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‘Surely you jest?’
‘Do I look like I’m jesting?’
‘You’re attempting to become Azure Dragoon. You do realise you’ll be facing far more perilous trials than this?’
‘Aye, I know. I’m prepared for that. Torture, eldritch magicks – I’m aware. I’m no naive little lordling who thinks this to be a child’s game.’
‘Then surely this is but a stepping stone to your greater goal, for someone so talented as you?’ Aymeric wheedled, staring up at the man and very patiently reminding himself that they were actually friends. Sort of. ‘If we leave now, we can get there before the changing rooms get too crowded.’
Estinien frowned back at him, seemingly perfectly content with lounging on the hay bale and chewing on the apple he’d somehow procured. He took another bite, tipping his head to the side in thought-
‘No.’
‘Estinien. Really?’ Aymeric said with a sigh, and received a deliberately placid stare in return. He rolled his eyes and hauled himself up next to his friend. He had to squash himself into the snug space because Estinien, recalcitrant as ever, refused to move and like hells was Aymeric letting him disappear again. It was surprisingly cosy up here in the little nook in the rafters sheltered from the wind, and fairly well hidden. Indeed, why would anyone bother looking in the hay barn for recruits playing hooky?
Then again, why Estinien made any of the choices he did was another question entirely.
They sat a few scant ilms apart, knee to knee, the dusty motes caught in the waning sunlight and shining gold over Estinien’s face. He seemed thoroughly content with ignoring Aymeric, the crunching of his apple almost obscenely loud, stray pieces of straw tangled in his salt-white hair that hung about his face like straggly lace drifting away from the pins. It was almost as ridiculous as it was captivating – not that Aymeric planned on telling him that.
Estinien caught him staring, raised an eyebrow without breaking eye contact.
‘Mooning over me won’t change my mind, Borel. I’ve survived over two decades without flailing around in some accursed pool. I don’t plan on starting now.’
‘It’s a rule,’ Aymeric said helplessly. He’d not been used to facing the epitome of rule breaking before. ‘Temple Knights need a certain skill set to even join; I’m baffled how you slipped through.’
‘Lied. Didn’t bother filling in the forms. No one questioned it when a peasant farm boy said he was illiterate.’ Estinien shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the barn. ‘What use have I for anything other than bludgeoning a wyvern to death?’
Gods be good, Aymeric’s hair was going to be grey before the day was out. No. The next bell.
‘If you don’t, they may well discharge you from the ranks- ‘ he tried, and was cut off by his friend’s derisive snort. ‘I mean it! I’ve seen others court martialled for less.’ That had been for stealing from the medicine stores and beating another recruit half to death, not for lying your way through basic training, but he wasn’t going to tell Estinien that. ‘Come, my friend. Will learning to swim be really so bad?’
‘Yes- ‘
‘Why?’ Aymeric challenged, lifting his gaze to meet the other elezen’s. He’d delivered reports that had reported entire squads lost, hauled civilians out of collapsed buildings. Getting his squadmate to do something this simple should have barely taken any effort at all. ‘Prodigy though you may be in some areas, you can hardly be expected to know everything.’ Estinien scowled and muttered something under his breath, and Aymeric seized it. ‘Beg pardon?’
‘I said I shan’t offer the fuckers any further opportunity to mock me. When I have five score wyrms dead at the end of my lance, they’ll soon forget all else.’
‘I won’t let them- ‘
‘Oh, spare me.’ The man hoisted himself to his feet, tossing the apple core to the other side of the barn, eyes turning to steel as his glare sharpened. ‘You’ve no more influence than I do, Borel. You’ve about as much a chance of stopping their tittering than I do of becoming Lord Commander.’ He turned away, neatly jumping from bale to bale until he was safely aground. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
And with that he was gone, vanishing into the late-afternoon light like a half-remembered dream. Aymeric took a very measured breath, fighting down the urge to scream and possibly chuck that apple core at Estinien’s head.
This was going to be harder than he’d thought.
It had all started when the Temple Knight Commander had called Aymeric into her office, apparently as an eleventh hour plea for help. Iliaix Merthelin was a fair commander, eyes like chips of flint and a voice that could ricochet around any battlefield and drive any dragon to flee (to say nothing of her recruits). As a result, nothing got past her, whether it be petty gossip or injuries someone under her watch was trying to conceal. Maybe that was why she’d been so insistent on this particular issue.
‘You and Varlineau are close, correct?’ she’d asked, blunt as a hammer, and Aymeric had wanted to die as he felt the tips of his ears flush red.
‘I would tentatively call us friends. We do not know each other well yet, but he’s a private person. I’m sure I’ll wear him down eventually.’
‘Hmm. Be that as it may, you’re the only option we have at present. I need you to assist me with something.’
Aymeric blinked at her. ‘Of course. What would you have me do?’
She shoved a list at him, and he caught his own name and Estinien’s as his eyes skittered down the scribbled names.
‘You’ll soon be assigned to new units. All reports seem to suggest the pair of you work well together, and you passed your physical assessments with flying colours. Varlineau didn’t.’ His baffled expression must have spoken for itself, because when had Estinien failed at anything? He put the rest of them to shame with his training regimen, and he was diligent to a fault. ‘As you know, a requirement for becoming a Temple Knight requires a handful of basic skills to be mastered. The weakest of conjury skills to provide emergency aid, to go along with tourniquets, bandages and the like. Survival training. The ability to work as a team. He seems to have picked up those as he went, but it appears he skirted the swimming requirement.’
‘... Oh, I see.’
‘It hadn’t been a problem, up until now, but if we’re to officially transfer you, we need to tick all the boxes.’ Her forehead was pinched in a frown, eyebrows in hard lines above troubled eyes. ‘He’s bloody excellent at what he does, but when he doesn’t want to do something…’
‘It’s like wrestling a cat into a bath,’ Aymeric supplied, and he could have sworn he saw her lips twitch.
‘Precisely. Damned good lancer; might even make an excellent dragoon, but getting him to learn to swim is being met with a ludicrous amount of resistance, even from me.’ Commander Iliaix rolled her eyes. ‘I needn’t tell you I have not the time to play therapist and mother, if a good bollocking won’t get the reason out of him. But a friend might make more headway teaching him than any instructor.’
Or at least, the person Estinien tolerated more than anyone else, which was probably high praise coming from him. How bad could it be, Aymeric theorised. At least he didn’t have to attempt to teach spellwork; he’d barely scraped a pass in that as it was. Swimming couldn’t be that difficult.
