A/N: Inspired by a Tweet I saw that basically insinuated that they fucked right before Estinien and the others went to Azys Lla.
Armored footsteps echo off stone walls as the lord commander strides through the hallways of the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly. He takes great care not to drag his feet, heavy and tired though as he feels. As though he is being weighed down by ball and chain. By the weight of an entire city, frigid and fierce as a pregnant drake but that doesn't deter Aymeric de Borel from loving her and never has.
He has a duty to keep to.
Ishgard may be in disarray, but he has faith in her ability to stabilize, to adapt. To upright herself after being buffeted like a bobbing ship in a tropical storm. It's that faith that he clings to. That keeps him sane, in spite of everything that has occurred as of late.
It's a faith that a lord commander must have, lest they be crushed under the weight of it all. Pessimism and despair suit no leader, but in truth, underneath that necessary optimism he is sad. Grieving, even. At the loss of a dear friend, at the utter audacity of his own father. He's angry. Frustrated. He's impossibly tired, but Ishgard waits for no man, threatening to fall apart at the very seams in the absence of her leader. At the ugly truths her people are yet to bear.
And bear them they must, but first and foremost, Ishgard faces yet another threat in the shape of her former archbishop and his Heavens' Ward. With purpose in mind Aymeric's feet take him past the dragoons' quarters and stop just outside the office of the Azure Dragoon. He knocks patiently, hoping that its occupant will be there.
"Enter," floats a gruff voice from the other side of the door. Aymeric obliges, letting himself inside and politely closing the door behind him. His eyes immediately land on the Azure Dragoon, who is currently hunched over his desk, quill scratching over parchment. Aymeric feels his own sober expression melt into a smile, the tension lifting from his shoulders at the mere sight of his lover, as though he hasn't seen him in moons.
They have precious little time together these days, compared to their years as Temple Knights. 'Twas an almost simpler time back then, before the weight of Ishgard rested on their shoulders, the city's defenses near-constantly threatening to buckle under the ceaseless beating of Dravanian wings, melt under wave after wave of wrathful dragons' breath. The Azure Dragoon's duties consist of doing all he can to repel the horde, slay countless wyrms littering the walls and surrounding territory whilst the Lord Commander issues orders and logistical support from behind the relative safety of his desk.
'Tis hardly the comradeship and romance of their Temple Knights era, back when they teetered on the edge of life and death on the frontlines in each other's arms. Shared warmth and bodies and dreams around campfires and in frozen tents. These days Aymeric almost finds himself missing the intimacy of it all, the sheer simplicity of being able to share a nightly meal with his dearest friend, of them both being just men before their statuses. Before their duties became nigh-overwhelming. As time goes on there's a strange feeling of finality about everything that Aymeric can't shake. Knowing that he'll never relive those days again.
Knowing that he may someday come to forget the touch of his own lover.
"Ah, there you are, Estinien," he says, strolling over to the front of the desk. At the sound of his voice, Estinien pauses his writing. Straightens up in his chair.
"Lord Commander. Is aught amiss?"
Aymeric's smile drops a little at the formality. "Is it so improbable that I have simply taken the time to come and see you?"
Estinien doesn't buy it, of course. His lips dip into a frown. "You are a very busy man, Ser Aymeric. Pray forgive me for not assuming that you have time for frivolity."
"I will always have time for my most beloved, Estinien," Aymeric assures him. "And if I have not the time, I shall make the time. Your company is hardly 'frivolity.'"
"Ser Aymeric…" Estinien sighs, and though Aymeric can't see his expression underneath his helm he could swear that Estinien was rolling his eyes.
"It must be said that you may drop the formalities when we're alone, my dear," Aymeric tuts, and he can practically sense the scowl beneath Estinien's helmet.
"Do not take me for a fool, Aymeric. I know you've come on business."
