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Chapter Text

“Do you remember the first time we met?"

The bed shifted as Estinien rolled over to look at me, his hair spilling across his shoulder and over his pillow, pristine and flawless like untouched snow and begging me to run my fingers through it. "Of course," he said, his steely eyes as soft as his voice in the quiet tranquility of the lamp light. "You saved me from certain death in the maw of a dragon. How could I forget?"

He frowned at me when I shook my head, small smile on my lips. "That wasn't the first time we met. We were already serving in the same unit then; we met weeks before that. But I'm not surprised you don't remember. You didn't even know my name before that day."

His brow furrowed as he tried to delve deeper and summon the memory of our first meeting, him teeth sunk into his lip as he struggled a moment before shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't remember."

My chuckle was soft as I traced my fingers along his back, playing along the ridges of muscle and scar. "That's alright. I don't mind that you don't recall. I remember that you didn't want anything to do with the team you were thrust amongst. In fact, my second thought about you was that you were quite rude."

"Oh? And what was your first?"

"That you were beautiful." He flushed, crimson rising to stain his cheeks, and I twisted to plant a kiss against the tip of his ear before I continued. "I'd never see a man so breathtaking before. With hair of purest white, long and silken and begging me to brush my fingers through it. Your eyes were almost hidden behind your bangs, but nothing seemed to escape their notice, like cold steel poised to strike at any threat. And even wearing the same chain as the rest of us, there was a certain presence to you that was unmistakable, that called to me and made me wish to know more about you."

"Are you saying it was love at first sight?"

I laughed, a soft huff of breath against the chill air. "No, nothing so romantic as that. Lust, perhaps, but not love. Naturally, the next thing you did was scowl and stalk away, which disabused me of any hope of your amicability."

Estinien chuckled, leaning to brush his lips against my shoulder. "Full glad am I that you were too stubborn to allow me self-imposed exile. And that you were rather handy with a bow."

Laughing softly, I shifted into him, gathering him into a tight embrace. "As am I, my love."

Chapter Text

"This blasted thing!" The infernal leather contraption rattled in my hands as I shook it, the chocobo it was meant to adorn chirping nervously and pawing at the ground. I cursed, fighting to unwind the twisted straps and find the bit amongst all the metal latches and gratuitous adornments.

Aymeric winced at my side, his hand hovering scant ilms above my own. "Perhaps if I-"

"I've got it," I snapped, and the chocobo whined in response to my anger. Aymeric ran a soothing hand down its back, and I drew in a deep, steadying breath, trying to rid myself of my irritation - or at least shove it down far enough that it didn't bleed through to the bird. I may not have retained a great deal from my childhood as a herder, but I ought to at least know how to conduct myself around animals. My parents would be disappointed, to say nothing of Aymeric, who deserved better than to be yelled at when he was only trying to help. "Sorry. I ought to know how to do this, but it's been some time since I saddled a bird myself. Would you help me?"

Aymeric smiled at me, my outburst forgiven and forgotten as easy as that, his hands coming to lay over my own and guide my motions. Together, we untangled the bridle and slid it carefully onto the chocobo's head, the bird much calmer in the face of our teamwork than my solitary frustration. We each shifted to buckle a separate side of the beakband and throatlatch, our easy tandem slipping as Aymeric fumbled with the latch. His brow furrowed as he frowned at it, trying to ease the stubborn metal into place, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he concentrated. I secured the clasp I was working on without trouble and shifted around the chocobo to offer him my aid. "Can I help?"

He glanced at me, the crease in his brow smoothing as he nodded and stepped aside to let me try my hand at the obstinate buckle. It took some gentle finagling to get it to sit right, but after a few tries I managed it, settling the bridle into its proper place and slipping my hand into Aymeric's. He squeezed my palm, his grip rough and warm in mine, and I rubbed my thumb against the back of his hand, leaning my shoulder against him as the last of my frustration drained away.

"Milords!" a rough, elderly voice called out, and I looked up to see the old stablemaster limping his way into the stall with a harried look on his face. "I just realized that tack was meant to be sent for repairs, not given out to you! Oh, well would you look at that, you managed it anyway!"

Aymeric's shoulder jostled against my own as laughter shook his body, and I glanced over at him, mirth spreading my own lips. "At least we're not as incompetent as we seemed."

"Not at this, at least," he chuckled, fingers tightening around mine.

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The scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread suffused the air of the Borel Manor when I stepped through the door, accompanied by the lyrical sound of Aymeric's voice cursing in a stream that was as impressive as it was surprising, his usual poise extirpated by whatever "infernal thing" he was currently condemning to a life in Nophica's compost bin.

I bit my tongue against the greeting that rose to my lips, curiosity winning out as I padded as quietly as I could towards the kitchen, the source of the commotion and the smell. Peeking my head around the corner, I was glad for my circumspection, because it meant I got to witness the mess Aymeric had made of himself and his kitchen while he was utterly unaware of my presence. Flour coated every surface, as though someone had taken the bag of it and squeezed it until it burst, great plumes dusting the countertops and up the walls like smoke. Dirty dishes were stacked haphazardly wherever there was space, jars of spices and sugar and other ingredients filling what little space was not occupied by the evidence of his trials today. Pastries that had clearly been rejected for not meeting whatever standard by which he judged them were scattered throughout the mess, some blackened and burnt, others seemingly unflawed, at least on the surface.

Even Aymeric himself was not spared from the whirlwind that had destroyed his home, streaks of white scattered through his mussy hair and up his forearms, bared where he'd rolled up his sleeves. A smudge of what might have been chocolate or perhaps molasses darkened the back of one of his ears, and I stifled a laugh, trying to imagine how it could possibly have ended up there. His back was to me, but I had no doubt that his front was covered in even more mess than his rear. At least he was wearing an apron - that frilly one he'd gotten me as a joke, the pink straps smeared with cinnamon and uncooked batter. Hopefully it had protected the lilac dress shirt he wore beneath it, because I feared the poor garment would be ruined if he’d made as much a mess of it as he had of his skin.

The only clean place in the room was a two fulm long section of the kitchen island, which was miraculously clear of both dishes and exploded flour, and instead sported a tray of cinnamon rolls, meticulously placed as though they were some great relic amidst the chaos. That was where the smell was coming from, there was no doubt about that. The strong scent of sweet bread and spice smelled like home, nostalgia welling up as a long-forgotten memory surfaced of my mother in the tiny kitchen of our cottage, pulling a tray of similar treats out from the oven. She'd smiled at me and warned me not to touch them because they were for Papa's nameday, but when I'd pestered her, she'd relented and let me have one early. "Our little secret," she'd whispered with a smile and a wink.

I only realized I'd moved into the room when the quiet cursing cut off and Aymeric whirled around, surprise widening his angular eyes. "Estinien! I thought you wouldn't be home until later."

"I can see that," I said, amusement coloring my tone and drawing up the corners of my mouth. "What sort of madness have I walked into?"

He flushed, eyes dropping to the egg yolk and cocoa powder dashed against the front of the apron before flicking sheepishly back up to me. "I wanted to have them frosted and the mess dealt with before you got home. I know you don't like to celebrate, but... Happy nameday, Estinien."

I blinked at him, at the batter staining his collar and the mayhem of the kitchen with its single spot of sanctuary, and my heart swelled at the love I found in every ilm of the scene. "You did all this for me?"

"Of course," he said, so matter of factly it made my soul ache. "I should have liked to do more, but 'tis your day to spend how you wish, and if you'd rather let your nameday pass unremarked, I shall respect that. Mostly."

"Can I try one?" I asked, already reaching for one of the rolls on the counter.

"They're not frosted yet!" he protested, but he made no move to stop me as I lifted the bun from the tray, gooey sugar and cinnamon seeping from between the folds to drip onto my hand and the countertop below. "I purchased a book of recipes from a farmer out in the Western Highlands; I hoped that maybe I could offer you a taste of your childhood."

A goal he had thoroughly succeeded in, I thought as I bit into the bun. It was sweeter than the treats in my memory, the dough denser, but that didn't make it any less delicious. And the lengths Aymeric had gone through just to offer me this nameday gift... No sugar could ever be sweeter than that. "It's perfect, my heart. Thank you."

Chapter Text

"You know," Estinien began in that tone that let me know instantly that no, I really didn't want to know, "if Ishgard were a monarchy instead of a theocracy, you'd be royalty."

I grimaced at him over the table, refusing to indulge this latest observation with a response and instead spooning up another mouthful of stew to keep from having to answer. The tomato is quite full bodied in this dish.

"You'd be a prince. Or a king, now, I suppose. You're already leader of our nation; it only seems fitting, wouldn't you agree?"

My grimace became a full-fledged scowl as I leveled a distasteful look at him. "No. And in any case, I do not believe royal bastards are ever in line for the throne."

"And yet here you are, having taken over for your father despite the role not even being hereditary," he pointed out with a grin.

"I did not take over for Thordan. I'm not an Archbishop, and I don't rule Ishgard, Estinien! You should know better than anyone how hard I've worked in the name of reform. And of all- You're teasing me, aren't you?"

His grin widened. "If you keep scowling like that, your face will stick that way."

Muttering something unpleasant that was best left unrepeated, I returned my attention to my dinner, resolving not to engage with any further attempts to rile me up.

"You do look the part of a prince though, with those long ears and pale eyes and cold beauty. My very own ice prince." I made sure to slurp ignobly at my soup as if I could refute his claims with lack of etiquette and disinterest alone. "Aw, come now," he wheedled, a pout in his voice that he would surely deny if I deigned to point it out. "If you indulge me, I promise to treat you like a king tonight."

"You always treat me like a king," I countered.

He grinned triumphantly, though whether it was because he'd found some sort of backhanded agreement in my comment or simply because he'd succeeded in making me break my vow of silence, I wasn't sure. "And that's exactly how you deserve to be treated, Your Eminence."

