Original Ao3 chapter summary:
Just a little thing I wanted to write about Joker's Dragoon training. :)
This is set between the end of ARR (ch. 40) and the start of Heavensward (HW ch. 1), during Joker's stay in Camp Dragonhead.
"I hear you've been exiled."
Estinien Wyrmblood was hovering above him from where he lay in the snow, all dark, jagged spikes as usual, stark against the gray sky.
Joker reluctantly set aside the flask he'd been holding, having let himself collapse in a field after a day of culling ravenous wildlife with a troublingly hungry eye for the local Karakul herds. Despite how it may have looked, the contents inside were not alcoholic, actually— although that might have been nice. If he could think of wine without envisioning Nanamo's choked face, fingers clawing desperately at her throat, anyway.
No, instead it was the next best thing: a beautiful fusion of Leblanc-style coffee born from the blend of O'Ghomoro beans he had gifted Haurchefant during his previous visit, combined with the man's delicious hot cocoa. He and Joker had spent several evenings during his stay in Camp Dragonhead learning to combine their respective signature drinks into a most potent pick-me-up for the dreary weather, and he would really rather be enjoying it in brooding silence right now.
"And I hear you've been un-exiled." Joker pointed two sets of fingers up at Estinien like dual pistols, "Save some of those legal pardons for the rest of us, mister Azure Dragoon."
He didn't even know where the man had come from, or how he'd known exactly where to find him. But it wasn't entirely surprising— Joker had felt Estinien's presence in the Central Coerthan wilderness prior to his appearance before him just now, somehow. Like a persistent itch.
It kind of pissed him off. In a harmless sort of way.
Estinien let out a brief snort, which he quickly reigned in. He planted the tip of his lance in the snow beside Joker's head before bending down lower.
"You had expressed an interest before… Would you like to try it for yourself? Becoming a Dragoon?"
…Huh. What a suspiciously generous and sudden offer. If he didn't know better, he'd say Mister Wyrmblood was trying to do something nice for him.
Well, Joker supposed he wasn't entirely lacking in experience with polearms. And while he hated to say it to Estinien's face, the Jumping thing he did was insanely cool.
Joker sat up, shaking snow out of his ever-lengthening hair. Took a long swig to drain the last of his pseudo-mocha.
"Alright," He gasped, clasping the lid, "Lend me a spear."
After procuring a second weapon, the two warriors went head-to-head. The tips of their spears cut through the air as they lunged at each other, repeatedly trading blows. Before long were the two practically caught in a twirling dance, deep grooves gouged in the snow, both carefully and keenly watching the other's movements.
Polearms certainly weren't Joker's speciality, but he had plenty of experience with them by now, and kept pace with the seasoned Dragoon fairly well. But more than that— he'd quickly found that the fight itself was utterly thrilling. They wove between each other's strikes, spinning the long hafts of their respective weapons between their hands, leaping and ducking and pouncing in turn, hearts hammering in sync. Joker had always enjoyed a good spar, and Estinien was certainly skilled.
Their bout crescendoed with a collision of crossed blades, the two pressed into each other's faces, lips pulled back in fierce grins. Joker gave a huff of excited laughter, sweat on his brow, fire in his veins, hot breath visibly fanning in the cold. Feeling so gleefully alive in that moment dancing on a blade's edge. Everything in him energized and vibrant in a way that it hadn't been for weeks now, with the miserable pall of grief and the dreary frost of Coerthas weighing down his heart.
The corner of Estinien's mouth quirked, the feeling of violent joy evidently mutual.
"Not bad." He panted, pulling back and lowering his spear. Joker did so too, a little bemused by a sudden and very strange feeling that had begun to itch at his teeth as he watched the other man swipe at his chin— a bizarre, somewhat feral urge to bite at the exposed skin under his helmet's visor.
Weird.
"I believe you're ready to carry your training further." Estinien nodded, "Come with me."
Weapon in hand, Estinien led him away— not to an isolated plain on a mountain plateau somewhere, as Joker had been expecting, but to Whitebrim Front.
He was dragged through the training grounds, where aspiring knights diligently practiced their sword swings on makeshift dummies formed from woven straw. Estinien paused before the door to the adjacent barracks. Without so much as a knock, he shoved it open, stepping blithely inside and startling the sole occupant.
