Chapter Text
The twins are in rare form on this fine snow flurry day.
As Aymeric takes but a moment to address the dear Warrior of Light with a “ welcome back to Ishgard ”, there is an indignant yowl that comes from Alphinaud–and when attention is brought onto him, he is quickly apologetic, while Alisaie is "distracted" by whatever seems to be under her nails.
No sooner was Aymeric going to simply ignore it, did he hear Estinien chide from behind the two young elezen, “Quit antagonizing him.”
Alisaie’s eyes go wide, astonished that of all people… Estinien was taking up such a tone with her. Suffice to say–she was certainly not thrilled by that at all.
“He was the one who started it,” She gets defensive, arms crossing tightly, “And don’t speak to me like that–you’re not my father .”
Aymeric is half distracted by this point, as he catches the incredulous look on Estinein’s face–his attempt then to open his mouth to speak, but then shutting it when nothing came from it. Instead, his hand comes up to rest on top of Alisaie’s crown, fingers splayed. She is quick to swing her arm and bump his forearm off her head.
There is a moment of Aymeric fighting to contain his laughter.
Apparently, Estinien is sick.
The man is just as mortal, though he may try to act as though he’s above it, he surely succumbs to the many plights that all elezen and the like do. When it comes to sitting, he prefers to stand, when it comes to eating, he prefers to wait until the end.
And when Estinien gets sick, he prefers to quietly hideaway and sooner die to the ailment than seek medical intervention.
So of course when word of this floats around to Aymeric, he must make it his mission that before the day is through, he seeks out Estinien and refuse to be easily shooed away. And he knows that he’s the only person who can get away with it. Perhaps it was overconfident–hell, conceited of him to predict that he can barge in on the man and not face repercussions of passing over some clearly announced boundaries… But that is to misplace the type of friendship between these two.
Two men who fought alongside one another, slept in close quarters, showered under cold waters together, and scrounged for pennies of Gil to afford the most simple of splendors like wine or freshly baked bread–such splendors that were reserved for only the finest of occasions.
Long has it been since those days, and yet, through such trials, heartache, and struggle, the two have not wavered in that bond. Aymeric would sooner carry Estinien in his own arms while recovering from a wound of his own.
Now here he stood before the room to the Cloud Nine suite, a basket hanging in the crook of his elbow, and his eyes critical of the grain in the wood of the door. He then gave a knock to it, fully anticipating a rather resentful reply…
“ ... What is it?? ” Came the annoyed callback.
As to be expected, Aymeric gives a cool smile, leaning closer to the wood, “I do believe you meant to ask ‘who’ , not ‘what’ .”
There is a pause.
Aymeric allows for the silence.
“ ... I said what I said. ”
And he gently shakes his head.
“ Go on with you, I’m sick. ”
Now that wasn’t going to do, and Estinien should know that by now, “Oh I am well aware, but I can’t possibly just leave my friend to suffer through an ailment alone, can I?”
“ You can, ” Estinien curtly interrupts just as Aymeric took a beat.
“Estinien,” Aymeric playfully admonishes, “I’ve brought with me some soup and bread to share, and should you be in the mood for it–“ He lifts the tea towel that covers the goods, seeing the glass bottle with a rich, dark violet liquid bobbing around inside, “–a nice merlot to accompany the meal.”
If not to be persuaded by his company and a wholesome meal, then maybe sweetening the deal with some alcohol could do the trick.
And yet, there was hesitance, and Aymeric waited patiently.
“ No. ” Estinien says flatly, “ Just… Go… ”
Aymeric’s eyes fall down to the lower half of the door, listening carefully for the sound of Estinein’s footsteps… He had stopped in order to respond, but then he went back to walking– pacing .
“... My friend, are you alright?” Aymeric is fully aware just how easily this was a question to deflect, but that is why he asks it with full, earnest concern. Tone dropping down and speaking directly, but softly.
There is more hesitance, feet stopping in place as the creaking floorboards could settle and hush. And with a second more of deliberate pause, there comes an aggravated groan.
“ If I was well, I wouldn’t be here! ” Estinien snaps back.
Aymeric tries to remain patient, silent in waiting for Estinien to elaborate on his own–by his own merit.
“ If I was I wouldn’t be having such… awful, intrusive thoughts... ”
That pitted a seed of worry into Aymeric’s stomach, and yet, he kept his lips tightly pressed.
“ ... Stupid thoughts. Absolutely useless. ”
“Estinien, may I come in,” Aymeric insists, “Please?”
His chest lightens with hope at hearing Estinien approach the door, but then it does not open. Another beat.
“ ... Ser Aymeric .”
He remains patient.