I scowled again, returning my focus to my bowl, but this time the thread of amusement wove its way through my breast. "And you deserve to sleep in the stables, peasant."

Estinien roared with laughter, eyes sparkling with delight. "As my king commands, so it shall be done."

(Needless to say, he did not sleep in the stables, but ensured my body was pleasantly warm and thoroughly exhausted that night.)

Chapter Text

The watery light of another cloudy dawn greeted me as I awoke, bathing everything in soft blue tones that matched Aymeric's aesthetic perfectly. It was the sort of morning given to lounging in bed, the chill air teasing at exposed skin as if inviting you to huddle under the blankets with your lover and shut out the world. Or perhaps seated side by side before a window, watching the first snowflakes fall with a mug of coffee in one hand and the other clutching your beloved's fingers. A hundred mornings we had spent just like that, pressed together and drawing warmth and succor from each other as we watched the sun rise over Ishgard.

And a hundred mornings we had spent just like this one, with me cold and alone in a bed that was too large without another body pressed against my back to warm it, when Aymeric's noble duty called him from bed before the sun had even deigned to rise from its own nightly slumber. I rolled over, disappointed but unsurprised to find his side of the bed not only empty but already cold, only the memory of his clean scent lingering on the sheets to alert me he'd even made it home last night.

Heaving a sigh, I climbed out of bed, gaining my feet quickly. There was little point in languishing here, where Aymeric's absence was all too obvious, the very bedding serving as a reminder that he was not at my side; better to start my day and hope that tonight, at least, he would return before midnight.

It was odd, though, how much I had changed since falling for him, I thought as I slipped into Aymeric's housecoat, left for me at the end of the bed, and padded towards the kitchen. Once, I had preferred to begin my days like this, solitary and free from the expectations and conventions of others. Once, having a body warming my back had made it harder to sleep, not easier, and I had longed to part from others, not desperately await their return. How far I had come, to miss Aymeric before I had even uncovered his absence, and to regret that I'd had not the chance to kiss him and wish him well before he'd vanished. He had broken through the shroud with which I guarded my heart and lodged himself firmly within my affections, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, I discovered that I was not the only one dwelling on our time apart this morning. A new bag of coffee beans awaited me on the counter, set alongside the cleaned dishes from the dinner I'd left out for him the night before and a note written in his familiar flowing script.

Good morning, my love. I apologize that I am not there to greet it with you, but a situation arose that requires my attention and I had to make haste for the Central Lowlands. I promise that I shall make up for my absence upon my return. You shall be so smothered in my affections that you'll beg for me to leave again.

Have a wonderful day, my sweets. I love you.

Aymeric

I found myself smiling as I set down the page, turning away with his gift in hand. Perhaps we couldn't be at each other's side every morning, but it was enough to be in each other's thoughts.

Chapter Text

The kitten mewled plaintively, the poor, pitiful creature shivering even as Aymeric held it close to his body. The second I saw the little gray bundle of fur, cupped so lovingly in his hands, I knew whatever battle I was about to wage was already lost.

"I found him outside the Congregation," Aymeric started, brows drawn up in supplication as if I were his mother and not his lover. "Do you think we might keep him?"

Well, if that was the role he wished me to play… "Aymeric, you already have a cat.” Aymeric's angular eyes were more given to cold looks or warm smiles than puppy dog eyes, but that did not stop him from batting his lashes in my direction. Already I could feel my resistance chipping away. "Ser Haldchat would be jealous," I argued.

"I think a companion would do him well. And this little guy was all alone in the cold, I couldn't just leave him there." I knew of no one more enamoured with animals than Aymeric, and he had a particular soft spot for cats. Frankly, I ought to have expected him to return home with a lost kitten by now; it was a miracle the Borel Manor was not host to an entire menagerie of them.

"Of course not," I agreed, leaning to peer down at the little ball of fluff. It was very cute, even with its fur matted and an unseemly crust about its yellow eyes, as bright as the harvest moon. With a bit of love and care, it would surely be a handsome puss. (Another chink in my defenses.) But... "Do you have time to care for a kitten with all that you're doing for Ishgard at the moment? You're scarcely ever home, and your role as ambassador shall surely send you from Coerthas for extended periods on occasion."

His lips twisted in acknowledgement of my point, but I could already see that it was not enough to deter him. "Surely Houillant can care for him while I'm away. Or you, when you're home." I wasn't sure who looked more pitiful, the kitten or Aymeric, both of them staring up at me with wide, pleading eyes. "He could be ours together," he added.

Ah. I softened, my heart melting beneath his tentative gaze. It wasn't about the kitten -- Aymeric knew as well as I that he didn't need my permission to take in the poor creature. It was about what the kitten represented, what it would mean if I agreed to it: commitment, as certain as the ring he would never wear or the ceremony we would never have. Once, it would have terrified me. Now, the rising thread of anxiety was almost unfelt, easily soothed by the trepidation in those crystal eyes that were as dear to me as my own life.

Slowly, I nodded, reaching out to brush my fingers over the kitten's head, so tiny and fragile as it trembled in Aymeric's hands. "Alright. Ours, together. But we'd best get him inside before he freezes."

Joy transformed Aymeric's face, making him seem to shine with an inner light that made my heart clutch painfully in my chest. An angelic smile spread his lips, bright eyes crinkling as he leaned forward, careful of the kitten tucked against his breast, and captured my lips in the sweetest of kisses. "Thank you, Estinien."

"Anything for you, my dear. Anything."

Chapter Text

Brilliant orange and red streaked the sky as we made our way up to the cliff that overlooked Ishgard, the sky clear for once of all but the faintest wisps of cloud. The Holy See made for a dark silhouette against the sunset, and I wished for a moment that I could paint the image it presented, hope illuminating our saint city for the first time in a millennium.

"Perhaps a sunrise would be more fitting," Estinien suggested when I remarked on the desire, but I shook my head.

"A sunset, that we not forget those who sacrificed themselves for this future to be possible. Brilliant and beautiful, but with a certain measure of sorrow."

"Ah. You're right, that is fitting," he agreed as we crested the hill at last and the cliff came into view. The lone gravestone that adorned it was dark against the color splashed over the horizon, a melancholic counterpoint to the landscape's brilliance, complementing the grey spires of Ishgard in the distance. A location carefully chosen for exactly this view, that its patron might continue to watch over the city even in death.

Estinien caught my hand as we moved to kneel before it, a gentle breeze ruffling our hair like the greeting of a long lost friend. Estinien shot me an uncertain look, and I squeezed at his hand in reassurance but kept my peace, allowing him to find his way without intruding on his sepulchral tribute. "Hello Haurchefant," he started softly, laying out the flower we'd brought before the stone. "I'm sorry I missed your funeral. I asked Aymeric to show me here at least so I could pay my respects - and offer my gratitude." He fell silent, eyes wandering from the stone to the sunset beyond. He was quiet for long enough that I wasn't sure he was going to speak again, and when he did, his voice was so hushed I almost missed the words, carried away on the wind to Halone's hallowed halls. "We wouldn't be here if not for you. So thank you."

If he had any more words to offer, he kept them to himself, the thoughtful look on his face suggesting he was caught in his own memories. I bowed my head, paying my own silent respects to our departed friend, Estinien's hand in mine a steady reminder of what might have been lost if not for his sacrifice. It was only thanks to Haurchefant that Ishgard remained safe, that Thordan had been vanquished and a new era of peace allowed to prosper, and though I felt his loss keenly, I was grateful for all that his valor had allowed us to accomplish. I could only dream of ever being so worthy a knight as he.

We stayed like that, hand in hand before the grave of our lost friend until the sun sank below the horizon and the bright colors faded into darkness, leaving the stars to twinkle brightly overhead, rivaled only by the shining lights of the Holy See in the distance. "We'd best head back. Haurchefant certainly wouldn't want us to catch cold in his name," I joked lightly, and Estinien started, my voice breaking through his silent reverie at last.

"Aye, you're right." He stood, brushing snow from his knees before reaching to take my hand once more and casting one final look at the tombstone. "Thank you again Haurchefant. For everything."

Chapter Text

Estinien's hand in mine was thinner than it ought to be, frighteningly skeletal, as if Nidhogg had forgotten that Elezen could not subsist on aether alone - or perhaps it had been an intentional cruelty, meant to cause pain and sap Estinien's strength. Had he been conscious of all that had happened these last few moons? Had Nidhogg tormented him? Had he felt the agony of his body even as he was a forced to watch the Dread Wyrm puppet it? Or had Halone's grace spared him such suffering and kept him blissfully unaware of the horrors he'd endured? Somehow I found I could not dredge up the faith to believe that, even as I bowed my head over his broken body and prayed to the Fury that She not steal him away to Her hallowed halls just yet. Don't take him from me, not yet. Just let me have a little more time with him.

If he awoke - when. When he awoke, would he be changed? Would the torments he had faced break him in mind and spirit as much as they had in body? He had already faced so much despair in his life; must he be forced to endure yet more? Was he not owed happiness?

Would that I could have taken his place. Surely he would not have let me suffer as I had allowed him to. He had already pursued Nidhogg in his own lair and emerged victorious; were it not for the Twelve’s horrid sense of irony, the Dread Wyrm might have been struck down before he had had the chance to cause lasting harm. But I had not been strong enough to do it myself. (The arrow had flown true.) And so my dearest friend had suffered, and I found myself the leader of Ishgard. (String pulled taut, wood creaking as it flexed, and words of farewell whispered to the uncaring winds.) Were it not for Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, he would suffer still, and Ishgard would burn. (I tried to kill him.) I squeezed at the hand in my grip as hard as I dared, watching the shallow rise and fall of Estinien's chest. He would be okay. He had to be.

"Milord?" Lucia's voice sounded from behind me, soft in the reverent stillness. I hadn't even heard her enter. "I apologize for interrupting your... For interrupting. But there is a matter that requires your attention."

