Work Text:
Aymeric stood at the window, looking out into the night. A light snow fell, dusting the bells and banners, the evergreen Starlight tree standing tall amid the stones and spires of Ishgard. It would be a lovely sight for her people to awaken to come morning, though Aymeric would be busy with matters of his own.
He unlocked the window and drew the curtains, turning away toward his bed. He was half-tempted to wait up, like a naughty child overeager to see his presents, but he knew that would only spoil it. No, it would be better to discover his present at the proper time, to wake cradled by strong arms. It had been long since last he’d felt that embrace — too long. But soon, his wait would be at its end.
Fluffing his pillows to perfection, he climbed into bed and blew out the candle. Drawing the hangings, he settled in to sleep, the space beside him left empty for another to fill.
The cold, gray light of dawn filtered through his hangings, a dim light that nevertheless drew Aymeric from his slumber. He stretched, rolled over, and abruptly sat up. The space beside him was yet empty, with no sign of blankets either rumpled or warmed. Estinien had never come.
He swung his legs out of bed, ignoring the room’s chill — his manservant had yet to see to the fire, so early was this accursed hour — as he checked the window. Finding it unlocked, just as he’d left it, worry twisted in his stomach. Once upon a time, such absences had been ordinary, but those days were long past. Weren’t they?
Seizing his linkpearl from where it lay upon his desk, he inserted it and pressed the button to initiate the call. It rang once, twice, thrice — no answer. Its twin lay in the bottom of Estinien’s pack, no doubt. But its absence from the man’s ear told Aymeric that whatever was keeping Estinien from him had also separated him from his pack, otherwise he’d have called. Surely, he would have called.
Aymeric was halfway down the hall before he realized what he was doing. Where did he think he was going, in his sleeping gown? To the lips of every gossiping lord and lady in the city, no doubt, were he to wander the city in his nightclothes. He forced himself to stop, to think; a walk wouldn’t be remiss — the brisk air would clear his head, if nothing else — but he must keep appearances in mind. Even at this early hour, there would no doubt be eyes upon him.
The frigid air burned Aymeric’s lungs as he breathed deep, the shock of the cold serving to banish any sleep which yet lingered in the corners of his mind. His feet carried him swiftly along the winding roads and sweeping staircases, though no closer to a solution.
Where was Estinien coming from? He’d mentioned it, some weeks prior. A gathering in Old Sharlayan, if Aymeric’s memory served, arranged by that charming Lalafellin woman, Tataru. As far as Aymeric knew, Estinien’s plan had been to leave fashionably early and travel by aetherite to Ishgard, arriving sometime in the early bells of the night.
It was far too early to attempt to contact Tataru, but if Estinien’s absence stretched on toward noon — Halone forfend! — it would be a prudent course of action. For now, he supposed he could check the aetherite plaza, though he had little idea what he might possibly be looking for.
Turning left, he cut through the shop-lined plaza; while crowded with the season’s festive trappings, it was the swiftest path from here to the Firmament. And even with all that had happened, he had to admit that the Starlight tree was a beautiful sight.
It beggared belief that the people of Ishgard had managed to maneuver such a magnificent, towering specimen — a highland species of pine, he believed, though he was no botanist — through these narrow streets, but somehow they’d done so. The boughs were decorated with garlands and glass ornaments, which sparkled as they swayed, catching the early morning light.
Wait. This was a calm morning. So then why were the boughs swaying? Aymeric stopped, frowning up to the tree. That was no wind. Something was up there, thrashing within the laden branches. No diminutive moogle could shake the tree so fiercely. Had a neglectful reveler set one of the older dragonets drunk, again? Regrettably, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Whatever it was seemed to have stilled, for the moment, though Aymeric knew it was still in there. Taking a careful step forward, one hand on his sword hilt just in case, he called out quietly.
“Happy Starlight to you, friend. May I be of assistance?”
His words hung in the frosty morning air for a long moment, before a hoarse voice answered him from within.
“Aymeric?”
“Estinien?” Aymeric couldn’t believe his ears. Hurrying forward, he pushed the thick boughs apart as much as he could, peering up into the tree. “What are you doing up there, my love?”
“Wasn’t on purpose,” came a grumpy reply, punctuated by another shaking of the tree. “Someone put a Fury-damned tree here. It was never here before.”
“It’s Starlight,” Aymeric said, fighting to keep the amusement from his voice, the giddy joy relief had brought making the task far more difficult than it ought to be. He thought he could make out something high up in the tree, though the shape seemed off somehow.
“I always come through this way. There was never a tree here before, even for Starlight.”
