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Chapter Text

“Ser knight, a word before you go.” Aymeric gazes steadily at Estinien. The dragoon is ready to leave with the scholar and Warrior of Light for the Aery, but the Lord Commander’s stare gives him pause.

Lina shifts in her armor, unsure what is happening but looks to Alphinaud who just barely shrugs his shoulders. She tilts her head with a raised eyebrow to Estinien but he just nods in assurance with a peaked smirk on his lips.

“Do not worry. Go. I will join you at the airship landing anon,” Estinien says, his voice hoarse as always.

Lina bows her head and leaves out the chamber doors with Alphinaud in tow. Aymeric turns to Lucia standing at his side with a smile on his lips and gives her a similar nod. Without a single word exchanged, she salutes dutifully and leaves without an ilm of annoyance. The door clicks closed. Estinien stares at the closed door chewing his lip.

He shakes his head and turns back to Aymeric only to be surprised by the man now standing in front of his desk, leaning on it casually, stern shoulders dropped. The commander’s expression changes from stern to pensive—a change nearly imperceptible to anyone but Estinien. Aymeric fiddles with his raven black bangs between his fingers in thought. The man continues to worry, Estinien notes. This Aymeric is different from the many presented to the masses, to the temple knights, even to the Warrior of Light. This is the Aymeric for Estinien’s eyes alone.

“Do you still wish to join the fray?” Estinien chances a guess.

Aymeric snaps from his thoughts and shakes his head lightly. “No… You’ve persuaded me enough to defend Ishgard with all my might. Do not worry, my friend.”

Aymeric’s attention is still not completely here. The dragoon looks to the floor, confused. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”

The Lord Commander pushes off his desk with a sigh and approaches the wall at Estinien’s side. With the familiarity of a decade of fighting together, bunking together, he leans against Estinien, cornering himself between the wall and the sharp spines of the dragoon’s armor. Neither knight moves nor shifts. The companionship of the two was forged among a decade of witnessed flames and destruction; their intimacy was their solace among the world breaking down around them. The cloak around Aymeric’s shoulders clung to Estinien’s armor on the spikes like thorns of a rose piercing through skin. Neither knight moves to fix this, either, and a shroud of silence fills the room.

Aymeric broke through first with some hesitation. He raised a hand to his chin, trying to place his words carefully. “You think I do not hear the fire in your conviction, but I do. It… worries me, Estinien. I worry for you.”

Estinien only grits his teeth in response. He shoves a shoulder off the wall to retort but Aymeric grabs his arm, fingers brushing against the exposed skin. His fingers make a chill run through Estinien. The Commander’s eyes narrow, firm with resolve. Estinien clicks his tongue. “You need not lecture me, Lord Commander. I know very well the dangers I face.”

Aymeric sighed. “I am not speaking as your commander. I am speaking as your friend.”

Estinien twitches at the word and his armor rattles against the wall. Calm hands reach to Estinien’s helm, looking through the eye slits with assurance. Estinien’s instinctive hand holds onto Aymeric’s wrist and his grimace lessens staring into Aymeric’s eyes. Estinien lowers his head. With much practice behind him, Aymeric removes Estinein’s horned helmet with ease. He is always careful to not catch the binding string that holds the dragoon’s long silver hair in place behind his head.

“Better,” Aymeric says, now able to stare into Estinien’s eyes directly. Their cerulean pierces through Estinien’s heart. The commander runs a finger along Estinien’s jawline to keep the eye contact prolonged.

Estinien opens his mouth to try another remark, but has nothing. He clenches his jaw together and exhales through his nose. He can never muster any anger or ill feelings for Aymeric. The fire in Estinien begins to cool.

Aymeric holds onto the helm at his side. “I have but one request, or perhaps one better. A proposed promise.” His free hand runs from Estinien’s chin down the grooves of his armor, lost in thought once more. The fingers trail downward, upward, along the scales and indentations.

“And what is it you propose for me?” Estinien pushes as Aymeric pulls him. The cloak is still caught on the spikes, wrapping around the two like a wing. Their eye contact breaks.

“For you to return home,” Aymeric whispers.

“You do not believe in me?”

Aymeric stops moving his fingers and shakes his head. “I believe in your ability. By the Fury, you are the Azure Dragoon. And moreover, you have the Warrior of Light at your side, along with a proven scholar and diplomat, and a woman with the ability to summon the power of Shiva. I have wholeheartedly believed in you this entire endeavor.”

“But…?”

The wandering hand drops and Aymeric gives a weak smile. “The rage I sense in you is what worries me most of all, my friend. I worry it will overtake you. I have come to learn that the anger of the Dravanians is not one-sided, but shared among both our people. This war will not end with that hatred fueled.” Aymeric sighs and catches his breath. He places his hand on Estinien’s cheek. “More than anything, however, I just wish to see you home. Promise me that you will return. The walls of Ishgard will be guarded strongly, this is true, but without your return… I know the hatred you have for the greatwyrm, but do not let it cloud your judgment. Know that you are not alone. That you have me to return to, a home with me, but also that…”

Estinien flicks the cloak off his armor and pushes himself off the wall to take Aymeric within his arms, gripping onto his comrade’s back. The helm drops to the floor in a loud clang, the sharp metal bouncing and landing far from the pair. Their lips lock with the same familiarity, pushing and pulling at each other. A nameless union, but like a kindled flame it only grew and grew. The flames licked at their ribs. Aymeric pushes himself against Estinien, and Estinien pulls him closer. They clash against the wall, the sound of the metal of Estinien’s armor echoing through the chamber as it hits the stone.

Estinien pushes a hand against Aymeric’s shoulders and they pull away. They lean their foreheads together. “Aye, a promise I can keep. But I have a proposed promise to match yours,” the dragoon whispers.

“Whatever you ask of me and more, Estinien.”

He looks into Aymeric’s cerulean eyes. “Give me a home to return to, Aymeric. Do not fall.”

The fierce battle ends with Lina sliding her sword along Nidhogg’s long neck as he shrieks, pulling back in an echoing scream to his dravanian horde. The trio hold their hands to their heads instinctively at the clamor. Her armor is damaged, pieces missing and her shoulders exposed from Nidhogg swiping at her so many times. Lina’s shield lies yalms away and she dares not move from Estinien’s side to reach it. Estinien still gasps for air as Alphinaud restores some health to him from the battle.

Alas, the battle is not actually finished, for Nidhogg is still not done. The wyrm is weakened, but his fury only grows before them. Nidhogg lunges his gnashing teeth towards Estinien, still holding his eye. This impulsive attack gives Estinien a chance to finally use the power of the wyrm’s eye. He grips it within his hand and uses its magicks, stopping the dragon in its tracks. The eye pulses and shakes, trying to free itself from his hand but he only grips tighter. His clawed hands sink their tips into it.