The urge rose to order her to handle it herself and I squashed it. There was little I could do for Estinien here, but the whole of Ishgard relied on me, and I would not let it falter in my grief. Drawing in a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I let Estinien's hand slip from mine for what I desperately hoped would not be the last time. "Very well. Let us depart."

He was awake. Before the steward had even finished relaying the message, I was running, propriety forsaken in favor of returning to his side as swiftly as possible. With the Warrior of Light and Alphinaud at my side, none dared utter a word of reproach.

Almost too soon we were at the door to his room, and I paused to gather myself, drawing in a steadying breath and shrouding myself in the mantle of Lord Commander rather than worried friend and lover. Calm and controlled, that's what he needs from me now. I threw open the door.

He looked much as he had every time I'd checked on him, battered and bruised and broken but recovering, but this time when my eyes sought his face, he was already watching me, his steely eyes meeting mine and lingering. That gaze drew me forth, and I could not have stopped myself from sinking to kneel at his side even if I'd wanted to. I took his hand in my own, fighting to keep my voice from shaking as I murmured, "I thought I'd lost you."

"Not yet," he answered, sparing me a smile, and when I squeezed at the slim hand in my own, he squeezed back. For the first time, I let myself truly believe it, that he was alive and returned to me, and that he would be okay. Thank the Fury he's okay.

The next time I returned to his room, he was gone.

Chapter Text

"Estinien!" Framed by the light shining through the doorway of the Borel Manor, Aymeric looked like nothing short of an angel sent by Halone herself. Concern pinched his seraphic face, and he reached out as if to touch me before he thought better of it, hand dropping to his side. "You look freezing. Please, come in! My parents have already retired for the night, but I am certain they won't mind your presence."

The light blinded me for a moment as I stepped through the door, teeth chattering against the cold and dripping snowmelt onto the lustrous tile of the entryway. "Forgive me," I said, a violent frisson wracking my body. "I had nowhere else to go."

"You are always welcome here, my friend," Aymeric replied easily, as if it cost him nothing to offer such a kindness. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, heedless of the water that soaked my clothes, and tugged me further into the estate. "Come, I shall run you a bath."

He led me through the opulent halls of the manor, through a dark room that could only have been his bed chambers to a private bath. The warmth of his arm against my skin seemed to sear into me, the prickling burn of heat down my limbs and through my chest almost painful, and yet I lamented its loss when he released me to kneel before the tub.

He did not demand to know why I had been on his doorstep in the dead of winter, frozen half to death, and I was grateful for his circumspection. It was for that very reason that he had managed to break the sanctum of my heart and become the only one I deemed a friend. There would be questions later, to be sure, but for now he contented himself with sidelong glances as he readied the bath, and by the gentle flush that graced his cheeks, I imagined that had as much to do with the attraction I'd noticed him direct towards me when he thought I wasn't looking as it did his curiosity over my state.

Would that I were in a position to capitalize on his interest. I huddled in on myself, the warmth of the manor slow to seep into my frozen fingers and toes, clutching at my own arms as I shivered. What a pitiful sight I must have made, but Aymeric's expression held nothing but compassion and worry as he glanced over at me once more, chewing his lip. "You shall warm faster if you strip from your wet clothing. Pray sit in the bath as it fills, and I shall find something for you to wear when you are through."

I nodded jerkily, numb fingers fumbling to slide my shirt over my head, and after a moment’s indecision, he stepped forward to aid me, his hands gentle as he helped me strip to my smalls. His blush spread as his fingers brushed against my bare skin, his gaze kept carefully averted as he unlaced my pants and tugged them down over my hips to pool at my feet. "Can you manage to get into the water on your own?" he asked gently, eyes drifting up my body before he caught himself and looked away again.

"Yes," I answered between chattering teeth, but I didn't protest when he helped me to the edge of the tub anyway.

"I'll be just outside if you should have need of me," he said as I sank into the water, moving to crack open the door.

Stay with me. The words rose to my lips and were strangled before they could fully form. He had done enough; to ask him to linger would be improper and unfair. I did not need to cling to him like a child to its mother; it was already more than enough that he offered me his unquestioning aid. "You have my thanks," I said instead, and he nodded to me before slipping from the room and shutting the door behind him.

Slowly, warmth began to seep back into my limbs to settle in my core, chasing away shivers tinged with despair. I breathed deeply of the steam infused with the faint but familiar scent of Aymeric, holding it within my lungs as though I could warm myself from the inside out. Muscle by muscle, my body relaxed, fatigue settling in as tension leeched from me, safe at last in Aymeric's care. He was so kind. Too kind for his own good, in truth, and far kinder than I deserved. I still couldn't understand why he insisted on befriending me, the stubborn fool, but in this moment, neither could I regret that he had. And he was so beautiful...

I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep until a hand on my shoulder shook me gently awake, Aymeric's soft call of "Estinien," teasing at my ears. I opened my eyes to find his face just ilms above mine, worry clouding those pale eyes.

"Thank you," I murmured drowsily, and he tilted his head, hands slipping along my back to help me stand.

"For what?"

"For everything."

He laughed softly, the quiet sound of it soothing as he towelled me dry and wrapped me in a fluffy blanket, leading me with him to settle down before the fireplace in his bedroom. Such a nice laugh. I could get used to hearing that, my mind offered, and I was too tired to consider that, or the warmth that spread through my chest as Aymeric settled himself behind me and combed through my hair. He was speaking, I thought, murmuring something about snow and silk and beauty, but I couldn't follow the words, the feeling of his fingers against my scalp lulling me back towards slumber.

I was just awake enough when he finished to catch hold of his wrist before he could pull away. "Stay with me?" I heard myself ask.

His lips parted in surprise, and for a single heartbeat he hesitated, his crystal eyes unreadable, before he nodded, lowering himself down next to me. I curled into him automatically, dragging the edge of the blanket around him and resting my head on his shoulder, comforted in a way I hadn't been since I'd been a small child curled into my mother's side. Being with Aymeric felt like that, somehow. Easy, and soothing. Safe. He felt safe. And as the fire warmed my body and sleep dragged me back under its spell, the presence of my dearest friend warmed something deep and vital within me as well.

Chapter Text

The faint notes of a familiar ballad drifted through the dining room, candlelight flickering in the intimate dimness from the scarlet spires placed at the center of a small round table set for two. Estinien held out my chair for me, and I blinked at him in wonder, lips parting as I took in the carefully crafted scene he'd prepared. "You did all this for me?"

He glanced away, a faint rosy tint rising to dust his cheeks. "Aye. We've been sleeping together for years, and we finally admitted our feelings to one another; I thought it was time we had our first real date."

"Oh, Estinien..." My heart swelled, and I leaned in to kiss him, arms snaking around to hold him close. For all his bashful reticence, he kissed me back as if he meant to steal my breath away, his lips warm and pliant against my own.

When I pulled back, his blush had spread further, but a soft smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. He gestured for me to sit, tucking the chair in for me when I did before shifting to sit across from me. Houillant appeared a moment later, the manservant perfectly unobtrusive as he poured us each a glass of wine and lay a bowl of soup before us. "'Tis not the most lavish of first dates, but I thought it better to stay in than to risk the stares of meddlesome onlookers tonight."

"It's perfect. Thank you." I reached across to grasp his hand and squeeze, and he graced me with another cherubic smile that set my heart to fluttering. Over a decade I had known him, had fought with him and lain with him, knew all there was to know about him, and still he could make me feel the part of a blushing youth besotted by a handsome comrade.

The soup was rich and creamy, the earthy taste of mushroom carrying with it a hint of nostalgia as it suffused my mouth, and I let out a sound of appreciation. "Mm, this is amazing. Did you make this?"

He nodded, a quiet pride in his expression as he said, "I'm glad it turned out well. It was your mother's recipe."

Just when I thought my heart could not melt any further. "It's wonderful," I said, fighting back the prickling in my eyes. A beautiful tribute to make a perfect night even more perfect. "I love you so much."

He blinked at me in surprise before a brilliant grin spread his lips. "I love you too."

We chatted about everything and nothing as we supped on roast mutton and sautéed mushrooms and popotoes au gratin, and though I had little by way of reference, I thought it was a more perfect first date than I could ever have dreamed.

When we were both pleasantly stuffed, the taste of crème brûlé lingering upon my tongue and my teacup nearly empty, I leaned back in my seat with a contented sigh, stretching to nudge at his foot with my own. "Thank you for this, Estinien. I can scarce imagine a more magnificent evening."

Lines formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled, returning the touch to his leg with a brush of his own. "Then I shall have to strive hard to outdo myself. 'Tis the least you deserve, and I like nothing more than seeing you happy."

"So long as you're with me, how could I be anything but happy?"

Chapter Text

"This modern fashion is a bit... much, don't you think?"

Judging by the look on Aymeric's face as he twisted to see himself in the mirror, I suspected he thought they were in truth not enough rather than too much, but I for one was rather fond of the slices of skin the top exposed and the tight fit across his chest. I had no doubt the seamstress was as well, given the way she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off him.

His gaze flicked to me in the mirror, waiting for the input I'd forgotten to give, too distracted by ogling him. Guess I wasn't any better than the seamstress. Clearing my throat, I said, "I think it looks good on you."

He huffed, shooting me a sidelong glance. "Of course you do. You can see my entire backside in this."

"And what a fine backside it is," I agreed. The seamstress nodded her fervent agreement until she caught herself, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror. Her face flamed in embarrassment, and squeaking some excuse about being needed elsewhere, she hurried from the room.

Chuckling to myself, I returned my attention to where it belonged, on Aymeric's rear - or rather, on his pants. Definitely the pants. "The leather pants you wear at home are no less revealing than these," I pointed out.

He grimaced. "'Tis the reason I wear them exclusively with long tunics or coats in public. And at least they are thick enough to intimate decency, even if they cling more than is proper. They're not unlike a light layer of armor. These..." He passed his hands over the thin fabric covering his thighs, which did indeed leave very little to the imagination. "I know not whence this fashion trend began, but it seems as impractical as it is libertine. I feel exposed."