Come to think of it, Aymeric couldn’t remember ever seeing a tree down this way before, either. Perhaps the display was new this year. He rested one foot upon a low branch, testing it before putting his weight on it and lifting himself up into the tree, one hand reaching up to push the overhead branches aside.
Yes, there Estinien was, a tangle of white hair hanging down from where he dangled, upside-down. Aymeric couldn’t see his face from here, but he imagined the expression: indignant and embarrassed, in equal parts. Unfortunately, Aymeric was about to make things worse.
“I do believe you’re right about that, now that I think about it,” Aymeric responded diplomatically. “However, even if the tree is new, that still doesn’t explain how you ran into it. Weren’t you looking where you were going?”
There was a long silence, followed by an unhappy grunt. When Estinien spoke, his words were short.
“Waters split a bottle of fancy spirits with me. It’s never been a problem before, but that’s what happened.”
Oh, dear. Aymeric closed his eyes for a moment, empathizing with the situation. Where most men might stumble into the gutter — or, Fury forfend, take a tumble over a rail — Estinien had been leaping through the air, with all the confidence and lack of care that came with such revelry, and had wound up tangling with an unexpected tree instead.
“Are you injured?”
“Only my pride.” A pause. “And my damned head’s pounding, though the tree’s not to blame for that. Something’s snagged me, and I can’t reach it to cut myself free.”
“Don’t move, love. I’m coming.”
Aymeric stepped up onto the next bough, keeping his feet as close to the central trunk as possible, but when he went to take the next step up he hesitated. The branch was bending in a way he didn’t much like, and he didn’t trust it to bear his weight. He’d have to find another way.
Dropping back to the ground, his mind raced through the options. For Estinien’s sake, he couldn’t make a spectacle out of this; however, if he waited much longer, a spectacle would be made regardless. The windows looking over the narrow street might be a way to get closer, and he believed excuses made to but a single family would be an acceptable sacrifice of Estinien’s pride, but he still had little idea what he might do once up there. If he couldn’t climb into the tree from down here, surely it would be even worse farther up.
No, he needed help. Help from someone reliable and innovative — ideally, someone Estinien had little contact with. Most importantly, he needed someone who would come to aid him on this early Starlight morning. And he believed he knew exactly the person.
“What hour of the Fury-cursed morning do you call this?” Stephanivien de Haillenarte peered blearily out at him through a door held just ajar. “And on Starlight, no less. Manufactory’s closed for the holy day.”
“I know, my friend. My apologies, I wouldn’t be knocking if it wasn’t important. Might I come in?”
Stephanivien sighed but opened the door, turning away. As Aymeric entered, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior, he watched Stephanivien secure the firearm he’d been holding before turning back to him.
“Do you always greet your visitors with such suspicion?”
“I do when their arrival’s suspicious.” He ran a hand through his hair, standing it up on end even worse than it already was. “There’s still saboteurs who come skulking around, even after everything. How did you know I was sleeping here, anyway?”
“Count Baurendouin’s bitter manner of late has revealed strife among your family, and it is well known that during such times you seek the company of — well, if you’ll forgive my forthright speech, your other family. I would have been surprised to find you anywhere but here, especially tonight of all nights.”
“Fury, you’re too perceptive for your own good.” Stephanivien shook his head, but when he turned to face Aymeric a slight smile had come across his face. “Well, since you’ve got me up already, what’s the problem?”
Aymeric launched into a brief explanation of the current predicament, glossing over the details of precisely what had influenced Estinien’s careless leaping.
“And so,” he concluded, “with all the wonders you create here, I was hoping you might have something that could help me.”
“Well, I have turrets. Won’t help here, though, as I assume you want him alive.” Stephanivien stroked his chin, glancing around the workshop. “You could take your pick of hand cannons, which would level the playing field so to speak, though surely there’s safer ways to fell the tree.”
“It would be best if I didn’t destroy half the street in the process, as I surely would if I tried to take something so large down. Do you have anything less — explosive?”
“My Lord Speaker,” he said, barking a laugh as he turned around to face Aymeric. “What is it you think we do, here?”
“Create mechanical wonders? Cultivate clever ideas? Solve problems none other might attempt?”
“Yes, yes, all true — but we do those things by finding new and innovative ways to ignite novel alchemical compounds!” He gestured, mimicking an explosion with his hands as he grinned. “Regardless, I believe I do have a solution for you. And I assure you, I mean no insult by it.”
“I can’t imagine why you would,” Aymeric said, frowning as Stephanivien retreated into a dark corner of the Manufactory. He didn’t have to wait long, as he soon returned carrying a long object that glinted in what scant light filtered through the windows. Two long poles, connected by a series of — oh, Halone have mercy. It truly was so simple, wasn’t it?
