Archive of Our Own

The evening sun of Thavnair hung golden in the warm air, catching motes of dust alight as if they were sparks of aether and casting long shadows across the rainbow-hued rugs spread out over the floor of Estinien's private chambers. Once, not too long ago, such a place would have been naught but a vivid, fantastical daydream to a man who had been born and raised in Coerthas, but after a moon or so of service to Vrtra the sight of it all had grown rather mundane, and he no longer felt the impulse to rub at his eyes each time he entered the room. 

Not that Estinien had endless hours to while away in his bed, plush and lavishly decorated as it was; in fact, Vrtra had kept him well-occupied with a variety of tasks, from the training of the Radiant Host to hauling buckets of water whenever a fire broke out in the residential districts. The work suited him well, and he wanted for nothing– neither food nor drink, nor leisure, when he wished for it. Even the bed upon which he lay was large enough for three to spread out in comfort. When the bustle and brightness of the city streets grew overwhelming, he could take all the time to himself that he wished, and he would be fetched by Varshahn if his presence was absolutely necessary. It was a far cry from any lifestyle he had ever lived, a dream for which shepherds and soldiers and other common folk across Eorzea struggled their whole lives in pursuit– and yet Estinien found himself unsatisfied.

He stared up at the ceiling, tracing with his eyes the swirls in the grain of the wooden beams that crossed it. ‘Twas not any material concern he lacked– the food in Thavnair was abundant, and the flavors beyond that of nearly any dish Ishgard had ever offered, which he recognized even with as little thought as he had ever given to such things before the end of the war. The aimlessness he had felt then had been alleviated as well– the Scions, and Vrtra afterwards, had so graciously given him the place and purpose that Nidhogg had stolen from a shepherd boy, long ago. For a moment he considered whether his newfound appreciation for travel was what had been left neglected in his troubled heart– the feeling of the salt spray of the ocean against his skin, the clear-eyed thrill of unfamiliar sounds in his ears and scents in his nose, the strange comfort of being an unremarkable face in a crowd that knew naught of his past, of his trials and losses and failures. 

But nay, he thought to himself, wanderlust could not be the source of his troubles. Even when he had traveled between the continents, spending each night in a new bed, there had always been an ache deep within that he had been unable to put into words. Even if he were to set off for Kugane or some other such exotic destination on the morrow, what would happen within the moon? He would only return to that aimless state, blowing about like a dandelion seed on the breeze, and naught would change in the end. 

Estinien closed his eyes, a sigh passing his lips. The Dragonsong War had long been laid to rest, and even the threat of the Ascians to the very star itself had begun to pass into myth and memory. Would his own heart ever be granted the peace he had fought so long to bring to those around him? Or had Nidhogg taken even that from him in the end– one last victory for the fragments of the wyrm’s shade that still clung to his aether like cobwebs in the musty corners of a home he was, at long last, trying to rebuild?

The sound of a knock at the door startled Estinien out of his spiral of self-pity. His soldier's instinct took over in an instant, and before he could even begin to wonder who had come to pay him a visit, he was upright and on his feet, his hands reflexively brushing out the wrinkles in his loose shirt. "What is it?" he called out. 

Varshahn or another of the dragon's attendants, as well as the occasional soldier or alchemist, were his usual callers. But it was none of their familiar voices that sounded through the wooden door; rather, a squeaking cry echoed throughout the room and made Estinien's blood run cold. "Are these the chambers of the esteemed Azure Dragoon Estinien Varlineau? I have come bearing a very important letter for you, kupo!"

Only by the thinnest thread of self-control did Estinien manage to hold himself back from cursing aloud. For a brief moment he considered pretending to be asleep or absent, but even if he had not already spoken and revealed himself, in his regrettable previous experience with the moogle race he knew full well such a thing would not deter them. Nay, 'twas best to tear the poultice from the wound in one swift motion, he reasoned, and so it was only with a reasonable measure of reluctance that he made his way to the door.

"Do your kind have a mandate to disturb everyone unfortunate enough to be involved with you to the greatest possible extent? You know full well these are my chambers. Slip your damned important letter under the door next time," Estinien growled as he wrenched said door open to reveal just the creature he had, to his great consternation, anticipated. The postmoogle bounced in its infuriating manner before him, its cap perched upon its head and the aforementioned letter clasped tightly in its paws.

As Estinien crossed his arms before his chest, the moogle dropped its head in a poor imitation of genuine remorse. "I do apologize, Ser Dragoon, but my duty is to see my letters delivered safely into the hands of their recipients. What if I placed it under your door, as you say, and then the poor letter was stolen? And to say nothing of what the sender would think, never receiving an answer to their heartfelt words… It would be a tragedy, kupo!"

Estinien gritted his teeth, the muscle of his jaw tightened to the point of pain with the effort to resist kicking the creature back down the hallway from whence it came. He knew not why their insipid voices still grated so harshly upon his ears nor why their mannerisms made him wish to dig his nails into his palms until he bled, yet 'twas so, and in the same turn it was not in his nature to question such things. But one thing was for certain– he would be hounded until he took the letter, regardless of whether its contents turned out to be important correspondence from Vrtra or merely inane badgering from an alchemist.

He leaned down and snatched the letter from between the creature's paws, uncaring of the way it trembled before him. "There, 'tis in my hands, as you can well see. Now get out of my sight." 

Blessedly, the moogle scampered off with naught more to say, and Estinien shut the door with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary. The whole ordeal had thoroughly smothered any curiosity he might have held about the contents of the letter, and the thought of his dinner rose to the forefront of his mind. He tossed the envelope upon the table in the center of the room as he made to retrieve his boots from under his bed.

