A/N: Here's a story that I'm almost done for AymericxWoL. Sort of a sequel to my fic falling, fallen but you don't need to read that first necessarily.
feed your soul (and mine with it)
When Aymeric first hears of his dear friend's upcoming return to Ishgard, it initially takes everything in his power not to collapse from relief. The fallout is unsurprising; the hours, days, weeks leading up to the implementation of the Scions' plan to save Etheirys from the Final Days had culminated into a haze for the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, leaving him spending every waking moment throwing himself into any form of work he can get his hands on. By the Fury, he has even been joining border patrols in the western highlands of Coerthas simply to avoid ruminating on the fate of the world.
Or, more accurately, to avoid ruminating on the fate of the Miqo'te sent off to save the world.
Only by being busy has Aymeric found peace. After all, the moment his mind halts, the seconds of unknowing become starkly visible amidst waves of pure, unadulterated fear. Unfathomable regret. Inconceivable loss.
If he is not to return, then what am I to do? What am I to say to Haurchefant in Her halls?
But it seems his fears are unfounded. The man in his heart has returned to their star, has overcome the greatest of all adversities, just as he has always done. He is safe.
And apparently, after he finishes debriefing the councils of Old Sharlayan with his fellow Scions, their champion is coming back to Ishgard.
Aymeric's second instinct is to collapse from laughter. He does not mean to mock the words which come from Emmanellain's innocent report, but he cannot help but snort before holding back the rest of the chuckles which rumble up his throat unbidden.
Of course the Warrior of Light, saviour of them all, has decided that the first thing he shall do post-saving the world is to support a crew of miners in the area. Of course the Warrior of Light is a miner. Of course he knows to live off the land, to seek veins of treasure beneath their feet. Is there anything he cannot do? the Elezen ponders in a giddy haze. He had not even known that the Miqo'te was an adept miner- there had been reports of how the man had helped their horticulturalists cross foreign species to improve crop durability for Ishgardians, but even that had left Aymeric incredulous. After all, had it not been that very man who had also showcased a stunning understanding of leatherwork back in the desperate battle of the Ghimlyt Dark, having repaired Aymeric's own armour upon the battlefield? How can one person master so many crafts? Are all adventurers as adept?
The questions circling his brain ignite his eternal wish instantly- to be an adventure alongside the Warrior of Light. Oh, how wonderful it would be to travel their world and practice different trades and live off the land, emerald eyes sparkling at his side across deserts and oceans and glaciers alike- how glorious it would be to see how serene that battle-ready visage would be underneath the stars of Hingan or Thavnarian skies.
He quashes these thoughts, as he always does. Finding more details is his priority. So, he calms himself, straightens up, then asks for further elaboration.
Emmanellain's boisterous description of the man's plans continue, and eventually, Aymeric relents, allowing himself to laugh. It is utterly ridiculous, imagining the Miqo'te in a helmet and steel-toed boots as he drives a pickaxe to stone, but-
A flush creeps up his neck. It is… not a bad thing to imagine, by any means. Miners were not exactly sore on the eyes.
Emmanellain pouts in response, unaware of his leader's silent spiralling ramblings. "I say no jest, Ser Aymeric," he replies haughtily, his innocent hurt clear as day.
The elder can only clear his throat and attempt to regain poise. "I know," is his gentle response. "Thank you for this news. We shall welcome him back home to Ishgard with open arms."
Pleased for a job well-done, Emmanellain flicks dark hair out of his smiling eyes. With a bow and a flourish, he waves the elder goodbye and runs off, no doubt to inform his brother and father of the news of their dearest friend and former ward's return.
In his wake, Aymeric de Borel is left to wonder without distraction. Is his friend safe? Is he hale and hearty after his journey? What was the voyage into the stars like? How did he feel, knowing that he was the first Eorzean to truly set foot into such incredibly distant stars?
He wants to ask, but he dares not. His dear friend will undoubtedly be exhausted upon his return; Aymeric knows better than anyone just how easily their champion runs himself ragged. Bombarding him with questions will do no good for him.
A warm meal just might, however. The thought heats the man up from his core, spreading out to the tips of his gauntleted fingers and long, pointed ears instantly. They had once dined together, but it had been so dourly interrupted. He has always wanted to dine with the man once again, to reclaim the time lost. To take care of him is all I-
Perhaps it is finally time for their proper reunion- not as leader of the House of Lords and the champion of Etheirys, but as friends. Comrades. He is by far not the only one who will demand the Miqo'te's time, but he certainly ranks high in the other man's heart, does he not?
Aymeric gulps. He has some preparations to make, both in his office, and in House Borel. His aides will stare at him strangely later on for his preemptive work, but he shall pay it no heed. For the first time in what feels to be an eternity, Aymeric truly wants something again. Not for Ishgard, nor his people, but for himself.
He smiles, giddy and warm in the face of snowflakes dancing in the wind. He's coming home.
