Chapter Text
Sharlayan greets him with a cool breeze and a fine mist of rain.
He takes the long way back to the infirmary, calling Aymeric’s linkpearl to keep him updated. If Estinien’s voice cracks and shakes while he’s on the line, at least there’s no one around to hear. Even though Aymeric is so many thousands of malms away, his voice is warm and delighted and so utterly proud. Would he still sound like that if he knew Estinien was stalling, haphazardly spending coin as he buys a beautifully soft blanket dyed an obnoxious shade of pink and little bags of sweets tied with bright ribbons, anything to soften the blow of what he is about to do?
“Coward,” the voice in his head hisses, and he can’t help but agree.
He knows he’s reached his limit when Aymeric starts sounding distracted because he’s writing a report at the same time, getting ink all over his fingers. Estinien wants to make a joke about how he would have called when Aymeric took lunch but that would require him actually eating on time for a change. Instead the jest freezes in his throat and he listens silently as Aymeric bids him goodbye and promises he’ll be straight down to Thavnair once the work week is done.
Parcels in hand, Estinien starts the walk to the Baldesion Annex, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The building is comfortingly gloomy and snug, the white walls fading into a deeper blue from the clouds outside, lamps lit and glowing warm on the walls. It’s not home – not Aymeric’s parlour or Susa’s eyesore of a house – but it feels less sterile, less like a place you go to die, this time around. There’s less of a crush of doctors, no one sprinting back and forth covered in blood, just the gentle murmur of steady voices and the beeping of machines.
His kin is not dying. He did not fail to save her. Everything will be alright.
(have faith)
The doctors wave him inside without a second glance. Susa is on the bed this time, her hair an amber cloud around her head, and Estinien tuts. She’ll get tangles if she leaves it like that. There’s no excuse of not knowing how to braid; if his mam had heard that, she would have sat the girl down sharpish and refused to let her leave until Susa had managed to tie her hair back.
He has a soft smile on his face when Susa opens her eyes, and he’s rewarded with one in return. Not quite her irritating, blinding, white hot grin, but it’s getting there. He tips the presents into her lap without a word, and her gasps of delight at a new flower crown and lacquered polish for her nails make Estinien feel like the sun is coming out.
‘What’s these for?’ she finally asks. Her signs are a bit less shaky than last time, thank the gods.
‘You saved the world, silly girl. Thought it deserved some recognition.’
‘I thought all the gift baskets from the heads of state were that.’ She cocks her head, studying his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘... Nothing to concern yourself with.’
‘Liar,’ she promptly signs. ‘You can tell me, really! The doctors aren’t worried anymore.’
‘I worry for you,’ Estinien tells her, with a pointed look. ‘I shan’t have you fretting over me.’
‘You’re fretting over you,’ and gods above has she always been this infuriating? ‘Your eyes look sad. Talk to me. I won’t tell.’
Estinien takes a deep breath, remembers what he told her at Ultima Thule. How she had to keep walking even though her friends, her family, were vanishing one by one, how she had to insist there was a light at the end of the tunnel lest the darkness break her.
The raindrops patter on the glass in time with his tale, words teased out one by one. Susa doesn’t interrupt, which is a miracle for her, listening as Estinien describes the sweating, the shaking, the overwhelming need to eat something slick with lifeblood. The wave of anger rising like a great wave speeding towards shore, lashing out and protecting those he loved like a dog foaming at the mouth. How he’d come home to Aymeric and been a hair’s breadth away from eating his beloved cat, how he’d spent the next two days heaving up Nidhogg’s viscera from a body that stole those lives centuries ago.
‘That’s what you meant by aether,’ Susa signs, realisation dawning on her face. ‘Your aether got messed up.’
‘Mmm. We concluded Ultima Thule had no idea what to do with… something like me. It drew back my own aether and Nidhogg’s ancient one, rebuilt us both together. Mayhaps Ultima Thule is so far away, the last trace of the wyrm it could find was from years long past, I know not. ‘Twould explain why his anger stirs; ‘tis not the same beast you waylaid on the Steps of the Faith. ‘Tis an older one. But you need not worry,’ he adds hastily. ‘The others, they- they are helping. As is Vrtra.’
He stumbles through the rest of the explanation, how the Scions had split off into groups to follow up on various leads, his hunt with Vrtra. As every word leaves his mouth, he’s keenly aware how savage this all sounds, how animalistic, like they’re discussing the best way to muzzle a dangerous beast. His voice trails off as he tries to reassure the girl he won’t harm any of her pets like that strange little lizard that follows her about, staring down at his hands in an awkward silence.
‘If you wish me to leave, I will not be offended,’ Estinien says, trying very hard to keep his voice neutral. ‘’Tis a frightening thing to have around you, I know. You would not keep company with primals or beastkin- ‘
A pair of arms wrap around him, squeezing him tightly and holding him close like he really is that innocent shepherd after all.
