Work Text:
The temperature drops rapidly, the winds beginning to sting against her face. She blinks hard and steels against it. Straightens her spine.
Beneath her, Vrtra breathes. Scales saturated with raw aether scrape together, sending power rippling off his body, hitting her in waves.
Krile digs her knees into the back of the great wyrm and tries not to laugh at herself, at how she got herself into this situation.
She’d opened her big mouth at the exact right (wrong?) time.
She and Raha’s latest research project had taken them to Radz-at-Han, to borrow some rather extensive documents from the alchemists of the Great Work. And as eager as they were to delve into the research itself, the grumbling of their stomachs demanded priority.
No sooner had they sat down at a table in Mehryde’s Meyhane and ordered their drinks had Estinien come striding in, decked in his signature armor and lance strapped to his back. His strides long and swift, shoulders squared, he didn’t even glance their way as he made a beeline for a waiter near the far wall, who was already scrambling to meet him halfway with a bag in hand.
Raha spoke as she watched Estinien pay for his takeaway,
“Clearly Ser Estinien has his own pressing work here; it appears he doesn’t even have time to sit down for a meal.”
Before she could respond, Krile’s skin bristled as a great wave of aether pushed down from above the restaurant. Raha glanced upward just as she did, both of them recognizing the static in the air as Vrtra passed overhead.
Estinien was making his way back out, still not bothering to look over at them, when she finally spoke.
“It’s not everyone who can say they travel to work on dragonback, especially with the convenience of aetherytes. Though I’m sure the view is much more interesting from up there.”
Several hours later, Krile looked up from her documents to realize she and Raha were still sitting at the restaurant, having become completely absorbed in the new information they’d been given. As the hour was getting late, Raha proposed they stay in the city overnight, and return to the Annex come morning.
Taking advantage of Varshahn’s ever-standing offer of hospitality to the Scions, the two settled into the guest chambers of the satrap palace, too tired to dwell on any feelings of humbleness despite their popularity in the region.
It was as Krile was readying herself for bed when the air shifted in the room, static pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck. Vrtra’s aether, and very closeby.
And then Estinien was there, at her window, casting a shadow across the whole of the room.
“Put your trousers and boots back on, Mistress.”
She wanted to admonish him. For ignoring her and Raha at the restaurant. For showing up uninvited to her room. For issuing demands without so much as a “hello”, much less an explanation.
Instead, she looked around the grey haze of her room, threw her hands up and said,
“Well, move aside so I can find said trousers. You’re blocking my moonlight.”
And now here she was. On dragonback, soaring high above Radz-at-Han, the chill of the night air seeping into her skin and her breath puffing out in tiny clouds.
If not for the thick arm wrapped tight around the front of her shoulders, Krile was certain she’d go sliding off Vrtra’s side and careening into the inky blackness below.
When she’d pressed Estinien on why he was leading her out of the city gates, where she could see the dark profile of Vrtra waiting, his answer had simply been a gruff “Decided to show you the interesting view.”
Krile couldn’t stifle a smile, then. Couldn’t even bring herself to be mad about being kept from the warm comfort of the large, pillowy bed in the guest room she’d been whisked out of.
Just as she couldn’t be mad that she was now shivering against the wind, the wyrm rising higher through the clouds to grant them a view of the bright moon above. How Estinien is staying warm, she cannot fathom, considering he had shucked his armor before coming to fetch her, and is now in a thin tunic and well-worn trousers instead. But as he gently but not-so-subtly pulls her back against the firm planes of his stomach, she can tell he is running fairly hot. The warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt and into the back of hers, contrasting the slight sting of cold air hitting her front.
Krile wraps an arm around his own, glancing down to see his free hand settled lightly upon the scales beneath them. Barely holding on, it seemed.
Maybe he would never admit to it, but it was clear there was a deep trust between the wrym and dragoon, a silent communication conveying what words were not needed for. And though Estinien was Estinien, his own person and own being, Krile could not help but wonder if the dragon blood mixed into his veins–the blood of Vrtra’s own elder brood-brother–helped facilitate this quiet, steady bond.
Her hair whips around her shoulders and into her face as Vrtra banks slightly, slowly circling around the edges of the city. Krile makes the mistake of looking over the wyrm’s side and down, spotting dots of light through the dark clouds below. She swallows the sound of her own nerves in her throat and closes her eyes for a moment to re-center.
The dragoon behind her notices. Obviously his hearing is incredibly keen, as the hand pressed flat against her collarbone slides to the opposite shoulder, fingers curling over it in a firm but gentle grip.
Krile smiles again, keeping her eyes closed as she relaxes against the man’s torso. Her grip on his arm lessens in intensity as she allows herself to trust him not to let her fall, her fingers finding the hairs of his forearm beneath the sleeve and petting them absently. Estinien says nothing in response. He’s barely spoken at all since they lifted off into the night sky, and she isn’t bothered by it. The dragoon is a man of action moreso than words, and she’s fully aware of what he’s trying to say. As she softly strokes his arm, a strange, quiet purr vibrates in the chest behind her.
She bites her lip to stifle a giggle. How very dragon of him.
If Vrtra notices the sound, he makes no comment, his own heavy breaths swallowed by the mighty flapping of his wings in the wind. Vrtra, too, had been very quiet, greeting her cordially as he’d bent down to assist Estinien in helping her up onto his back, and then briefly explaining where he would be flying them. After that, the great wrym had gone silent, but not once did he give off an air of indisposition. Clearly Estinien had asked this favor of the dragon, and been granted it with little to no hesitancy.
Krile would offer her thanks to their host later; for now, she is too relaxed to even speak.
Despite the cold wind she is almost lulled to sleep against Estinien’s chest, the warmth and purring swallowing her from behind like a thick, soft coat. She feels him shift slightly behind her, and forces herself to crack her eyes open just in time to feel his breath in her hair.
She glances up, finds him bent over slightly, his face close enough to her own that she can see the moonlight casting angular shadows across his features. His head jerks back just a bit when she meets his eyes, and he looks like a boy caught with his hand in the pastry-basket.
Straightening his posture, he furrows his brow and huffs,
“Needed to make sure you weren’t falling asleep on me; I didn’t arrange this ride for you not to enjoy the scenery.”
As he glances away, towards the moon, she laughs.
She won’t tease him about the almost-kiss he’d tried to press into her hair, then.
Instead, she scrapes her nails against his arm softly and listens to the hitch in his purring.
Watches the profile of his face as he stares off into the night.
“Not to worry, Ser Estinien. I’m enjoying the view immensely .”