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When Ganzaya woke, she felt soft sheets and a subtle chill.
That couldn't be right. The last thing she recalled—before that strange dream with the hooded man, anyway—was the Ghimlyt Dark and Zenos swinging his sword upon her head. Did she die? Perhaps that would explain the cold, if all her body heat had gone.
No, stupid. If you were dead, you wouldn't feel anything at all. Zaya cracked her good eye open with considerable effort, only to be blinded by morning light beaming through a frosty window pane. Definitely not dead, then. In fact, based on the climate and architectural style, she appeared to be in...Ishgard? How did she wind up in Ishgard? She was needed on the battlefield right now!
Zaya grunted and ignored the pain that shot through her midsection as she sat up in her cot. Who had tucked her in at a time like this? It was all terribly confusing, and she scowled.
A tiny gasp interrupted her racing thoughts, and she turned to her left to see a young Elezen girl, no more than fourteen, stumbling backward in shock. Zaya opened her mouth to ask just what in the seven hells was going on, but the girl turned tail and ran out the door, yelling, "She's awake! She's awake!"
Damn. Zaya knew she needed to work on her eternal frown, but that was the first time she had sent a child running for her life. It actually stung a bit. But only a few moments passed before the girl returned with someone else in tow, and the cold in the room was suddenly replaced by a volcanic flush of heat.
"Ganzaya!" Aymeric de Borel smiled so wide that she feared she might melt into a scaly puddle.
"That's me," she said lamely as Aymeric dismissed the girl. He rushed to her side and perched on what had to be an uncomfortably low stool for his height, but it seemed that nothing could sour the Lord Commander's good mood. In fact, Zaya was certain no one had ever looked so happy to see her in her entire life. She wasn't sure what to make of it, so she directed her gaze to her lap lest she combust.
"Thank the Fury you're awake," he said, and she could still hear the smile in his voice, damn him. "I was so worried you'd end up like...well, like the others." She dared to glance back up at him and saw his sunny disposition had finally drooped. They both knew the others were her dearest friends.
But she was awake. And he was here, with her. That had to be worth something.
"What happened?" Zaya asked. "I thought Zenos killed me, to be honest."
Aymeric's eyes darkened. "He nearly did. In the midst of your duel, it is said you faltered, and that the crown prince seized the opportunity to deliver a mortal blow." But he smiled again, softer and gentler this time. "Yet before his blade could find its mark, he was distracted by the arrival of a second adversary who bore you away from the battlefield and into the hands of our chirurgeons."
Zaya frowned. Ishgardians and their flowery words. "I don't get it. Someone rescued me?"
Aymeric nodded. "Estinien. He intervened before Zenos could land the killing blow, and he brought you to me. Dumped you on the ground in front of me, in fact." He sighed and pinched his brow. "Not how you treat a lady, I told him. I know you're hardly fragile, but really."
Zaya finally laughed, because it was just so Estinien to save her life with so little regard for decorum. Not like she cared. Considering how they'd beaten the hells out of each other way back when she was training as a Dragoon, before she had even faced Gaius, it was hardly the roughest treatment she'd received from her friend.
Aymeric patiently explained the rest of what had happened. Shortly after Estinien's rescue, Zenos retreated from the battlefield, and the greater imperial forces fell back with him. Not only that, but Eorzean intelligence suggested that territories under imperial control might follow in the footsteps of Doma and Ala Mhigo—all excellent news for the Alliance. But, selfish though it may be, the provinces were not at the forefront of Zaya's mind.
"Alisaie is yet to wake, I'm afraid," Aymeric said, and Zaya thought her heart might shatter there and then. "I'm sorry. I know how much she means to you."
Zaya rubbed the scales on her arms in an attempt to soothe herself. "It's okay." It wasn't, but what else could she say?
Aymeric nudged his hand closer on the edge of the bed. "I know you. I know you want to leap back into action. But Zaya, I implore you..." He finally touched her, ever so gently, to tilt her chin toward his face—then withdrew his hand far quicker than she wanted him to. "Please concentrate on your own recovery for now." He cast his gaze downward. "You have carried the hopes of some half-dozen nations—and we are all eternally grateful for your efforts—but no one is without their limits. Even you."
Right. Recovery. Judging by her presence in an Ishgardian infirmary, the pain in her torso, and her soft, white medical robes, she must have been considerably injured. It was then that she became acutely aware of what she was wearing. Or, more accurately, what she was not wearing.
"Eye—my eyepatch," she sputtered, covering the left side of her face with her hand. "Where is it?" Her bangs did a decent job of hiding it, but hair was much thinner than leather.