For a short few minutes, the letter was entirely forgotten as Estinien prepared himself to make his way across the city to the meyhane for something to fill his belly, and it may well have been left to languish upon the table for some time had he not happened to lay eyes upon it once more on his way out. 'Twas then that he noticed the seal of wax that shut the envelope– a deep and rather distinctive shade of sapphire. 

No alchemist had called upon him to lend his samples for more dubious experiments, he now knew with certainty. A strange tension began to twist within his breast as he took up the letter and peered more closely at the seal. Sure enough, the very crest he expected to find was there– that of House Borel. 

Estinien tore open the envelope with a not insignificant modicum of trepidation– yet no long-winded interrogation in regard to his whereabouts awaited him within. In fact, there was only a single sheet of paper within, a rarity– before this very moment, Estinien would have said an impossibility– when one Aymeric de Borel was involved. 

The paper had not even been filled on both sides, Estinien realized as he turned it around in disbelief. That accursed moogle probably lost the rest of it, he surmised, a grimace already forming on his lips at the thought of having to explain to his old friend what had happened when the man inevitably cornered and questioned him at the next diplomatic visit. 

Aymeric was a most gracious man, slow to anger and quick with a smile as long as Estinien had known him, but 'twas not his reprimand he feared. In fact, Estinien struggled to put into words what exactly had overcome him the last few times the two of them had been in the same room as of late. Though much and more had changed in Estinien’s life since their days as Temple Knights, Aymeric was the same man he had always known, yet the very sight of him at Cartenau had discomfited Estinien so greatly he could barely speak to him. His actual correspondence had become rather infrequent with all of the other responsibilities that had been heaped upon his shoulders, filling nearly every bell of his time, but Estinien’s heart leapt into his throat each time he did receive one of his long, eloquent letters, knowing he could never hope to reciprocate in kind.

Swallowing the discomfort that had begun to taste bitter in his mouth, Estinien unfolded the letter– only to find that it was not, in fact, a letter at all. An intricate, printed border of holly and mistletoe encircled the single page, and the writing upon it was much larger than the typical dense, yet immaculate hand that Aymeric favored. Rather than a full-fledged correspondence, it was but a few phrases.

Estinien’s mouth fell open as he took in the words, his eyes flicking over them multiple times to make sure there had not been a mistake. A party invitation? What was Aymeric playing at? His friend knew full well how little care Estinien had always had for the social functions that formed the beating heart of Ishgardian high society, and in fact had personally covered for his absence on multiple occasions when they were younger. Now, of course, Aymeric was the Lord Speaker and could hold parties and invite guests as he wished, but in the same turn, Estinien had given up his own title, and would certainly not bring any sort of prestige to his friend’s gathering. Knowing the diligence with which Aymeric conducted such affairs, Estinien was certain that his presence would be naught but a dark cloud, his unsociability dimming the bright light with which Aymeric perpetually shone.

The only explanation was that Aymeric’s nature had not changed, and he had sent the invitation out of mere courtesy, so as not to hurt Estinien's feelings should he catch wind of the happenings on a later date. Estinien would politely refuse, and that would be that. There was no need to impose upon his friend, who deserved to have a happy Starlight amongst fellows who would appreciate his conversation and skill at dance, and not hide themselves away in a dark corner with a dour expression on their faces. 

With a sigh, he stuffed the paper into his pocket and, stomach growling, returned to his quest to find a good meal for the evening. Thinking of Aymeric made his head ache and his hunger was the more pressing topic of the evening; Starlight was a full moon away yet, and he had plenty of time to respond. His friend likely had no expectations of him attending regardless. Estinien’s refusal was not out of fear, nor aversion to Aymeric's company– a party simply was not the sort of thing he enjoyed.

Certainly, the twisting of Estinien’s stomach and the racing of his heartbeat as he imagined Aymeric’s graceful movements upon the dance floor with a faceless partner in his arms had nothing to do with it. 

A day slipped past, and then another, and the current of Estinien's memory pulled every notion of the letter and the party far, far downstream. The precise day and phase of the moon meant little to him anyway, though he held no ill will towards the Starlight holiday; he had simply missed so many of them in pursuit of his vengeance, and those of his youth were as fragile as sugar glass and had been largely smashed to so much dust and fragments long ago. 

But one still evening mere days from the fateful evening found Estinien in his lavish quarters once more, kicking off his boots at the entrance and rummaging through the pockets of his tattered coat in search of another strip of dried squid to chew on. In pursuit of his snack, his fingers instead encountered the paper he had carelessly tucked into his pocket some time ago, and when he reread the (now somewhat rumpled) invitation and realized his error, he gathered what pen and paper he could find to set about writing the response Aymeric had requested. Better late than never, he surmised.

His words did not quite come as easily to his tongue or hands as they did for his eloquent friend, nor was his penmanship anywhere near as fine, and after a half-bell had passed he had managed little more than Aymeric's name at the top of the page. It seemed awfully trite to write naught more than I shall not be attending. Yours, Estinien, yet he knew not what more he could possibly say. 

Unbidden, his thoughts turned toward his friend once more. Moons and moons had passed since he had last seen the other man's face, and it had been even longer since they had spent a significant amount of time together, yet he was certain that Aymeric's habits and idiosyncrasies had not changed a single onze. Though the holiday was still a sennight hence, he would nonetheless already be deep in his preparations, choosing the hors d'oeuvres for his table with all the same care as he would choose each word of one of his speeches. Perhaps he would have every response to his invitations carefully organized and filed away– and the nobles would surely have responded straight away, leaving Estinien as the final unchecked box upon his friend's meticulously penned list.