“ ... Should I open this door, there’s one thing I must make absolutely clear to you, ” he inhales through his nose, “ I’m not sick. The truth of the matter is far too difficult to parse and… I find myself ashamed to be made so miserable by such an affliction. ”
As Aymeric is mouthing the “ w ” in “ what do you mean? ” The lock in the door clicks, and standing there is an underdressed Estinien, left without his shirt, hair tied back in contained chaos of stands that stick out in random directions, and a face flushed as though he had been breaking a sweat–in fact, he glistened with a slight glow.
Ignoring that his friend stands before him– shirtless –Aymeric steps into the room as the door is held for him.
“Well, would talking through these thoughts help you to parse them?” Aymeric asks as the basket is set on the wobbly three-legged table.
“No,” curt and to the point, Estinien shut the door, “But the alcohol might.”
Already the glasses were being pulled out of the basket and set, as Aymeric pops the cork off with a satisfying pop! He fills each at about half, setting the merlot back into the corner crevice of the basket, “I’m afraid you’ll have some difficulty in getting much from this–”
And no sooner had the bottle been placed, it was plucked right back up as Estinien took some heavy gulps down straight from the source. Aymeric wrinkled his nose, taking a more civil approach and simply sipping from one of the glasses.
The bottom of the bottle slams back down onto the table, nearly upsetting the second glass. That was a jolt to Aymeric. And Estinien stares so critically down at the basket with bowls, spoons, a hunk of bread, and covered porcelain with steam that seeps through the edges of the lid. It only takes until now for Aymeric to realize that the room is cold. And it’s no wonder–the window is wide open.
“I had the misfortune of learning what other ailments I am to expect as a result of Niddhogg’s influence.”
Aymeric cut his eyes back to Estinien, he steeled his features–his suspicion of anything to do with Niddhogg in respect to Estinien’s state had been in the back of his mind.
“For as much as I’ve managed to tame the spirit within me… There are still urges that I simply… Can’t… Refute…”
Aymeric holds the glass over his chest, “Tell them to me, I wish to help, but if you do not even give me so much as a start on where to assist…”
Estinien braces by taking in another deep breath, exhaling heavily through his nose, “... At a certain point in a dragon’s life, they are obligated to follow their instinctual pursuits,” He swallows thickly, almost looking sick at the thought that came next, “To bear young.”
It takes Aymeric a few moments to process, and while doing so, Estinien downs more heavy gulps of the wine. Enough to the point where pulling away and swallowing it down, he gives a cough and unceremoniously wipes his mouth along his arm.
Aymeric spoke then to make sense of it all, “What your saying then is–”
“I want a damn baby,” Estinien gripes, “But that’s absolutely preposterous! Reckless as best, negligent at worst.”
Before Estinien up-ends the rest of the bottle, Aymeric catches it from tilting back, “They’re simple urges, surely they’ll come to pass.”
The bottle is jerked away from Aymeric’s hand, but then is placed back down onto the uneven table, “They haven’t.”
“But I’m sure that these only occur during a specific season–”
“–Not in the slightest, it’s been months now.”
“Months??” Aymeric looked equally as impressed as he was shocked, though again, Estinien prided himself as a man without any need for anyone’s help, sooner falling to on his own lance than allowing someone else the satisfaction of it, “You’ve… These urges have been for months.”
“Some days more than others,” Estinien finally lets go of the bottle, “It’s shameful. It’s pitiful. Every attempt I make to ignore it, I am constantly reminded. Every instance I suppress it, I usually end up… Like this,” gesturing to himself, “Hot, sweating through a fever, and so… Unbearably aroused.”
That latter getting Estinien’s face to heat up a little brighter, arms crossing over his chest a little tighter.
“I need only a few days to quell it… But to say I’m ‘ sick of it ,’ would be a rather immeasurable understatement.”
Sure, this was treading into territory which bordered that line of personal boundaries… But once more, Aymeric would be one of those few who was allowed to pass over them: “What methods have you found to help ‘quell’ it?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. Estinien sighs, “By giving into it–giving into the… ‘ Urges’ .”
Aymeric sees Estinien's guarded stance, and knows better than to go pushing those limits, “And that’s it?”
Estinien groans, “Perhaps after several painful hours with my own hands, I don’t feel satisfied, I just… Ease the burden for a while longer.”
“What would help to satisfy you, Estinien?” Aymeric’s glass sets back onto the table, “Only if you feel you can, of course.”
There’s a pause, Estinien truly considering it. His eyes caught with Aymeric’s for only a moment, before darting back to the floor.
“... I fear the only way to truly satisfy it, would be to give it what it wants.”
“A baby?”
Estinien turned his head away, refusing to admit it out loud.