Swimming shouldn’t be that difficult. It wasn’t as if Aymeric was asking him to learn how to scale a mountain or jog several malms in a howling windstorm. Fairly pleasant, as far as physical activity went. Gods above, why did he have to be so stubborn?
Aymeric had been mulling the question over for the last few days, and to his irritation hadn’t come any closer to the answer. Both his and Estinien’s schedules had been rather erratic since the incident at Ever Lakes, leaving them mostly to their own devices until someone inevitably roped them into some menial chore or another. Aymeric had been using the down time to practise with his bow; ever since he’d inherited Naegling, he’d had precious little spare moments to dedicate to archery, and in truth he’d been missing it. Estinien, on the other hand, had usually been fairly easy to track down. It was either the gymnasium or the training grounds, practising with the lance and stabbing any unfortunate training dummies with lightning precision, or grimly running laps for hours on end.
Come to think of it, Aymeric had little idea where Estinien went when he wasn’t training. He’d only found his little bolt hole up in the hay loft because one of the stable boys had spotted him up on the roof and guessed Aymeric was looking for him when he’d wandered past some time later. There were plenty of places for one to hide should he feel inclined, and searching all of them was nigh on impossible. Even waiting at his bunk wasn’t the obvious solution some might think it was; he wasn’t entirely certain Estinien actually slept.
The common area wasn’t anything special, and he knew it was a long shot. A warm and cosy room tucked away at the back of the barracks, it was heaped with old armchairs and sofas so worn from overuse they had morphed into a sludgy grey fabric littered with tears and patch jobs. Still, the atmosphere was lively enough, with a couple of card games going on and a huddle of his fellow knights around the large window, soaking in the fresh air. Summer was near and the nights were growing longer, something he tried not to take for granted living so far north. They’d soon be cursing the lack of sunlight come the colder months.
He drew up a chair and settled into the group; mostly strangers and acquaintances, unfortunately. Anyone he’d known more intimately had been lost to the flames at Ever Lakes.
Well. Apart from one.
Elde and Flavielle were the ones who bothered to smile at him, and at least Felixient scooted his chair over to make room. The others didn’t deem him worthy of their attention, but he could deal with that.
‘What brings you down here?’ Flavielle asked, taking a sip from her mug. ‘Aren’t you usually curled up with a book by now?’
‘Ah, you caught me,’ Aymeric admitted. ‘Sometimes they’re a preferable company to people.’
‘At least you bother. Grinnaux and the rest of that stuck up lot don’t want to dirty their boots with the likes of us.’ Elde gave a bark of laughter, nodding her agreement.
‘Actually heard one of them complaining about the food and how their father wouldn’t even feed it to the pigs,’ she said, dark hair gleaming magpie-blue in the light. ‘Until I got here, I was lucky if I got one square meal a day. At least now I’ll get a solid bowl of porridge in the mornings, watery as it is.’ She shot Aymeric a suspicious look. ‘I’m not complaining, mind. Just an observation. Not all of us have lords for parents.’
‘I’m aware,’ Aymeric said mildly, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I, too, would be in your position had I not been so fortunate. You’re from Menphina’s Peak, if I remember correctly? ‘Tis quite an isolated place. Estinien has told me of how difficult winters can be in rural Coerthas; I can see why you’d prefer it here.’
‘Ha! Like he’d know, he’s just as bad as the rest of them. Tried playing nice, when he first got here. Ferndale was a few malms from my village, used to get ‘em trading with us on market days.’ She crossed her arms, tipping back on her chair. ‘Tried talking to him and he just stared at me like I had three heads. Acted like I’d poisoned him when I offered to share some food from home. Thought the poor sod might know what it was like, homesick and chucked into the city like this, but he thinks he’s too good to associate with other farm folk.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true- ‘ Aymeric started, but Felixient cut him off.
‘I offered him some pointers, a few moons back. His footwork’s shite, he’s too damn quick, keeps darting about. Would make sense since the last Azure’s his mentor, he skipped straight to dragoon training, not on the ground like the rest of us.’ Felixient shrugged, the tiniest flicker of hurt crossing his face. ‘Got all huffy when I tried to help, and he’s avoided me ever since. Forget country boy, he’s practically feral.’
Elde laughed again, and this time it wasn’t the gentle teasing between friends, but something closer to mean spirited and cruel, taking up space like a miasma.
‘If my accent’s thick as mud, his is concrete,’ she said, deliberately drawling her vowels. ‘Honestly, there’s born in a barn and then there’s having yetis for a nursemaid. Weren’t surprised when he said he couldn’t even write his own name.’
‘And why does that matter?’ Aymeric cut in sharply. ‘It takes more than learning letters to be a dragoon.’
‘Because he looks down on the rest of us for not being so Fury-damned obsessed with dragon murder,’ she said bluntly. ‘I could forgive him anything if he didn’t act like a sullen prick all the time. He deserves what he gets; I’m shocked he hasn’t told you to fuck off yet.’
‘Heard he’s in trouble with Merthelin, again,’ Flavielle said with a wicked grin on her face. ‘Stormed out of her office with a face like thunder. Hopefully they’ll finally get shot of him and I won’t have to see him lurking in corners anymore.’
‘They won’t,’ Felixient said, yawning. ‘They’re not chucking anyone out, not now. Horde’s getting restless. Mayhap we’ll get lucky and a wyrm’ll take care of the problem.’
‘Did it ever occur that the reason he’s so standoffish is due to gossip such as this?’ Aymeric’s voice was louder than he’d expected it to be, drawing looks from his fellow recruits. ‘Some may not wish to be reminded of home, or to receive critique when ‘tis unasked for. You mock him for not knowing letters and for not returning your attempts at friendship, but there are folk who struggle with both through no fault of their own. I would not be inclined to socialise with those who make jibes about my parentage either.’
They at least had the decency to look uncomfortable, awkwardness flitting over their faces like a baby bird trying to stay aloft.
‘Everyone gets teased. S’part of being a knight,’ Elde said, though her tone was certainly less spiteful than before. He’s a man grown, he can handle it.’
‘A jest is only a jest if all parties find it amusing.’ Aymeric fixed her with a cold stare. ‘I daresay some friendly teasing would not go amiss if he were here to defend himself.’
‘He don’t look the type. More like to have my head bitten off than a friendly conversation.’
‘I wonder why.’ Aymeric pushed his chair back, getting to his feet. ‘I should be going.’