I stepped into him, running my fingers along the skin revealed by shirt's open back. "If you don't like it, you don't have to buy it. Though I must admit that I appreciate the chance to see you in such attire." I curled an arm around him, brushing my fingertips against his bare sides. "And I certainly wouldn't mind getting to see you like this more often. In private," I added when he shot me a dubious look.

"You can see as much of me in private as you want, whenever you wish," he said, voice lowered in case someone might be listening in from the hall.

"Ah, but there is a certain allure to having that which you wish to see most hidden from view."

He shot me a thoughtful look, a wicked glint in those icy eyes. "Perhaps I should like to see you in this attire as well," he suggested.

I laughed. "If that is your desire, I'd be happy to oblige."

He grinned, twisting in my embrace to hook his arms over my neck. "Mayhap there is some merit to modern fashion after all."

Chapter Text

Crystal blue ocean as far as the eye could see, white stone underfoot, and a sun warm enough to melt even the most frigid Coerthan heart could only mean one thing: Limsa Lominsa. The pirate city was nothing short of a paradise after a life spent in the mountains, which had been frigid even before the Calamity had turned it into a frozen wasteland. The gentle breeze off the sea was refreshing against my sun-warmed skin, the unfamiliar calls of seabirds competing with the equally foreign shouts of hawkers selling exotic goods in the marketplace. The pleasant chatter of the bustling plaza nearly covered the faint strains of nearby buskers, and the warring scents of succulent meat and honeyed sweetbuns were all carried on air tinged with the smell of salt, each one vying for my attention. And yet, despite the majesty of it all, nothing quite compared to the feeling of Estinien's hand clutched in mine.

It would be unthinkable in Ishgard to flaunt our relationship in such a way, but here we were just two more among the endless sea of people, no more worthy of notice than any of the dozen couples I could see from where I was standing who locked hands or arms or lips together. For the first time in all the years we'd been together, I could proudly hold his hand in public and show the world that he was mine.

"I take it you're enjoying your vacation?" Estinien asked, the deep rumble of his voice a balm of familiarity amidst the unknown.

I squeezed at his hand and he squeezed back, small smile curving his thin lips. My own cheeks ached from the strength of my bliss, and yet I couldn't help myself from smiling. Whirling to step in front of him, I tugged him against me, capturing his lips with my own. Surprise rendered him stiff against me at first, but it took only a moment for him to melt into me, his free hand rising to hold me to him. And so we kissed in the middle of the market just because we could, and the only people who cared where those whose paths we blocked.

"I'm enjoying it very much," I answered when I pulled back, and his look of shock morphed into the warm glow of affection. Leaning in, he kissed me again, his lips as gentle as the breeze and as warm as the sun. "I like getting to kiss you whenever I want," I murmured against his skin when he pulled back, mouth lingering against my own.

"Oi! Getta room, ya trollops!" The crass voice shattered the stolen intimacy of the moment, the angry sailor it belonged to shoving his way past us, grumbling about idiotic tourists. Estinien and I blinked at each other for a beat, twin looks of surprise on our faces, until we both burst out laughing.

Stepping back from me but refusing to drop my hand, Estinien smirked at the retreating sailor, hollering after him, "We already have one!"

"Estinien!" I gasped, scandalized, and he grinned at me, not the slightest bit repentant as he leaned in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

Red flowed over skin too pale, steely eyes glassy and unfocused as I clutched at him, holding him tight. "No. Not like this. It can't end like this!" I pressed against the wound as though my touch alone could fend off the chill breath of death. I could feel it waiting just at the edges of my awareness like a spectre, Halone come to welcome her champion to Her hallowed halls. "I just got you back!" The words tore themselves from my throat, half scream and half sob, but all the despair in the world would not fix what had been broken, and could not save what was lost.

"Ay...meric." My head shot up at the sound of my name, Estinien's voice weak and strained as he fought for the strength to speak. Without thinking, my hand came up to brush through his hair as I had a thousand times before, the crimson that stained my hands sullying the pure white strands.

"Don't speak," I urged, brushing back his bangs. His eyes sought mine but could not find their mark, sliding blindly over my face. "Save your energy." But I could not lie to him and tell him it would all be okay. Not after all the years we'd been together. We both knew it wouldn't.

"Need to... say...." His breath rattled wetly in his throat, blood bubbling from the corners of his lips. "Love..... you......"

His face blurred in my vision, becoming a smear of white and crimson as I leaned over him, pressing my lips to his brow. "I love you too, Estinien. Stay with me. Please." My voice broke on the word. A selfish request to make, and yet I could not help myself. If it would but keep him by my side, I would beg and plead and offer myself up in exchange, but the gods did not care for the sorrow of mortals, and compassion was not the purview of the Fury.

Tears fell to splash against his cheeks, mixing with the crimson smeared over his skin. "Aym...."

"I'm right here. I'm with you. Until the very end." I clutched at him as hard as I dared, blinking away more wetness from my eyes. I would not miss his final moments behind a veil of tears. I would not let him face death alone.

I felt it, the moment he died. The moment his heart beat it's last, and his chest rose no more. The moment his soul slipped from him, from me, to return to Halone's bossom. I clutched at the empty flesh that had once contained my dearest friend, my lover, my partner. At the end, there was no peace. There was only pain, and the knowledge that I could not follow him into death's embrace. That I had to carry on without him, had to see through all we had set in motion. It was what he had wanted. For all that it was worth now.

But for now, as I knelt in the snow stained with the blood of the only man I'd ever loved and held his still-warm corpse in my arms, all I could do was scream.

Chapter Text

The words were hard for Estinien. I knew that and most days, it didn't bother me. I knew how he felt about me, and that was enough. And even if he couldn't bring himself to say it, his love shone through in his actions. A bowl of soup left for me after a long day at work, strong fingers kneading into sore muscles, my sword honed and my armor oiled for me - a thousand acts that were every bit as revealing of his affections as those three little words could ever be.

But me, I needed to say it. From the moment I knew it, it was all I could do not to shout it from the rooftops and tell anyone who would listen. Indeed, the words had come almost before the realization, slipping free in an unguarded moment, and only after they were said did I realize how much I meant them. I love you. I love you. I love you. A constant refrain through my mind whenever he was nearby.

But I saw the way that his eyes tightened when they slipped from my tongue, when he heard in my voice how earnestly I meant it, and so I tried to bite back the words, to deny the urge its outlet, until it spilled out in other ways. I'm so lucky to have you. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I am yours. He did not seem to flinch from those as he did from the word love, and so I contented myself with this manner of saying-without-saying, and that was enough. It had to be enough. (Some nights, it wasn't enough.)

And yet the gentle caress of his hand through my hair chased all my doubts away. The brush of his lips against mine, the curl of his arm over my waist, his head rested against my shoulder - every touch was a reassurance, a language we both spoke, that conveyed our intent even if neither of us would speak it. I had not noticed until recently how much Estinien seemed to crave physical contact. His body never seemed to stray far from my own when we were alone together: his foot brushing against my leg beneath the dinner table, his arm grazing against my own as we sat side by side, his fingers inching towards mine as we walked before he noticed and snatched them away. He seemed starved for that nearness, for a touch that was not just sexual but platonic, comforting - loving - and he seemed to draw strength from that nearness, that intimacy. Slowly, ever so slowly, I watched as he stopped trying to deny that of himself, like an admission that he would not yet make. Together, we came to an understanding, and the words were unnecessary (even if I still longed to hear them). But Estinien had always known how to make his body speak for him when words failed him, and through his touch and his patient caress, he showed me night after night the depths of his love until I sang with it, so full and satisfied I could hardly ask for more.

A gentle sigh slipped from him as he shifted in my lap, his face more peaceful in sleep than it could ever be in the light of day, and as I stroked my fingers through his hair, he settled more comfortably against me, nestling as near as he could manage without melding straight into me. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at my lips as I watched him, snowy hair flowing like silk between my fingers and a sense of contentment suffusing my breast. Maybe he couldn't say it, but if this wasn't love, I didn't know what was.

Chapter Text

I was dreaming. I knew that. Knowing didn't seem to help.

Smoke assaulted my nose and burned through my throat and lungs, it's acrid scent inescapable but still preferable to the horrors I knew hid beneath it. I choked on the smell of charred flesh and burned hair, the air so thick with it that I could taste it on my tongue, and bile rose before I could even try to swallow it down. I bent over my knees and heaved, vomit splattering over scorched grass, but it didn't help the nausea roiling through my stomach, nor the dread that suffused my very being.

I knew what was coming. I'd dreamed it many a time, and lived it before that - memory and dream entwined until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. It always began the same: smoke coiling around my body like some maleficent serpent, filling my nose and mouth and lungs as if it sought to penetrate any orifice it could find, any piece of me left untainted. Next...

My eyes lifted almost of their own volition, and though they refused to focus on what they saw, the horror of it was not lost on me. Fingertips curled into the dirt, nails broken as if she'd tried to dig her way free. A red crack through skin so charred it was unrecognizable as flesh. A slim leg mangled by shards of wood and disfigured by fallen rubble. My family, all of them laid low by Nidhogg's wrath.

Nidhogg... His roar pierced the heavens, and the very air seemed to tremble in its wake. The land around me shifted, and but there was no relief to being free of my family's deaths as instead a kaleidoscope of atrocities played out before me, every torment I'd ever faced flashing in quick succession. The drip of saliva from a dragon's too-close fang. The singed remains of a child-sized shoe. The piled bodies of lost comrades. A broken shield on holy ground. Nidhogg's resonant voice like claws in my mind. "Mine eyes have partaken of a thousand years of pain - a pain which I shall bestow upon thee." The crack of my own spine as twin eyes welded to my flesh and Nidhogg took control of my form.