“Thou wouldst use mine own eye against me? Time hath done naught to dilute thy kind’s depravity!” Rage bubbles within Estinien as the greatwyrm calls out to him, the powerful voice echoing in the elezen’s skull. “I have not forgotten thee, dragoon! Mine essence claimed these once…and shall do so again!”

Estinien grits his teeth. “No, wyrm! This ends here!” He spits blood from his lips and holds his spear out in defiance against the wyrm. Everything he had fought for has led to this moment. The rage growing in his heart, the chance for vengeance at hand, all of it makes the pain from the preceding battle seem to disappear. The fierce fire in his chest boils his blood and he can nearly burst from the excitement.

The wyrm screams once more and lunges at the dragoon again, but Estinien leaps with ease to the top of the wyrm’s skull, the momentum allowing him to plunge the spear clean through the scales and bone. The dragon shrieks and writhes, trying to shake Estinien off but he only grips tighter, pushing the spear further.

Nidhogg takes to the skies with Estinien holding onto his spear with all his strength.

Estinien’s life flashes before him as Nidhogg soars the skies, turning and gliding with speeds one could only dream of achieving. He thinks of everything he had lost, all he had gained. He thinks of the home and family stolen from him by Nidhogg’s horde as a child, his brother lost. He thinks of Aymeric’s laugh. The stubbornness of Lina and Ysayle. He thinks of Alphinaud’s kindness. He grips onto the spear, swearing to not lose more from this wyrm’s anger.

A wild, wicked grin spreads across his face as he feels his retribution and revenge for all he had lost at hand as the dragon’s flight eases for just a moment. He will become the one to down the wicked wyrm for all of Ishgard. With one final strike, he lifts and plunges his spear further into the skull of Nidhogg, thick red blood spraying over his armor. The warm blood bathes him in Nidhogg’s fury. As the essence of life drains from the wyrm, Estinien steals the eye from Nidhogg before leaping downward to the arena below.

Estinien lands before Lina who is surprised to even see him alive, but more so with the thick blood that runs down his armor. He ignores her concerned eyes and turns his attention back to the falling Nidhogg. Alphinaud tries to say something about his armor, but his words do not reach Estinien’s ears, for all the dragoon can hear at this moment are the deathly wails of Nidhogg.

Estinien watches the wyrm fall, clutching the yellow eye to his chest. The eye’s rage and unrivaled power surges within his hand. As the wyrm disappears among the clouds, Estinien holds his head high. “You gifted my people a thousand years of suffering. Now I gift you an eternity of darkness.”

The fire does not extinguish and only feels more powerful with the eye in his possession. Estinien shakes with power. His hatred and anger feel reflected by the wyrm’s blood staining his dark armor. Aymeric will not understand this feeling, this power. Surely he is wrong. This rage, this power within him, is what killed the wyrm.

Estinien’s clawed fist pounds on the hard stone wall with such force that Aymeric worries that the dragoon will hurt himself. The dragoon had made a point of escorting Aymeric from the Vault himself, fearful that another knight of the Heaven’s Ward would attack their escaped prisoner in the streets like they had their companion. Now, however, the dragoon seemed to have freedom to yell and thrash to his content within the closed quarters of a trusted friend. He begins pacing around the table in the main hall like a caged animal, fuming and ranting. He yells threats to Thordan, to anyone that would dare stand against him. Aymeric can barely muster a word. He feels like a hollow shell.

All Aymeric can do is watch the blood-stained dragoon destroy the items of his home with a blank stare. Aymeric’s wounds sustained from the knights’ interrogation worry him, but they are not life threatening, thank the Fury. The void in his chest was of much more concern, and not curable. Nothing could bring Lord Hauchefant back. Not a single person could replace a friend so loved and valued among their ranks. And to lose him like this, protecting him and the Warrior of Light like that without a second thought. Aymeric grips his fingers into a fist as despair cloaks over him like a wave. How could he have been foolish enough to believe in the good of his father…

The lack of any empathy in his father’s eyes stings in Aymeric’s mind, the malice pulsing through him. He was never truly a father to him but to see it painted so plainly is more painful to have it in the light. His father is a traitor to all of Ishgard, the source of the strife that so many people have sustained. Riots and unrest in the streets break out every blink of the eye and he wishes to rule over them as pawns to fuel the never ending war of hatred. So much hatred and anger from dragons to the people of Ishgard for their unforgivable sins, and the people cannot be united without the hatred of the dragons for they will only turn on each other, with so much strife among the lower classes and higher houses. Though it is true Estinien had slain Nidhogg, this was not the end of the Dragonsong War…

Estinien bellows another yell, throwing something off a dresser. It is not clear what it is or was, but it shatters in pieces. Little of value is lost in comparison and Aymeric barely shakes his head at the action. There is no point in telling Estinien to stop thrashing when Aymeric feels like screaming or tearing his own soul out if it would make any difference. He attempts to sit down on the cushioned seat below him and winces at the bandaged wound at his side. Aymeric hisses in pain and the noises from Estinien stop in an instant.

Within his line of vision, a clawed hand reaches out to him. A moment of clarity rushes through Aymeric and he takes the hand within his.

“Let me help you. Where does it hurt?” Estinien’s voice is more harsh than normal from his yelling. Aymeric tries his best to smirk at his friend, but his eye twitches with pain and betrays him.

“‘Tis nothing to worry about. A flesh wound, nothing more,” he gently lies. Estinien knows better but only grits his teeth with a lowering of his head.

“Plenty is worth worrying about, Commander. Ishgard needs your protection if these are the archbishop’s unmasked intentions. I need you alive for Ishgard to have a successor worth following.” Estinien clenched his armored fingers around Aymeric’s hand. It hurt, but Aymeric was without words to vocalize anything.

“Please, Estinien…” His voice cracks and he holds a hand to his lips.

“I will kill him. For Lord Hauchefant. For Ishgard, the end of this damned war!” Estinien spits. “You deserve that much after how much you have suffered.” He winds his fist back ready to strike the nearest thing he can see.

“Estinien…” Aymeric reaches for Estinien’s clenched hand and places it on top of the fist. His fingers wrap around the fist and he can feel Estinien shaking as it lowers. A sob breaks out from Aymeric, the walls shattering around him. He holds his side with a hand, not sure where the pain begins or ends. He feels ready to expel the bile within him from the pain. The room blurs and spins around him.

A clawed hand wraps around his torso and another cradles within the curls of his hair. He continues to sob into the chest of his closest friend within the chaos. He can only scream as the tears will not stop. Over his sobs he hears Estinien say something but it is not clear. It is too gentle, too soft, and he claws at his mind to hear it again but his throat catches again. His chest is empty, the fire that burned now nothing but a glimmer, a candle’s flame in the abyss, threatening to go out. Estinien lowers Aymeric to the chaise lounge so gently he barely registers it despite his wounds.