It's Aymeric's turn to sigh. Estinien, ever the perceptive one, his chilly exterior tough to warm, but Aymeric has long made it his goal to try. Whereas others are turned off by his brusque manner, Aymeric had found himself inexplicably drawn to the man like a moth to candle flame, his burning desire to unravel the dragoon rivaling his own ambition to become lord commander. It had taken some time; a slow dismantling of stout walls and countless attempts to repel him away, but Aymeric was stubborn in his own right.
Fortunately, for all his labor it has paid off. Estinien is markedly less cold than he was before, but still characteristically gruff. 'Twas simply the way that he was, Aymeric had come to accept, and realizes he can't help but love him for it. A slave to his own heart, he rounds the corner of the desk, approaching his lover with a sheepish smile.
"Would it kill you to play along? But aye, I have indeed."
He glances at the reports Estinien had been writing on the desk, eyes roaming over dry words describing recent dragon activity, which had largely calmed following Nidhogg's death but was still worth keeping an eye on. He'll be getting the full of it soon enough.
"Well?" Estinien says impatiently, crossing his arms.
Right. Aymeric clears his throat. Gets to the point. "The Warrior of Light and others would journey to Azys Lla in pursuit of my father. As you know, the land is protected by an aetheric barrier, which they believe could be penetrated by drawing from the power of the Eye. I've come to ask if you would lend them your aid?"
He knows Estinien's answer before it's even out. There isn't an onze of hesitation.
"Aye. Those whoresons will pay for their betrayal, and for what they did to you. I'd be lying if I said I was not eager for the chance to bleed them all on my lance."
Aymeric shouldn't be surprised by Estinien's bloodlust, so he isn't. He knows full well the extent of the man's vengeful nature, having recently come to find that that thirst for vengeance extended beyond a purely personal level. He can still vividly recall his rescue from the Vault: the tightness of Estinien's jaw, his teeth grit as he spat curses and swore retribution upon Thordan and his knights twelve for harming his lover. Though through his furor Aymeric could sense his concern. Driven by rancor though he may be, Estinien's heart was not made of ice, but rather burns so passionately for those close to him that it near consumes him. 'Twas another thing Aymeric loved about him, but he knows better than to enkindle those fires for fear of losing Estinien entirely.
"Good, good," Aymeric says. "Would that I could join you in this excursion, but I fear my wounds would only get in the way."
It's an almost shameful admission. To send the others away to confront his father while he wishes them luck from afar, but there is naught to be done about it. 'Tis a good thing that he has the utmost faith in the Scions and in Estinien; he has no doubts as to their anticipated success, even without him.
"How are you holding up?" Estinien asks, genuine concern softening his voice.
"Physically I am healing well. Mentally I am a bit drained, I must say," Aymeric admits.
"Aye. You've not been resting well, I can tell." There's disapproval in Estinien's words, as like a chirurgeon admonishing a stubborn patient.
Aymeric sighs, feels his exhaustion catching up to him, lapping at his heels. Pressing down on his shoulders, luring him into black slumber. He internally shakes it off—now is hardly the time. Nor is it ever. "Much has happened lately and the city is in disarray. Not only that, but it has fallen to me to pick up the pieces. Can you blame me?"
"How can you hope to run a city as you run yourself into the ground? Ishgard will not fall should you one day choose to get a full night's rest, Aymeric," Estinien argues. It is ever a point of contention between them: Aymeric not getting enough rest and Estinien urging him to. Though it is not as if Aymeric does so on purpose, rather—
"I can scarce get a 'full night's rest' even if I wanted to, Estinien. 'Tis hardly a matter of choice. There has been much and more on my mind lately; I can hardly sleep for more than a few bells at a time, and when I do, I am plagued by… morbid dreams."