‘You need not pretend if it bothers you,’ Estinien begins, and Susa squeezes him tighter, shakes her head. ‘Susa. ‘Tis a serious matter.’
He feels a small hand punch his back and knows exactly what that means - ‘I don’t care.’
‘We-we do not know if this is something that can be fixed. What the effects will be. What I will turn into.’ Best to rip the bandage off now, to give her all the information and let her make a true decision. ‘I would never want to harm you. ‘Tis not something I would ever desire, to hunt and eat like a wyrm, but ‘tis part of me nonetheless. Vrtra had the right of it; I am no longer human.’
Susa pulls back to look him in the face, amber eyes blazing.
‘I’m not human. Are you scared of me? Scarred by Light, remember?’
‘’Tis not the same- ‘
‘I was there, when Nidhogg took you.’ Her signs are angry, deliberate, not once breaking eye contact. ‘You know what I saw? You crushing your own throat to try and kill yourself before Nidhogg got to one of us. Dislocating your own fingers to stop them reaching for Alphinaud. I wasn’t scared of you then and I won’t be now.’
‘I have a monster lurking in the back of my head,’ Estinien snaps. ‘One that tells me to do horrible things. What if it tells me to murder you all in your beds?’
‘Do you want to do that?’
‘What-Halone above, no! I’d rather end my own life before taking one of yours.’
‘There,’ Susa signs, her expression undeniably smug. ‘Like I said. That’s not you. That’s Nidhogg talking. The very dead Nidhogg who can’t make you do shit. You’re not him.’
Her trust is so easily given, a tiny hand held out in friendship to his own twisted claws. He is so often given kindness, nowadays. For so long it had been a rarity, a privilege. His life had been one of practicality and structure. Of hate. Being soft would get you nowhere. But perhaps that’s not such a bad thing to be.
‘Idiot,’ she signs affectionately. ‘As if I could ever be afraid of you. I know you stop by the Hannish orphanage every sennight and let the kids play with you.’
He sighs. ‘’Twas meant to be a secret.’
Susa’s eyes glitter. ‘Oh no, they tell me aaaalllll about Mister Estinien and how he lets them plait flowers into his hair- ‘
The tight hug is mostly to shut her up, but neither of them let go for a very long time.
There are good days and bad days. Estinien takes the various potions Y’shtola pushes on him, dutifully gives his reports. Some of them quiet the wyrm and others actually taste palatable, and that remark earns him a smack over the head with her staff. G’raha keeps finding books for him to read, pointing out accounts of those who have been warped by dragon blood and those who have been possessed by spirits.
‘Now, I know you’re not much of a reader, so I’ve duplicated the tomes and marked any relevant parts. Mayhaps we can… discuss your thoughts? Sometime?’ G’raha’s ears flatten against his head, looking a little panicked. ‘Not that you are obligated to, or- ‘
‘I would like that,’ Estinien interrupts. ‘I know a place that does excellent thundermelon tarts, if that proves amenable?’
By the look on G’raha‘s face, you would have thought Estinien had promised him the star. Surely he’s not that much of a conversationalist?
His meetings with Thancred are fuelled by rather more alcohol, spilling their stories in the dead of night. Talking of missing time, the horrors of seeing blood on your hands, of the dread knowing that your body is not your own. Thancred never flinches when Estinien describes how bones crunched in his mouth; in turn, Estinien shows no fear when Thancred confesses his actions at Lahabrea’s behest. If any tears fall, neither of them comment on it, and the resulting hangover is worth the warm feeling in Estinien’s chest.
He still has his midnight rendezvous with Urianger, few words exchanged over steaming chai tea. He learns of Ryne and how thoroughly proud Urianger is of her, and in return he offers stories of Aymeric, or Haurchefant, of an Ishgard before ice took it. The twins know no different, but seem undaunted by the snow and wind, returning to Sharlayan with several incredibly excited dragonets who seem thrilled to call him kin.
Some days he runs a fever hot enough to burn. Others he’s so sick and shivering that not even freshly hunted meat could tempt him, instead capable only of being confined to bed and downing a sleep potion. His skin scabs and forms scales overnight, leaving them itchy and irritated, Susa sending Alisaie to the Hannish markets with explicitly written instructions for a certain type of scale balm. His vision sometimes becomes keenly acute, his hearing incredibly sharp, his sense of smell heightened, and he’s capable of taking down a guhsaya by himself and dragging the remains back to Vrtra.
Each and every time Estinien can’t fight his battle alone, he calls Aymeric’s linkpearl. His husband is never far from his side, at worst a few bells away, and his smile never wavers no matter what state Estinien is in.
‘I’m sorry,’ Estinien says one night, when it’s two bells past midnight and his fever has yet to abate. ‘I know ‘tis a miserable way to spend your days off.’
Aymeric kisses his forehead before replacing the clammy compress for a new one.
‘Not to me. Not if it’s you.’