‘Aymeric, wait. Don’t- ‘tis all in good fun, that’s all.’ Felixient tried to snag his arm as Aymeric moved towards the door. ‘No need to take it so personally, like. We’re all mates here.’
‘I doubt the man in question agrees,’ Aymeric told them, his tone noticeably chillier than before. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a wonderful book that’s demanding my attention for the evening.’
He took the long way back to the training grounds, kicking the gravel and detritus on Ishgard’s streets harder than was necessary. Why did it always come back to the circumstances of one’s birth?! There were a handful of new recruits every year born somewhere just as rural as Ferndale, stumbling up to the city’s gates with oft-mended clothes and wide eyes. One of those who ascended to the Knights Dragoon this past autumn had been from one of the tiny mountain settlements north of Falcon’s Nest. Surely they should be allies, knights in arms united by their homeland?
It was always the same; the sneers, the giggles, the looks when one of the richer folk innocently asked someone who had clawed their way out of the Brume why their armour was in last season’s style or who they had inherited their weapon from. It stung enough to be mocked by those who had been as fortunate as he, born with a copper spoon in his mouth instead of silver, but there was a certain type of gut punch from being laughed at by those who should understand. Why did they need to be pitted against each other, rich or poor, small town versus a settlement with a few houses and one shop? Why did one flavour of country accent denote you as stupid? Why did illiteracy mean you couldn’t be a perfectly capable dragoon?
His eyes stung unexpectedly and Aymeric forced himself to slow down for a moment, leaning heavily against the alley’s walls. He would never claim to know what poverty was like. He had never gone hungry, nor had to make do with too-small clothes or dubious home made medicines. But his adoption had never been a secret, his parentage always the subject of idle gossip. His parents were both blonde, his father’s eyes a dark brown, his mother’s a pale hazel, with strong Ishgardian elezen features. No one would ever question they were from good, noble stock. Aymeric’s startlingly blue eyes and finer features were absolutely not from the Borel family tree.
‘Why should it matter?’ he whispered, not sure to who. ‘They love me; my parents in all but blood. Why can that be not enough?’ Perpetually caught in limbo, a Brume rat who had wormed his way into the nest slightly better than that of his littermates; a noble son christened by another’s birthing blood, wearing his mummer’s crown. At least he had someone to go home to, a mother to tell him how proud she was, a father to hug him tight and tell him to ignore the spiteful comments. Who did Estinien have?
‘Me,’ a very small voice in the back of his head whispered.
‘Be the light you want to see,’ his father had told him once. ‘You might feel as if you are stuck in the dark, stumbling forward with nothing to guide you. Sometimes the only light you have is your own; share it.’
He took a deep, steadying breath, slowing his pace to something more reasonable as he rounded the corner to the outside training areas. These were barricaded off into several smaller sections, the archers cordoned off from the paladins, and so forth. Probably to save space, though he couldn’t deny it was intriguing to watch the different combat forms while you waited for your turn. Training dummies lay in sad states of disarray, some unfortunate novice on cleanup duty sweeping up the straw to be repurposed or hauling fresh ones up onto the poles. It was as lively as ever with such fine weather, just warm enough to relax on the benches to shout encouragement to your friends but cool enough to avoid heatstroke.
A quick scan of the people in the courtyard unfortunately didn’t yield the person he was searching for, no mop of pale hair amongst the blades. Unless Estinien had somehow managed to break into the mess hall out of hours, Aymeric was quickly running out of ideas.
(then again, Aymeric wouldn’t put it past him)
He wandered over to the nearest bench, mustering up the strength to perhaps interrogate his fellow knights. After the way his last conversation had gone, even the thought of another was filling him with dread. Mayhap he should just give up for the day, he thought dully, scrubbing his face with his hand and pressing his palms over his eyes. It had already been a tiring enough week-
‘I’m not going up there, you do it- ‘
‘I’m not getting eaten by a ghost- ‘
‘Since when do ghosts eat people?!’
‘Well this one might and then I’ll have to give a speech at your funeral about my sister who was stupid enough to go near the dangerous attic- ‘
‘Dangerous attic?’ Aymeric interrupted, stopping the two girls in their tracks. Novices, by the looks of them, and particularly young ones, probably closer to fifteen summers than they should be. Scrawny little things who had joined up for the promise of regular food, no doubt, left at the mercy of older knights and their predatory whims. ‘Is everything all right; is someone bothering you?’
The smaller of the two eagerly pounced. ‘Yes! See, even the seniors have heard of it!’
‘If there’s somewhere dangerous they’re sending you, perhaps I could be of assistance?’ Fifteen was no age to face the battlefield. Would that he could preserve any innocence that he could. ‘Do you need help?’
The other sister turned to face him, eyes pleading.
‘We were told to go and fetch more arrows from storage, but it’s the one right below the haunted attic and it’s really dark in there! Gods only know what’s hiding in all that mess.’
‘... Haunted attic?’ Aymeric asked, because that had been the last thing he was expecting. ‘You might need to fill me in about that one.’
‘Right, so the store room at the far end of the training grounds? No one really uses it because it’s farthest away and it’s where they keep the really old stuff, but we’ve had to start going there because we’re running short of arrows of late. The last attack burned the closest forest so we’re back to stricter rationing.’
‘I believe I know of it.’ A ramshackle building used as barracks until a particularly close attack had deemed it structurally unsound, awkwardly patched together with leftover materials and repurposed for storage.
‘Yes, well.’ The girl twisted her hands together, vivid red hair blowing about her face in the bitter winds. ‘You can hear footsteps when no one’s there, crashes and bangs from the room upstairs, and some nights there’s voices or screaming. And Mimia says it’s probably from one of the houses across the way, but it’s not! None of the others will go up there so the newest recruits get stuck with it.’
‘Ah, I understand. Well, how about a trade? If you two can procure a hot cup of tea for me, I’ll fetch those arrows for you,’ Aymeric suggested, and couldn’t help but smile at their hopeful expressions. ‘I dare say I’ve faced down more frightening things than lingering spectres. And no, I won’t tell your captain. How many do you need?’
A deal was struck and Aymeric set off. He was useless to Merthelin but at least he could do this. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said a ratty old store room didn’t scare him; indeed, it looked quite innocuous from the outside. He hauled the bolt back and let the door creak open, his eyes adjusting to the light. Silhouettes loomed out of the shadows, the gloom turning sawhorses and spare uniforms to grasping hands and claws. Dust lay thick on every surface, everything so thoroughly cluttered together it was a miracle the recruits knew to find spare arrows in here.