Dreams of death, mainly. Of his own, of others'. He dreams of perishing in the cold, godless cells of the Vault, the knights of the Heavens' Ward sneering down at him, bleeding and battered as they leave him to die. He dreams of Haurchefant bleeding out in his arms, again and again and again, that trademark boyish smile on his face as the light spirals out of his eyes forever. He dreams of Estinien, succumbing to his rage, leaping straight into the burning maw of Nidhogg and blazing out in a fire of hatred and fury. He dreams of the Warrior of Light, giving their life for Ishgard—a nation not even their own, falling to their knees on the Steps of Faith after slaying countless Dravanians.
'Twould be easier to deal with if the dreams were not based in reality. Even in waking hours he can still feel the dark tendrils of such nightmares wrapping around his subconsciousness, beckoning him into despair.
"I did not know you suffered so," Estinien says mildly. "But I would still beg you to take better care of yourself. If not for your own sake, then for Ishgard's... For mine."
"I…" Aymeric starts, then promptly stops, any and every excuse dying on his tongue. He realizes there's no logic in denying Estinien's heartfelt request. Silently promises to make a better effort. "I appreciate your concern. Alas, I did not come here to argue with you, love."
Estinien exhales somewhat exasperatedly. "Was scarcely arguing, but fine. My lance—and the Eye—are ready whenever the Warrior of Light is."
And just like that, he's ready for war. No questions asked. And though Aymeric had achieved what he initially came here for he couldn't well ignore the tide of frustration and need that had been washing over him for days, pulling him into its depths. Without concern he surrenders, seizing the opportunity that they have alone, for the time being.
He reaches out, caresses the exposed skin of Estinien's arm, gaze hot on him. "I daresay we've a little time afore they must depart."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I think you know, my dear."
He doesn't miss the ghost of a smirk underneath Estinien's helmet as he feigns ignorance. "You want to help me clean my armor, then? I've been meaning to, but I'm sure you understand the time has eluded me lately."
Aymeric snorts. "Mayhap when all this mess is finally concluded. Nay, I think you know very well what I have in mind, Estinien."
Estinien rises to his feet, stretching out his arms, armor making him appear not unlike a dragon spreading its spiked wings. "You'll have to work for it. This armor is a pain in the arse to remove and put back on."
"Of course, of course," Aymeric says, laughing again. "Now come, at least remove your helm so that I may gaze upon your handsome features."
Estinien lifts his helm at once, shaking his silver hair loose. It never fails to steal the breath from Aymeric's lungs, the way it tumbles over his shoulders like a frozen waterfall, framing dark, sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones. Aymeric lets his appreciative gaze linger, Estinien's stormy gray eyes meeting his. In their swimming depths Aymeric can identify the stirrings of unfiltered need. Takes it as invitation.
"I've missed you," he sighs against Estinien's lips. "Scarcely have we had the time to be alone together. Even less oft do I get to see your face, much less kiss you these days."
Estinien's breath hitches as Aymeric's tongue slips against his. "You really think now to be appropriate to make up for lost time?"
"Is ever appropriate? Besides, I am sending you off to a perilous place against wicked foes and know not when you will return. Pray allow me to indulge the fact that I still have you in mine arms."
"Hmph."
They're doing naught but kissing and still levin fulgurates through Aymeric's veins, shocking him alive, more alive than he's been in weeks. What nightmares and external troubles that have been hounding him are swiftly swept aside in a dance of flesh. Aymeric loses himself in the heat of Estinien's mouth, melts across his tongue. He attempts to get even closer, seeking fire, and is soundly prevented by the bulk of his own robes and Estinien's heavy armor. He peels himself away from his lover's lips, begins to strip him of his gauntlets. They fall to the ground impatiently, and Estinien makes to remove his boots next. Then Aymeric assists him with the breeches and Drachen mail, mindful of the spikes, his hands seeking newly exposed areas of skin as he presses his lips against Estinien's again.