“Your promise, Aymeric,” Estinien says at a moment of Aymeric’s choked sobs. “Do you remember our promise?”

The dragoon had dropped his formalities at some point during his wailing. Hearing his name instead of his title moves him from the abyss for just a moment. Aymeric gasps for air, looking up at Estinien’s face. Estinien kneels down on his knee and takes his red helmet off, the string binding his hair snapping in his rush. His long silver hair falls to his shoulders with a slight wave bent into it. Concern pulls at his eyes. The rage remains, but pushed back for now. Aymeric tries to sit up but winces again and Estinien holds a hand to his shoulder.

“Would you rest for a moment in your life?” Estinien scolds him. Aymeric wishes to see the smile Estinien keeps hidden.

“I could say… the same to you…” Aymeric returns to himself slowly and holds his side. Estinien’s lips curl inward and he says nothing.

Slowly Aymeric’s breath returns to him and he wipes his eyes with his thumb. On the cushioned chaise lounge, he stares at the ceiling, following the intricate floral design.

Estinien still holds his shoulder down, but with less force now. “You cannot fall. No matter what. Do not let Hauchefant’s bravery be for nothing. You cannot falter even for a moment. But you still need to rest. If you overwork yourself in this state, it will be for naught.”

Ever so slowly, the flame in his chest is rekindled. Aymeric feels the rage still bubbling in Estinien’s words but knows they have truth to them. He takes a deep breath inward, trying to place his words. “Aye, I remember our promise. But you must be careful to remember my words. You may take out your rage on my things here but…” Aymeric hesitates, but for a moment. “Estinien, the more you fall into this war, I worry. The wyrm’s blood stains your armor and I worry it has stained your heart.”

He reaches for Estinien’s cheek and the dragoon holds it. The armor is cold against the back of his hand.

“You know I must use it, Aymeric. Thordan will fall, and I must use this rage in me to save what little dignity Ishgard still has.” Estinien looks away but keeps the hand firmly to his face.

Aymeric sighs and runs his thumb along Estinien’s cheekbone. He wonders if Estinien is even eating properly.

“Pray, I beg of you, just be sure to return home. Do what you must, but do not forget our promise, nor my words,” Aymeric says and catches Estinien’s eyes once more. He pours his conviction into his words. “Be the one to bring an end to Thordan, but do not fall into your rage. He will use any weakness you have against you, as will his Heavens’ Ward. We have seen that…” He falters again, forcing himself to not sink back into despair. The past events play out in his mind once more but he shakes them away for just a moment longer. “Do not let it happen again, Estinien. Lord Hauchefant… He would want this for you, as well.”

Estinien says nothing, but nods. He turns his chin back to kiss Aymeric’s palm and nods once more. His clawed hand holds tighter to the commander’s soft fingers.

Chapter Text

Estinien balances on a high spire above the battle with Thordan, watching in awe as Lina and her companions take Thordan down, struggling all the way, but never backing down. In the final moment, Lina blocks Thordan’s greatsword with her shield, the force pushing her down to her knees, waves of power cracking around them. She springs upward to shove the sword aside one last time, gritting her teeth. With a loud yell she swings her sword as an extension of her arm and thrusts it through the ribcage of the crazed archbishop. His body slumps and he returns to his true form: a sick, twisted old man, frightened by what he saw before him. Lina glares down at him as he takes his last breaths.

“Who—What… are you…” he shouts in fear, eyes wide.

She closes her eyes and yanks the sword from his chest with a sickening cracking noise. Thordan’s warm blood sprays over her face and chestplate, dripping down her neck.

Lina stands above Thordan as his final breath comes and goes. He and his surrounding fallen knights dissipate into aether. The battle was won and the Heaven’s Ward defeated by the Warrior of Light and her companions. Estinien remains far from her, but waits until her breathing normalizes before approaching.

She turns back and looks up at Estinien, wiping her face with her gloved hand and smearing her face. Sweat pours from her brow. A fresh cut along her cheek bleeds freely, making it hard to tell whose blood is whose. He jumps down to the arena and gives her a nod of approval. A companion hands her a cloth to wipe her face with and she thanks them passively before nodding back to Estinien weakly. She is tired, but she has done so well. The companions that had helped Lina defeat Thordan barely glance at Estinien as they leave the arena.

“It is over, then?” Estinien asks. “I had hoped mine would be the hand to end it… but knowing you, there was little chance of that.”

Lina gives a feeble smile. Her sorrowful eyes do not match the expression. She sheaths her sword at her hip and her shield at her back and nods with more seriousness. The cloth is promptly pressed to her cheek with impatience.

“Sorry to steal your glory, Azure Dragoon. It became… personal. Thank you for lending me the… Eye.” She removes the pulsing orb from her bag with her free hand and hands it back to Estinien with the slightest look of discomfort. She looks at the cloth and feels her cheek with her gloved hand. The blood smeared over her face, but the bleeding had stopped. Her morose eyes do not change.

“‘Twould seem the Eye has served you well, indeed.” He takes it within his hands, staring at the swirling power and slitted pupil, its gaze looking back at him like a reflection.

They had learned Nidhogg’s other eye was nestled within Thordan’s sword, the source of the power needed to create a primal like the Knights of the Round. Estinien reaches down to the sword that lay alone in the arena and wrestles the twin eye of Nidhogg from the hilt.

“Its twin… At long last.” Estinien holds the two within his hands, examining their power, and turns to Lina. “All that remains is to take them beyond the reach of man and dragon both. With this task accomplished, my toils shall finally be at an end.”

The eyes shake in his hands, so hard he is about to drop them. He clenches his hands to them but he hears a single heartbeat before seeing naught but pitch black darkness. He slips into the darkness and sees the greatwyrm Nidhogg, alive within his mind.

He hears nothing but the wyrm’s beckoning voice as Nidhogg floats in the void.

“Thou hadst done well to resist mine influence, bathed in my power and blood as thou went. Alas, in thine anticipation of comfort, thou hast lowered thy guard!”

Estinien tries to pull himself back, tries to flail and grip onto reality. This could not be happening.

He could not let this wyrm take control.

Nidhogg glides through his mind beckoning to Estinien.

The wyrm continues. “The keening of my fallen kindred… Their smoldering desire for vengeance… Mine eyes have partaken of a thousand years of pain—a pain which I shall bestow upon thee.” The wyrm slides further into Estinien’s mind and soul with each word. “Drink deep of my rage, mortal…AND BECOME ME!”

Nidhogg roars, the sound piercing through every fiber of the dragoon’s being and Estinien is powerless.

Burning, boiling rancor, and rage. The pain is too hot for him to contain. Estinien feels like his bones are splintering from the heat, his skin melting within his armor. All he can do is scream as his organs feel like they are on fire. Every movement he makes feels like piercing stabs into his soul.