I wanted to close my eyes against what I knew was coming, but I had no choice but to watch as memory tipped into possibility and the dream conjured new terrors to present to me. Once more was I held captive in my own flesh, forced to watch as Aymeric fell to his knees before me, blood staining his tabard and bubbling from his lips. The same red dripped from my fingers to splatter pitilessly on the stone below.

I struggled fruitlessly for control of my body. It wouldn't work - I knew it wouldn't work - and yet I could not help but try, fighting the oppressive force in my mind that dominated my every movement. "Estinien..." My name from Aymeric's lips, the word as full of betrayal as his eyes. I couldn't look away. "Estinien...... Estinien!"

I lurched awake, Aymeric's fingers digging in tight to my shoulders and his worried face hovering over me in the dark. I squinted to see him better, searching those familiar lines for any sign of terror or despair, even as I struggled to control my heavy panting and the too-quick beat of my heart. I found nothing but love and concern, his eyes pinched with worry rather than pain, relief blossoming in their depths as he saw my panic recede.

Before he could react, I bundled him into my arms, pulling him tight against me and squeezing as hard as I dared. "Thank you," I breathed, and he relaxed against me, surprised stiffness fading as understanding settled in.

"Of course, my love. Always."

I held him tight until my heart calmed and even the lingering unease began to lift, and when I released him, he stayed close, nestled into my chest and gripping me tightly. How lucky I was, to have someone like him to rouse me from my nightmares. Someone to hold me through the fear, and who understood what I needed. Someone who cared.

And how lucky I was that it had been only that familiar nightmare, and that my mind had not conjured the worst terrors that yet stained my soul.

Chapter Text

The longer I stayed, the harder it was to say goodbye. And so I practiced, every morning when Aymeric left for the Congregation or the training grounds, little steps to regain what had once been so easy for me.

"Have a good day," murmured against soft lips from the comfort of a warm bed.

"I'll see you when you get home," as I helped him into his coat and bundled a woollen scarf about his neck to protect him from the cold.

"Don't be out too late," when we both knew he would be, the lunchbox passed between us stuffed with enough for both lunch and dinner.

"You know I'd stay if I could," a lament as I slipped from the arms of my lover on his day off.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," hand clenching on the door handle, reluctance dragging at my feet all the way through to the Gates of Judgement.

"I love you."

"I'll miss you."

"Stay safe."

A thousand different ways to say goodbye, without every really having to say it at all.

A wordless parting on the eve of battle, eyes lingering where hands could not, everything left unsaid but visible in eyes the color of ice and of storm. After all, it was bad luck to say goodbye, lest the gods make it your last.

But I had promised him that I would never again vanish without a word - that when I left, he would not be left wondering what had happened to me and if I was alright. That I would say my farewells properly, and promise that I would return when I could, no matter how long I might be away. Even if it hurt to say goodbye. Even if the cowardly part of me still wished I could simply disappear in the middle of the night, to spare myself the heartache of parting.

The truth was, saying goodbye had never come easily to me at all.

Chapter Text

Estinien's arm pressing against mine made for a comfortable point of warmth as we sat at Ishgard's edge, our feet dangling over the Sea of Clouds churning far below. Overhead, stars uncountable shone, bright points of light to pierce the never-ending darkness of the Sea of Stars, and in the silence that blanketed the night there was only the two of us, caught between twin oceans above and below, with only the chill breeze swirling about our ankles as accompaniment.

I swung my feet over the open air, leaning back and tilting my head up to watch the stars. They twinkled down at me, eternal and unchanging, their light the same as it had ever been - a comfort in its constancy. "I used to come out here and sit like this when I needed time to myself to think," I said softly, unwilling to break the spell of peace that shrouded us. Estinien glanced at me before following my gaze up to the heavens, but he said nothing, merely waiting for me to continue.

"I would come out and watch the distant stars, and though I am no astrologian, sometimes I felt as though I could read the answers to all of my problems in the depths of the night. It's humbling, to stare up and know that I am but a single part of a universe that defies my comprehension." I lapsed into silence for a long moment, eyes tracing the familiar constellations, the same paths they'd worn time and time again in this very spot. The habit was soothing, even now when my heart felt lighter than it had in all my memory.

"I spent a lot of time here as a teenager, and every time I was granted leave from the Temple Knights. When I found myself adrift in a sea of the unknown, or when the half-veiled whispers of my peers turned my mind into an odious mire." A soft laugh bloomed in the chill air before me. "I came here particularly often after we first met." I shot him a sidelong glance and was surprised to find him watching me, his gaze unreadable in the dim starlight. "I worried my attraction to you would sully our friendship - or sometimes I came just to lament your exceptional rudeness." He chuckled, and I fell silent again for a long moment as I returned my eyes to the sky, the stillness between us broken only by our quiet breathing and the movement of my legs over the city's edge.

"The last time I sat here," I continued softly, "you were in the clutches of Nidhogg, and the stars had held no answers for me. Neither had the two bottles of wine I'd drunk." I looked to him again, those stormy eyes seeming to swallow me whole as soon as I met his gaze, losing myself in their endless depths. "I much prefer it like this, with contentment in my heart - and you at my side."

"As do I," he agreed, breaking his silence at last. He leaned his shoulder into me, the touch warming my heart as much as my body. "I am glad this place has provided you such peace over the years - and glad to be able to share it with you now." His hand rose to tip up my chin, his lips capturing mine in a kiss replete with the chill of the night air and the comfort of Estinien. When he pulled back, a soft smile graced his lips, and my own curled automatically in response. And even with the majesty of the Sea of Stars spread out before us, there was no sight of rather gaze upon that his smile.

Chapter Text

The wrinkles that lined Aymeric's face grew with every passing year, crow’s feet bracketing his eyes and laugh lines dug in around his mouth. Streaks of grey at his temples spread until they peppered his once black curls, his lustrous hair becoming coarser and brittle with time. His proud ears began to sag, and firm muscles and taut skin gave way to a softer form, one that still bore an impressive strength, but that hid it beneath gentle curves and a cushioned belly. Each blizzard brought with it aches and pains of injuries long since healed, and in the winter, he walked with an ornate cane in one hand and my own in the other - and his sword still hanging at his hip.

And though glasses adorned those impossibly blue eyes when he leaned over a book or patrol report, they were no less bright than they had been the first time I'd gazed into them nearly four decades before. If anything, they were brighter now, filled with the knowledge earned from a lifetime of trials and triumphs, of joys great and small and sorrows to match. There was a peace about him that grew with each year that passed us by, as if with each anniversary that we spent together, he allowed himself to believe a little bit more that no great catastrophe awaited on the morrow to steal from us all we had worked for. He accepted the happiness that was afforded him and sought it in every moment. And though the future was never certain, at some point, he had given himself over to hope, fear and despair cast aside to revel in the peace he had wrought, for Ishgard and for all of Hydaelyn.

I worshiped every one of his wrinkles, ever strand of grey hair and every arthritic joint, each one of them as beautiful and striking as his youthful visage had been. And if my own body showed the passage of time as well, he was just as reverent as he had ever been, just as willing to hold me and love me and lay with me, and every day of our relationship felt new and novel even as it seemed we'd been together for an eternity. He still kissed me with just as much passion as he had twenty years ago, and if we perhaps had less energy than years gone by, we still made the most of what remained to us.

And throughout all the years, our love never wavered. Even when duty and necessity kept us apart, even when strife arose and we had to fight to remain together, even when we had nothing else but each other, we held fast to our bond and did not let go. Not a day passed that I didn't thank Halone for granting me this chance, this future that had seemed impossible: the ability to grow old alongside my beloved Aymeric. And so I kissed each and every age spot and wrinkle, for every one was a reminder of the greatest blessing we had been given: time.

Chapter Text

The moonlight glinted off the sharpened point of a fang, and I couldn't drag my eyes away, all too aware of the rapid beat of my pulse in my throat. Beneath that, a second pulse fluttered: the adrenaline-slicked thrum of desire.

I wet my lips, swallowing hard against my suddenly parched throat as I watched him mirror the motion, his tongue slipping out to curl around the fang that held my attention, as if he could read my thoughts and knew the longing that crackled through my soul.

"Estinien..." I began, and the quaver in my voice betrayed my nerves.

"Aymeric." His tone was fully of suave confidence and seduction, and though my instincts screamed at me to back away, I couldn't seem to move - didn't want to move - as he stepped into me. His lips curled in satisfaction at that, my breath trembling from my own parted lips as the smirk flashed those pointed fangs. An aura of danger seemed to seep from his every pore, and yet it was not fear that trembled through my core but excitement. Anticipation.

Long, slender fingers curled beneath my chin, sharp nails pricking my skin as he tilted my head up until I was forced to look away from his teeth and into his eyes. They shone in the darkness, reflecting the light in a way that was utterly captivating - and utterly inhuman. The second my eyes met his I was lost, drawn in to the maelstrom of power and sensuality contained within them.

I tilted my head, exposing the smooth column of my throat to him. "You don't know what you're offering," he protested, and despite everything, his voice was the same as it had always been, the same low tone that had tripped so often over the word 'love' and that had breathed my name in gasping reverence more nights than I could count.

"I trust you," I murmured.

"You shouldn't." His breath trembled against my throat, those vicious fangs poised over the soft flesh that guarded my pulse.

"You won't hurt me, Estinien." Because no matter what else he had become, he was still my Estinien, the man who had weathered Nidhogg's eternal rage and turned it against the Dread Wyrm himself, who had broken free of Nidhogg's control rather than allow any harm to come to those he loved. No primal instincts or uncontrollable thirst for blood would ever make him hurt me.

Still he hesitated, and I tipped my head back further in invitation. "I trust you," I repeated, the words a barely audible whisper, but I knew that he would hear, and that he would understand.