Estinien shook his head, attempting to clear away the thoughts that had begun to swarm him in a frustrating manner not unlike the gulls at the port of Limsa Lominsa, but his efforts were for naught. 

The invitation may well have been mere courtesy, but surely not all of his fellows would leave Aymeric in the cold for the holiday. Perhaps Aymeric would even welcome such a turn– would prefer friends who gladly came over to eat his hors d'oeuvres and answered his letters in days rather than weeks. For a decade he and Estinien had stood together against the frigid, inflexible society into which they had been cast, but Aymeric had risen to the very pinnacle of that once impenetrable hierarchy. Even those that had once been his bitterest enemies had begun to at least entertain the idea of embracing him. 

Was that what Estinien wanted? For Aymeric to leave him alone to live his life as he pleased, while he spent his own time with other men and women who would smile at his stories and fill the quiet halls of Borel Manor with chatter? To never receive another letter written in that elegant hand from that damned post-moogle? 

Estinien gritted his teeth and put pen to paper once more.

Trite or not, 'twould have to do. As he had come to know all of his friend's idiosyncrasies over the years, so had Aymeric come to know his as well, and a response so curt as to be insulting if it were penned by a Fortemps or Durendaire would be exactly what was expected of Estinien Varlineau– or so he hoped Aymeric would see it that way.

Glancing at Aymeric's invitation once more before sealing the envelope, Estinien frowned. Did he even own a single article of what could be considered evening dress? 

Never mind that. If Aymeric wanted him at his little get-together so badly, he would have to accept him as he came. His armor was good enough for the official functions he had never attended; 'twould suffice for a Starlight party.

Surely his oldest friend would not toss him out on his arse for failing to abide by highborn etiquette. Unless, of course, Aymeric had changed for the worse upon his rise to head of state, and if that were the case, both Estinien and Ishgard itself were doomed.

The seventeenth day of the sixth umbral moon came upon Eorzea, and as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Estinien Varlineau made at last to return to Ishgard for the first time in half a turn.

Though Estinien was a proud Coerthan, born and bred, after some months in warmer climes the bite of an Ishgardian winter was somewhat of a shock to his system. The nature of aetheryte travel only exacerbated the issue, giving him naught but half a second to brace himself before he was plunged directly into the path of an icy gust of wind. 

He crossed his arms tight in front of his chest, suppressing any undignified shivers as much as he was able as he stalked his way down the familiar stone streets. Though his blood had begun to run hotter ever since the wyrm's shade had left him, the snowflakes still stung his cheeks and clung to his brows and lashes. He almost regretted having given up his old helm all those moons ago– though even that set of armor would not have saved his lips, which he could already feel beginning to crack under the wintry assault. 

But before he could disappoint his highland lineage and succumb to the cold, Estinien's feet bore him to the doorstop of Borel Manor, tracing the familiar route nearly all on their own as his thoughts wandered far and wide. He blinked the melting ice from his eyes as he took in the familiar facade of Aymeric's home, the warm golden firelight in the windows all the more inviting for the storm that raged outside. He had no doubt that the gathering was already in full swing beyond the glass, his dear friend playing the perfect host as always, perhaps too engrossed in his own Starlight merriment to even take note of Estinien's absence.

Swallowing the sudden wave of bitter self-consciousness that rose unbidden in his throat at the thought, Estinien reached out to knock upon the door, striking with the heel of his gauntleted hand so as not to dent the antique wood. He had already come too far to turn and run back to Thavnair like a coeurl with its tail betwixt its legs.

When the door creaked open after naught more than a minute of waiting, Estinien expected to see the wizened face of the manservant that had served the manor since, he had been told, the previous Lord and Lady Borel were wed. But the man that greeted him with a smile to rival the light and warmth of the merriest hearth in the Pillars, clad in a flowing silk shirt and an azure vest adorned with gold embroidery fit for a prince, was none other than Aymeric himself, the sight of him freezing Estinien on the spot more thoroughly than the chill night air.

"Estinien! Merry Starlight, my friend!" Before Estinien could wrench his jaw open in order to speak a word, Aymeric had already reached out to clasp his upper arm in a firm grip, his fine leather glove protecting his palm from the frost that had already begun to spider its way across the surface of Estinien's armor. "Come in, come in! I must insist you sit by the fire and warm yourself; 'tis bitter this eve, not fit to be out in the street without even a scarf. I do hope your journey from Thavnair has been easy? Do not hesitate to let me know if you suffer any aether sickness– there is plenty of furymint tea to soothe your stomach, if you need it." 

Estinien found himself entirely unable to get a word in edgewise as he was tugged across the threshold and herded toward the parlor. 'Twas as if they had been parted for years, not mere moons, as Aymeric seemed determined to put voice to every single thought in his mind before Estinien could leap out his window or vanish into the void, or even sit down. "How proceeds the training of the Radiant Host? Have you already eaten today? Vrtra provides well for his entourage, or so I have gathered from all the tales our mutual friend has told. I do hope the two of us can attend a diplomatic meeting sooner rather than later. Would you mayhap be able to arrange such an appointment with the Satrap? Though the tide of public opinion has turned decidedly favorable in regard to reestablishing long-ago forfeited relations with dragonkind, Vrtra's kindly presence can do naught but cultivate more goodwill for the cause." Having stoked the fire to blazing, Aymeric beamed at Estinien once more before busying himself with a small, yet lavish platter of sliced meats and cheeses. "If you desire more food, more can certainly be prepared, my friend, but I thought we could begin with some lighter fare, if that is to your taste?" 