The deep, furious voice of Nidhogg within him bellows: “You foolish mortal thought you hath bested me. Your anger, your hatred, it only fuels me.”

Suddenly Estinien is falling for the first time that he can remember. He falls into the pitch black nothing as his world disappears from him. His body stretches and distorts; his hands feel like claws push through the tips of his fingers, his teeth jagged and pointed, his mouth filling with blood as the points stab the gums. Bones ready to break, skin burning as scales push through. Nidhogg takes full control of Estinien, his spine curling as if ready to snap him in half. He opens his mouth and Estinien hears a scream as if a person is drowning or choking, not even sure it is truly his.

The reborn Nidhogg takes to the skies and Lina is only left yelling to her lost comrade until she falls to her knees as Midgardsormr’s smaller form watches his child storm through the skies.

“Nidhogg, my child… What hath thy fury made of thee…?” Midgardsormr mournfully asks, looking to the heavens above.

The collected and stern mask begins slipping off the moment Lina and Alphinaud had left his commanding room. Lucia watches him carefully with tight lips. Aymeric still cannot believe Estinien is just... gone. Nidhogg was supposed to be vanquished, and yet was somehow able to possess Estinien with the power of the eye held by Aymeric’s own late father. Estinien had meant to destroy the eyes holding so much pain and anguish, end this war for good, prevent any more abuse of power to come to pass.

But instead… Estinien was taken and disappeared without a trace.

Aymeric closes his eyes and tries his best to understand the explanation and recollection that the Warrior of Light and Alphinaud had given him once more. The only thing he understands is that he has lost two dear friends to this war from Thordan’s reign, to Nidhogg’s rage. Looking to the ceiling, he tries to use gravity alone to keep himself from crying in front of Lucia and staying strong, remembering the promise he intends to keep for Estinien, gone or no. He tries his best to take deep breaths without making a scene. His eyes threaten to water but he manages to hold them back for the time being.

He looks down at his desk, the stacks of papers arranged by Lucia. Soldiers to enlist or reject, guards to hire, medics to inspect the validity of credentials. Restoration of the Brume required skilled contractors, gathering of materials, along with the work of many people of crafting prowess, not to mention the cost. The stack of budgetary allowance paperwork is the most formidable stack on the large desk, taking up three pillars of parchment. A half-written speech lies untouched before him and he would rather stab his hand with the quill to his right than continue it further.

The usual distractions and pushing away of his feelings do nothing but overwhelm him, and his mask slips more. He can feel himself shaking as he falls into the pits of despair.

“Ser, if I may?” Lucia holds a hand to Aymeric’s shoulder, jolting him to his senses.

“Yes?” Aymeric tries to push himself just a little more.

She holds his shoulder firm. “I can assist with the soldier recruitment and enlisting. If you will allow it, I will look into the medics as well.”

Without a word more, Lucia takes stacks from his desk, arranging them with skilled hands, slams them straight and holds them with an arm to her chestplate. She shifts papers of varying importance along the desktop and finds a slip from a fortnight prior—the art commission of the mural Aymeric had conscripted by local artisans. Shiva together with her beloved Hraesvelgr, the uniting of man and dragon forever commemorated with the majestic mural.

Plans for the mural had begun when Nidhogg was defeated within the Aery moons ago. The blueprints and event planning sheets are light in Aymeric’s hands and he looks to Lucia. His jaw slacks and he loses his words for a good moment. She bows her head, tight-lipped once more, but a gentle smile graces her face when she rises.

“I do not believe it is worth giving up hope when we have not followed our paths to their conclusions,” she says sternly. “You have your duty, Commander, but you also have many that follow your lead, and many to support you. Do your best to not forget that.”

Aymeric continues to stare at her but nods and looks at the stack of papers within his hand. The mask slips back on. He exhales slowly and he pulls the quill out from its ink to add notes to the papers and his signature. “Thank you, Lucia.”

Lucia releases her grip on his shoulder and takes her leave, telling him to call for her if she is needed further. His hands grip into fists and he gets to work, holding his graceful smile on his face without as much effort.

One thought rings through his mind like a small bell. Estinien is not dead. Aymeric cannot say for certain why or how he knows this, but he feels it within his bones. He is lost, not gone. A glimmer of hope lighting his way. There may be hope to be saved from such a thing. The stacks decrease before him, disappearing into the finished pile.

He just hopes it isn’t the wishful thinking of grief, or bargaining with Halone herself to spare the man he loves. But his promise would not falter. Ishgard will not and cannot fall, no matter what.

If there is even a chance of Estinien returning, it will be to a peaceful Ishgard. He swears it with every part of his soul.

Estinien manages to pull his consciousness to the forefront. His mind returns in bits and pieces as Nidhogg flies through the clouds above Coerthas, Ishgard, the forelands, through the Sea of Clouds. Memories return to him like scattered pieces of torn parchment sparked by locals from his journey with the Warrior of Light, Ysayle, and Alphinaud.

The dragon flies with such veracity that Estinien’s mind feels like it has whiplash, never staying in one location for long. Over the cliffs where they joined forces with Ysayle. Through the thunderous clouds of the Aery where he thought the greatwyrm lay to rest. High above the snowy peaks of Coerthas where Estinien had met Lina for the first time. Every location brings a feeling of yearning and despair or disappointment.

Above the clouds of Ishard’s high pillars, where Nidhogg would transform into Estinien’s form to stand above a tower and observe. The form returns, his bones cracking back into place, with his senses thankfully distant. Through the sheer aetheric power of Nidhogg, his body restores itself enough to stand as he once had, balanced on a spire high above Ishgard. Estinien withholds his thoughts as if he were holding his breath in the ocean, listening for Nidhogg’s voice over the screaming rage.

Without trying or any explanation, his sight was granted to him but nothing else. All he can do is look upon his old home as Nidhogg writhes in hatred for the people below them. The people look like insects, unaware of the great presence above them. He spots one wearing cerulean blue and his heart burns as memories return to him in a flood.

Their hands brushing against the other in passing halls, holding them with a feather’s touch as they gained warmth from fires in campsites. Kissing for the first time when Aymeric got news of his promotion, hidden within an alley in the Brume. How they had embraced with such ferocity that their kiss only felt natural. The long nights of drunken sorrows and triumphs. The longer nights of touching comforts. The feeling of Aymeric’s curled hair through his fingers, the piercing blue of his eyes. He longed for the scent of rosewood and the smoothness of his skin on his.

Memories that would hold Estinien steady, the ones that brought a tinge of a smile to his lips, now burn in his heart, the shattered thing cutting into him. Every flash of memory stabs his chest and burns. Tears flow freely from his eyes and he cannot raise an arm to rid them. Estinien’s body is rigid as stone and can feel his mind slipping back to the darkness within. His skin is so hot that the tears evaporate from his cheeks. His tongue is heavy and he can only push Aymeric’s name from his ragged throat but he cannot even hear it.

