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The Starlight celebration in Ishgard had always been one of the highlights of Aymeric's year. From the Pillars to the depths of the Brume, all made merry in their own ways– some with lavish feasts and balls, others with drink and song, and still others with the warmth of family and friendship. But on this particular Starlight, what brought Aymeric the most joy was the woman at his side– Avelyn, or as she was more well-known to his fellow Ishgardians, the Warrior of Light– not in her customary sorcerer's robes but in the festive red-and-white cloak, tunic, and hat of one of Nymeia's legendary "little helpers".
The costume he had managed to procure was, in honesty, sized for a Hyuran woman– the smallest he could find within Ishgard, yet even that was still large enough for the sleeves to bunch around Avelyn's elbows and slip past her gloved fingers if she was not careful. Thankfully, she had taken it all in stride, her ears flicking with unmistakable excitement when Aymeric had shown her the outfit that morning.
"Oh, how darling!" she had exclaimed, and rushed to put it on straight away. And though Aymeric had always been especially fond of the color blue, he could not deny that the traditional red suited Avelyn well– her dark hair lovely against the white fur trim and her green eyes the perfect complement to the crimson wool.
The same bright smile seemed permanently affixed to her face as they made their way through the city together, even when they descended into the Brume, where dozens of pairs of eyes watched their every move, and whispers of what're those bluebloods doing 'ere? followed them like the wind.
But Avelyn took her own notoriety in stride, which made Aymeric's heart swell with pride and empathy at the sight. Few in all of Eorzea, and likely even fewer in Ishgard, could understand the burden the two of them bore– the weight of the ache for recognition they carried in their hearts, and of caring deeply for those they served, yet having little chance of that recognition being given in the form they sought. Mayhap if she had never been granted Hydaelyn's blessing, or if he had been cast out and named Greystone, the walls between them and those to whom they ever sought to reach out would not be so impassable.
But if that had been their fate, they likely would never have met in their lifetime, and Aymeric could no longer envision a life without the woman at his side. Even when they stood in the courtyard of the St. Reinette's Home for Children, the frigid fog cocooning them in chilled, damp air, warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of her speaking to the young boys and girls, beaming as she pressed brightly-wrapped presents from the great sack he carried into their outstretched hands.
The socks and mittens had been Avelyn's idea as well. "You can never go wrong with a good pair of socks," she had declared, and Aymeric could most certainly agree with that. Though he had grown up in a noble family, he had spent many years as a relatively lowly Temple Knight, and knew only too well the malaise that a wet, holey, or missing pair of socks could bring to haunt one's spirit until a new set was bought or requisitioned. And the ones they were giving out to the orphans were high quality, made of the finest, warmest wool and crafted by hand with the utmost care.
Their origin, though, would remain a secret– telling the Brume children of Avelyn's flock of karakul that grazed upon emerald grass on an isle in the tropical seas would be a fantastic enough tale, but none in Ishgard save the two of them would have ever been able to guess that none other than Estinien Wyrmblood had taken up the knitting needles to spin that lovely, soft wool into practical garments. His mother had done the same for him once, long ago, he had said, and with no children of his own 'twas only right for him to carry on the craft for his homeland.
Though Estinien's own duties on the other side of the continent had kept him from joining his friends to help hand them out himself, the fruits of his labor were certainly being appreciated right before Aymeric's eyes. The watery looks of deep gratitude in the eyes of the orphanage nuns he spoke to in particular brought a tear to his own eye, which was quickly wiped away before anyone could notice. He made a mental note to pen a thank-you letter to Estinien as soon as possible, relaying as much as possible of the warm reception of his generous gift for Avelyn to deliver the next time her wandering feet took her in the direction of Radz-at-Han.
"Oh, how I wish we had enough for everyone!" Avelyn lamented as they ascended the great stairs once more some bells later, the candlelit windows of Borel Manor coming into view in the gloom of twilight. "I didn't want to put too much pressure on Estinien, though, when I asked if he could make them, so I told him we were only going to the one orphanage. Maybe next year I should see if I can call in one of my favors from the crafter's guild, see if we can't get enough for all the children down there. Or maybe… no, that wouldn't work… unless…" She trailed off, lost in her thoughts, her long, dark tail swishing back and forth through the snowflakes that had just begun falling once more.