"Am I the first to arrive?" Estinien finally managed, when Aymeric paused at last to breathe.  

Aymeric paused, tray in hand, and a wrinkle appeared between his brows for the briefest moment before smoothing out again. "Not to worry, my friend. I am well aware of your distaste for crowded dance-halls." Another smile bloomed across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "You may be at ease, for it shall only be the two of us in the manor this evening."

Estinien blinked. Had the other noble houses spurned Aymeric after all? Surely he had not planned such an… intimate gathering from the start– why send such an elaborate invitation to only a single intended guest? Even if he had expected Estinien to refuse, Estinien could make heads nor tails of the game his friend was playing.

Once again, Aymeric stepped close, this time placing a hand softly upon Estinien's plate-covered shoulder. "Come now, Estinien, take a seat– and do feel free to remove your armor, if you wish. 'Twas only a suggestion in my invitation; I do not expect you to suffer discomfort for etiquette's sake. Would you perhaps care for a cup of mulled wine to stave off the chill? I was just about to put a pot on the stove when you knocked– do you still abstain from spirits? My apologies for my presumption– I can prepare whatever you prefer; you need only say the word." 

Aymeric gazed at him, his thin brows upturned expectantly, and Estinien paused a moment to mull over his answer. 'Twas true that the honor of the Azure Dragoon came with a heavy price, only part of which was the need to avoid any substance that could cause the impairment of one's focus– he had received a great deal of condolences from his fellow dragoons for his inability to drink alcohol in particular, though Estinien had never especially cared for the stuff to begin with, so giving it up had been no great hardship. 

But as Aymeric had no doubt surmised, the departure of Nidhogg's shade had freed him of such restrictions– though he had had little and less opportunity to truly test his limits. He could not, in fact, be certain that what remnants of the wyrm’s aether yet lingered lacked the power to consume him again, were he to become too greatly incapacitated. Even so, he wished not to appear as if he yet feared possession despite the Eyes’ destruction, and surely, he thought, a cup of warmwine on Starlight would do him no harm.

Thus decided, Estinien shook his head. "Nay, there is no longer a need to abstain. I shall gladly accept whatever you see fit to prepare, Aymeric." 

The expression on Aymeric's face could have brought daylight to the very depths of the Brume for a year. "Lovely! Make yourself comfortable, friend, I must insist. I shall return in but a moment." 

By the time Aymeric returned at last with a kettle and two steaming mugs, Estinien had removed his armor as requested and was seated upon the sofa in naught but his boots, gambeson, and paddings. Several minutes had passed for him to reflect on what had occurred, yet he still knew not what to make of the entire situation. Had Aymeric truly expected only him as a guest for the evening? What, if anything, could such a gesture mean?

Estinien had never been one for the subtleties of communication, the intricate dance of speaking in every way except with words, where simply stating what one meant was tantamount to stepping square upon your partner's foot. 'Twas the sole trait of Aymeric's that, at times, discomfited him– when he wished to, the man could conceal nearly anything behind soft blue eyes and a placid smile. 

Thinking of Aymeric sending cryptic messages and playing games with him made Estinien's stomach twist unpleasantly the more he dwelt on the topic within his own head. Thus, he was only too happy to allow himself to settle into the comfortable rhythm of his friend's voice as the two of them took their drinks before the cheerful fire and Aymeric started up his monologue once more. The wine turned out to be quite lovely– the bite of the alcohol smoothed by the sweetness and warmth of the spices, and Estinien let each mouthful linger upon his tongue. 

Aymeric talked of this and that: the progress of the restoration, his visits to the other heads of the Alliance, and the goings-on of the few nobles Estinien tolerated, but Estinien found himself focusing less on the words being said and more on the rise and fall of Aymeric's voice, the way his eyes sparkled and his lips turned upwards into a genuine smile as he spoke of his allies and their accomplishments. 

Estinien gave a low hum of acknowledgement at each dip in the stream of words, any lingering chill from his brief journey through the city streets thoroughly eradicated by the spiced wine and the heat of the fire settling deep into his bones. Aymeric filled his cup without pause or question when he tipped the last drops down his throat, and he breathed deep of the sweet, heavy scent before wrapping his hands around the vessel, determined to warm every ilm of his long fingers. 

He no longer recalled why he had initially resisted the idea of visiting Aymeric for Starlight– now that his friend sat next to him, Estinien could feel a theretofore unacknowledged ache deep in his chest being slowly alleviated with every passing minute. If he were to close his eyes and cast out his errant thoughts, he could almost believe they were young knights again, enjoying the warmth of a fire on a cold night as they had done so often in those bygone days. 

Then as now, Estinien had styled himself a loner, content to drift on the wind, but as he gazed into the starry depths of Aymeric's eyes he began to realize that the company of his dearest friend was what was filling the hole in his being he hadn't even realized was present until mere moments ago. Though too much had changed for the better for him to seriously wish to return to their days of knighthood, the certainty of Aymeric's presence, so solid and stalwart at his side whether he wielded the bow, the shield, or the sword, had been a boon that Estinien could only belatedly realize as the gift it was, with the heavy cloud of vengeance lifted and his sight cleared. 

Speaking of closing his eyes… 'Twas only a few bells past sundown by Estinien's estimation, but a telltale heaviness had already begun to overcome his body and drag his eyelids down with every blink. He glanced down and saw that cup had nearly been depleted again– had Aymeric refilled it a second time? Estinien couldn't quite recall.