He nudged aside some crates and got to searching, hauling aside faded tabards and ancient squadron tomes that clearly hadn’t been touched in years. A further search turned up wooden swords, practice lances, and shields that were more rust than metal, but no arrows. Mayhap they were tucked away in a corner somewhere-
Thud.
Aymeric jumped, glancing over his shoulder, thinking perhaps one of the recruits had come after him to ask what was taking so long, but there was nothing but the dust motes, spiralling in the echo of the sound that had shaken them loose. What sounded like footsteps started up, and Aymeric’s eyes immediately darted to the ceiling, the boards overhead creaking in quick succession before another thud echoed after them.
Had something gotten trapped up there – an animal, a bird? Though there was a distinct lack of any panicked screeching and scrabbling about one usually associated with that kind of thing. Cautiously, he followed the sound, picking his way through the detritus on the floor, feeling his way to the corner of the room. A loud crash made him flinch and duck, expecting the already flimsy ceiling to come down on his head. Thankfully there was no brick or plaster raining down, but his sharp movement made him lose his footing, and Aymeric stumbled, arms outstretched to try and catch himself.
Thankfully he didn’t crash to the floor, and found himself clinging to something wooden and surprisingly sturdy. After the mysterious sounds faded, he blinked a few times to try and reorient himself, eyes readjusting. He gave his saviour a few hesitant pokes before realising what it was; a ladder.
His eyes drifted upwards, settled on a trapdoor a few fulms above his head, and a few mental gears started to whir. As if on cue, there was another muffled thud from the room upstairs, followed by a low mutter that sounded like a curse, before the footsteps started up again.
Oh.
The mystery of this “haunting,” and Estinien’s mystery sleeping space had a lot more in common than he’d first thought.
‘How did you get up there, my friend,’ Aymeric murmured, studying the very firmly bolted door. Even from this distance it was plain the locks were sturdy and not something one could smash through with a well-aimed kick, even for someone of Estinien’s strength. And while he wandered around to find the stash of arrows (stacked neatly in a corner) there were no other apparent entrances. Apart from being a fire hazard, it felt like one step forward but several back, but the positivity in his heart was beginning to rally. ‘Twas a start.
Besides, the look on Estinien’s face when Aymeric found another one of his hiding spots would be priceless.
He lingered for a few moments more, but the sounds didn’t repeat themselves. Quietly, he slipped out, shutting the storeroom door behind him and delivered his quarry to the relieved juniors. Sipping his newly procured cup of tea, Aymeric pondered the building as he skirted round it. There were no side doors or anything like that, but closer inspection did reveal a window nestled amongst the eaves. Boarded up, yes, but if he squinted it almost looked artfully done, boards piled atop each other giving the illusion of being nailed down. The only problem was getting up there, but a hastily re-acquisitioned pile of nearby crates and some stretching would solve that problem.
Taking a furtive look around to make sure he was truly alone, Aymeric began to climb.
Several minutes later, Aymeric hauled himself on to the windowsill. His hands were smarting something fierce, and he was pretty sure he’d have a bruise blooming on his ribs from where he’d smacked into the wall a few times. Stealth had never exactly been his strong suit. He glanced below and immediately regretted it, because this was exactly the reason he’d never gone for the dragoons. His feet were meant to be on the ground, thank you very much. Now the question was, would Estinien be petty enough to leave him out here and ignore his plight? Because that was another thing Aymeric certainly wouldn’t put past him.
As luck would have it, he could hear the voices of the trainees drifting around the corner and only coming closer. Emboldened by the idea of sheer mortification, Aymeric shuffled closer to the flimsy boards and spoke quickly to the convenient opening that was just about at head height.
‘If you don’t let me in here, I’m going to have to explain why I’m halfway up a building. No matter what excuse I make, the trainees will most probably insist on searching the place, or at least invent more rumours about the “haunted attic.” Up to you, my friend.’
There were a couple of seconds of worrying silence before someone swore and the boards were hastily yanked aside. Estinien appeared in the window with a murderous look on his face and grabbed Aymeric by the collar without so much as a hello, hauling him over the threshold and into the attic. The pair of them clattered to the floor, Aymeric’s landing cushioned a little falling directly atop Estinien, who immediately shoved him off. He peeked over the windowsill, crouching like some bizarre gargoyle, until the danger had passed. He huffed out a sigh and lifted the boards back into place, before rounding on Aymeric like Nidhogg itself.
‘Explain. Before I throw you back out there myself.’ His friend looked positively livid but wasn’t pointing a weapon at his face, so that could only be a good thing.
‘I wished to speak with you.’
‘All right, then what is so star-shatteringly important you had to scale a building? Bloody hells, Aymeric.’
Aymeric held up his hands. ‘Peace, friend. I agree it was a tad drastic course of action- ‘
‘Aye, just a tad- ‘
‘But you have a remarkable talent for disappearing, which does not make for conducive conversation,’ Aymeric finished. ‘I did try to seek you out in the common areas for several days before I resorted to scrambling up to your balcony.’
Estinien gave him a very pointed look. ‘Would that not imply I did not wish to be found? Or is this another of these social rules I never got the missive for?’
‘Friends ignore that rule,’ Aymeric told him cheerfully. ‘They also tend to worry when you disappear for days on end.’
Estinien’s blank look stayed fixed on him for a moment or two before he gave up, flopping down onto the floor next to Aymeric with a huff.
‘If this ‘tis what it’s like having friends, I’m tired already,’ he muttered, but his tone had entirely no bite to it. Then: ‘... I didn’t mean to make you worry.’
‘Well, the worry has been alleviated somewhat. I was concerned you were apparently going without sleep for weeks at a time.’ Aymeric glanced up, taking in his surroundings. It was, in one word, a mess, their little island of space dwarfed by clutter. Much like downstairs, it was the usual mixture of athletics equipment and battered weapons, lances strapped together in bundles, the light glinting off the blades. As cut off as they were from the rest of Eorzea, Ishgard had become rather accustomed to repurposing her wares, and rarely was anything thrown away for good. Old bits of furniture, a sofa with huge tears in it, empty potion bottles; every spare ilm of space holding tightly to its spoils.
Clearly Estinien had had the same idea; he’d fashioned a crude looking training dummy out of spare bits of wood and old cushions, their cotton innards leaking sadly onto the floor. There were ancient training mats in strategic spots, even up in the rafters, presumably to try and avoid a broken bone or three. Estinien caught him looking.