Fingertips dance against sculpted flesh, trace a diagram of countless scars. Estinien is oh-so-warm as he bows into Aymeric's reverent touch, a stark contrast to the surrounding chilliness of the room. Aymeric slides a hand down his abs, dipping down to grope Estinien through his smallclothes. The man's arousal is quick to stir to life, and Aymeric nearly drops to his knees in a surge of desire to get his mouth on him when—
"You too," Estinien murmurs, pulling away and tugging at Aymeric's sash.
They make quick work of Aymeric's robes, kissing as they go. Aymeric shivers in anticipation of being under Estinien's calloused touch, but then Estinien's pulling back again, his eyes drawn to the bandages littering Aymeric's body. With the backs of his knuckles he caresses Aymeric's wounds gently and Aymeric can't help but wince.
"Aymeric…" Estinien starts.
"Don't— I'm fine."
Estinien's dark eyes search his, clearly unconvinced, but he fortunately doesn't press the matter. "What do you want?"
"I—" Aymeric swallows. Shuts his eyes. "I don't want to think. I've had too much on my mind lately and I just— I can't—"
Lips attach to his neck. "Then allow me to take care of you, milord."
"Again with the formality."
"You like it," Estinien teases, bites gently down on the flesh under his jaw. "I've seen how you react when I lay praises upon my lord commander as I'm buried inside you."
"You have," Aymeric groans, "such a way with words."
Estinien barks out a laugh. "If you say. I can scarce hope to match the filth that spills out of your mouth."
Aymeric merely hums and kisses him again, hand returning to grope at Estinien's arousal before he finally decides to drop to his knees. He mouths at Estinien through the cloth of his smallclothes, tracing the hardening shape of him with his lips, relishing the eager groan that leaves his lover. He teases Estinien until he's wet, the cloth sticking to the outline of him. Until there are strong hands tangling in Aymeric's hair, urging him to get on with it. Aymeric frees him moments later, mouth watering as Estinien's thick erection springs out, leaking at the tip. He takes him into his hand, begins stroking him.
"Estinien," Aymeric breathes against the head of his cock, "pray use me as you wish."
As soon as the words leave his lips he's being pulled forward, his mouth landing on Estinien's cock. He accepts him readily, hungrily, almost desperately. Kissing up and down his length, his tongue darting out to lick at wetness gathering at the tip before he swallows him whole. He hears Estinien's breath hitch, feels his cock twitch against his tongue, the heavy weight of it doing much to supplant the avalanche on his shoulders, dispel the fog in his mind. Aymeric savors the taste of him, relaxes his head and jaw as he allows Estinien to guide his movements with his hands as he slides his length down his throat.
The obscene, wet noises of Estinien fucking his mouth soon fill the room and Aymeric loses himself in it all. In the flex and roll of Estinien's hips with each thrust into his mouth. In the way the world outside blurs and falls away and he's currently nothing more than a wet hole to be used for his lover's pleasure. The welfare of Ishgard is far from his mind as he swallows Estinien's cock as best he can, tongue slipping up and down the underside of his length. Estinien grunts, sliding all the way down his throat again and holding him there, causing Aymeric to choke a little, but he finds he enjoys it, revels in the loss of control as his own cock surges with arousal, straining against the confines of his smallclothes.
"Very good, Lord Commander," Estinien breathes as Aymeric takes him to the root, inhaling his scent. Aymeric moans around him, the praise shooting straight to his cock, heating up his cheeks. Unfettered desire swims in his veins. The desire to satisfy this man as he deserves, to be appreciated for his efforts.
Oh, how he's missed this. How he needs this, to give up all semblance of control. To lose himself in the blinding white tide of pleasure completely divorced from the cruelty of the reality that drives him. Right now he's naught but clay in Estinien's hands. Estinien could do anything to him right now and he'd gladly accept it. Mayhap even beg him for more.
He doesn't get a chance to as Estinien soon pulls him off of his cock.
"Up," Estinien orders, and Aymeric obeys. He stands, wipes the spit from his mouth, and crashes his lips against Estinien's desperately. Estinien wraps strong arms around him, pulling him into his embrace as he returns that desperation, a hand going to stroke Aymeric through his smallclothes. Aymeric moans, bucking into his grasp.