For the first time, Nidhogg laughs. The laugh echoes in Estinien’s mind as the wyrm uses his body to leap high into the skies, transforming.

“I shall keep these feelings in mind when I tear into the spawn of Thordan’s flesh myself,” the wyrm bellows before taking flight once more. As Nidhogg glides above the clouds, he bellows to Estinien: “Do not think I will pity thine fleeting amorous feelings, mortal. Thine rage is mine to use. My beloved Ratatoskr’s blood was spilt by man’s sickening greed, a love destroyed so recklessly without a second thought. Thou wilt not know peace again.”

The event of revealing the mural and a promise of peace among man and dragon is going swimmingly. This is partially thanks to the efforts of the Warrior of Light in the crowd, along with the crowd being much more pleasant than Aymeric had prepared for. Vidofnir had arrived moments prior without a commotion or stirring from the crowd. The people take in the words of Aymeric’s speech, along with Vidofnir’s words of wisdom with empathy, seeing the dragon without fear or a grudge rotting within their gut.

He was told of what happened during preparations with the dissenters and protestors, the people who were so badly hurt by the war and the toll it took, that an act of peace seemed like a mockery of their loss. He understands their grief, more than they could know, but it still makes his heart ache. Aymeric strived for a peaceful Ishgard, and he will do whatever he can to achieve that. Not only for Estinien’s wishes, but for all of Ishgard, for Eorzea.

The mural is revealed with the flourish of fluttering fabric falling. The Saint Shiva as remembered by Ysayle and her followers with Hraesvelgr, flowing together with a light shining between them, carved in hard stone and hung above the gates of Falcon’s Nest.

Vidofnir looks above, gazing at the lovely mural.

“Father and his beloved. As they were so long ago. Happy and at peace. The dream they shared shall be ours once more,” the dragon muses, her voice gentle with nostalgia and hope. The crowd claps with enthusiasm and Aymeric is elated that his efforts could achieve such a moment.

A pained, hoarse cry from the mountains cracks through the applause.

“NEVER!” the familiar voice yells. Aymeric looks around the crowd, then to the skies and sees him, balancing on the spire above them, dragoon’s proud armor cracked, still red with blood and fury. His heart leaps at the sight of him. The thought of Estinien being alive makes him want to shout with joy but…

Aymeric hesitates for a moment, wanting to call out to Estinien, but something is horribly wrong. The stance is rigid, the armor seems to vibrate with pulsing energy. Aymeric can just barely see Estinien’s face under the cracked helm but it only shines in red malice. His gritted teeth look sharper, fanged and hungry.

A thunder crack echoes through the Nest and Estinien falls from the spire to stab through the shoulder of Vidofnir for all to see. The spear cleanly cuts through her dragonskin. She cries out in sickening pain and the crowd becomes uneasy, restless. Confusion spreads as Estinien’s body stands on the neck of Vidofnir and twists the spear in further.

Lucia grabs a hand to her sword but Aymeric snaps into instinct, grabbing the bow and an arrow from the frightful Temple Knight to his side. The knight shakes in his armor as Aymeric takes aim and fires a perfectly lined shot to Estinien’s heart. Estinien’s body raises a hand and the arrow burns into nothing within the raging fury of Nidhogg’s power. The fury swells around Estinien’s shaking body.

Aymeric’s heart plummets to his gut. Everything he was told was true, everything he had worked so hard to achieve was in tatters, the blood of Vidofnir painted on the mural beckoning peace. The man he had grown to love writhes before him, taken by the greatwyrm.

“Child of Dravania!” Estinien’s voice spits down to Vidofnir’s limp body beneath him. She still breathes, but is weakened by the wound, unable to move. “Art thou grown so forgetful that thou wouldst forsake kith and kin, and consort with the spawn of Thordan? That thou wouldst dare contemplate peace!”

Vidofnir writhes, wishing to be free from the piercing spear, blood freely flowing. Estinien’s head twists to the crowd below.

“Hearken unto me, all of you! The final chorus is nigh, and all will be held to account! All will bathe in the flames of retribution!” As Estinien’s forced words are spoken, Lina makes her way to Aymeric’s side. The warrior shouts to Estinien to stop this, moving forward to take action, but Aymeric holds an arm out to stop her approach. He knows this cannot end here, as much as he wants it to all stop. Nidhogg is too powerful and too dangerous to take on with the crowd below.

“Till the coming of that day,” Nidhogg yells with Estinien’s stolen tongue, “look you on your sins and despair! For none shall ‘scape my wrath! None shall ‘scape my revenge!”

With a deathly dragon’s rage boiling scream, Estinien jumps to the air, enveloped by dark energy. Aymeric watches in horror as Estinien’s body twists and transforms into the greatwyrm and it shrieks once more, wings spread wide, gnashing teeth thirsting for blood and bone. The crowd screams, men and women of the cloth, devoted Temple Knights, all stumble back on themselves, a frenzy of fear and despair. The dragon turns and takes to the skies, disappearing behind the horizon.

“Death to Nidhogg!” a lone man starts to shout. Soon others follow his lead and the crowd turns from fear to only rage, chanting the message, echoing off the surrounding mountains. Aymeric hears their cries and looks to Lina, his expression pained with uncertainty. The once attainable peace is torn apart. Lucia rushes to Vidofnir to try and help with the wound.

Aymeric looks to the skies that took Estinien. He wonders where Estinien has gone, what could be done. A single tear runs down his cheek that he cannot stop, freezing from the icy winds. The words leave his lips before he can even stop them.

“Return home…”

Nidhogg flies through the clouds, unseen by all below, his raving anger pulsing through Estinien’s head like an ocean pulling him downward, drowning. Within his mind, Estinien sinks into himself and feels his heart shatter as if the arrow had truly pierced it, wishing it had. So thorough is his despair that he feels enveloped by Nidhogg’s rancorous waves of hatred with no way to fight it, no desire to break free. He can only hope that someone, somewhere, brings an end to Nidhogg. As he drifts away, he thinks of Aymeric one last time.

I knew in my heart that you would do well to protect Ishgard, Aymeric. Even if it came to this. You have done well. But I… could not fulfill our promise. I cannot return to Ishgard a failure. A monster. My only wish now is to die, to be free from this wyrm’s rage and terror. You were right… You were so right, my beloved…

Chapter Text

Moons later, Aymeric stirs from his sleepless bed from the sound of his window creaking open and gusts pushing the glass panels against stone with force. The glass frames rattle, swinging against the stone again and again as he swings himself out of bed. He had left the window unlocked and unbarred as he always does, despite the crisp chill that leaked through the panes. Many restless nights were spent staring at the window, hoping to see a hand tapping against the glass to test the lock before the dragoon let himself inside the manor like it was an ordinary door.