'Twas most endearing, and Aymeric was thankful for the thick scarf he had wrapped around his neck when the wind had begun to howl through the spires of the city. Not only did it warm him, but he could also duck his head and hide his face, and spare any passers-by the foolish, boyish grin that seemed to be permanently affixed to his lips whenever his dearest one was in town.
Once ensconced in the warmth of the manor, Aymeric set about the task of warming the both of them up. He stoked the fires in the drawing room as high as he could, brought the heavy quilts out from their chest, and made his way to the kitchen to prepare some drinks to warm their stomachs: tea for him, and cocoa with milk for her.
Avelyn accepted her cup when he returned, taking a deep breath of the sweet steam that curled from the top. "This always reminds me of him," she said, a sweet, yet sad smile upon her lips.
Aymeric needed no further words to take her meaning– he felt much the same way, after all. "Lord Haurchefant would be proud to look upon your work today, dear. I do hope the day's endeavors brought you happiness. They certainly did for me."
"Of course, Aymeric! Any day I spend with you is absolutely wonderful. This was one of the best Starlights I've had in years." She beamed a moment, then a light wrinkle of thought marred her smooth brow. "I just wish… no, no, never mind. You'll think it's silly." Avelyn chewed on her lip a moment as she clasped the warm mug between her hands.
Aymeric leaned forward in his chair. "You cannot say such things and not expect to pique my interest further, my dear."
"You're right, of course. Too curious for your own good." She gave him a cheeky smirk before sighing and scratching one of her ears. "I just hate to see all those children without families. Sometimes I wish… I wish I could just take them all in myself. In the clans there aren't any orphanages– all the mothers take care of whatever children are around. Most of them are half-siblings, after all."
She sighed, lowering her hands to her lap to fiddle with the fur trim of her costume. "But I know there are just too many of them for one person to care for them all as they deserve, and even in a manor like this, it just wouldn't be possible. It would only be like a fancier orphanage. Still, though… I can't seem to help but think of it. Do you find that strange?"
Aymeric sat back in his chair, the wheels in his mind turning, propelled by Avelyn's words and the memories of the children from the afternoon. In truth, he had at times entertained nearly the very same fancies as she: taking in as many orphan and unacknowledged children as he was able, giving those whose lot in life could so easily have been his own the same loving home the Borels had opened to him. But in short order he had run up against the same impasse: there were simply too many children, and he was but one man with already far too many duties and responsibilities. The thought of picking and choosing some children while leaving others behind was unconscionable, so instead, he did all he could to aid as much as possible, whether by his words in the legislature or by handing out socks on the holiday.
But now… now things are different. He was no longer alone in his family's house, the sweet nothings spoken to his cat echoing off the walls with every word. Well, he was still physically alone at times, when his love was off on one of her adventures across the continents, but more often than not now she was somewhere in Ishgard, serving its citizens by day and sprawling across his parlor couch or the fur rug in front of his bedchamber fireplace by night.
With either of them alone, the desire they had both tucked away into their hearts was impossible… but with the two of them together, perhaps, there was a chance it could be realized.
"Not at all, my dear," he answered her at last. "How could the desire to care for and love a child unconditionally ever be considered strange? In fact… I have harbored the very same feelings as you describe myself."
Avelyn's eyes grew wide, her ears flicking upwards. "Truly?"
Aymeric nodded. "Since my own parents' passing, this manor has always been far too large for one man alone; and in truth, 'tis too large even for a couple. What better use for these empty rooms than to provide warmth and shelter to the most innocent among us?"
Aymeric smiled, leaning back in his chair after his short speech, only for Avelyn to abruptly jump up. He straightened his shoulders, brow furrowing in concern, but before he could ask what was the matter, she had leapt across the short distance between their chairs to fling herself into his arms.
"Oh, Aymeric… as if you needed to be any more wonderful!" She looked up at him, green eyes glistening with tears, before squeezing him tightly around his waist. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."
Aymeric held his love in his arms, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a sweet kiss. Some called her the Warrior of Light, the savior of the star, and many other such fanciful titles– much as they did for him– but to him, she was simply Avelyn, and to her, he could be naught but Aymeric.
And if the two of them could, someday, be called "mother" and "father"… now, those would certainly be titles well and truly earned.