"Oil?" He murmurs against Estinien's lips. Estinien grunts, promptly leaves him to go for the bottle of oil hidden in his desk. When he returns, Aymeric has already removed his smallclothes, eager to get on. Estinien takes the hint, uncorking the bottle and spreading oil onto his fingertips. He reaches behind Aymeric, prods and rubs at his hole teasingly, taking his time before Aymeric pushes back onto his fingers and groans.
"Hurry, dear."
Estinien smirks, still circling his entrance. "So impatient, milord."
"Please, I need you," Aymeric pleads pathetically, hands gripping Estinien's broad shoulders. For some reason it works, and the next thing he knows is that he's being entered by calloused fingers. Lips in his hair as he's stretched open roughly. It doesn't take much work; Aymeric is powder snow in Estinien's hands, loose and willing. His own patience wrecked by weeks of pent-up longing and neglect. A third finger enters him and he just about falls apart.
"Estinien, take me," Aymeric begs. "Against your desk."
"First—" Estinien says. He kisses Aymeric again. Nips at his bottom lip. "Fuck yourself on my cock."
He then withdraws his fingers and plops down onto his desk chair, spreading his legs. He squeezes the bottle of oil into his palm and starts slicking up his own cock. Aymeric wastes no time climbing into his lap, easing himself onto exquisitely muscled thighs.
As he sinks onto his lover's cock he swears his vision blurs.
He moves timidly at first, adjusting himself to the girth of Estinien's cock, but he soon finds a rhythm, using his own thighs to lift himself up and down. Estinien's hands find their way around his waist, aiding him as he impales himself on his lover's cock, the wooden chair beneath them groaning and scraping against the stone floor at their movements. Aymeric's all moans and stuttering breaths as he loses himself in quicksilver flashes of pleasure at the way the head of Estinien's cock brushes up against that spot inside him every time. It's almost overwhelming, after having been denied this for so long, their respective duties keeping them achingly apart. It's pure heaven, he thinks, watching the way Estinien's eyelashes flutter, his brows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Oh, Aymeric would give him the world if he could. He'd hang the stars and the moon and pull down the sun to prove just how much Estinien meant to him. To show just how grateful he is for his presence in these damning times, for ever being his salvation from ruin. It's selfish on Aymeric's part, admittedly, needing him in such a way, but Estinien has done much to keep him sane over the many years they've been together. And not once has he let him fall. Not even now, the stress of everything becoming almost too much to bear, dragging him under, tempting him into anguish and anxiety and causing him to neglect his own needs and desires. His own heart.
Gods, how he's been longing for this reprieve. He tells Estinien such.
"Fury, I've been wanting this for days."
"Tell me," Estinien says, bucking up into him. "Tell me what you've been thinking about."
"I've thought about you—" Aymeric bites his lip, grinds down on him and meets his thrust, "gods, right there— holding me in your arms, kissing me senseless and claiming my mouth with your tongue. I've thought about—ah, yes—you forcing me on my knees and using my throat until I can barely breathe. I've thought about you spreading my legs and—oh, Halone—splitting me apart on your cock, swiving me so good that I forget my own name."
"Halone's tits, Aymeric," Estinien groans, hands tightening around Aymeric's waist.
"Please, Estinien, will you—"
"Aye, gods, you needn't ask me twice."
And then Aymeric's being lifted off of his cock and off his lap entirely. As soon as Estinien rises to his feet he spins Aymeric around. Bends him over the desk.
In a matter of seconds he's being reentered, Estinien's length sliding into him all the way and he stops there for a moment, Aymeric's arse flush against his thighs. Aymeric can't help but whimper, his nerves alight with anticipation and fire. He nearly begs Estinien to start moving but before he can Estinien pulls out almost all the way and slams back into him, causing him to jolt. Aymeric gasps, bracing himself on the desk as Estinien repeats the movement again. And again. And again.