The man was a middle-aged Hyur, dressed in typical Temple Knight chainmail and sitting pensively by a simmering fire. He showed signs of his age, with salt-and-pepper hair and crow's feet grooved into the corners of his eyes. Plus no shortage of scars— including a particularly prominent one across his right eye.
He looked up at the two men standing by the open door with surprise, rising sharply from his chair.
Estinien kept what little of his face was visible entirely impassive.
"Alberic." He said stiffly, crossing his arms.
A myriad of emotions played on the other man's face, before finally settling on his own uneasy attempt at stoicism.
"Estinien." He responded, a slight exhale as he said the name, "'Tis… 'Tis good to see you again."
The younger Dragoon snorted, "Hardly."
The man waited a moment. Took a steadying breath.
"I hear that you've been made the new Azure Dragoon. That's excellent news. I'm… I'm proud of you."
Estinien's only answer was a grunt.
Eugh, oof. This was… tremendously awkward to be in the middle of. Still poised half in the entranceway, Joker scratched at the sigil on the back of his neck. Wondered if he should make up an emergency and take his leave. Maybe he could even set something on fire to add legitimacy to it?
But then Estinien's hand was around his wrist. He pulled Joker forward, shoving him in Alberic's face— almost like a shield.
"Him." He said bluntly, "He has potential as a Dragoon. Train him."
Alberic looked taken aback. And so did Joker. He looked up at Estinien, mildly affronted for a few good reasons. He settled on tackling one of them.
"And here I thought you were going to train me."
Estinien looked away, "I would be of little use to you there. Alberic… was my master. He has trained many Dragoon candidates before and after myself. You shall be in good hands."
Alberic gathered his bearings. Examined Joker quizzically as he stiffened under the scrutiny.
"'Tis rare I see you advocate for another so. I cannot deny I am intrigued." Alberic's fingers stroked at his graying bead, looking Joker up and down, "But 'tis quite clear he is not of Ishgard. I am not sure it would be proper…"
"He is Eorzea's champion." Estinien countered. Alberic looked surprised. His eyes jumped back to Joker, widening as they perceived him in a new light, "The imperials have titled him the Eikon Eater— and for good reason. He has absorbed the power of many a Primal, including that which did erupt from the lesser moon in the Calamity,"
Alberic was openly astonished now, "You mean to say he has taken in the power of Bahamut…?" He asked, voice a hoarse whisper, "The dreadwyrm?"
"...Kind of." Joker confessed, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the intensity of the man's assessing gaze, "The Primal replica of him that was inside Dalamud. If that counts."
It certainly seemed to count enough for the ancient dragon's father, who had used his link to bridge a mental connection between Joker and himself. But he was fairly confident bringing up Midgardsormr's still very active presence within his mind to an elite Ishgardian knight would be… about as disastrous as it would be validating. Though Dragoons seemed quite eager to claim the powers of their ancient foes for their own use, active communion with one would still likely be a bridge too far.
Alberic considered what Joker had allowed him to know of his power, hand resting upon his chin. After some visible contemplation, he nodded very slowly.
"Then perhaps it will be acceptable. Wise, even. I hear the Warrior of Light fights for Ishgard of late, and he can hardly be allowed to carry such draconic power unguided… Yes. Yes, I shall train him."
Estinien gave a low murmur of approval, the slightest jerk of his head functioning as a brief nod. And then he turned on his heel, already making for the open door.
"Estinien, wait—!" Alberic cried suddenly, lifting a hand.
His former protégé froze, the clawed fingers of his gauntlet resting upon the door's frame. Just barely looked back over his spiked pauldron, the line of a frown under the helmet's visor.
And Alberic hesitated, so many unspoken words fighting for his tongue. But instead he swallowed. Took a breath.
"Perhaps you could… stay and assist?" Alberic awkwardly dropped his hand, gesturing it at Joker instead, "Your companion here is less familiar with our ways than most who choose the path, and could surely use the support."
There was a stifled show of reluctance, frown deepening. Then Estinien's bearing shifted. He lowered his hand from the door. Shrugged.
"Very well."
Joker was entrusted with Alberic's Soul Crystal.
He'd protested at first, but the ex-Dragoon had staunchly insisted.
"I have long retired my title. These days I am but an instructor among the common ranks of the Temple Knights." He'd explained, eyes flitting away. It was well hidden— almost imperceptible— but Joker's keen senses detected Estinien's back stiffening. His hands curling to fists as a subtle thread of old, simmering anger prickled at Joker's awareness, "The mark of a Dragoon is merely but a sentimental keepsake in my hold. I should be glad to see it to a new bearer."