Gusts flow into the bedroom through the open window in a wave that brings chills up Aymeric’s spine and pricks at the exposed skin of his chest. Estinien’s silhouette climbs through the open window into the dark room, his movement like water. The dragoon knight removes his helm and lets it clatter to the floor without care. He stands before Aymeric, still as a statue.

Though his heavy eyelids and swimming head begs him to return to bed, the sight of Estinien makes his heart soar as he approaches the dragoon. The silence, however, gives him pause. Estinien is knowingly always stoic, but to even be without greeting keeps the chill clinging to the back of Aymeric’s neck. He had so many questions to ask Estinien—where has he been? What happened to dread Nidhogg? Is he alright? Something holds his tongue back from voicing his questions but they swim in his mind like fire.

“Commander,” Estinien’s voice cuts through the swimming questions and Aymeric snaps his attention back to him. His voice is quiet and rough, the howling winds drowning him out.

At first, he’s taken aback but he laughs, now within reach of the dragoon, nearing him with a gentle hand raised to Estinien’s cheek. “Come now, Estinien. You have no need for such formalities here. I keep telling y—”

Estinien snaps a hand around Aymeric’s wrist, grip tightening down to the bone. Aymeric gasps at the sudden pain and strength, the dragoon gauntlet’s sharp points nearly cutting into bare skin. He looks to his wrist, then back to Estinien, but sees his expression is shadowed and cannot get a read on the man. The grip is like a vice and only getting tighter—Aymeric worries the bone will snap. The ice storm pelts shards of frozen rain onto the stone and against Estinien’s armor, clinking like delicate shards of glass. Aymeric holds himself firm and narrows his eyes. He will not betray his face to the pain, but still is unsure how to proceed. He tries to push forward to close the window but is pulled back.

The pain is now real enough to get a flinch from Aymeric, and he looks to Estinien to see the man’s eyes glowing red through the darkness. Bright draconic eyes, wide and glaring, with piercing slitted pupils drowning in red-hot hatred and rancor. Aymeric feels his jaw slack and a scream of terror caught in his throat.

“Spawn of Thordan, thine reckoning hath come.” The voice is not Estinien’s but deeper, incomprehensibly older. Estinien squeezes his wrist harder and harder. It starts to burn, the metal grieves glowing hot. “Long hath I awaited this moment.”

The bone snaps in a crunch.

Pelting ice hits the closed window in his bedroom and Aymeric finds himself in bed covered in sweat on every ilm of his body. He feels his wrist to find it whole and bites his lip as he looks to the window, still closed. The dreams were getting worse. He rises from the bed, throwing off the tangled sheets and bedding. With trepidation he checks the window, feeling the chill leak through the frame, occasional wind gusts whistling through the gap. It is unlocked.

His fingers linger on the lock. The rumors of a blood-covered dragoon looming on the rooftops are becoming more frequent, as if all of Ishgard is haunted by a monster. Aymeric wipes a stray bead of sweat from his temple and realizes he had been crying.

Aymeric brings his clenched fist to his chin. He holds the fingers to his lips softly, brushing against them with sincerity and closes his eyes, wishing for the fingers to be Estinien’s lips instead. At this moment, the pelting of ice is the only indication of time continuing onward.

Steeling himself, he locks the window and leaves to get dressed. There is still work to be done and it cannot be spent wallowing on what could be. A storm was coming and Ishgard would not fall. Estinien may never return, but he would hold himself to his end of the promise made. Nidhogg must be taken down.

With every deafening blow Lina and her companions take against the dreadwyrm’s flesh, small cracks form in the void of darkness that entomb Estinien, light shining through the gaps. Estinien begins to gain control of his mind once more, swimming through the void, grasping for the light. With a sickening crack, the light blasts through just as Estinien grasps it and the wyrm screams.

“Is this to be mine end?” Nidhogg roars through Estinien’s throat. “Nay… I will not allow it… I am of the first brood… I am vengeance incarnate… I am Nidhogg!”

Forgive me, Aymeric… I couldn’t fulfill our promise after all. But you have done well on your end of the bargain. For that, I can only thank you. I am naught but a fool. I have but one last mission for our Warrior of Light.

Nidhogg silences Estinien once again with a scream of rage, echoing within his skull. The wyrm’s powers slipping, Nidhogg continues to writhe and thrash within the twisted, restored body, just barely healed with the quick transformation. Estinien can just barely feel the burns, but the mere feeling invigorates him.

“Thou shalt die by my hand!” Nidhogg raises Estinien’s clawed hand to slash at Lina, to give her another scar to remember but the hand pauses—

Lina had been his companion and comrade through this twisted war of lies. She had been the one to fight by his side all this time, despite his foolishness. The Warrior was the one to reprimand him when he had needed a voice of reason, to pull him back from his own sickening rage and fury or thoughts of vengeance. Alphinaud had kept him steady, and had given him hope when all seemed lost. The boy represents the future of Eorzea and has so much more to still do.

Estinien fills with rage at the thought of Alphinaud and Lina suffering more from his misdeeds, for more of Ishgard to come to any more blows from this dragon’s sickening hatred. The rage within him boils—he snatches control from the wyrm but for a moment.

“This is not your hand, wyrm!” Estinien shouts with a heavy tongue, his throat full of smoke and blood. I can only fight from this wyrm’s clutches but for a moment. Forgive me.

“Thou wilt obey!” the wyrm roars. Nidhogg fights back and Estinien’s hand snaps to his throat, crushing his windpipe. Warm blood flows onto his tongue. The strength is not his own, his body still weakened from the moons without sleep or eating anything, living purely on the residual aether of a draconic being and the eyes fused to his body with roots embedded deeper than his armor.

Estinien wrestles power from the wyrm once more to ask his last mission of Lina. The Warrior’s eyes stream with tears flowing down to gritted teeth. Alphinaud is shouting to him but he cannot hear above the wyrm’s bellows echoing in his skull. His body burns from the power of the eyes fused to his skin. The dragoon returns breath to his lungs with hesitation. He wonders how long he has as he raises his head to Lina.

“I would ask one last favor of you, Warrior of Light… Finish me—now, while I have the beast subdued.”

Lina stands tall with fists clenched and inhales before shouting loud enough for him to hear through the swimming rancor. “Absolutely not!” Lina yells every syllable with all her strength and it startles Estinien. The echo quiets for just a moment.

Alphinaud and Lina exchange a look before rushing to his sides, as if they mean to strike Estinien down. But instead—surprising him—they each grab hold of the dragon eyes fused to his skin and pull with all their strength. His vision goes white hot, his ears ring. The wyrm’s aetheric power crackles and flows through them. The pair cries out in pain as pulsing shocks ravage them, but still they will not let go. The fury of lightning from the wyrm strikes blows again and again.

As the roots of the eyes pull at Estinien’s skin, tearing bit by bit, he can feel the numbness subside with each pull. His skin burns and he wants to scream but cannot manage the energy to do so. It feels like his soul is being peeled from Nidhogg’s deeply set roots within his mind with his skin being torn from whatever still clings to him.