Estinien keeps up his brutal rhythm, rough hands on either side of Aymeric's waist holding him down. Aymeric can do naught but lie there and take it and by the Fury, it's everything he's wanted for weeks. The sheer blinding sensation of Estinien's cock pounding into him, driving out every harrowing thought haunting the back of his mind. Ishgard, dragons, the archbishop… It all melts away in a heatwave of lust. A frenzy of impropriety and lovemaking.
And how Aymeric wants to forget everything.
He wants oblivion.
"Estinien… Talk to me, please," Aymeric finally chokes out, wanting to hear his lover's voice.
He feels lips begin to travel down his spine, calloused hands caressing his body, mindful of his bandages. "Enjoying this, aren't you, Ser Aymeric? Being taken by one of your knights in his own quarters."
Aymeric moans in response. The formality hits differently when Estinien is inside him. 'Twas in all honesty improper, to be sleeping with one of his subordinates, but it excites Aymeric in a way it shouldn't. Besides which, it was Estinien, of all people. His dearest friend and lover of practically a decade, and to Aymeric he was those things first and foremost before he was Ishgard's Azure Dragoon.
"I've oft fantasized about this scenario, you know," Estinien admits. "Or at least a similar one. The lord commander bent over his desk, over his papers, fucked until not a single thought of Ishgard plagues his mind."
Aymeric blushes at the words, at the eroticism of the situation. "Keep talking."
Estinien nips at his ear, his husky voice sending shockwaves of thrill down to Aymeric's toes. "Mayhap somebody will pass by, knock on the door, the only response from the other end being that of the sounds of the Lord Commander of Ishgard getting fucked."
"Gods…"
"One day I'll have you alone in your office, and we may enact that very scenario. What think you?"
"A-aye," Aymeric agrees, the fantasy spinning to life in his head, his cock growing impossibly hard. He imagines they're doing so now, the outside world forced to wait at their indiscretion, their lovemaking taking precedence over all else.
"You're doing excellent, Lord Commander." Estinien says it like he knows what it does to him. Mayhap he does. Aymeric can't see himself lasting much longer, the way Estinien fucks him, showers him with kisses and lovebites and praise.
"Ahh, Fury, Estinien," he gasps. "Harder, please."
Estinien obliges, swives into him faster, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Aymeric's moans displacing the cold quietness of the room. Aymeric bows his spine, pushing back and meeting him nearly thrust for thrust. He's a blizzard of want. A tempest of greed as he takes all Estinien has to give him, his conscience all but dissolved in a haze of sex and escapism. Estinien grunts, swivels his hips in such a way that it makes Aymeric's eyes roll into the back of his head, and somewhere in his incoherence he doubts he'll be able to walk straight thereafter.
"My love, I'm–– I'm so close…"
He's there. Riding a swell of pleasure on the cusp of oblivion, light as a feather, his pulse like a hammer. Blood running hot as dragonsbreath.
All it takes is Estinien's fingers wrapping around his neglected cock, lips at the shell of his ear again.
"Come for me, Ser Aymeric," Estinien demands.
And Aymeric does.
It's as a snow storm sweeping over him. A flood of white gratification.
Estinien fucks him through it, his pace relentless, teetering on the edge of overstimulating, but it isn't long before he's coming as well, growling as he spills deep inside of Aymeric and clutching him to his chest. "Lord Commander…"
This closely joined Aymeric can scarce tell where he ends and Estinien begins. It takes a few minutes to return to himself, his brain matter having floated off somewhere amongst the stars. Estinien's arms are wrapped tight around him, anchoring him to the present, face buried in his back.
"Was that to your satisfaction," Estinien says muffledly, catching his breath, "Lord Commander?"
"What do you think?" Aymeric sighs pleasantly, fingertips idly caressing the arm around his body. "Aye, I have been thoroughly satisfied."
