Chapter Text
The rain hadn’t let up for several days, turning the training ground into a slurry of mud that reached ankle-high. Aymeric watched the new recruits slog through it with his arms folded across his chest and a decidedly grim expression. Beside him, Commander Faucheux seemed to be in no higher spirits, the lines in his brow and the hollows beneath his eyes even more pronounced than usual.
“Lord Commander?”
“What is it, captain?” Faucheux didn’t even glance at him but continued to scan the field, squinting through the torrent of rain.
“I wondered if you received my proposal concerning mounted cannons on the Steps of Faith?”
“Daniffen's Collar precludes a direct assault,” Faucheux said.
“I understand that, yet without an Azure Dragoon, we are open to Nidhogg’s--”
“We don’t have the resources,” Faucheux said curtly. “Unless you know someone who can get them for us, then I suggest you keep such ideas to yourself.”
“Yes, ser.”
“We’re done for today,” he said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Send them to dinner.”
His temper now matching the miserable weather, Aymeric called out to the soldiers to stop and trudged back toward his quarters, feeling cold and in dire need of a drink.
He made it halfway there before spotting a familiar face training on one of the striking dummies.
When they first met on that burnt-out battlefield, Estinien did not know him, but he certainly knew of Estinien. He had a reputation for his skill with a lance, but also as an unruly creature that remained in the order only by virtue of his talent and connection to Ser Alberic. Well, there at least he could empathize.
They hadn’t seen each other since the day they arrived back at camp, parting ways at the infirmary where Aymeric left him in the care of the nurse. He’d intended to visit during Estinien’s recovery from the ordeal, yet somehow it’d gotten away from him. He felt a twinge of guilt over it as he approached.
Sensing his presence, Estinien turned. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, almost but not quite covering the shiny pink burn over his right eye.
“Aymeric,” he said. “What do you want?”
So he did remember my name. “You promised to buy me a drink, didn’t you?”
“Thought you’d forgotten,” said Estinien, avoiding his eyes.
“Of course not,” Aymeric said. “I apologize for not saying anything earlier. You are under no obligation to join me, as I have no wish to be overbearing.”
An amused smile pulled at the corners of Estinien’s mouth.“You mean like the time you followed me to the middle of nowhere so we could walk home together?”
“Touché.” Aymeric laughed.
“Tomorrow night,” said Estinien, turning back to the dummies. Aymeric took a moment to register what just happened. “The first round is on me.”
Estinien tugged his ponytail tighter and faced himself in the mirror with a sigh. Here he was, acting like some kind of blushing maid at her sixteenth nameday because he hadn’t been out in a while.
Carousing at the Forgotten Knight was a beloved pastime of the Temple Knights, and one Estinien avoided upon pain of death. His training regime didn’t account for the sort of hangovers their ale was wont to cause. He owed Aymeric, however, and truthfully he had enjoyed the man’s company on their journey back to Ishgard. For that, he figured he could stomach the noise and the crowd for one night.
They met by the hunting board outside, Aymeric looking as elegant as ever even in civilian clothing. He grinned when he saw Estinien.
“Good to have you, friend,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Estinien followed him inside. The dim lighting served to obscure the curious mixture of high and low society within the Forgotten Knight; soldiers, knaves, and nobles alike mingling over tankards. Funny that it was right across the street from the Congregation and the seat of the Lord Commander. Estinien had a feeling Fauxcheux wouldn’t be caught dead here, on either floor.
“Gibrillont!” Aymeric signaled to the bartender. “Two pints, if you would be so kind.”
Gibrillont poured the drinks and slid them across the counter with a friendly smile. “Who’s that with you, Aymeric? Haven’t seem him before.”
“This is Estinien, a friend of mine from the Knights.”
Estinien raised a hand in greeting, taking a long drought of ale.
“Aymeric?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind them. They both turned. It belonged to a heavily muscled Elezen woman with close-cropped hair and a sharp grin.
“Albertine,” Aymeric greeted her warmly. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the din. “Are the others here as well?”
Albertine turned and bellowed into the crowd, “Fiacre, Rosemonde, get over here!”
They were soon joined by another pair of Elezen, one a slender and beautiful man and the other a woman with a stare like a hawk.
