laughter.
“I should have known from the legends that the great Estinien, gentle hearted and gregarious in every way, would not be swayed by my fearsome appearance,” Vrtra told him, his tone lighthearted, but Estinien scowled at him.
“You’re not fearsome,” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch at the side of Vrtra’s jaw. “And that’s not what people say about me.”
Vrtra gave a grave hum. “You know not the stories I hear of you,” he said, “my people say that you are brave and swift on the battlefield, and generous with your coin, and of course extremely handsome–”
“They do not say that,” Estinien interjected, red-faced, and Vrtra could not help but laugh.
While he still looked forward to the completion of his new vessel, he found the ache of impatience lessened now. It was hard to wish for tomorrow when today he had Estinien right here in front of him, bashful but bold, and entirely unafraid.