Need won out over worry, and his arms snaked around me, holding me to him in a tender embrace as he lowered his mouth to my throat. I gasped, twin points of pain flaring as his fangs pierced my skin, and then he was feeding from me, drawing my blood and my life into himself; everything I was, I gave freely to him. The initial pain faded and pleasure replaced it, each pull as he sucked on my blood sinking straight to my core, and I gave myself over to the sensation, trusting him to guard my body as my soul seemed to twine with his, each mouthful he drank from me bringing us closer than ever before, uniting us as one. His pulse sped until our hearts beat in tandem, and in every beat I heard the declaration of his body: I love you, I love you, I love you.

When he pulled back, as I'd known he would, gasping and fighting for control, I repeated the words, breathing them like a prayer. "I love you." And no matter what happens, no matter what you become, that will never change.

Chapter Text

I huddled under a blanket that smelled of my own sweat, chills wracking my body despite the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the nest I'd made for myself in the bedding. My head felt at risk to explode under the pressure that besieged it, if I didn't die of the pain that lanced through my throat every time I tried to swallow first. My nose was so plugged that I could hardly remember what breathing properly felt like, and the tickle of air I sucked in through my desiccated lips brought about yet another fit of coughing, pain ravaging my airway as my chest heaved.

A cool cloth brushed against my forehead, gentle fingers pushing back sweat-drenched curls as Estinien laid it against my brow. A violent frisson shook me at its chill touch, and he stroked his hand through my hair in comfort. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I know you're cold, but we've got to break your fever." He reached to loosen the grip I had on my blanket, and I was too weak to hold onto it as he pulled it back.

I pouted, propriety thrown to the wind in the face of malady, and he pressed a kiss into the crown of my head. "If you don't get better soon, I do not doubt that the whole of Ishgard shall come tumbling down around our ears," he joked, grinning when my frown deepened. "I'm kidding, of course. Take as much time as you need to rest. Ishgard and I both need you to be in good health - even if you are rather adorable like this."

"Estinien..." I whined, and it sounded as painful as it felt, my usually smooth voice rendered scratchy and hoarse by illness.

He chuckled, reaching to fill that infernal glass of water he kept forcing me to drink. "Here, drink some more. You need to stay hydrated." I grimaced but took it from him, if only so that he would grace me with that soft smile that spread his lips when I obeyed. When my hand shook, he steadied me, helping me tip the glass to my lips and drink. Despite my complaints, the smooth water felt good as it slid down my tormented throat, and before I knew it I had drained this glass too.

"Good boy," Estinien praised, and I simpered at him, the effect weakened by my miserable state. He laughed anyway, tucking me back in amongst my pillows and blankets. He leaned in to press a kiss to my lips, quick and chaste, and I made a noise of protest, pulling back quickly enough that my throbbing head objected. "Don't! You'll catch my cold!"

"It'd be worth it," he assured me, kissing me again. He pulled away before I could this time, looking far too pleased with himself.

"It won't do us any good if we're both sick!"

"Alright, alright, no kissing," he conceded. "You'd best get well quickly then, because I don't think I'll last if I am denied access to your lips for long."

"I think you'll survive," I laughed, and though it made my throat ache and my head pound, I felt a little better already. Perhaps it was true what they said: a little humor and a lot of love made for the best medicine.

Chapter Text

"What are these?"

Aymeric graced me with that look he gets when he thinks I've said something particularly stupid. "They're flowers."

"I can see that. But why?"

"Why are they flowers? I do believe you would have to ask the Twelve about that. Philosophizing about the nature of life is not within my purview." He grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes, fixing him with a glower. He was being intentionally dense, and it was not helping ease my confusion.

"Why are you giving them to me?"

His gaze dropped to the bundle in his hand. It was a lovely bouquet, in truth, red and white blooms whose names I didn't know but that looked pretty to my plebeian eye, their stems tied together with a black ribbon. Where had he even gotten them? They hardly looked like winter blooms...

"I saw them and thought of you, that's all. 'Tis only fitting for a man to give his beloved flowers from time to time, after all," he answered, a tad defensively, a delicate pink rising to stain his pale cheeks. "If you do not want them, you do not have to take them. I imagine Lucia might like them, or perhaps Alphinaud."

"I never said I didn't want them," I protested gruffly, reaching to snatch them before he could take them back. "No one's ever given me flowers before." I lifted them to my nose, because it seemed like the thing to do, inhaling deeply. Their soft, clean scent rose to tickle my senses, sweet without being cloying and just a hint of bitterness hidden underneath. Not unlike Aymeric, I thought, chuckling to myself.

The soft smile that curled Aymeric's lips warmed my heart, those icy eyes gentle as he reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."

The flowers sat proudly in the center of the table that night, their light scent seeming to linger in my senses and trail me wherever I went. And when they began to wilt, I dared to ask Emmanellain how one might preserve those precious petals, that I might keep them with me longer than the gods saw fit to grant. Sometimes, even when I was far from home and parted from my beloved by a sea and more malms than I could count, I'd run my fingers along that red and white talisman, and drew comfort from the thoughts of home and the love that awaited my return.

Chapter Text

The solid thwack of the hammer striking wood rang out loud and clear in the frigid morning air of the Firmament. Its weight was unfamiliar in my hand, the implement of creation utterly foreign after so many years of wielding tools of death instead, but it was a feeling I longed to grow accustomed to. Some day, I hoped, peace would no longer feel discomfiting.

I cursed as I missed the nail I was trying to hit and brought the hammer down on my thumb instead. "Are you alright up there?" Estinien shouted up to me as I shook out my hand.

"I'm fine," I called back, twisting to look down at him over the edge of the roof I was trying to tile. "This is not as easy as it looked."

He grinned up at me, looking far more comfortable with the tasks he'd been assigned than I felt. In fact, he looked good enough to eat, with his hair pulled back and a light sheen of sweat glistening on the exposed skin of his arms, muscles flexed against the weight of the lumber he was carrying. Construction was a good look on him; the Fury's avatar, trading conquest for creation.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked, drawing my attention back to where it ought to be.

I shook my head, though the throbbing in my thumb was less than convinced. "No, but could you have Ahn Tohr bring me up some more nails?"

"Have you bent so many you've already run short?" he asked with a smirk, and I was reasonably confident my answering blush was visible all the way on the ground.

"Perhaps."

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter. "The vaunted Lord Commander, stymied by manual labor," he wheezed.

I frowned at him (it was decidedly not a pout) and huffed. "Well, not all of us grew up in a barn."

"Ayyymericcc!" The singsong call of my name drew my attention to the little red dragonet currently flying up with a box of nails clutched in his claws. "Marcelloix said you'd probably need more nails soon, based on the sound of your cursing! So I brought some!"

My face flamed as Estinien laughed harder, until he dropped the lumber he was supposed to be hauling straight onto his foot. He yelped, and it was my turn to bite back a snicker as Ahn Tohr swooped down to help him pick it back up. The little dragon kept hold of one end, and though a grimace etched itself upon Estinien's face, the two made for a rather lovely pair: the former Azure Dragoon and a dragon, enemies as old as Ishgardian memory, working together for a brighter future. The scene was mirrored all around us, dragons and Elezen working side by side to restore Ishgard - perhaps not to its former glory, but to new heights, founded on comradery and peace instead of endless war.

And if our peoples could learn to set aside their hostilities and forge a new future together, then surely I could adapt to this unfamiliar peace as well and learn to create rather than destroy - and perhaps learn to properly wield a hammer while I was at it.

Chapter Text

"Allow me to do this much, at least..."

One arm slipped beneath his knees, the other behind his shoulders, as gently as if I carried an infant as I lifted Estinien's unconscious form. He was heavy, the added bulk of his red-stained armor making an already oppressive load nearly unbearable, but I would not let him go, not now. Jaw clenched and arms straining, I gained my feet, cautious of the spikes on his armor as I bundled him against my chest.

Holding fast to my composure beneath the watchful gazes and worried looks of my companions, I took one careful step, then another, away from the destruction and mayhem Nidhogg had caused and back towards the saint city of Ishgard. Soon, I would have to face all that had been done to reach this point, but for the moment, I held tight to the friend I had not expected to see again and directed all my focus on bringing him home.

I did not dare look down at him before all these people, not when I feared what I would find beneath that pointed helm. Even from a distance, I had seen the rivers of red streaking like veins over his jaw and throat, had heard the crackle of bone as Nidhogg forced his body into impossible transformations. No man could come from that unscathed, and I was not strong enough to face what had been done to him with so many eyes upon us. So I stared not down at the broken man I carried but looked steadfastly ahead. And if silver lined my solemn eyes, it was only just, after having witnessed the defeat of Ishgard's oldest enemy.

It was only once we'd made it back within the gates of the city and away from prying eyes that I allowed myself to acknowledge the shaking in my hands and the pounding of my heart, which had not lessened in the slightest since first the Dread Wyrm's roar split the heavens nearly an hour ago (had it only been an hour? I felt as if I'd aged a lifetime since then). Adrenaline was all that held me upright as I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, over and over, focusing on the burn through my legs, the rasp of air from my lungs, the pain of the wounds I had suffered - anything but the fear that clawed at my heart. Behind me, others rejoiced over Nidhogg's fall and celebrated Ishgard's newfound safety, but I could not share their exuberance, not yet. That the city was safe meant the world, but until I knew that Estinien was safe and would live, my own was in tatters. I would forever be grateful to Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light for protecting Ishgard, of course, but never would I be able to express the depths of my gratitude to them for saving Estinien where I could not, for preventing me from having to drive my blade through my dearest friend's heart and watch as his lifeblood spilled out before me. Did they know, even, how great a benediction they had bestowed upon me? I shook free of the thought before it could break me. Just keep walking. One step. Two steps. Three steps...

I was almost to the Congregation when I couldn't take not knowing any longer. Arms shaking as much from emotion as from strain, I glanced down - just a glance, just to ensure he was still breathing. Looking down on the ruins of his face, I couldn't decide if I regretted it.