The man called Fiacre wasted no time in draping himself all over Aymeric.
“We never see you around anymore,” he said, nuzzling the front of Aymeric’s tunic. Aymeric rested a hand in his hair, giving Estinien an almost apologetic look.
Estinien, who had been hovering awkwardly by the bar for much of this exchange, was taken by a sudden urge to flee.
“I have been quite busy since being promoted,” Aymeric said.
“Don’t have time for us anymore since you got yourself a fancy new title?” the woman called Rosemonde said. Albertine draped an arm around her shoulders.
“Now, Rosy, don’t be mean,” she said. Estinien was surprised to see Rosemonde blush.
“This is Estinien, everyone.” Aymeric put a hand on his shoulder. “The story of how we met is rather interesting, should you care to hear it.”
They all gathered around a table, where Aymeric became animated in the telling. Estinien sat back and watched him, his tankard sitting to the side, forgotten
“So this madman went after the wyrm by himself,” Aymeric said.
Fiacre gasped. “Is that true?” he asked, leaning so far over that he was practically in Aymeric’s lap.
“Aymeric helped me, though,” Estinien said. “I would have been the beast’s dinner had he not swept in to save the day.”
“I only distracted it long enough for you to do the most incredible dive I have ever seen,” said Aymeric, blue eyes sparkling. Estinien flushed a little, looking quickly away.
“Fury, get a room.” Rosemonde rolled her eyes.
“What a tale,” Albertine said. She laughed and clapped him on the back so forcefully he nearly hit his head on the table. “And to think, we took you for a curmudgeon all this time!”
The group fell into an awkward silence.
Fiacre coughed. “To be honest, we’ve admired your lancework for a while. But you always seemed...”
“Unapproachable,” Rosemonde finished for him.
“I was going to say ‘busy,’” Fiacre said.
“You should spar with us some time!” Albertine’s tankard sloshed over a little with the enthusiasm of her gesturing.
“I don’t--” need to train with other people as my opponents , he was about to say, until he caught Aymeric looking at him hopefully. “...Alright,” he muttered.
They continued to drink and talk until late, Fiacre doing humorous impressions of Commander Fauxcheux, Rosemonde explaining the best ways to kill a drake. Estinien spoke little but began to feel more at ease in their presence.
When they finally bid one another goodnight, Aymeric lingered by him.
“You are headed to the barracks, right? Let me come with you,” he said, taking Estinien by the hand.
Savior or not, he was beginning to find Aymeric’s lack of personal space unnerving. Estinien wasn’t used to the sort of familiar touches Aymeric seemed totally at ease with: an arm slung around his shoulder, the friendly brush of a hand, fingers circling his wrist to pull him through the crowded bar. Each one sent warmth flooding through him at the point of contact (a curious sensation which he attributed to several tankards of ale).
“I apologize,” Aymeric said as soon as they were out of the Forgotten Knight. “I did not intend for us to spend the whole night with them.”
“‘Twas no great hardship,” said Estinien. For the most part , he added silently. “They’re an interesting crowd.”
Aymeric looked at least somewhat cheered by that.
The streets of the Pillars at night were beautiful, fragrant moonlight-blooming flowers lining the walks, trees whose leaves rustled and flashed silver in the wind, the soft yellow of the street lamps. They walked side by side, their shoulders occasionally knocking against one another.
“You know, it was my first dragon.” Estinien’s gaze slid to the path in front of them. It felt safer than looking at Aymeric. “The one we killed together.”
“The first of many, I am certain.”
“I train to become an Azure Dragoon, as my father used to be.”
“Ser Alberic, right?”
“Aye,” Estinien said. "So you knew?"
At that, Aymeric looked rather guilty. “I must have heard someone mention it.”
So even the great Captain Aymeric is not above gossip . “I see.”
When they reached the barracks, Estinien wavered by the entrance, unsure of what to expect.
“I should go,” he said. “Have to be up early for hunting.”
If Aymeric was disappointed, his expression didn’t show it. He reached out to clasp Estinien by the arm. “Thank you for accompanying me,” he said with a smile. Estinien nodded. “Goodnight, my friend."
Estinien stood in the dark and watched him leave, feeling an unfamiliar tightening in his chest.