‘Dragoons jump much higher than that, but I have to keep up with the basics. Can’t afford to lose focus.’
‘Already?’ Aymeric couldn’t help but ask. ‘My friend, you’re not long a Temple Knight- ‘
‘Aye, and I’ve wielded a lance far longer than most of those pampered lordlings,’ he said with a snort. ‘I care not for it; ‘tis just a means to an end. A dragoon is what I’ll be, or die trying. If they insist on keeping me on the ground, I’ll make do in my own time.’
‘That sounds exhausting; training lasts all day as it is.’
Estinien shrugged. ‘The horde shan’t care how tired you are. I don’t care much for sleep.’
‘Aye, but you won’t be much good against a pack of beasts if you’re too exhausted to see straight,’ Aymeric told him, making sure his words were softened duly enough to make it not sound like a rebuke. ‘Why hole up in here?’
‘They won’t let me in the dragoon training grounds.’ Estinien hugged his knees to his chest, suddenly looking very frail in the bright sunlight of the dying afternoon, shadows throwing his face into stark contrast and emphasising the sunken hollows under his eyes. ‘They have better equipment, proper practice spaces. Bloody instructors took out all the windows so ‘twasn’t like I could sneak in.’ His spindly fingers worried at the loose floorboard next to him, pulling splinters free and scratching marks into the wood. ‘The other knights got sniffy when I tried practising in our ones. Gave me so many filthy looks you’d think I’d turned into a wyrm in front of ‘em.’
His tone was gruff and dismissive, not making eye contact and a blank expression. All too easy to understand why it could be misconstrued as arrogance, haughtiness, a cocky young recruit skipping ahead to learn the flashy moves to show off to his comrades. But Aymeric looked closer, saw the small frown on his lips, that ever so slight undercurrent of hurt and confusion in his voice, looking away lest his eyes betray him. Estinien was tall, even fresh out of his growth spurt, all wiry muscle and sinew who thought nothing of using a voice as flat and blunt as a warhammer, a gaze sharp as a knife ready to throw. There was little about him to suggest any softness.
‘... Your hand. ‘Tis bleeding.’ Estinien broke the silence, reaching for him, and Aymeric let him snag his wrist without hesitation. ‘Here.’ He’d produced a small first aid kit from somewhere, cleaning the cut with some water poured from a flask and a surprisingly clean rag.
‘Don’t trouble yourself. ‘Tis only a scrape.’
‘Aye, that’s what they all say until they’re dead from lockjaw. Hold still.’ Aymeric rolled his eyes with a fond smile, content to let Estinien work. His friend took out a small tube of salve, expertly layering it on to the cut, even as Aymeric hissed at the sudden sting.
‘Sorry,’ Estinien murmured, eyes glued to his work. ‘Will only hurt a moment. Too easy to get infected if it’s just flushed with water.’
‘You’re remarkably good at this,’ Aymeric observed. ‘Mayhap they should be training you as a doctor’s apprentice instead, hmm?’ Estinien looked up as he reached for the bandage, gave him a wry smile.
‘Would you believe me if I said I used to be in charge of stitching up the little ones every time they got hurt? I was the eldest, back home. Any others were out working the fields or watching the sheep. I wound up corralling a bunch of six year olds.’
Aymeric laughed. ‘They left you babysitting?’
‘I’d more call it wrangling,’ Estinien said dryly. ‘Might have tied my brother to a hitching post once to stop him running off where he wasn’t supposed to. He screamed the place down. Mam laughed and said at least I was using my initiative.’ He tied off the bandage, gently cradling Aymeric’s hand in his lap. ‘There. All finished. Don’t think I have to bribe you with candies or chocobo rides.’
‘Not quite.’ Aymeric studied his hand, lifting it to examine the remarkably neat dressing. ‘Though I do wonder what it would take for you to learn to swim, my friend?’
‘Not this again.’
‘They’re being remarkably persistent on the matter.’
‘You know exactly why.’ It was back, that sharp little edge to his tone that belied the person underneath the armour he unwittingly carried, enough to dissuade some to not look too close.
‘... It really bothers you, doesn’t it?’ Aymeric said softly. ‘Upon first glance I dare say none would paint you as the type to be bothered by the words of others.’
‘Aye, well. I don’t look the type for a lot of things, do I? Including having a brain in my head or paying any heed to spiteful shite whispered behind my back.’ Estinien jumped to his feet and started to restlessly pace, footsteps thudding against the rickety floorboards. ‘It matters not about your battle prowess or healing skills, only that you merge yourself into all the conglomerate of all the little lordlings and princes who treat this war like a game. Any sign of weakness, of anything outside their gilded bubble is just fodder for their mockery.’ His foot caught a stray crate and he lashed out at it, powerful legs sending a miscellany of what looked like hymn books skittering across the floor. ‘Nepotism when there’s a swiving war on. I’d rather take up my lance and hunt the damn wyrms alone.’
Aymeric got up, carefully making his way over to his friend and put both hands on his shoulders, steering Estinien round to face him. Estinien’s shoulders were heaving, his breathing harsh and ragged, fists curled tight so his nails bit into his palms.
‘I know,’ he said, relaxing his grip just enough to stroke Estinien’s shoulder, to try and smooth some of the tension out of muscles as tight as bundled wires. A rather forward move, granted, but Aymeric could never bear to see anyone hurting. ‘I know.’ Estinien stared at him for a long moment like a wary animal deciding if it fancied bolting, before sagging in Aymeric’s hold. He dropped his forehead to Aymeric’s shoulder and rested it there, leaning heavily and letting Aymeric take his weight. Aymeric barely dared move and instead settled for wrapping a tentative arm around Estinien, ever so slightly holding on to him.
‘Do you really want to know why I sleep up here?’ he asked, voice muffled. Aymeric paused for a moment, wondering how to play this.
‘If you wish to confide in me, then by all means. I do not wish to drag secrets out of you, my friend. Instead I shall just accept that you have some rather charming habits I will confess no understanding of.’ Estinien laughed quietly but made no attempt to move.
‘And they call me the strange one.’
‘I believe in polite society, we call it eccentric.’
‘Ah, there we go again. Damn rules.’ He heaved a sigh, finally lifting his head up to look Aymeric in the eyes. ‘I don’t sleep because I dream. And not good ones. Stress makes it worse. First week I was here I already had my roommates complaining that I was talking in my sleep. Only a matter of time before they saw one of the bad ones.’