His arms, too, had grown heavy, the familiarity of Aymeric's warm and welcoming parlor and the soothing glow of firelight piling on top of him like a stack of thick wool blankets. The passage of time seemed to slow as he gazed into the merry flames, and all the while Aymeric continued to tell some tale or another, his words as melodic as the lute one of their fellow knights would play sometimes, late at night when the fire burned low and the silent stars glimmered overhead…

…

…

…

Estinien hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until a gentle hand shook his shoulder and dragged him back into the world. Blinking his eyes slowly open, he at first saw naught but a warm yellow blur of firelight, only for a dark shape to appear and coalesce into Aymeric's concerned face mere ilms from his own. 

"Are you tired, my friend? The guest room has already been fully prepared, if you wish to retire now."

Head muddled with exhaustion, Estinien could only continue to blink at his friend for another long moment. He had not intended to spend the night at Borel Manor and impose upon Aymeric and his staff when Thavnair was a mere heartbeat away by aetheryte, but the idea of getting up and making his way through the blizzard outside was growing less appealing by the moment. He grimaced, not at Aymeric’s hospitality but at himself for how easily he had lost track of the time and of his own control, before nodding and pushing himself upright with both hands. 

The moment Estinien's back left the support of the sofa, he realized his mistake. The Twelve-damned wine.

His prior experience with spirits amounted to naught but a few scattered moments: a polite sip of sake that the hostess in Kugane had practically forced him to try; a mug of beer Alberic had offered him as an attempted bonding gesture sometime in his adolescence that he had struggled to choke down without openly grimacing; even further back, a sweet taste of mead on some faraway Starlight, hardly even tasting at all of alcohol, his mother’s smile as she bent to offer her cup hazy and dreamlike and nearly faded entirely.  

Needless to say, his tolerance was rather underdeveloped– a fact he became all too aware of as he tried to balance himself on his feet, only for the room to careen around him so wildly that he landed right back down on his arse with an undignified "oof". 

Aymeric was at his side in a moment, his brow furrowed deep with concern. "Estinien? Oh, dear. Have you had too much?"

"Shite," Estinien groaned as he rubbed his eyes hard, a gesture which did absolutely nothing to slow the tilting of the lavish manor walls. “M'not used to this, you know. Should’ve cut me off.” 

Aymeric pursed his lips, his long lashes falling to veil his eyes, the perfect picture of contrition. “I beg your forgiveness, my friend. ‘Twas my responsibility, indeed, and I pray you think no less of me for being a poor host. Are you feeling well?”

Estinien did his best to take stock of his faculties. Thankfully, it seemed as if his dragoon’s training had served him well in the aspect of keeping his nausea down, at least. "'Tis difficult to… to keep my balance, but 'm not about to vomit all over your precious floors. If that is what you're asking." In truth, though his stomach was manageable, he could not even recall the last time he had felt such dizziness– even with his years of aerial maneuvers that could a bird to shame– and ‘twas rather more disconcerting than he allowed himself to let on, especially with Aymeric looking at him as if he were a lamb with a sprained leg.

But no teasing laughter issued from Aymeric’s lips, nor did a disdainful sneer mar his face. "That is good news, at least," he said, making no move away from Estinien’s side. He reached out with one open hand, steady and inviting. "Put your arm around my shoulders, Estinien, and allow me to lead you to your chambers. A good long rest and some water will do you well, I think."

Even in the midst of his misery, Estinien had his pride yet, and he swallowed down the urge to wrap his own hand about those gloved fingers in favor of standing by his own power. ‘Twas just a touch easier on the second attempt, but after a few steps in the direction of the door left him swaying like a willow in a summer thunderstorm, he was forced to concede in favor of the solidity of Aymeric’s arm.

“Do tell me if you begin to feel ill, Estinien,” his friend murmured as he led the two of them down the hall and up the stairs toward the bedchambers. This close, Estinien could catch the scent of the light perfume Aymeric wore– lily, he thought– and hear every breath that passed his full lips as they ascended towards the guest bedroom. The sweetness and rhythm of it was soothing, in a way, and he could nearly forget about the sheer embarrassment of the situation.

All too soon, though, they arrived at their destination, and Aymeric guided him to lay upon the bed with the care of a shepherd for a newborn lamb. Estinien looked on from where his heavy head lolled on the pillow, dazed and unable to summon the wherewithal to even consider turning away as Aymeric knelt before him and began to carefully untie the laces of his boots. A damned saint, that's what he is, Estinien thought, the words drifting slowly through his bleary mind like the jellyfish drifting past the docks in Kugane harbor. 

What a strange concoction was wine. Even as many of his thoughts were mixed and muddled together, slipping through his fingers as if they had turned to water, feelings he had successfully pushed down into the deepest recesses of his heart for years had begun to bubble to the surface, taking shape with a startling clarity as they rose from the darkness. He had other friends and companions now, certainly, but no matter how far Estinien traveled across the surface of the star, no matter what exotic lands he laid his head down in for the night, he was slowly beginning to realize that he would never find another man like Aymeric. The thought of him leaving the room for even a moment was suddenly unconscionable. Estinien wanted to stay at his side, to lean upon his broad shoulder… to press closer to his strong body, until he drowned in that soft floral perfume… to clasp his hand tight, and venture into further pleasures he had always denied himself, that, like good food and wine, he had only just begun to realize he was now allowed.

By the Fury, Estinien loved him.

“There– are you comfortable, Estinien? Pray rest, but afore you retire, I must insist that you drink some water,” Aymeric announced as he rose from the side of the bed, leaving Estinien’s stocking feet dangling from the edge of the mattress. He moved to Estinien’s side, brushing a long lock of hair from his brow with a tender hand. “Might I bring you aught else? How fares your stomach?” 