“Forgive me,” Aymeric said, “I’ve disrupted your rest for no good reason. I should have been able to produce a ladder myself.”
“Nonsense. You might think the city populace blind to anything but our own petty dramas, but any who pay attention can know you’re not at your best unless a certain someone is by your side. And besides,” he rested one end of the ladder upon the ground and, with a flick of his wrist, extended the ladder to twice its original length. “Show me a ladder of yours that does that.”
“Most impressive. Thank you, my friend.” Aymeric smiled. “And you’re quite certain it doesn’t explode?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot. You can put your firesand in right here, and — I jest! Don’t look at me so!
Aymeric settled the ladder amid the boughs, then began to climb. His excursion to the Manufactory had taken longer than he’d intended, and the city was beginning to wake. They didn’t have much time before the citizens would be out in force, even on a sleepy holy day morning such as this.
He ascended the ladder swiftly, soon coming face to face with his wayward Dragoon. Estinien’s face was flushed — whether from the angle he dangled at or the mortification of it all, Aymeric dared not say — and he refused to meet Aymeric’s eyes. Nevertheless, Aymeric smiled, leaning over to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of his nose.
“I’ll have you down soon. Just a few moments longer, my love.”
Barely another two fulms up the ladder, he found the problem. A branch had caught in Estinien’s belt, and as the man had struggled it had snapped and folded back in upon itself, reinforcing the trap. It wouldn’t be difficult to cut him out of the tree, but gravity would assert itself immediately upon such an action. Aymeric descended the ladder again to speak to Estinien.
“Are you able to catch yourself, if I cut you out?”
“Aye,” came the reply, as Estinien’s hands reached out, taking a firm grip upon nearby branches.
Aymeric climbed back up, and began the work. Success came even sooner than anticipated, Estinien dropping from beneath his hands with a crack of splintering wood. Aymeric’s heart jumped into his throat, but there was no need to worry, as Estinien caught himself with a grunt. All would be well. Now they just had to clean up this mess, and none would be the wiser as to the night’s misadventures.
Aymeric sipped his tea, setting the cup back down in its saucer with a gentle clink. Estinien looked less miserable than he usually was, when forced to attend these sorts of social engagements. Aymeric knew not whether it was down to Estinien’s earlier adventures sapping his restless energy, his gratitude at being rescued strengthening his resolve to act properly amid high society, or something as simple as being more at ease with Artoirel de Fortemps than most others, but he appreciated the effort nevertheless.
“Did you hear about the tree?” Artoirel asked, and Estinien dropped his biscuit on the floor. As Estinien disguised his surprise with a muttered apology and a scrabbling for the shattered pieces, Artoirel continued. “The one down Chardeloup way. Rumor has it one of our Dragoons was stuck it in early this morning.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Aymeric said, pursing his lips in the very picture of polite concern. “None have reported such an incident to me.”
Estinien wasn’t helping the lie, his eyes nervously roaming the room. For the moment, Artoirel’s attention was upon Aymeric, but once glance over to Estinien’s face would ruin all. Aymeric needed to distract Estinien, to change the subject to another matter entirely perhaps.
“But then again,” he continued, letting a wry smile twist his lips, “the Dragoons take care of their own, so I wouldn’t expect to be notified, provided all worked out well in the end. Isn’t that right, Estinien?”
Estinien stared at him for a moment, apparently too shocked to remember his embarrassment — good. Then he shook his head, brows drawing close as he frowned.
“Don’t lay that at my feet like I was the one who came up with it. The Knights Dragoon have operated independently since long before my time. I’ve explained it to you already.”
“And yet,” Aymeric said, “I have heard naught of the practice from my forebears. Should I ask Ser Alberic, perhaps?”
“Nay!” Estinien protested, earning a light chuckle from Aymeric.
“I’m only teasing, love. I understand the tradition and, while it frustrates me, I don’t hold you responsible for it.”
“How have you been enjoying your retirement?” Artoirel asked Estinien, thankfully pivoting away from the dangerous subject. “I hear you’ve been traveling.”
“Aye,” Estinien said, relaxing back into his seat. Or at least, as relaxed as he ever was in front of company. “I tried sabotender in Xak Tural. They’re good eating, once you take out the spines.”
Aymeric allowed himself to relax as well, chuckling along with Artoirel’s shocked expression. Estinien’s dignity was safe, at least for the moment. Yes, this was all that Aymeric had been missing. Would that it came more than these few times a year, but each moment was ever more precious for its scarcity. Despite its tangled start, this would be a lovely Starlight Celebration after all.