‘And what are those?’ Aymeric asked. He still hadn’t let go of Estinien and he got the impression that the other elezen didn’t want him to.
‘Mm. Depends. Night terrors, mostly. Nearly broke Alberic’s nose once when he tried to wake me; he had a black eye for a sennight. Or I just… lose myself. Like there’s a fog in my brain and I can’t get enough air into my lungs. Can’t… can’t stop myself from crying like a child. Pathetic, I know. Would rather no one else see it lest they invent more jibes to throw at me, so I used the initiative Halone blessed me with. ‘Tis comfy enough.’
He said it so dismissively, ears turning ever so slightly red, but all it did was put a dagger in Aymeric’s heart as he pulled away and motioned to a little spot in the corner. Aymeric peered over and clocked the haphazard bed made from training mats and repurposed cushions, cleverly obscured by a dust sheet over the top that could be folded down into a blanket. Of course, it would suffice, much like a worn out lance or a pair of second hand boots would, but everyone deserved small mercies. A care package from home, a silly patch from the market to sew on to your bag, a book on your tiny nightstand for a few snatched moments of escapism. A warm bed with proper blankets and a mattress designed to do more than the bare minimum than to keep your exhausted bones from the floor.
‘You know, the manor has plenty of spare rooms,’ he found himself saying. ‘My parents would not object; I daresay my mother would be glad of the extra company.’
‘So I can terrify your servants with nightmares?’
‘The nightmares could well calm themselves if you had somewhere secure to sleep,’ Aymeric said, raising an eyebrow. ‘A door to be locked and a comfortable space for yourself would surely do wonders. That house has been around for centuries; good, traditional stone walls. All of Dravania could invade tomorrow and I doubt we’d hear anything of it until someone broke down the front door. Besides- ‘
He reached out to touch Estinien’s elbow, and his friend didn’t flinch away. ‘My father served on the battlefield for many years; my mother joined the Temple Knights when she was scarce out of her growth spurt. Neither are strangers to sleepless nights and phantoms stalking their dreams. None would mock you under our roof. In fact, my mother makes a wonderful hot milk and honey drink that she swears is the cure for insomnia.’
The shock on Estinien’s face was palpable, and Aymeric was beginning to wonder if he had gone too far, before his friend dipped his head.
‘Mayhap at summer’s end. The rain gets in here something fierce, and if they insist on reusing every bit of tat in Ishgard, they may well discover this place sooner or later.’
‘Thank you for trusting me,’ Aymeric told him, hoping the sincerity would bleed through to his voice. ‘Then, if we are at an agreement, may I ask you to trust me with something else?’
‘And what would that be?’ Estinien crossed his arms tightly over his chest, scowling but without any bite to it.
‘Allow me to teach you to swim.’ When he wasn’t met with an immediate rejection, Aymeric carried on. ‘Now in early summer, most expect recruits to take impromptu trips to the wonderful indoor pool in the centre gymnasium. What they don’t expect people to use is the outdoor one.’
‘... We have an outdoor pool?’
Aymeric grinned at him. ‘Oh, absolutely. Hidden away at the back of the training grounds. I think only the most dedicated go there, but certainly not at night. Sure to be a respite from all these awful, muggy evenings we’ve been having. I doubt it would take more than a sennight to have you swimming like a sahagin. And if it would make you feel better, I will swear in front of Halone herself that not a word of mockery will pass my lips. Temple Knight’s honour.’
Estinien stared at him. Aymeric quite fancied he could hear the gears turning in his head.
‘I’m an exceptionally poor student,’ he warned. ‘Fairly sure I turned Alberic grey before he hit thirty summers.’
‘And I’m exceptionally stubborn. I’ve never met a challenge I can’t overcome yet.’
‘Oh, I’m a challenge, am I, Borel?’ Estinien raised a thin eyebrow but there was an ever so slight smile to his lips, softening the glare into something more palatable.
‘That would be the polite way of putting it, yes.’ Aymeric said with as straight a face as he could manage, then snorted with laughter as Estinien threw one of the cushions at him. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘Aye, we have a deal. More fool you.’
They set the date for two nights later at moonrise. Menphina and her lesser moon hung in a slowly purpling sky, cornflower blue diluting to lilac as the day finally gave way to dusk. Coerthas was never going to have the blistering summers of somewhere like Thanalan, but for a few months a year the air would be balmy and soft, a caress instead of a sting. Despite the war that had been raging for a thousand years; despite the battlements that stuck out from the mountains like teeth; despite the graveyards that grew bigger with every passing year, sometimes, Ishgard could be a kind place.
Aymeric sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the clear water and watching the light dance patterns along the tiles. It was thoroughly lovely, tonight, the promise of summer hanging in the air like a scent one could taste. As per his predictions, the rest of their garrison had rounded up a few bottles of wine and had opted for a lazy evening in the much cleaner, modern indoor pool, showing off to their fellow knights by flexing muscles and diving haphazardly off the boards. He himself had begged off, claiming a headache, so Flavielle and the rest had shrugged and left him to it, just like he knew they would.
Now came the real test.
He and Estinien had become a somewhat odd pair, a friendship rough around the edges, two pieces of cloth yanked together by emergency stitches, but it had formed a surprisingly comfortable cloak. Nobility and the gently born could be wonderful people, of course, but you could never deny there was a certain dance that had to be performed, where one misstep could see you disgraced until the end of days themselves. Where you had to say the right thing, fill every waking moment with polite, clipped chatter about such menial things like marriages between people you have never heard of, or the latest debutanté season and who had worn the latest fashions.
Estinien carried an aura of comfortable silence with him; a simplicity to his words that bespoke not a lack of intelligence, but pointing out what was worth saying, the ugly truth or not. With Flavielle, with Elde, with Felixient, there was always the risk of poisoned whispers at your back, a smile just about concealing fangs.
When Estinien hopped over the fence and gave Aymeric a small smile as he approached, Aymeric already knew that it was genuine.
‘I hope you know this is a terrible idea,’ were the first words out of his mouth, and Aymeric burst out laughing. ‘What- don’t laugh. You have no idea what you’ve signed yourself up for, Borel. We’re both going to drown and it’ll be your fault.’
‘Ah, so little faith in me already?’ he teased, quite enjoying watching Estinien splutter. ‘You wound me, my friend. Worry not, I’ve not let anyone die on my watch yet, and I don’t intend to start now. Come, sit with me.’
