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The view from the Vault had always been one of the best. In the chilled quiet of evening, he watched as the people of Ishgard returned to their homes, warm splashes of light spilling out from each window one by one, the streets emptying in turn. This scene is still the same. The thought calmed him, but also sent a pang of longing through his chest. Ishgard had changed, drastically. He had fought so hard and for so long - the groundwork had been laid for everything he had dreamed for to become a reality, but he felt so incomplete. He leaned over the railing, his elbows coming to rest on the cold stone.
He had come here to be alone, to reflect, and yet when the sound of soft footsteps approaching him were heard, they were welcome; his whole body relaxed, flooded with relief. His eyes searched for the source of the footsteps. Their eyes met briefly, before she dropped her gaze to the floor, keeping them there until she reached the place beside him, echoing his posture against the railing. As the sky turned dark, the swirling mists beyond the city expanded in size, closing the city off from everything beyond it. "Is it alright if I join you?" "Mmmm." The wind was lapping against her hair, making it sway with every gust. The lights from the city seemed to reflect against the golden flecks in her amber eyes, making them glow brighter. She turned her face towards his, "Something on your mind?"
He winced at her words as he cast his mind back towards his previous musing. "Yes. But from what you've said in your letters, I wouldn't wish to add to the weight on your shoulders." The hint of a smile crossed her lips as she cocked her head to one side. She seems to be insisting. He sighed deeply and cast his eyes back towards the mists. "I didn't think I'd miss what Ishgard was like before." "Don't you simply miss the people that aren't here to see what it is now?" She has a habit of being right, he thought to himself. That was probably the reason he had ended up here, of all places in the city. She continued, her voice soft, "Do you miss your father?" Aymeric's eyebrows rose sharply. Miss him? No, he didn't. Although he was his father, the two were never close. He remembered his towering figure; when he was young, he had seemed so large, so encompassing. He stood at the pinnacle of Ishgardian influence and power. And yet as Aymeric had grown older, his ideals had diverged so greatly, they were completely at odds with everything his Father signified. He shook his head. Why did it have to be so incompatible - why did so many need to die, to stand where we are today? "What if my arrogance has led us into a world which isn't better than before?"
As the words escaped his lips, he realised how pained they sounded. Her shoulders turned to face him, her one palm still clutching the railing. "Arrogance would be believing all those people who laid down their lives, did so for you." He snapped his gaze towards her, his eyebrows furrowed. His mind churned as he made sense of what she'd said. Her eyes were clear and unwavering as she waited patiently for his response. They died... For themselves? He felt a tug at the knot in his heart. But he was the one who - Arrogance, she said; he interrupted his thought. Why did she ask about his father? Suddenly, everything clicked into place. His father had died protecting what he thought was most important to him. All those that perished building a new Ishgard - they weren't fighting for him, they were fighting with him. Of course, he thought. How could I be so arrogant. Haurchefant was a kind and deliberate soul. It wasn't only Aymeric that looked at people's suffering and moved to make things better, in whatever way he could. He felt the knot unravel completely. He still felt pain coursing through his body, but it had begun to quiet to a dulled throb, slowly spreading through his body until it reached his fingertips, overlapping with who he was. "I wish... They could at least see what they built." Her eyes softened at his answer.
They stood in companionable silence for a time, before she perked up slightly, and asked, "I've always been curious. What was your childhood like?"... What was it like? He cast his mind back, before he became the Lord Speaker, before he was Lord Commander, before he joined the ranks of the Temple Knights. I'm getting really old, he interjected. When he was very young he didn't really know why people treated him the way they did. Later he came to understand that he belonged neither to the nobility, as he was a bastard son, nor to the commoners, as they thought him above their own station; he was suspended between the two. When he joined the Temple Knights, it finally felt like he had found a place he could belong. There he met friends, like Estinien, who judged him for who he was, and what he could do, not whatever lineage came before him. It was refreshing.
He remembered the first day he met him - the two were as awkward as each other (in their own ways), but Aymeric had begun to learn how he should approach those around him, given that he was considered an outsider to almost all; what to say and how to behave. But that ice block had muttered gruffly, "If you're going to say something, just say it. All that internal agonizing is getting on my nerves."