Estinien pants, holding back the vile wyrm with all the strength he has remaining in his body and mind. “You waste your time. Kill me! It is the only way! Ending Nidhogg… will be my final duty…”

Alphinaud snaps back at him. “No! You can’t die like this! I won’t let you!”

“We’re… bringing… you home…” Lina says through the pain, gritting her teeth as another jolt shocks through her body.

Alphinaud cries out. He’s a young lad, but not a child, almost proving this fact then and there. Still, the lad brings the thought of Hamignant to Estinien. The grief and sorrow of losing his little brother, his parents, his village had all led him to where he stands now. But now, after seeing the mirror of such pain and anguish through the eyes of Nidhogg, he was not even sure what he should have done or wanted.

Hamignant would have been around Alphinaud’s age, had he survived. Estinien wonders if they would be friends. He can barely remember his brother’s face but he remembers his smile, how it made his cheeks dimple. Alphinaud has still grown so much since they met. Estinien is proud of his growth, but how does the boy not see the truth?

The wyrm’s rage is nearly silent as the roots are pulled from the skin and metal. Within fleeting silence, he hears a different calmer voice that is smooth as fresh snow echoing in his mind. Soft forgotten words float through his mind as if whispered.

“You are… not alone. A home… with me… Return home…” the soothing voice reminds him.

“You are not alone!” he hears two new, yet ever familiar, voices call out in the void of his mind.

Am I truly losing my mind?

He hears Aymeric shouting just yalms away. “Fight, you damned fool!”

Estinien cranes his neck upward to see Aymeric pushing himself closer, nearly falling over rubble and rock. He is still so far away. Aymeric shouts something more but he cannot hear over the echoing rage threatening return of power. He tries to look at Lina to tell her to give up her fight once more. The words will not come, but he sees something stranger appear behind her shoulder and worries his mind has truly broken at the sight.

Spectral forms reach from the sides of Alphinaud and Lina. The small smile along Ysayle’s snow white face framed with long silver hair flows to the side of Lina without a word. Even without speaking, the ever jubilant Haurchefant grins while reaching Alphinaud’s side. The specters calmly lean past their friends and place a hand upon the writhing eyes.

With their help, the two remove the eyes in an explosive force of aether all around them. Nidhogg’s claws on Estinien’s mind release as the spirit is torn from him, sending his vision to white out from the physical pain. The last thing Estinien remembers seeing, though few would believe him if he said, was Ysayle and Hauchefant’s smiles at him before they returned to the aetherial sea.

For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. The words echo in his mind as his mind drifts from consciousness.

Despite the slim fit armor, the elezen’s chest can still be seen rising and falling—just barely. It is as if he were in a deep slumber, sprawled before Aymeric. The commander’s heart leaps at the small movement and he nearly chokes on tears threatening to break through.

“He lives…” he sighs in relief. “Ah, Estinien, my ill-fated friend…”

Though far from the first time Aymeric has experienced a close call with the dragoon’s notoriously reckless behavior of gambling his life for the sake of vengeance, so glad is he that the trials seem to have finally ended. Especially with Estinien still in one piece.

Alphinaud, with some trepidation, approaches the commander to attempt to heal the dragoon, assuredly, but something tells Aymeric that there is so much to be done that it would be beyond Alphinaud’s abilities. The lad is ever eager to help as always and Aymeric smiles. He holds a gentle hand up to stop the boy’s advance.

“Pray, allow me to do this much, at least,” Aymeric requests as he kneels down to Estinien.

“A-Aymeric…” Estinien stutters out his name. Aymeric can tell he is barely lucid. Perhaps dreaming.

“Aye, it is me, my friend.” Aymeric whispers back. “I’m here.”

“Our… promise… ‘tis done,” Estinien whispers, barely audible to even Aymeric. Estinien’s words sound like grunts of pain and exhausted breath more than anything, but Aymeric long learned how to understand the dragoon, even in moments of agony.

The commander leans in to gently wrap his arms under Estinien’s legs and back, careful of the bleeding wounds on his shoulder and arm. Though he uses his knee as support with the adrenaline pumping through his heart, Aymeric lifts the dragoon with ease. He is light and severely weakened, Aymeric notes, as if all he is only lifting is the bloodied armor in one piece of mail, void of anyone within it. A dragoon is merely a tool by the hand of Halone, after all. Aymeric grits his teeth and curses the greatwyrm for the endless abuse of Estinien’s body but relentlessly continues to bring the fallen dragoon home safely. It is a miracle by the Fury alone that he survived. In the time of checking on Estinien, a path to Ishgard had been cleared and he walked with his head held high, holding Estinien tightly to him.

As he nears the gates to Ishgard, Aymeric leans his head against the broken helm of Estinien. “You have done well, Estinien. You have done so, so well. Rest. Pray, just rest.”

The heavy door to Estinien’s room opens with a loud creak as Aymeric peeks inside. Within, he sees that the room is blessedly empty but for Estinien sitting upright in his bed, thank the Fury. Aymeric locks the door behind him and approaches the bed. The door’s sound alerted Estinien of the commander’s presence and he looked away from the window to Aymeric with a small sunlit smile.

Estinien’s wounds still keep him from walking freely as he would so desperately desire, but to see him awake and sitting upright is a miracle alone that he knows the chirugeons worked tirelessly to achieve. Perhaps it was due to their advanced techniques, or Estinien’s stubbornness to hold onto life, but Aymeric is endlessly grateful for both. After a fortnight’s worth of rest, the dragoon is no longer in need of an on-hand medic at all times, as well.

Aymeric reveals a bouquet of flowers from behind his back; Nymeia lilies of mourning, blue violas of fidelity, and proud purple triteleias from the Sea of Clouds. Estinien had requested these specifically, likely with the help of Alphinaud, Aymeric surmised. The man bows his head in thanks as Aymeric places the bouquet delicately on the bedside table.

Leaning down to him, Aymeric slides a hand along Estinien’s chin, holding his fingers within the silver locks and places a swift kiss on the man’s lips with a smile. How long had he missed this feeling, this feeling of peace. Estinien eyes widen for a moment, likely expecting a speech or lecture from Aymeric as a greeting instead, now that they finally have a moment alone. Their smiles both reveal a flash of teeth. There is simply nothing else to be said with apologies already traded, words of sorrow expressed.

Aymeric removes his sash and pauldrons along with his heavy overcoat around his shoulders. He hangs the items up at the coat rack, noticing Estinien gazing at him. Estinien’s face reddens at every glance given by Aymeric. In just his tunic and leggings, the sight likely brings Estinien back to their days as Temple Knights. The thought alone brings a smile to Aymeric’s face.

“How are you sleeping?” Aymeric asks finally.