But then, he felt the gentle, feathery touch of Aymeric’s fingers, causing his arm muscles to tense from just how ticklish it felt.
“Estinien… Should I oblige you, you can have full faith in me to make sure you’re taken care of,” Aymeric’s voice is softened, he steps closer, “You’ll have a place to rest, and not nary a word will be said against you for such, I can ensure you that,” His hand rested to Estinien’s back, feeling the heat that radiated off his skin, “And the child would be raised happily, with shelter, with warmth, with love .”
Estinien swallowed dryly, finally surrendering a look back at Aymeric–pleading eyes, so entirely vulnerable.
“... Ser Aymeric. You know I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“You absolutely could,” Aymeric corrects, “But it is a matter of whether you want to.”
Estinien’s breathing shallows, feeling his heart tighten in such an uncomfortable fashion.
“... I can’t.”
“But would you?”
“I mustn’t.”
Aymeric starts to read Estinien’s wide eyes as fear , and so–he retracts his hand, and pulls back a step.
“I’m sorry,” Aymeric admits, “I did not intend to pressure you, I… That was absolutely wrong of–”
Estinien grabs a fistful of Aymeric’s coat, pulling him in roughly to then press a forceful kiss onto Aymeric’s lips. With hands placed along bare skin and working through layers of winter clothes, the two begin to stumble towards the bed.
Hardly did he speak with the miqo’te woman, often Estinien finds himself somewhat amiss on her name… Shtola? Rather than make an ass of himself, he tries to just listen attentively for the others in the room to address her out loud.
Though that moment had not come soon enough, as she turns to him, “Estinien, is it?”
He is quiet and pondering a moment, “… Ya-shtola, then?”
She quietly smiles, “Close… Krile?”
The hooded lalafell looks up at the two of them, “Hm?”
”Mind joining us in Dawn’s Respite, for just a moment?”
Krile nods, giving her regards to the warrior of light and Alphinaud before joining alongside Y’shtola—who nudges Estinien’s arm to come along. They part from the main junction in the Rising Stones to retreat to the room for the infirmed.
”Is there anyone here?” Y’shtola asks Krile.
While Krile does give the room a once over, Estinien glances around to see no one else sleeping in the beds or in the small recreational area.
”Coast is clear!”
Y’shtola nods as she turns back to Estinien, “Now, how have you been feeling as of late?”
Estinien is taken off guard, he looks from Y'shtola, then to Krile–who gives him a look that she knew just as much as he did on why she was asking that–and then he gives a shrug, "Suppose if I'm to be honest with myself, pretty tired. Though that's nothing new in the line of work I do."
"Is it?" She sounds unconvinced, which doesn't impress him.
"What's it to you–" He cuts a glance at Krile, "–to either of you?"
"The matter actually should concern you more than it does us," Y'shtola answers matter-of-factly, "I've sensed a change in your aether, and I wanted Krile's second opinion on whether what I am sensing is correct or not."
Krile's eyes are wide, owlish, and she looks between them both, "... Ah, I am not exactly sure what it is you're asking, Y'shtola."
As neither do I, Estinien thinks when his arms crossed over his chest.
"You may find it odd but... Come to believe, the nature of a person's aether can change when met with various conditions or ailments. It is the body's way of finding balance," Y'shtola explains, more for Estinien's benefit than Krile's, "Different forms of aether respond to different kinds of change to the body. Some of it is healing and restoring, some of it is decaying and cauterizing, and some of it is nurturing and growing."
Krile gives a small gasp, "Oh!"
Estinien raises a brow, "Oh?"
"Are you... You wouldn't be saying that..." Krile flounders on her words, racking her own brain now, "I mean, it can be possible for that sort of aether to appear for other certain conditions–"
"There's no need to speculate them," Y'shtola interrupts her, "From my understanding, Estinien is well capable of bearing children if he so chose, isn't that right?"
When Krile looks back up at Estinien, his face is blank, quiet, and lost in thought as he processes this. Her time spent on that isolated island of Sharlayan, unfortunately, kept her from seeing the full scale and diversity that exists across Eorzea. She has to quickly assess this as one of those moments of culture clash which she did not fully understand and would need to tread carefully as to not offend.
She takes this moment though to examine Estinien a little more closely, only a moment into her piercing gaze that looks through his corporeal form and into the aether flowing in him, he flinches back, and his arm–without even thinking too–hugs his middle defensively.
Though she had gotten all that she needed in that moment, and gawks up at Estinien, "... Well... I'm no professional, but..."
"Perhaps then you should seek the opinion of someone more qualified in the field," Y'shtola smiles cordially, "A midwife would be most preferable."