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"Ow.”
Aymeric smiled at the almost perfunctory grunt of pain from his companion, who was hardly the chatty sort anyroad, and less likely to admit to weakness. Not that Aymeric considered reacting to pain a weakness, but Estinien frequently seemed to be of the mind that anything other than stoic silence was weakness. It wasn’t that he was cold or unfeeling, rather, Aymeric could see a man possessed of too many emotions, and keeping them in check meant shutting all of them down. He put down the rag he’d been using to clean the gash on Estinien’s arm and examined the wound now that the excess blood and dirt was gone. It was still bleeding, yes, but it was red, healthy blood, it wasn’t exactly gushing.
“Mine apologies, friend,” he said, “but I shall be causing you more discomfort in a moment. This is too much for a simple pressure bandage, this will need stitching.”
Groaning at the inconvenience of it all, Estinien grabbed his bag with his (mostly) undamaged hand and dragged it over, rummaging in the side pocket where all Temple Knights were to keep medical supplies, so that in the case of an emergency, one wouldn’t have to faff about with rummaging under filthy socks and smalls, one’s lunch rations, and other odd and ends that a soldier tended to accumulate during their travel. Particularly at the bottom of said bag. A needle and thread were retrieved and handed over, and he put his chin in his hand in a huff. It wasn’t that he was angry at Aymeric or the like, rather, he was annoyed at himself for such novice errors that allowed him to get clawed up so badly. He was better than that! It had been limited to a few slashes on his arm, but on his dominant side, and though he took great pride in being self-sufficient, he was NOT going to fuck about with trying to stitch closed something like that with his off-hand.
“Thanks,” he grunted, sighing at himself for having lost focus and made a total bother (and fool!) of himself, “at least nobody else was there to see that.”
“I too am grateful, for no others were able to witness your elegant prowess as well. I confess to being slightly possessive in wanting you all for myself.” He smiled at the way a blush went all the way to Estinien’s eartips, and the man very pointedly looked away. Again, it wasn’t that Estinien was displeased, he was simply not accustomed to expressing satisfaction at being complimented. “Here, put a bit of pressure on it for the moment while I get this ready.”
He pressed the rag against the wound with more force than he’d been using to clean it, but as pressure, not abrasion, and Estinien put his own hand over it while Aymeric threaded the needle, humming to himself as he did the mental math for how much he’d need. “...You’ve got a good hand for it,” Estinien said, “I’d rather be put back together by you than the ham-fisted chirurgeons back at the barracks. Did your mother teach you how to sew?” This wasn’t an insult, it was a genuine question of curiosity, and Aymeric couldn’t help smiling at the compliment.
“She did, yes, among other skills. Piano, for another. Though our status grants us some small amount of house staff, she believes that one should cultivate basic life skills. It builds character, and one never knows when such things will be useful. This, for example!”
“Hmph, I doubt that knowing how to play the piano serves you very well out here,” Estinien replied, with one of his rare smiles, and Aymeric laughed.
“It does not, not, but cooking has done wonders when out training! Though I almost wish I’d never said anything, I so often get stuck with cooking duty.” He gestured for Estinien to move his hand so that the rag could be removed, and the wound inspected one last time. “But the squad does appreciate it, and their smiles do make the effort worthwhile. I’m going to begin, let me know if it’s too much.”
“I already got torn up, it’s not like this can hurt more- Gah!” Wincing at the sharp sting of the needle piercing flesh, he looked away. It wasn’t that he was upset by the sight, one made for a poor soldier if they got a bit queasy at the sight of blood, but it would keep him from flinching. And while the needle did technically hurt, it was something that he could tune out now that he knew what to expect. He’d meant it, too, Aymeric had surprisingly skilled and gentle hands, and though there would be lingering marks when the injury finally healed over, they wouldn’t be ugly and ragged. He didn’t mind scars, they were a sign of what he’d endured, and what had failed to kill him. But at the same time, scarred flesh never moved the same way again, and he needed to be limber and fast to be a dragoon. Being a stiff, creaking ball of scars would prevent him from being able to exact his revenge against Nidhogg.