“Wait,” Estinien blurted, reaching out with an unsteady arm and clasping at air twice before his fingers wrapped around Aymeric’s wrist. He tightened his grip as much as he was able, clinging as if for dear life, unwilling to let go lest the man he had only just realized he loved leave him unbearably bereft.

Aymeric gave him a kind look. “I shall only be a moment, Estinien, I swear it. Do you feel as if you may be ill?”

Estinien shook his head, a sudden frantic feeling of desperation overtaking him. If he did not speak his mind now, he was sure he would die having swallowed his newly realized love for his dearest friend too deeply to ever allow it to emerge again– and in his current state, the very idea of such a fate was the worst damnation of which he could conceive. His heart clawed at the inside of his breast like a ravenous dragonet tearing through its own eggshell, knowing nothing of what lay beyond the wall, yet unable to be denied in its single-minded determination. 

"You're too good t'me, Aymeric," he began. "Always have been, since the beginning. I've… no idea how I didn't realize sooner." He swallowed. "How long I've been in love with you."

All was still. Even the snowstorm beyond the windows seemed to dim and fade away. Estinien looked up into Aymeric's eyes, brilliant as the most precious of gemstones, searching for any hint of what his friend might say in response– but all Aymeric did was stare, his cheeks lightly flushed and his lips parted. For once in his life, it seemed, he was speechless.

Estinien licked at his dry lips, wondering if he should say more, if Aymeric had dismissed him or simply misunderstood, but his thoughts moved as slowly as a fish through a flagon of birch syrup. Then the heaviness of his eyelids grew, at last, too much to bear, and as his fingers slipped from Aymeric's wrist his mind scattered to the winds and he knew no more.

Estinien woke to a bitter taste in his mouth and a stabbing pain between his eyes. 

He lay still for a moment, willing the pain to disperse, but even behind the darkness of his closed lids it lingered on. When it became clear by the sluggish coalescing of his thoughts and the restlessness building in his limbs that the possibility of returning to sleep was drifting rather far away, he reluctantly cracked open his eyes to the soft morning sunlight.

For a moment his mind could not process what his eyes were seeing– the subdued walls and furnishings were unfamiliar and were certainly not his chambers in Radz-at-Han, and his heartbeat began to speed up as he grasped at the dark, fogged reaches of his memory in an attempt to piece together what had happened to him. He made to sit up and assess the exits and his strategy for escape– only to be knocked on his back once more with a pitiful groan as the pain in his head exploded into a throbbing, overwhelming mass that seemed to squeeze his entire head in a vise. 

Such pain ought to have been nothing for a warrior as seasoned as he– there was not even a physical wound to incapacitate him so– but clearly, he had grown far too accustomed to the pampering he had received in the Satrap's court, and it was making him soft. He would have to keep better control of himself, he thought, lest one of the Radiant Host trainees knock him flat on his arse upon his return. 

Rolling on his side away from the sunny window, Estinien startled as he was met with a faceful of silvery-gray fur. As the furry lump let out an indignant trill and stretched out its long, sinuous body into the shape of Aymeric’s beloved cat Héloïse, his memory came rushing back with yet another jarring throb of pain in his skull.

Yes… he had decided after all to attend Aymeric’s precious Starlight gathering, which had not been much of a gathering after all, instead turning out as a rather intimate evening with the pair of them as the sole guests. He had then proceeded to humiliate himself in front of his oldest friend by overindulging on wine and collapsing upon him like a knock-kneed newborn foal, and then…

He placed both hands over his eyes, dragging his palms down his cheeks as Héloïse curled up once more into a warm lump at his side. ‘Twas no use trying to escape it– even if he managed to gather himself together enough to leap from the balcony and flee to the other end of the continent for the remainder of his days, there was no way to erase the words that had fallen from his lips. In the span of only a few frantic moments, he had realized that his feelings for Aymeric went beyond mere friendship and camaraderie, and unable to let well enough alone under the wine’s influence, he had told his dear friend as much, without any room for ambiguity.

The thought of it made his heart pound in his breast, now that he was uncomfortably bereft of the dreamlike haze of the spiced wine. Now that his truest desires had been released from their imprisonment and risen up into the light, he could no longer deny them as he had done over the last ten long years. 

He was in love with Aymeric de Borel.

If only the wine had also seen fit to sweep away his last few moments of wakefulness, that he might be at peace with the affection that had bloomed within him– but the image of his dear friend’s face, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion, was all too clear in his mind. Not much on the star had the capability to strike Aymeric wholly speechless, and there was no doubt in Estinien’s mind that Aymeric’s reaction was a clear signal: his feelings were unrequited. 

He would live with it, of course– he had lived with worse pain and turmoil in his heart for over two decades. But, he thought wryly, ‘twould have been much easier if he could have simply kept it secret, so that he would not have to endure his friend’s pity, or if he had come to his great realization while in a less embarrassing state– and thanks to the lingering effects of the damnable wine, his torment would only be prolonged until he recovered enough to make his escape from the city. How could he look Aymeric in the eye until then?

Even as he thought the very words, the door eased itself open with only the lightest creak, and none other than the man in question stepped through. Aymeric, of course, looked none the worse for wear from the previous night– his dark waves of hair lay only slightly flattened from sleep, and his eyes were as bright as always behind the silver frames of his glasses. He carried a tray carefully in his hands, and as his gaze fell upon Estinien in his state of misery (or perhaps upon his beloved cat), he paused only for the slightest moment before gracing him with a morning-sunshine smile.