Aymeric's expression only crumpled. "I'm so sorry, Zaya. The chirurgeons had to remove all dirt and grime to prevent infection, you must understand. Your personal effects are being cleaned as we speak." His mouth twisted with discomfort. "If you'd like, I could perhaps expedite—"
"It's fine," Zaya blurted out, turning away from him. He had to be seated on her left, didn't he? But she supposed that hiding her injury from Aymeric was a futile effort.
After all, it's not like he didn't know what was under that eyepatch.
It happened shortly after Ganzaya returned from Doma. Aymeric had heard she was back in Eorzea, and he’d invited her to Borel Manor to make good on his promise to enjoy more of his cellars. And, oops—they enjoyed a little too much.
The conversation veered personal, as it tends to when wine is involved and the moon is high. He told her about what happened in the Vault, beyond what the Echo had shown her. When he recounted his “questioning,” he trembled hard, and Zaya placed her hand on top of his before she could think twice about it. That seemed to calm him considerably.
He’d been so vulnerable, and in her drunken state she thought that she ought to return that openness somehow. So she took off her eyepatch and showed him the socket that was left. Told him the whole pathetic story about how she’d had the shit kicked out of her when she was still too weak to defend herself. By the end of it, she was blubbering like a baby. Humiliating.
Aymeric gave her a pained look, and she expected him to say something placating, maybe, to get her to shut up and stop crying. Instead, he brushed her bangs aside and placed a kiss on her left brow, above the scarred socket. Oh. That was fine, too. Before she knew it they were cuddling on the couch, and he was so warm and smelled like fancy soap, and then, and then…!
…They fell asleep, only to wake at 5 AM when his cat loudly puked on the carpet. Zaya left without even fixing her smudged makeup.
They hadn’t talked about it since.
Neither of them knew how to break the awkward silence, but neither needed to. A brawny, middle-aged Hyuran woman charged into the room, skirts hoisted in one hand and a leather bag in the other. At the sight of Zaya, she exclaimed, “So she is awake! Away, away, Milord, I’ve got to have a look at her, make sure she’s hale and hearty.”
Aymeric smiled sheepishly and rose from his stool, then seemed to notice Zaya’s confused expression. “Your lead chirurgeon, Madame Blanchett. She’s been looking after you for the past three days.”
“It’s Lottie, my love,” the woman said, subtly rolling her eyes. “No one in this place calls me that but this here Lord Borel.”
“Er, right. Well, then, I’ll leave you to do your work.” Aymeric made to leave, but lingered in the doorway, fiddling with his gloves. “You’ll update me on her condition...?”
Lottie heaved a sigh and the lines in her forehead deepened. “No, I’ll keep you in the dark this time round.” Zaya couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, and Aymeric flushed again, looking sheepish. Lottie broke her serious charade and laughed too. “Of course I will, Milord, you needn’t ask me every time I examine the miss.”
Aymeric stuttered out a “Thank you, Madame” and made himself scarce. Zaya finally released a small giggle at her forceful personality, and Lottie shook her head fondly. “He’s just a being a worrywart. Suppose I shouldn’t mess with him, but now that you’re up and we’ve less to worry about...” She hummed and opened her bag of equipment. “Well, I ought to check your vitals before crackin’ jokes.”
As Lottie worked efficiently to measure Zaya’s pulse and breathing, she mulled over the earlier conversation. She couldn’t help but feel guilty at how obsessive Aymeric had supposedly been regarding her condition. He had enough on his plate simply from leading Ishgard, and the failed negotiations with Emperor Varis only added to his stress. She hardly wanted to be yet another reason why the object of her affections was losing precious sleep.
Zaya worked up the courage to ask a little more about the situation as Lottie tapped her knee with a tiny hammer. If she asked Aymeric directly, surely he’d sugarcoat it. “He was...worried, then,” she muttered.
“Understatement of the century, my love,” Lottie said, moving to scribble a few notes on her clipboard. “Heard the Lord Commander was a holy man, but it even took me by surprise.”
Zaya cocked her head, silently urging for more.
“Poor fellow spent day and night knelt right there.” Lottie gestured toward the floor beside Zaya’s cot. “Hours at a time, head down, pleading with Halone to wake you up. Had to remind him to stretch and eat.” The busy chirurgeon finally stilled and looked at Zaya in the eye. “Reckon he thought it was the only thing he could do to help.”
Zaya’s horns rang. “Oh,” she breathed.
“Now, now, I see that look. You’ve no reason to feel guilty about it.” Lottie gave Zaya’s knee a comforting pat. “Just telling you what happened. His Lordship must love you something fierce. You’re a lucky girl.”
The ringing in her head was deafening now. Zaya’s breath hitched and she steadied herself with both hands on the bed, lest she tip over onto the floor. “L—” Stay calm, don’t make a scene. “What?!”