He’d already shucked his casual clothes and changed into the waterproof shorts they’d been issued for this exact purpose, the early summer air pleasant against his clammy skin, sun-warmed water lapping against his ankles. Estinien hesitated but obediently sat down next him, toeing off his shoes and tossing them aside. The light crystals Aymeric had purloined were casting a greenish light over the area, turning Estinien’s pale skin the eerie green of an underwater grotto, his hair glowing like moonlight. He looked like some hypnotic sea creature dredged up from the depths, unreal in his beauty, long limbs thrown into stark profile and made all the more slender and lovely. Gods above, Aymeric would willingly drown for him with a smile on his lips.
‘Is there a reason for your aversion to the water?’ Aymeric asked, realising he should have probably led with that. ‘I was never too fond of swimming in open lakes, myself. I don’t trust a pool I can’t see the bottom of.’
‘Mmm. Not especially. Just never had the chance to learn.’ He stared into the dark, eyes distracted, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin in his hand. ‘When I was small, our village wasn’t near anything bigger than a well. When I lived with Alberic, we always stuck to the routine. Up by sunrise, train until dusk. It left little time for frivolity, and Alberic never knew how to teach anything but lancework, anyroad. What… what about you?’
He stole a look at Aymeric that was almost shy, ducking immediately back behind his curtain of hair.
‘School lessons, mostly. Saint Jessadioux’s also boasted swimming facilities, and they deemed it a necessity. My mother would help teach the little ones and they’d make a fine mess splashing about.’
‘Oh, wonderful. I’m at the level of an infant now, am I?’
‘No,’ Aymeric corrected gently. ‘’Tis just something you have not been afforded the chance to learn. If I were to be set to work herding karakul, I would be just as much a beginner. We all start somewhere.’ With that, he slid into the water, determined not to get distracted, and waded out a few steps. ‘Now we can sit here trading childhood stories all night, or I can ignore your scheming to get out of my lesson. Come on. Water’s fine.’
Estinien gave him another one of those inscrutable looks of his, before yanking his shirt over his own head and throwing it aside. His torso was surprisingly lean, muscles not obvious unless you looked closely, his skin so pale it practically glowed. Aymeric was about to make a teasing comment about his friend being a veritable beacon in the dark before his eyes caught on several discoloured patches, like a quilt sewn together from multiple colours. Splashes, here and there, covering his shoulders and upper torso.
Some were a blush pink; some the same as his usual paler hue, but wrinkled and raised like crumpled sheets; others were a deep reddish brown with the colour and texture of tree bark. Estinien caught him looking, crossed his arms with a scowl, fingers digging tightly into his arm, and it was only then did Aymeric notice that his hands shared the same marks scored deep into the skin.
‘Go on. Say it.’
‘’Tis nothing to say, my friend.’
‘I know you want to ask.’
‘Aye, and ‘tis none of my business. Merely caught me by surprise. My apologies for staring, ‘twas rude of me.’ He waited, patient, and Estinien looked at him for a long moment for reasons Aymeric felt a little sad to try and fathom. After a few seconds, his friend clambered into the pool after him, though stayed firmly in the shallow end. Aymeric put on a smile, determined to bury the awkward moment and push past the wary look on Estinien’s face.
‘All right! First lesson, we’ll teach you a basic glide technique, get you accustomed to moving in the water. Push off from the wall, and I’ll catch you.’
‘... If we must.’ He waded back to the pool wall, obediently adjusting his limbs to Aymeric’s instructions until his feet were on the wall, just below his hands. He kept glancing back and Aymeric just gave a reassuring smile each time. Finally, he screwed up the courage and pushed off from the wall; the only problem was that Aymeric had underestimated those distractingly long legs. He shot straight past Aymeric and into the deeper part of the pool, trying to right himself but winding up with a mouth full of water instead. Chuckling, Aymeric reached for him, pulling him back to safety and where they could both stand up. Estinien spluttered, spitting out the pool water. “Drowned rat,” would have probably been a fair descriptor.
‘How do you lot swim in this?’ he said when he finally caught his breath, hair plastered to his face like jellyfish tendrils. ‘Tastes awful.’
‘You’re not supposed to be drinking it,’ Aymeric teased. ‘Now shall we try again, mayhap without the dragoon legs?’
‘They’re the only ones I’ve got, Borel.’
‘Aye, and they’ll suffice, just try a softer approach this time, hmm?’
Estinien rolled his eyes but there was a faint smile on his lips as he waded back to the shallower end. The next try was much more successful, and Aymeric caught him as he drifted into his chest.
‘See! I knew you could do it.’
‘You’re getting awfully cheerful over the bare minimum,’ Estinien muttered. They were standing with barely an ilm between them, his hands holding on to Estinien’s upper arms. His friend seemed surprisingly calm, happy to rest in Aymeric’s hold, mouth practically pushed into Aymeric’s hair as he turned to talk. Aymeric flushed and let go, ducking his face into the water to hopefully try and hide the blush.
‘Well, that’s an excellent start. We should practise a few times; observe me and watch how my arms move. You’re already learning half the gait for a proper swimming style.’ Aymeric splashed back over to the wall, demonstrating the basic wall glide, careful to move slowly so Estinien could follow along. His friend did as he was told, leaning against the side of the pool, and was it his imagination, or was his watchful gaze tracking over Aymeric’s form with more attention than was strictly necessary? Others would call it staring, but Aymeric didn’t feel in the least bit self conscious. Somehow he never did, around Estinien.
‘Try not to avert your face from the water,’ Aymeric said, after a few more practice runs. ‘Most swimming strokes will require you to submerge yourself at least momentarily; ‘twould be good to become accustomed to it early on.’
Estinien groaned. ‘Must I? If I can glide my way to the other side- ‘
‘And that will do you little good if you have to rescue someone mid-water, or tumble from the back of a wyvern into the sea,’ Aymeric reminded him, but not unkindly.
‘Aye, and I’ll be a fine saviour when I can’t even sodding see.’
‘You need to counteract your instinctual response to panic. They teach dragoons the same, do they not?’ Estinien’s spiky posture softened a little.
‘Aye. Alberic would never tell me, but I sometimes go to the Scholasticate, ask one of the lecturers. They’ll talk your ears off for something other than the Fury to chatter about. Stress testing, I believe they called it. Plunging to the bottom of Witchdrop whence the voidsent walk. Reassembling the circumstances in which you lost loved ones and have you repeat it until you can watch your family die without flinching. Starve you for a week then have you run through drills and jumps without faltering.’ At Aymeric’s obviously horrified look, he shrugged. ‘We must be strong, if we are to win. If you crumble before trauma already lived, what good will you be against the Horde’s slavering maw?’