“Ah, good morning, Estinien,” he said, his eyes soft. “How are you faring?” At the sound of her master's voice, Héloïse perked up her ears, letting out a soft meow of acknowledgement that made Aymeric's face turn unbearably tender.

“Like shite,” Estinien grumbled in answer, his skull giving another mighty throb as if in agreement with his words. “But I’ve been through worse, as you well know, so don’t start with your fretting.”

“Very well,” Aymeric gave him another small smile before placing the tray onto the bedside table. “Might you be able to take breakfast? I thought porridge would be easy on the stomach.”

Estinien's belly did indeed churn as he caught the lightly sweet scent of Aymeric's favorite birch syrup rising from the warm bowl, but he could not find it in him to reject his friend's offer when the man himself was still looking at him with that gentle, hopeful look in his beautiful eyes. How was his stomach meant to settle in such conditions, especially when Aymeric had yet to speak a word about his unfortunate confession?

"Aye, I suppose I can manage it," was what Estinien eventually spoke aloud, and he stretched his stiff arms out with a groan to lift the breakfast-tray onto his lap. 

The porridge was delicious, of course– few skills existed beyond the capacity of Aymeric de Borel, it seemed, and the culinary arts were not among them. But as Estinien took small spoonfuls so as not to upset his delicate state, a prickling tension began to build upon the surface of his skin as Aymeric hovered at his bedside, fiddling with the decorations on the bedside table and clasping his hands together, and the mounting anticipation quickly grew beyond what he could bear.

“I would know the look of you biting your tongue a malm away, Aymeric,” Estinien grumbled around his mouthful of porridge. “If you’ve something to say, you may as well make it heard." 

Aymeric's eyes widened, before darting down to his hands, then over to where his sleeping cat still lay at Estinien's side, then finally up to meet his own gaze once more. "Mine apologies for causing you distress, my friend. I simply wished to assemble my words delicately," he started, his knuckles tightening. "Very well, then... I understand, Estinien, that you were not in your right mind last night– for which the blame rests solely upon my poor hosting– and I would not hold it against you if you regret any… statements you made while incapacitated. You need only say the word and I will forget them, with no harm done to our friendship." 

Estinien lowered his spoon down upon the tray as his friend's words sunk into his mind and he looked upon him with eyes unclouded. Aymeric's words had indeed been delicate– a row of porcelain sculptures assembled in an enticing proposal: a door held open, that he might keep his pride as he fled.

For that was what it would be, Estinien knew– fleeing, running away, the same as he had done when the culmination of his life's quest had left him instead untethered and unmade. And as solid as his friend's porcelain tableau appeared, he knew Aymeric far too well after his long years of friendship to pretend that the shelf upon which it was arranged would withstand the weight of his dismissal unless he allowed himself to be willfully ignorant– and that was no longer the man he wished to be. He had denied himself the needs of his heart for far too long– willingly allowed Nidhogg's lingering shade to possess him far after the wyrm's physical banishment. 

And he would do so no longer.

"Aymeric, look at me," Estinien commanded, putting every onze of fortitude he possessed into keeping his voice firm. "Aye, I recall what I said to you last night. Indeed, I regret having put voice to those sentiments in such a state– but I have done enough to brand me a coward in your eyes since the war's end, and I will not have you think me a thoughtless, drunken fool. As unwanted as they may be, I meant my words." He swallowed down the fear that had risen into his throat and threatened to choke him, and pressed onwards into the dragon's lair. "There, Aymeric. I've said my piece. You may take of it what you will."

For a long, suspended moment in the light of the morning, Aymeric simply stared, his eyes devoid of any clue no matter how intently Estinien searched their depths. The silence stretched out, a taut thread of uncertainty, and all of Estinien's muscles tensed as he waited for it to snap and tear his heart asunder.

Then finally, finally, Aymeric's lips parted– only for him to turn away, pressing a hand over his mouth and letting out a gasp as if he had once again been stabbed in the gut.

"Oh, Estinien," he breathed, and Estinien's stomach turned yet again at the waver in a voice that was always so steady and careful. "I… I must admit that I have disallowed myself from even wondering… I have so much to say, yet... I would not wish to overstep–"

Estinien's head pulsed again, and he forced himself to cut off the maddening stops and starts with a pointed groan. "Aymeric, I'm in no state for minced words. Speak your meaning plainly."

Aymeric nodded, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders as his hand fell back to his side. His tongue swept across his full lower lip, and Estinien could do nothing to prevent the shiver of anticipation that overcame him as his dearest friend– his love –prepared to speak the very words that could either fulfill or unmake him. 

"Estinien," Aymeric began, every syllable of the name upon his tongue filled with such yearning that Estinien was nearly torn asunder on the spot. "For more than a decade you have been my dearest friend and closest companion, and every bell spent by your side has been a blessing. And though I am gladdened to know you have found fulfillment in your travels, I cannot deny that my heart yet longs for your presence, a presence I once foolishly took for granted." Aymeric's long eyelashes fluttered closed, but not before Estinien caught the first hints of mist in the clear skies of his irises. "Twould take a lifetime to express the full measure of what I feel for you, but... I love you, Estinien. Most ardently."

The words seemed to echo from the stone walls, and it took all the strength of will Estinien had to continue to draw breath. But even as his heart began to beat so fast and strong as to make him tremble, Estinien reached out to take Aymeric's tense, knotted shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring grip, a deep, instinctive part of himself knowing that such a confession had not been easy on his dear friend's sweet, selfless heart.