"Good."
It's another few moments before Estinien pulls out and away from him, and he shivers at the loss of body heat. Aymeric remains lying over the desk as Estinien shuffles off behind him, a pleasant lethargy settling in his bones. His head is delightfully empty, his shoulders far lighter than they've been in weeks.
Halone, was it like this every time? This purging of tumult and baptism in lethe. Aymeric makes a silent promise to seek out his lover more often, the postcoital haze doing much to keep the distressing thoughts at bay, for the time being, but he quickly realizes that they don't have much time before duty soon calls again.
When he glances behind him he can see that Estinien has already dressed back in his smallclothes, pieces of armor in hand. "Now for the fun part."
Aymeric snorts before he finally decides to force himself up and stumbles over to Estinien to help him put his armor back on. They start with the mail. Then breeches. Gauntlets. Greaves. Aymeric pauses with the armet, frowning at the broken horn. He quickly takes stock of the chips and gouges in the rest of the armor, dyed crimson with wyrm essence. Furrows his brows.
"Think you that a mere cleaning will suffice? It appears more to me that a full replacement is in order."
"Though it doubtlessly needs reforging I am somewhat loath to replace it so easily. This armor has served me well," Estinien explains. Ever was the man fond of his armor, a source of pride for him ever since he first became a dragoon.
"That it has," Aymeric agrees, handing him his helm. "To think that you were able to face down the dreadful Nidhogg with nary a scratch on your person."
"Aye. Though I daresay it might have been a different outcome without the aid of the Warrior of Light. Nidhogg was no common drake, even bereft of his eye." Estinien scoops up Aymeric's clothes as he says this and hands them to him. He returns the favor, helping Aymeric to swiftly get dressed.
"Speaking of the Eye…" Aymeric says, adjusting his robes. "Think you that it will lend enough power to pierce the barrier?"
"'Twill be enough, I assure you. The one eye alone contains a good half of Nidhogg's strength. Should that not be enough, I don't know what is."
"Do be careful drawing upon its power, my love. I know you are not ignorant to its dangers, but—"
"Save your concern, Aymeric," Estinien dismisses. "I would sooner destroy the Eye afore I ever let that wyrm take me."
Aymeric can't help but roll his eyes at his lover's stubbornness. Estinien sometimes acts as though he has not come under Nidhogg's influence whilst in possession of the Eye, though Aymeric does not bring this up. "All right. At least… promise me you'll return to my side, then."
"You worry overmuch," Estinien scoffs. "Compared to Nidhogg and his horde, Thordan and his knights will be mere child's play."
"The Heavens' Ward are no longer mere knights, my dear, and you forget that they are in league with the Ascians. I know little of the extent of their power, but from what the Warrior of Light tells me, 'tis not to be trifled with," Aymeric warns him. Really, the thought of his father and his knights consorting with Ascians and primal influence was terrifying, in a way Estinien may not have been primed for. He wishes Estinien would see it; he could not bear the thought of losing him to his own hubris. "In any case, we have tarried enough. Let us away ere we delay the others any longer."
"Hmph. And whose idea was it to delay us?"
"And who was fain to indulge me?" Aymeric smirks.
Estinien mutters something under his breath about refusing orders, grabbing his lance from where it leant against the desk and slinging it over his back. Aymeric kisses him.
"Pray return to me," he makes him promise, that ever familiar weight resettling in his shoulders again, dread rising up in his throat.
Just like that, they're back to it again, drawn apart by duty, Aymeric left to worry endlessly over him and the outcome of the mission. He tries to cling to his faith, that same faith he has in Ishgard that they'll weather the storm no matter how fierce, no matter how daunting and uncertain the future may seem.
"I will," Estinien says, and Aymeric believes him.
A/N: And as we all know Estinien does not, in fact, return to him :') (at least not right away, poor Estinien. ahhh)
