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He is, of course, beautiful. In everything he does beauty can be found, from how his brow furrows after reading over a particularly perplexing document to how merely his smile is enough to make any soldier wave the white flag. Hells, Estinien was sure that Aymeric could fall down the highest mountain in Coerthas and come out with a face still fit to make even the most stone hearted of maidens blush.
Estinien remembered, fondly, how in their youth his chest would squeeze and ache when watching over Aymeric during their stays at the makeshift camps; face burning hot enough to melt the highland snow burying them. He had told himself back then to hope. To hope and tell himself that it was just the ever creeping loneliness that comes with being a soldier making his heart flutter.. because if it had been anything else then Halones mercy.
By now had changed, no longer two rosy-faced boys playing Knight in a war far too old for them– but some things would forever stay the same in a mortal's lifetime. Even now he still feels that same tightening creep back into his chest when looking up towards the skies. Eyes glimmering with recognition as he stared upwards, not to be met with one of Halone’s angels descending from the heavens but something much more holy, something that Estinien would much sooner put his faith into, much more eager to sing the praises of a man who took charge than a goddess who let her people suffer.
Aymeric de Borel, taking to the skies dragonback with thousands of eyes locked onto him was not a sorry sight. Gone were the days of stolen glances reserved only for him, now Estinien was just another face In the crowd of cheering Elezen, eager to claim their place in history. But Estinien felt no shame in his recluse, he knew that in Aymeric's tale he had played his part – and he was certainly no blushing maiden squealing with something less personal than the admiration and pride bubbling and swelling within Estiniens heart.
He had nothing to offer Aymeric, not anymore. His lance was not needed and nor was his helm that he had once worn so proudly, the Azure dragoon had found his peace and now a new man must crawl out from the bloodied armour, soaked in remains of a past life he only prayed would not be commemorated. Still, he gave Aymeric what little he could in this moment– all the words he had kept to himself in their youth, contained within the familiar crooked smile which washed over his face as Aymeric flew by.
Estinien was not afraid to leave, fearing that the few he loved which still remained would be scorched by Dragon flame. Ishgard was in good hands, no primal nor goddess was needed for its people to feel at peace– even if they did not realise it yet, the only man they'd ever need to place their faith in from this point on (of course, the Warrior of Light was a special case) was soaring to heights they would not have dared dream of in their temple Knight days.
If he let the boyish thoughts get the better of him Estinien could swear that Aymeric's gaze had found him within the crowd and met his eye right before he turned. Of course, that was impossible, Estinien of all people knew how the skies impacted your vision and Aymeric wasn't even a dragoon.. but the soft optimism of those deep, princely eyes would be remembered in blessed dreams.
Right– To Azys Lla. Someone ought to give that woman flowers.