“Oh?” Lottie’s thin eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Don’t tell me I’ve got it wrong?”
“We’re friends,” Zaya said brusquely. “Just friends.”
“My mistake, then. I could’ve sworn...” Lottie shook her head. “Well, no matter what you are, clearly he cares a lot about you.” She smiled. “You keep people like that close, you hear?”
“Of course,” Zaya said, her heartrate slowly returning to normal. “He’s a good man.”
After a few more moments, Zaya’s examination concluded. “You seem remarkably normal for spending three days knocked out like that. Just take it easy until your wounds have healed, and call for me if anything changes or gets worse.”
Zaya quietly thanked the chirurgeon, who packed up her curious instruments as busily as she had bustled into the room. Lottie gave a friendly wave and turned into the hallway, only to exclaim, “Lord Commander! You’re still here?”
Zaya’s fingers and toes immediately turned to ice and her eye bulged. He was standing outside? How much had he heard?!
“Er, yes, well.” Aymeric sounded as though he were scrambling for the words to explain himself. “I just thought, if I waited nearby, I could receive any news straight away...”
“I told you I’d keep you updated, Milord. You needn’t hover like that,” Lottie said with a chiding tone. “Anyhow, she’s free if you’d like to see her again. And she’s fine, so stop fidgeting.”
“Y—Yes, Madame!” Aymeric scuttled back into the room, looking sheepish. He didn’t seem to want to look at Zaya.
The sound of Lottie’s heels grew quieter as she continued down the hallway, until finally, she was gone.
“Sorry,” Zaya said. “For worrying you, I mean.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Aymeric said, still avoiding eye contact. “I’m simply glad to see you well.”
The grandfather clock ticked once, twice, thrice. Zaya took a breath.
“When Estinien,” she choked out, then swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “When he was unconscious, did you...?”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence. The unspoken question hung in the air between them. Did you helplessly prostrate yourself before your god for hours on end, begging for his life?
“I was concerned for my friend, of course,” he said, “but...my actions were not quite so extreme.” He slouched a little and rubbed at his face with his hands. “Fury. I’m sorry, Zaya.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“I’ve made you uncomfortable again. Like—like that night.” He pulled his hands downward and she hated the expression he revealed—like he was so ashamed of himself, like he’d done something wrong. “I continue doing these foolish things, and as you said, we are only friends.” He turned and made to leave. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you to rest now.”
Panic gripped at Zaya’s chest, and she shouted, “No!" at a volume that surely the neighbouring rooms would hear. How many times could she embarrass herself today?
Aymeric stopped in the doorway, pausing a moment before he turned back around. “Zaya? Is something the matter?” His expression was less pained, now, and more confused than anything.
“...Don’t go,” she said, a bit pitifully. “I want you here.”
“Oh,” he said, “of course,” his face finally softening again—and that was what she always wanted to see, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He tentatively walked back over to her cot and sat down at the stool once more.
And even if those mushy feelings she held deep in her heart were stupid, embarrassing, pathetic, all those horrible words that swirled in her mind all of the time...apparently he smiled when she was honest. So maybe she could try a little more of that. Just to see.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Zaya said, twiddling her thumbs. “You make me...really happy.”
Aymeric looked at her through his lashes and sighed. “If you say that sort of thing...” He slowly reached for each of her hands, as if giving her time to pull away if she didn’t want it. And seven hells, she wanted it, so instead she closed the gap between them and relished in the warmth of his long fingers.
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he insisted, and Zaya desperately shook her head. No, you’re not, please keep touching me.
That seemed to please him greatly, and his eyes did even more of that crinkly thing she loved as he smiled like he had when he first saw her awake. He squeezed her hands and held her gaze, face flushed, and said, “I’ve been wanting to tell you that you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”
He said it with such earnestness and conviction that there was no possibility he’d told a flattering lie. Aymeric genuinely felt that way. About her.
A dam burst somewhere in her chest, and Ganzaya Dhoro pitched forward on a sob.
“Zaya?! Are you alright? You’re not in pain, are you?” Aymeric began frantically rubbing her back as she cried. “Should I call for help?”
“No,” she hiccupped, “no, ‘m happy,” and if it were anyone else she’d consider never showing her face in front of them again.
“Oh, Zaya, I’m happy too,” he soothed, his hand slowing down, “but please don’t cry, really—”
Aymeric continued to stroke her as she let out all those bottled-up feelings, and eventually another chirurgeon that was passing by peeked in the room to ask if she was okay. And it was mortifying, putting herself out in the open like that.
But Aymeric de Borel had called her lovely, and he was gently rubbing her back.
She decided the embarrassment was worth it.