They began their training where Joker and Estinien had first met: the tall western mountain ranges of Central Coerthas, where the rubelline spires protruded like bloodied ribs from the landscape.
With Estinien's aid, Joker was instructed in the most signature of Dragoon techniques— the gathering of aether at one's feet to propel them so sprightly into the air.
"Ordinarily an aspiring initiate must first learn to draw upon the aether of the fell Nidhogg's eye. For all the risk it brings, it does, in moderation, grant several benefits. In particular, it allows one to achieve the exact lofty resonance that the dragons utilize to aid themselves in flight." Alberic explained as the three of them perched atop the largest rising pillar, blustering wind sweeping at their faces as they beheld the mournful landscape of snow and jagged rocks below, "Given that you already possess a… very potent connection to a dragon of the First Brood, albeit through unconventional methods, I think we can skip that part of your training. Let us instead look at ways to channel it."
Not at all inexperienced with drawing upon Bahamut's aether— or other Primals, for that matter— it was little time before Joker had learned to achieve an effect that was a close mimicry of what Alberic had described. And before long did Joker find himself flying through the sky, feeling feather-light as he skipped breezily between pointed spires of rock rising high between winding Coerthan canyons.
A sharp grin spread across Joker's face as the cold wind whipped through his hair. His heart, otherwise so heavy of late, soared.
In terms of motion, existing in this world was more difficult than a purely cognitive one. Like something of a perilous halfway-point between mundane materiality and the metaphysical. And though he had since adapted— and quite well, if he did say so— it felt damn good to be able to move more like how he used to, back in the Metaverse. And with far greater aetherial efficiency than drawing upon Garuda's wings to boot.
Estinien, of course, took to a more practical demonstration by highlighting his own skill. His sollerets landed easily upon even the most precarious of sharp tips, before gracefully and effortlessly hopping to the next. Between the horns on his helmets and protruding spikes upon the ridge of his armored spine, he looked not unlike a dragon in flight himself.
Joker felt a spiking rush of the Azure Dragoon's energy fizzle at his skin. Estinien looked back over his shoulder, the slightest curl of a challenging smirk to his visible mouth, before he bounded along in a burst of dazzling indigo aether. And then he was pulling on well ahead, like the fucking show-off he was. …Not that Joker was in a position to chastise anyone for that.
Joker's eyes narrowed, competitive spark well and truly rekindled. He bent his knees, his own aetheric manipulations rippling at his heels, before he did the same, giving delighted chase.
Eventually the sun, such as it was, began to sink below the tall mountains. With Alberic's reminder that it would be too dangerous to continue gallivanting among such a sharp precipice in the dark of night, he bid the both of them return to their abodes. All too eager to take his leave of the man, Estinien did not protest.
And thus it was that he and Joker found themselves silently trudging like mere wingless mortals back through the snow, tired legs so frustratingly heavy after that beautiful bout of giddy freedom from gravity.
"...You did well." Estinien eventually said gruffly, face turned to the horizon as the last of the sun's light faded, like a dying flame, "We'll make a proper Dragoon of you yet."
And Joker nodded his thanks… before kicking the back of his knee, where the plates of his armor separated. Estinien yelped loudly. His mouth hung open indignantly as he spun around.
"Why in the hells—?!"
"That's for yanking my arm earlier." Joker groused.
Estinien glowered at him for a good moment, before shoving his shoulder with his pointed armored elbow. Joker let out a squeak.
"And that's for being an infant."
Joker shoved him back even harder, teeth bared.
"Watch it, Wyrmblood!"
"You 'watch it', insufferable brat!"
The two continued in this fashion, exchanging barbs— verbal and physical— the whole walk back.
From within the depths of Joker's mind, peering out at the scene from the little one's borrowed eyes, did the ghostly consciousness of Midgardsormr observe the easy bickering between the two. His aetherial essence let out the briefest breath of a nostalgic chuckle, unnoticed by his host as he sniped and snapped at the man also imbued with the aether of one of his children.
Yes… Bahamut and Nidhogg had ever been fond of play-fighting in their infancy, hadn't they?
Original Ao3 endnotes:
Joker: Who the fuck starts a conversation like that, I just sat down?
Bonus sketch: brothers be brotherin'