Estinien sighs. He looks to the pure white moth orchid by his bloodied helm by the window. “Like absolute shite, truth be told. I’m told to lie on my back—not that I need to be told. Still hurts to put hard pressure on my shoulder and arm. But I admit, ‘tis nice to have the chance to rest easy, all considered.”

Aymeric brushes a hand against Estinien’s shoulder, asking if it hurts. Estinien shakes his head but instinctively moves over two fulms for them to share the space of the bed, still smiling. It had been so long since Aymeric had seen Estinien so bright. Perhaps not since they were younger, when they shared much smaller quarters in their time as Temple Knights. The bed in this room seemed roomy in comparison to the military cots.

Aymeric sits down on the edge of bed and begins to remove his boots of metal and leather with a nostalgic laugh. “You were always the side sleeper.”

“My armor…” Estinien begins, blushing through a grimace.

With the boots removed, Aymeric cozies himself next to Estinien on the bed, cutting Estinien’s thoughts off as he casually places his hand on Estinien’s thigh. Aymeric leans his head against Estinien’s shoulder, careful to not apply too much pressure, but his eyelids feel suddenly heavy.

“Ah, yes, I suppose the spikes would make that difficult…” Aymeric murmurs as he closes his eyes, resting them for just a moment.

Silence flows through the room. Aymeric slips into a light sleep.

If Aymeric had known his small nap caused even the small amount of pain to Estinien that the pressure created, he would not have let himself slip like this, he knew. Yet, Estinien does not shift nor move. The small throbs from his shoulder are nothing in comparison, and it is far too important to him for Aymeric to finally rest easy. Estinien will simply not move. Rest is something Aymeric is likely without lately, something they both need. Estinien takes Aymeric’s hand within his. It is softer now, the calluses of an archer worn away with time for the necessary diplomatic leading of Ishgard. Aymeric’s breathing is steady, relaxed, the sight of him sleeping enough to make Estinien’s heart pound.

Estinien pulls the hand to his lips and kisses the back of it with the gentleness of a flower petal. Despite this, Aymeric’s brow twitches as he returns to consciousness. Aymeric was ever the light sleeper. Estinien releases his hand, but Aymeric grasps at it with dreary eyes barely open, grabbing it back and squeezing. Their fingers interlock and Aymeric finally opens his eyes again with a sleepy apology, rubbing the corner of his eye. Estinien chuckles and squeezes his hand back.

Aymeric brushes the curl on his forehead aside for it to fall back into place. “You are sure you can make the journey to your destination alone? Would that I could join you, but the ceremony is about four bells from now. I can order escorts for you,” he offers.

“Aye, it is something I need to do alone. You focus on your duty to Ishgard, I will fulfill mine.”

“You are able to walk alright?”

“Enough to make it to the airship landing. My destination lies not far into Azys Lla. You needn’t worry about me.” Estinien shakes his head.

“You know I always will,” Aymeric assures. He squeezes Estinien’s hand once more.

“Aye…”

They sit together for some time in silence. The sun’s light is lower now and its rays just barely reach the window, casting the room into orange twilit glow. Estinien traces a line along Aymeric’s arm with his free hand in deep thought. Aymeric shifts his weight to kiss Estinien’s neck. He whispers about how much he missed this feeling, how much he had missed the closeness.

With a smirk, Estinien turns his head and lifts Aymeric’s chin to kiss him, falling into the gentleness of the act. Estinien’s movements bring him some pain but he ignores the protests of his body to get closer to Aymeric. Their lips lock, their hands holding the other’s face. Aymeric melts into the kiss, but he pulls away with a hand on Estinien’s chest. Estinien cocks his head slightly in question.

“Will you return?” Aymeric asks after regaining his breath.

Estinien is quiet. He sits back against the headboard of the bed.

“Estinien?”

“Ishgard is... Fearful of me.” He reaches a hand to Aymeric’s as if in apology. Aymeric takes it without question and holds it firmly.

Aymeric returns to Estinien’s side leaning against the headboard, keeping his gaze on the former Azure Dragoon.

“Give them time,” Aymeric offers. “There is much to adjust to. Once they see you as you are, it will become easier. You could come to the ceremony? How are your wounds?”

“Nay. Forgive me, but I think it would be best for me to avoid crowds… But rest easy, I will return. My wounds still need tending to.”

Estinien uses his free hand to lift his loose fitting shirt to reveal unbandaged scars along his side. His eyes flick away in shame. Burned skin with dragon-like scales wrap around his waist and twist around his back. He releases the shirt and the scars are hidden once more.

“I did not want to reveal this in front of the Warrior of Light nor the lad. Their worrying is tenfold worse than yours.” Estinien’s expression changes to exasperation at the mere thought, eyes squinted and jaw clenched.

Aymeric stifles a laugh and exhales through his nose. His friend will be just fine with time and that is enough for him. Estinien turns back to Aymeric, comfortable once more.

“Fair enough, my friend. But I did come to ask something more of you.”

“So you did not just come here to interrogate me of my health status?”

Aymeric hums and his cool eyes stay set on Estinien. “Among other intentions, yes. Just one more thing of you and I will leave you be.”

“Another promise?” Estinien guesses.

“Something like that. Actually, more of a proposal.”

Estinien closes his eyes, thinking. “Aye, what do you propose, then?”

Aymeric feels his eyebrow twitching but nothing more than minor annoyance within him. He wonders if he was not direct enough? He thought himself pretty clever, playing the scenario in his head when he planned the visit. Though he cannot even muster frustration towards Estinien, and the laugh he withheld before pushes out of him, despite his best efforts of biting his lip.

“You fool,” he says, no longer able to contain it. He holds his face as the laugh comes out hearty and deep. “You absolute fool.”

He reaches into the pocket of his tunic, smoothing his thumb over rounded metal. Estinien’s brow raises in confusion.

“I propose…” Aymeric’s smile is wider, his teeth flashing as he tries to keep himself from laughing again. “I propose an end to this nameless union. With it, a promise that you will return home to me… Always. Not the same promise, but the beginning to something more.”

Aymeric pulls the ring from his pocket. The red blood pearl and blue gems set into the dark metal, smooth to his touch, flash in the sunlight from the window. Estinien finally seems to understand as his expression drops at the sight of the ring, jaw slacked.

“You mean… to…” The tips of Estinien’s long ears shine bright red in the sunlight. Aymeric grins wide, thankful that Estinien understands.

“I wish to eternally bond with you, Estinien. We can take the journey to seek the approval of the Twelve when you are ready for such a thing. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Estinien closes his eyes, a beaming smile on his face. He nods after some chuckling.

“Such a fool. You always had me, Aymeric.”

Aymeric laughs as he slips the ring onto Estinien’s finger, thankful that it fits. He looks up to Estinien only to be pulled by the collar of his tunic into a deep kiss with no end in sight.