His breathing was shallow, but the mist of his breath against the cold air was heartening. The state of his face was not. Twisting bruises flowed up his throat and jaw, following the paths of the poisonous energy that had shone on him earlier. Even with his eyes closed, it was obvious he was even more gaunt than usual, his cheeks sunken and his eyes seeming to drown in their sockets, lined with deep circles of purple. His nose was broken, but I couldn't tell if that had happened in the fight or if it had been caused by Nidhogg's mistreatment. The thin gash along his jaw was clearly new, blood beaded along its edge, and I wasn't sure if I should be worried that it wasn't bleeding freely.

But despite everything, he was alive. The urge to bend down and kiss those chapped lips rose with a ferocious intensity, and I strangled it back down for fear of hurting him. For now, it was enough that he was breathing.

But if I didn't get him to the chirugians, he might not stay that way for long. Stealing myself, I tore my eyes away from his beautiful, ravaged face and set forward again. One foot in front of the other until the end.

Blessed Halone, please don't let this be the end.

Chapter Text

"How in the Fury's name can you stand to wear this every day?" Aymeric twisted at the waist, flinching when he nearly impaled himself on the sharp point of a tasset. "This must weigh a half dozen tonze! And you jump in this?"

I shrugged, chest tight with suppressed mirth. "Aye. 'Twas a struggle to get used to at first, but it provides better protection than my old suit - and better than yours by far," I noted, plucking at the loose tabard. "Does this robe not tangle about your legs as you fight?"

"The weights along the bottom keep it from becoming overly cumbersome," he said, gesturing to the silver metal lining the bottom of the cloth. I'd always thought it was ornamental, and a touch excessive at that. "And I don't spend quite as much time throwing myself hither and thither across the battlefield as you do."

"I do not throw myself across the field," I protested, and he arched a brow pointedly. "Fine, perhaps I do. But you have to admit it's effective."

"I never said it wasn't," he agreed easily, flexing his hands in my gauntlets. "How can you grip anything with this much metal between you and your haft? Don't you catch these claws on everything?"

"I don't know how you can bare to leave your fingers exposed like this. How you have never lost one is beyond me. And why are these pauldrons so large? I feel liable to tip over backwards."

He snorted. "They're hardly any more unwieldly than these," he countered, pricking his finger on one of the spikes currently adorning his shoulders. "How do you lift your arms without killing yourself?"

"Carefully." Metal jingled as I demonstrated, the chainmail beneath the Lord Commander's ornate tabard chiming. "At least my armor offers full protection. No wonder you were stabbed straight through your chest piece - you ought to invest in a breastplate, or at least some extra padding beneath your robes." I plucked at the fabric, feeling halfway exposed with so little to protect my chest. Even our old Temple Knight mail was more padded than this.

He winced. "Blame the church for that. 'Tis their design, not mine. But as it has aided me in countless battles and only failed me when I knew not to defend myself, I believe it serves its purpose well enough." He tilted his head, growing serious as he regarded me. "It looks good on you. Seeing you in that, 'tis easy to imagine you as Lord Commander in my stead."

I snorted. "Me, as Lord Commander? I'd run the city into the ground in a matter of moons. And you, Azure Dragoon at my side?"

"You manage the Order of the Knights Dragoon well enough. And some have called me the new Azure Dragoon since your informal resignation," he joked with a wink. "I think you'd be better at it than you give yourself credit for."

"I think we should both be grateful we'll never have to find out. Now come, take up my lance and let's spar. It's been some time since I wielded a proper blade, and I'd like to test my skills - and if you make one joke about us training to swap jobs, I'll undo the latch that holds your codpiece on."

"Alright, alright," he laughed. "You win. Let's see how well you can handle my blade, while I try not to make a fool of myself."

Chapter Text

"Estinien! There are tigers! Real live tigers! Come look!" Aymeric waved wildly to me, practically vibrating with exuberance as he stood atop the hill and looked back at me, the smile on his face bright enough to blot out the sun. He looked good in his plain adventurer's clothes, his Lord Commander's armor traded at long last for travelling leathers and an overheavy pack. Naegling still shone blue at his hip, but his only other nod to his former office was the azure scarf wound about his neck, shimmering glints of gold and silver standing out against the brown and grey of his leathers. He made even the drab travelling clothes look stunning - though perhaps that had less to do with his natural beauty, and more with the unbridled joy that filled him. At long last he was able to do as he pleased, duty traded for adventure and freedom, and he wasted not a single moment of his new life.

I jogged to catch up, and he laced his arm through mine as I drew up alongside him, pointing with the other to where there were indeed several tigers stalking across the plain, their colors bright against the grasses. They were majestic, certainly, and made all the more so by his excitement, but... "Surely you've seen tigers before, on your diplomatic missions?"

"Well yes," he agreed. His smile dimmed just a touch, and I felt regret stab through my breast for having asked. "But it feels wholly different to see them as an adventurer than it did as a diplomat."

I slid my hand down to twine my fingers with his, squeezing at his palm. "I can certainly understand that."

He looked over at me, his boundless glee traded for a softer joy that made my heart threaten to melt in my chest, the slowly setting sun casting his face in a golden halo to create the perfect portrait of euphoria. He was breathtaking, and as much as he had been suited to diplomacy, as much as his silver tongue and impeccable eloquence had carried him to the peak of Ishgard and allowed him to guide our home into a newfound state of peace, I had never seen him more in his element than he was now. For all that others lauded him as Saint Aymeric the Blue, this was where he belonged: unfettered and free, following the winds and the whims of his own heart, exactly as he'd always wished to.

"Thank you for travelling with me," he said softly, the knowing look in his eye revealing he knew where my thoughts had strayed.

"I'm just glad you finally have the chance," I told him. The chance to be free. The chance to adventure. Leaning in, I kissed him until we were both breathless and grinning, with only the tigers in the grass to bear witness.

Chapter Text

If having the day off hadn't been telling enough, the red hearts decorating every available surface would have revealed to even the most oblivious of passersby that there was a holiday at hand. You could hardly take two steps in the Pillars without being reminded of it - and given the proximity of House Valentione to the Borel Manor, two steps was perhaps a generous estimate.

"I suppose I had best pay my regards to Lady Valentione," I mused aloud. Though the whole of Ishgard celebrated Saint Valentione today, none were more enthusiastic than his descendent Lisette, who seemed to have taken it as her mission to ensure every last soul in Eorzea found their perfect match - a feat as bold as it was impossible. At least her zany festivities always provided some amusement, and I wasn't due back to the Temple Knight barracks until tomorrow evening. Plenty of time to make an appearance at whatever event she'd prepared this year.

A small crowd had gathered outside the Valentione estate, nobles and commoners alike awaiting their chance to take part in this year's event, which seemed to be themed around fortune telling. Lisette and several of her maidservants sat behind small tables littered with cards and crystals and, of course, the ubiquitous paper hearts and flowers.

"Lord Aymeric!" she called when she spotted me, jumping up from her seat to greet me. "Just the man I was hoping to see today. Come, sit, and let us see what destiny has in store for you! I'm sure everyone is dying to know who is going to catch the eye of the only son of House Borel!"

"I don't think-" She snatched my hand before I could finish protesting, pulling me over to her main table and forcing me down into the waiting chair. "I am no one special," I argued, casting a glance over my shoulder to the twittering girls watching us with a tad too much interest.

"You can tell yourself that all you want, but fate says differently. Shall we see what sort of romance awaits you in the future?" She didn't wait for an answer before scooping up her cards, shuffling them deftly.

"I really don't think-" Again she refused to let me finish, thrusting the deck before me.

"Now hold the image of your ideal match in your mind - or maybe a special someone who already holds your affections?" She arched an inquisitive brow, and I felt heat rush to fill my face - certainly not because I was thinking about anyone in particular, only because the entire situation was unexpected and a touch ridiculous. And if perhaps there was a flash of white hair and steely eyes through my thoughts, it was only because a nearby knight distracted me for a moment, and not because of any secret longing.

"Hmmm, I see," she mused, leaning over the cards and pressing a thoughtful finger to her chin.

"You do?" I asked, eyes flicking nervously between the unfamiliar cards and her fascinated expression. She couldn't possibly actually see anything in those cards, could she? As far as I was aware, she was not an astrologian, to portend the future from esoteric signs.

"Indeed, your future in love is quite clear! A great romance awaits you, and though not without its hardships, your love shall endure through all life's trials."

The group of noble girls crowded in around us, all pretense of politeness vanishing as one called out, "What kind of girl will he fall for?"

"Yeah! Tell us!" the others chorused, and I worked to keep the grimace off my face.

I must have succeeded, because Lisette's gleeful expression didn't change as she glanced up from the cards, a conspiratorial grin spreading her lips. "Oh alright. Let's see... It's someone who will lend you their strength and support you when you need it. I see the color white, and a sense of turmoil... Oh, what's this? Hmm..." She looked up, a curious glint in her eyes that I wasn't sure I liked. She couldn't really have divined anything from those cards, could she? "I think you'll find love is right beneath your nose."

The girls gasped merrily, exploding into a storm of chatter as they tried to determine which of them Lisette had secretly been looking at when she made such an obvious declaration - never mind that her eyes had not strayed from me for so much as an instant. Satisfied, the girls dispersed, off to spread the rumors as to whom I was foretold to marry, forgetting for the moment that it was unlikely any of their parents would approve of a match with someone of a sullied bloodline like mine - and that such a pairing would still require my interest.

"My thanks for the reading," I said to Lisette, careful to ensure my tone was utterly sincere even if I was fairly certain her display had just made my life harder for no good reason.

I made to stand, but she grabbed my wrist before I could, drawing my attention back to her purple gaze. "Love will find you, Lord Aymeric, when you least expect it. Let it in when it does. The cards promise you'll be happy."