Without disturbing what Aymeric was doing, Estinien reached for his canteen and took a swig of water. “You may get stuck on meals duty a lot of the time, but everyone else picked up the other chores in exchange. It’s funny what some people would rather do than sort out a meal, yeah?”
“Unlike yourself?” teased Aymeric, and Estinien shrugged, but another of those rare smiles.
“Mother always said that a meal tastes better if you’ve worked on it yourself. B’sides, it feels rude to eat and not have helped out making it.”
Repositioning his hand to hold the wound shut while he stitched, Aymeric’s own smile was soft and grateful. “Your assistance is always appreciated. I think that I would resent it were I to do it alone, but it is less tedious with a companion’s aid. You have said in the past that you didn’t feel as though you do much, but I reiterate that what you do allows me to accomplish more than I could alone.” He chuckled and smiled again, enjoying the way that color once again went all the way to his companion’s ears. “It’s quite efficient, only a little effort yielding much greater results.”
“Well…good, it’d be rubbish if I were just getting in the way,” replied Estinien, having difficulty making eye contact, “mine own mother had me doing all of the heavy, tedious stuff as well. I remember how it freed her up to do the difficult things, so…” He shrugged again, apparently embarrassed that he’d let slip something particularly vulnerable, and glanced down at how much had been stitched up. It was nearly done, so he once more reached for a roll of fresh bandages and a dressing. “That feels good, thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome, you’re a better patient than some of the others we’ve had to put back together.”
Snorting at the memory of previous encounters, he waited for Aymeric to tie off and snip the end of the thread before pouring some of his canteen over the wound to clean it off. “Aye, I remember that one bloke who outright fainted when you were stitching something half of that size.” He handed over the dressing and then the bandages, which Aymeric applied with the same deft, gentle hands. “Talked big, but one fight and he gave up and joined the cooks.”
“Not everyone must needs fight. Remember that it takes ten people to support one knight in the field. Food, clothing, weapons, gear, training, pay… I respect that he realized his limitations so soon and still chose to help out in whatever manner he could.”
Estinien blushed a little at the soft rebuke, knowing his companion’s words to be accurate. “Medics, too,” he huffed, flexing his hand and feeling no “tug” or pain from his injury, “sometimes I forget just what all goes into keeping sorts like us alive on the front lines.”
“I will gladly remind you, so that you may do your best in protecting them,” Aymeric replied with a smile, as he wiped off the needle and tucked it into its leather sleeve to keep it from getting damaged or lost, “you fight for vengeance, and I will support you in that, but never forget who supports us.”
“What do you fight for, anyroad?” asked Estinien as he put everything away, “I’ve never actually heard you mention.”
His companion’s silence was loud, and after it dragged on for several seconds, he looked up, seeing Aymeric toying with the bloodied rag. “...No offense, my friend, but that is something I would rather not discuss right now.”
This was unusual. It wasn’t as though Aymeric were the sort to just blurt out anything on his mind, he was just honest and upfront about damn near everything. But this hesitation, his worried look, that seemed…wrong. Shrugging, he closed his pack and shrugged into it, ensuring that the straps were adjusted correctly. “I’ll not pry, then, none of my swiving business. But…” He held out a hand to help Aymeric stand. “If you do need to talk about it, I’m here.”
“Thank you, friend, I-” He gasped and sat down heavily when Estinien yelped in pain, having reflexively extended his good hand, and the strain of helping pull Aymeric to his feet was just a bit too much for his injured arm. “Ah! Mine apologies, I didn’t mean to-”
“You’re fine. So’m I.” Wincing at the temporary pain, Estinien glanced at the bandage, then shrugged once more. “Didn’t open it back up, no worries. Right, let’s get back to the rest of the unit, any longer and they’ll assume we’re…snogging in the shrubbery or something,” he huffed with the ghost of a smile, and Aymeric laughed merrily as he retrieved and put on his own pack.
“Of course not! One should save that for the barracks! It’s far more comfortable!”
Again, he laughed, catching Estinien when the man stumbled at his remark, and handed him his weapon. The lancer shook his head and checked the position of the sun to get his bearings. “You are a menace, Aymeric. …But, I am glad to count you as a friend.”