"Aymeric... gods. What a pair of fools we are." Another levin-bolt of sheer relief ran down Estinien's spine, his head light in a way that he was unsure whether or not to attribute to the lingering effects of the alcohol. 'Twas possible that he was merely immersed in an especially vivid, wine-induced dream– though Aymeric's body beneath his hand certainly felt too warm and solid to be a mere creation of his mind. "Though surely I am the greater fool– 'twas only last night that I realized my feelings for you are the same." He swallowed, tightening his grip. "That is... your– your love– 'tis returned, Aymeric."

Aymeric let out a long, deep breath, yet he made no move to pull away, and his shoulder slumped beneath Estinien's hand. "No, I am most certainly the greater fool between us. I have harbored these feelings since… well, I suppose if I turn my thought wholly towards the matter, 'twould have been as long as I have known you– since your foolish, clever, determined first dragon-slaying." His lips curved upwards into a fleeting smile, and Estinien's ears warmed with embarrassment at his words. "But swiftly did I make the decision to tuck my love away within my breast, knowing that even if Menphina had designed to pierce us both with her arrow, you had no space left in your life's quest to accept it. Briefly, I allowed myself a flight of fancy when Nidhogg's shade was banished, thinking you might stay with me in Ishgard to recover– but then you fled the city, fled my side, and I fell into despair that my affection would forever be unrequited."

"Aye, I was naught but a coward, fleeing my own shadow of inadequacy," Estinien began, guilt twisting in his stomach, but Aymeric shook his head.

"We need not speak of such things now, Estinien. You have been through many trials, and I am blessed to be allowed your continued presence. But my heart did ache for you, despite all my attempts at ignoring it. I hoped that inviting you to my home and allowing myself one final night to enjoy your presence, or otherwise confirming you wished to have naught to do with me were you to refuse, would alleviate my senseless longing– but in the end, I was nearly overcome at the sight of you, and in doing so allowed a lapse of judgment that has put you in pain, for which I must insist on atoning." 

Estinien shook his head. "Surely you already know that you have my forgiveness, Aymeric, for any slight you have ever or will ever commit. I cannot poison myself with ill will any longer, and especially not when it comes to you. 'Tis I who must beg your forgiveness for all the suffering I have put you through in my ignorance and folly. Only mere bells ago have I come to realize it, but my heart is yours, for as long as you would have me." 

"Of course I will have you, Estinien." Aymeric's eyes opened at last, shimmering with a raw affection that, were Estinien not already lying down, was great enough to knock him onto his back. "My home has ever been yours as well, and you are always welcome to return, whenever your no doubt numerous duties in Thavnair allow it." 

"Hm. Aye, my duties." Estinien let out another breath, pulling his hand back from Aymeric's arm and letting it fall into his lap, where he twisted his fingers together. "I've come to another realization, I think. Though I want for no food or drink in Vrtra's palace, there is one thing I lack– you, Aymeric. I have longed for you without knowing, and I can bear it no longer now that I know the remedy for the ache I have felt for so long. 'Tis high time I return to the Holy See." 

Aymeric blinked. "But what of your service to the Satrap?"

Estinien snorted. "Radz-at-Han has thrived for centuries without me, and it shall thrive for centuries hence. I've been away from Ishgard– from home– for far too long."

Aymeric looked sharply up at him once again, and Estinien was a breath away from recoiling when he noticed how the mist had thickened to overtake his eyes, a few droplets trembling at the corners. But before he could think to say something that would soothe Aymeric's heart, or reach out to wipe the tears away, Aymeric had drawn close– closer than Estinien could recall ever being to him– and in the very next moment, they had both closed the scant remaining distance to come together in a kiss. 

Estinien had only had a few short bells to imagine what kissing Aymeric would be like, yet he found all of his fledgling expectations immediately fulfilled in that first press of lips. Soft as rose petals, warm as an embrace, with the lightest taste of tea and furymint balm as Aymeric pressed his advantage– Estinien could not imagine ever wishing to divest himself of the feeling of it, content to stay in place and be kissed unto eternity.

That was, he was content until a veritable drumbeat started up inside his skull, making him wince and groan as he turned his head to the side. Accursed wine! Aymeric most certainly had a taste for the stuff, like his parents before him, and even when he had been abstaining he had been impressed by the variety in the manor's cellars, but the unfortunate timing of the punishment the drink was demanding of him had Estinien on the verge of swearing an oath to never touch wine of any sort again for the rest of his life. "Shite," he groaned, gritting his teeth as the pressure swelled before subsiding at last. 

"Forgive me," murmured Aymeric, his rose-petal lips returning to press against his cheek. "I must needs allow you to recover before I allow myself to be overcome. You must think me terribly selfish." Yet, despite his words, he only continued to kiss along Estinien's face and the curve of his jaw, making no move to distance himself– and Estinien could not blame him in the slightest.

"Nay, only a romantic," Estinien snorted. "But as this is the holiday, I'm certain I shan't cause a fuss back in Thavnair if I extend my stay... to ensure my recovery, of course." Reluctantly, he placed his hand on Aymeric's arm and eased him into stepping back– though the closeness between them was rapidly growing more familiar and even more desired, he wished not to get carried away while he was yet incapacitated. "I've years and years of heartache to make up to you, after all." 

"Stay as long as you desire, Estinien, my love," Aymeric smiled, the endearment warmer and more comforting than the luxurious blankets that covered Estinien's body. "But mayhap we should refrain from partaking in any more wine." 

"I'll drink to that– with water, if you please," Estinien said– and Aymeric's laughter in response was more satisfying than all the exotic adventures, lavish palace quarters, or Hannish delights to be found on the star.