She released me then, allowing me to make my farewells and take my leave, her words swirling through my mind all the way to the market. If ever I had worried that she really could predict the future, her last words had quelled it. I knew my future. I would marry and raise an heir to my House, just as had always been expected of me. Love and happiness had no part in it.

And if perhaps my thoughts had strayed back to eyes the color of storms beneath bangs of snow while she spoke, well, that was for me and Halone alone to know.

Chapter Text

I couldn't stop my eyes from straying back to the barista behind the counter. It was rude to stare, even I knew that, but I couldn't help myself. I'd never seen eyes that blue or lips so full before, and even in that dusky apron he was by far the most beautiful man I'd ever met. Ever since I'd first set foot in this cafe, I was lost, drawn back time and time again like a sailor to a siren's call, that I might dash myself upon his rocks - or drop 3$ a day on coffee, which was a little less disastrous a fate.

His face lit up as he smiled at a customer while handing over their coffee, and the expression looked so genuine and friendly that I swore my heart skipped a beat. Three dollars was a small price to pay to see that smile, even if it meant getting no work done for as long as I sat within the shop, mind far too distracted by this angel upon earth to worry about whatever crisis I'd been assigned that day. It was well worth it, for the chance to see it directed at me even once.

Just ask him out, that helpful little voice in my mind suggested. As if. I didn't even know his name. He probably didn't even know that I existed. How many people came through that door in a single day, and he was going to remember one guy who could barely manage to get out a handful of words while standing at the counter? Not likely. And what were the chances someone like him would be interested in someone like me? What were the chances he was even single? Someone that beautiful must be asked out all the time; surely by now, someone had caught his eye in return. Hell, he could even be married for all I knew. He didn't wear a ring (I'd looked despite myself) but that didn't mean much, especially while he was working. Somehow, though, even as gorgeous as he was, I couldn't picture him as a heartbreaker. He was too nice; he'd probably let his admirers down easily, with a gentle smile and a sympathetic look in those bright eyes.

Good lord, Estinien, what are you thinking? Giving my head a shake, I forced my eyes away from the beautiful barista and back to the work I was pretending to get done. The clacking of keys served only to measure how many mistakes I made while forcing myself not to cast surreptitious glances at the man behind the counter. He deserved better than to have me leer at him anyway. Even if all it did was transfer his face from its spot before my eyes to behind them.

The sudden sound of his voice at my ear made me jump, looking up to find him smiling down at me, a plate of cookies in his hand. "Here. Estinien, right? You looked like you could use something sweet. On the house."

I blinked up dumbly at him, all rational thought fleeing my mind in a rush. He knew my name. He remembered me! Amidst all the customers he saw in a day, I was not just one more faceless man among the throng!

Great, now say something back. "I... like cookies. Thanks." Oh sweet lord have mercy and swallow me whole. I like cookies!? Come on Estinien.

But he was smiling at me, that brilliant expression that I was fairly certain could solve all the world's problems - or at least all of mine - and he didn't seem to mind my ineloquence at all. "I'm glad."

He turned to leave, and I could feel my chance slipping from my fingers. I had to say something, or I'd never be able to face him again. "Er, what's your name?" My face was warm all of a sudden, a bashful blush slipping over my cheeks to betray my emotions as he turned back to me.

"It's Aymeric."

"I'm glad to have met you, Aymeric."

I kicked myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth (what am I, some old timey hero about to take his leave, never to be seen again?) but his smile softened, making him even more beautiful than before as he said, "I'm glad I met you too, Estinien."

The breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding left me in a rush as he returned to his place behind the counter, waving to a customer who'd just come in the door. I watched him prepare their order, that blush refusing to dissipate, and I suspected I'd be wearing it all the way home today.

Chapter Text

Moonlight filtered in through the open window, the chill breeze carrying with it the quiet sounds of the slumbering city. Within our private sanctuary, sweat gleamed on scarred skin bared to the frigid air, tousled locks of white tickling as their ends brushed along sensitive flesh. A soft gasp was lost to the winds as we warmed each other with our bodies, shifting together in a dance reserved only for these quiet moments in the dead of night, when none might intrude on our tranquility.

And when we were through, we held each other no less close, nestled into the blankets and wrapped in each other's embrace, a tangle of limbs and love. Estinien fell asleep first, as he always did, his quiet snoring gusting against my neck and his face slack in slumber, and I took advantage of the chance to watch him unremarked as I kept my nightly vigil. Only at night did he ever look so peaceful, when there was naught but the faint glimmer of light to illuminate that hidden innocence, and none but me to see it. The burdens of wakefulness slipped from him, smoothing the lines from his face and easing the tension around his eyes until he looked almost childlike, more beautiful than my heart could bear and untouched by the tragedies that lay behind us. His lashes fluttered as he dreamed, and my fingers yearned to touch that delicate sweep of white, to brush against the backs of his eyelids and caress his face, to map his every feature over and over as if each time touching him was the first.

Instead, I held him closer, hugging him as tightly as I dared without risking awakening him. He murmured in his sleep, a soft sound that might have been my name, and returned my embrace, his arm tightening around me even through the depths of slumber. A smile rose to my lips, and I pressed it into the crown of his head, the silken brush of his hair tickling against my lips. I loved him always, but these moments after dark, when it was just the two of us, alone and pressed close, and I could simply gaze upon him as I waited for sleep to take me, these were some of my favorite. When the light of the moon reflected off snowy hair and bathed him in serenity... On nights like this, insomnia was not such a hardship. 

Chapter Text

The sun streaming in through the window was warm against my skin, Aymeric's fat cat snuggled happily against my chest (and I don’t care how many times Aymeric tried to claim he was only fluffy, that cat was as fat as he was spoiled, and handsome enough to get away with it). The slow rumble of his purr vibrated through us both as we dozed together in the sunbeam, my fingers curling lazily through his fur.

The quiet sounds of the piano filled my ears, Aymeric's fingers dancing across the keys as he played a familiar ballad, and though I knew little of music and its art, love and tranquility seemed to suffuse the very air as those delicate notes sang through it. I cracked open an eye to watch the emotion play over Aymeric's face as he coaxed the music to life, low notes tinged with sorrow drawing his brows up in a portrait of anguish, before the notes climbed their way to a soaring crescendo, redemption tolling high and sweet before softening into a peaceful conclusion. A small smile curved Aymeric's lips as the final note dissipated, his eyes closed as he basked in the resonance of his song.

"You play beautifully," I said, voice soft in the serenity of the moment.

His eyes opened to land on me, and he offered me a modest smile as he twisted on the bench to face me. "I don't practice as much as I should these days."

"You wouldn't know it to hear you," I assured him. "Play me another?"

I let my eyes drift back closed as he nodded and turned to face the keys again, gentle notes warbling to life beneath his dexterous touch. Memory tickled at the furthest reaches of my mind as the melody drifted through the room, and I let it wash over and through me undisturbed rather than try to pursue the hidden depths of nostalgia and risk upsetting the mellow mood. Whatever secrets of the past teased at my thoughts were no match for such a pleasant afternoon spent in fine company.

The soft strains of Aymeric's playing threatened to whisk away my consciousness and I let it, content to follow the half-heard rhythm and doze in the sun, unburdened by the worries of tomorrow, at least for the moment. And who could do less, with the warmth of the sun on their face, a purring cat on their chest, and the sounds of lovely music teasing at their ears?

When I awoke, the piano had fallen silent, it's song replaced by the equally heartening melody of quiet snoring in my ear, Aymeric's breath teasing at my neck and ruffling my hair, his arm a heavy weight below the fluffy bulk of his cat still curled on my chest and his leg thrown awkwardly over mine where he'd crammed himself between the back of the couch and my body. His face was slack in sleep, breath puffing between his parted lips and drool gathering at the corner of his mouth, and I couldn't help the smile that rose to my lips at the sight. This right here, this was what life was meant to be: quiet moments and lazy afternoons in the arms of your love. Fat cat and all.

Chapter Text

Later, I would remember the smell of lilies and the shine of the sun through the stained-glass windows more than the crowds of people or the fumbled dance numbers. It would be the tolling of the bell high overhead that remained, rather than the delicate strains of violins as I waited, fidgeting with the cuffs of my unfamiliar jacket. It would be the taste of the food, and the feel of his hand in mine, and the sound of that word ringing in my ears as I leaned in to kiss him: husbands. But now...

My breath escaped me in a rush as he rounded that corner, the rising strains of the music soaring in time with the racing of my heart. I had not the words to describe how beautiful he looked, dressed in the finest blue silk - the same silk I had brought for him from Thavnair - and with joy shining from every line of his body. One look at him, and all my worries and nervousness just melted away. How could I ever be frightened of committing myself to him, of announcing to the world that he was mine? He had been for years - the sole commander of my heart, my body, and my soul. This was naught but a formality, a celebration of our love before the eyes of our loved ones and the gods, and he was right: nothing else mattered today than the two of us, and the sentiment that filled my very being when I looked upon him.

His eyes landed on me and he smiled, the most brilliant expression I'd ever seen grace his angelic face, and my heart clutched in my chest, silver rising to line my eyes without my even noticing. My answering smile was nothing compared to his beauty, but it didn't seem to matter to him; his eyes crinkled in that adorable way they did, tears rising to match my own as he drew nearer. It was all I could do to hold still, to not run to him and take him into my arms and kiss him until he was as breathless as I was, but somehow I held my place as he traversed eternity to stand at my side.

And then, between one too-quick beat of my heart and the next, he was there, his hand in mine and squeezing tight, and there were words in my ears that I wouldn't remember, and vows exchanged that I would, and the slide of cool metal over my third finger. And before I had even quite registered that it was happening, it was over, Aymeric's lips on mine tasting of tea and birch syrup as our friends cheered, that word still ringing through my ears. Husbands. He was my husband. Forever and always, eternally bonded. And despite all my fears and worries, I found the title suited me.

And, as we turned to face whatever the future had in store for us, his hand in mine and love singing though my veins, I couldn't have been happier.