He chuckled. In the present, the woman in front of him immediately widened her eyes, brimming with anticipation. "Estinien has also changed since meeting you." The edges of her eyes crinkled. "You were friends even back then?" He nodded, a smile still playing on his lips. "You seem to have that effect on people. You simply are who you are, and somehow all those around you find themselves in turn accepting who they are." She cast her eyes sideways, a slight blush reaching her cheeks.
Aymeric didn't know what possessed him in that moment, but his hands moved on their own. The first, reached out gently, wiping away a stray strand of her hair against her cheek, tucking it behind her ear; the other met her flushed cheek, his thumb running along it until it came to rest under her ear. He had never touched her before. Not a handshake, or a brush in passing. So what on earth had come over him.
As he came to, he quickly made to retract his hands, his eyelashes trembling nervously. But her hand caught one of his and she held it in place. She gulped visibly, her free hand reaching up to hover awkwardly in front of his chest. Summing up all of the confidence he could muster, his other hand reached for hers, closing her fingertips into his palm, placing it onto his chest. She caught her breath, pointedly, then suddenly lifted herself onto the tips of her toes and kissed him. Aymeric felt a wave of searing heat rush through him, starting at the point their lips met. He let go of the hand on his chest, and reached it around her back, pulling her closer in towards him. Their kiss started slow and soft, but built up until neither of them could breathe. When they parted, Aymeric realised the hand that had been on her cheek had made its way until it was clutched, entangled messily in her hair. Why hasn't she pushed me away, or told me to stop? His mind wasn't really in the state to think anything through though. The sounds of her light panting made his grip on himself slip, and his mouth and his tounge reached hungrily for more. By the second time they parted, both were gasping for air.
By the Fury, she is incredible. Her eyes were like pools of an endless depth, her lips were as soft as he'd always dreamed. His feeling for her had gone from fascination, to attraction, to respect, to love. He didn't know if there was any more space for another feeling. She slid her cheek past his; her mouth whispered close into his ears, "Aymeric." His name from her lips - no title, no surname - sent waves of pleasure radiating through him. She'd only ever addressed him like that through letters, but hearing it in person was a hundred - no, a thousand times better. Aymeric knew if he didn't stop himself now, there was absolutely no going back, but he couldn't do it. He pulled away so that he could see her face, and his fingers ran gently over her eyebrows, her lips, her cheeks. His chest was tight, and he felt a twist in his gut. If she doesn't stop me now...
But her teeth came down gently on her lower lip before she said, her breath hot against his skin, her voice slightly higher than normal, "You once told me if I wanted it, you'd happily give yourself to me. Is there a chance I could take you up on that offer today?" Aymeric's mind went blank. He couldn't remember where or when he had said that, but the answer to that question would have to wait until his mind quite returned from Cloud Nine. He reached down with one arm, his eyes not leaving hers, pulling her up until she was cradled in his arms. It was as if only the two existed around them as they made their way back to Aymeric's home. Who they passed, or who looked on to the pair of lovers, went completely unnoticed by them.
Through a nearby window, a woman squealed in delight. Her nose pressed up against the glass as she watched Aymeric walk past briskly, the woman in his arms bundled up protectively. "It's finally happened!" Bouncing up in excitement, she turned to her friends who looked on curiously. "The Lord Speaker and the Warrior of Light". The noble ladies all widened their eyes in surprise - their friend had actually been right for a change. She was always making up intrigue where it didn't exist, so they thought it was all another figment of her imagination. Some of the ladies felt a little crestfallen - many young ladies admired the Lord Speaker - but they sighed in acceptance. What man in their right minds could resist a woman like her. She was confident, and stood shoulder to shoulder with all, fighting for what she believed in. She was a model for them all - who always dreamed of stepping out of their ribbons and heels. Perhaps it was time they were all a little more brave.
Edmont de Fortemps, who was walking gracefully back to his manor, saw the sight from afar. Just like my boy - giving his all for those he cares about. And good with the ladies too. He smiled before casting his eyes away, giving the pair some privacy.
From a greater distance, an older woman's eyes rose from her book, and she smiled at the passing figures. She placed her book on the side table beside her. Yes, some moments in life were more beautiful than anything someone could write down in words.
Even the skies of Ishgard seemed to be on the couples' side. Whatever moans and gasps might have been heard from the window of Aymeric's bedroom as they were caught in throes of passion, were enveloped by the icy snow which blanketed the city in white. The two idiots, who had been stealing glances at each other from the moment they met, had finally reached the end of their yearning.