‘... Be that as it may, I much mislike that approach,’ Aymeric said quietly. ‘Forgive me, my friend; I know the Knights Dragoon are an order most holy and worthy of the utmost respect, I would much rather take the route of gentle instruction. Dragoons already have trauma enough without those you are meant to trust inflicting more.’
‘... Worry yourself not.’ Estinien looked away, his tone gruff but the faintest tinge of red was clear at the tip of his ears. ‘Alberic had it far worse than I; his master used to beat him if he so much as put a foot out of place. I had regular meals, a place to sleep, and strict discipline. Twelve bell days, aye, but I learned a lot.’
‘Would it not have been better for you never to have them at all?’ Aymeric’s chest ached; it was all too easy for him to picture a tiny Estinien picking up a lance and throwing himself into jumps he wasn’t grown enough for, his fragile body littered with bruises and breaks barely eased by his thin mattress or his master’s critique. Aymeric had broken his ankle, once, when he was about thirteen or fourteen, horsing around with schoolmates while walking home. His parents had ensured he’d wanted for nothing, constantly fretting if they thought he was in pain, indulging his every whim to provide some hint of a distraction. He couldn’t imagine a parent doing anything different.
‘Come on. Let’s try pretending to drown myself. Mayhap I’ll get Halonic visions when I succumb to hypoxia and I’ll become the church’s oracle instead of a dragoon.’ He’d clearly been going for a jest to crack the tension, but Aymeric instead came to stand next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.
‘Estinien. I’m not going to let you drown, I promise you. If ‘tis too much, we can pick up again in a day or so. You have made progress enough I can report to Ser Merthelin to tide her over.’ He’d been expecting some of the usual snark back or a barbed comment about Aymeric being a soft touch, but instead Estinien dipped his head.
‘... All right. But I’ll not be beaten by the likes of this.’
It took a little while, but he did indeed manage to break the habit of turning away as he surged forward, jaw set in grim determination. He was naturally falling into the scrabbling paddling style of swimming by pure reflex, which was a big help. Mayhap after a couple more sessions of practice, Aymeric could coax him into something resembling a proper swimming style. The weather was meant to hold for the next couple of sennights, at least, and Ishgard wasn’t built in a day.
‘One more thing, before we take our well earned rest for the night. I can teach you how to float.’
Estinien frowned. ‘What manner of sorcery is that?’
‘The laws of physics.’
‘You act like I know what those are.’
‘Well, ‘tis a good thing you don’t have to know what they are, nor become any manner of mage,’ Aymeric said cheerfully, failing to keep the mirth from his face. ‘Your body will naturally float in water, and this will surely be something they will test you on come the next swimming assessment. Luckily, it’s the easiest of the lot.’
He flipped onto his back, floating next to Estinien with ease and trying very hard not to snicker at his amazed expression.
‘It may take a little practice, but this is something that could save you from those Halonic visions you dread.’
‘I rather think I’m the type to sink like a stone.’
‘Indulge me? Please?’
Estinien huffed. ‘... Fine. What do I do?’
Aymeric regained his footing and beckoned him over.
‘It will most likely be easier to correct your form, if you don’t mind me touching you?’
‘Why would I mind?’
Well that was certainly a thought to file away for later. ‘It’s considered polite to ask permission before touching someone so intimately.’
‘Fuck politeness. Get on with it.’
… definitely a thought to file away for later.
Gently, he guided Estinien’s shoulders back into the water, making sure to keep a steady grip on him, and put his other hand on the small of his back. Estinien tensed at the touch but seemed to wrest control back of himself, slowly relaxing. His eyes kept nervously flicking back to Aymeric’s like he was expecting some sort of trick, and Aymeric squeezed his shoulder tight.
‘Don’t worry. I have you. Try lifting your legs, like you’re lying flat, and as you do so, make sure to take a deep breath in for buoyancy.’
Mumbling something that sounded like a curse, Estinien did as he was asked. He moved a little too quickly, knocking his centre of balance off, and he began to sink to the bottom. His head whipped round and he began to grab for Aymeric, who hastily pulled him up to keep him steady.
‘You almost had it, just be patient. No need to rush, all right?’
The second attempt was closer to successful, Estinien holding himself entirely rigid as Aymeric gently manoeuvred his limbs into place. He remained silent as Aymeric tilted his chin so his ears dipped into the pool, beads of water trickling down the hollow of his throat like tiny, priceless gems, eyes screwed tightly shut. They only opened again when Aymeric moved his hands; one to the small of his back, and the other cradling the back of his head to ensure he stayed afloat.
‘Now what?’ was Estinien’s gritted reply, and Aymeric chuckled.
‘Open your eyes. You’re floating.’
‘What- how- ‘ His pale eyes snapped open and it looked like he was about to start flailing around again before he thought better of it. ‘I’m floating,’ he repeated dazedly. ‘What kind of witchcraft and heresy is this?’
‘You should try telling that to your Scholasticate friends,’ Aymeric said, unable to help himself. ‘I’m sure they’d love to hear you dismiss their ancient field of study as witchcraft.’
‘Can you explain it, Borel?’
‘Oh, not at all.’ Estinien snorted with laughter and it was quickly infectious, ringing around the pool and bouncing around with the echoes. ‘Dare to be brave?’ Aymeric challenged. ‘Want to try floating on your own?’
‘Absolutely not, seven hells.’
‘We can stay in the shallow end, and I’ll keep a hold of your hand so you don’t drift into the deeper water. Or is this poor sporting fare for Ser Overachiever?’ Honestly, the withering glare on Estinien’s face could melt concrete. He got to his feet and marched over to the shallower end of the pool, waiting for Aymeric to join him. Aymeric duly followed, hiding a smile.
It was a little easier for Estinien to find his balance this time and Aymeric quickly copied him, turning his head so he could reach for his friend’s hand. His skin was a little cold and clammy thanks to the water, and for a moment he wanted to cringe away, the fear of rejection setting into his bones, but hadn’t he spent the last hour encouraging Estinien to be brave?
Astoundingly, the star didn’t end when Aymeric took Estinien’s hand. Granted, Estinien was holding it in a bit of a deathgrip, but they could work on that. The moons were beginning to rise, the sky finally embracing dusk and relinquishing to navy. The rest of the world seemed very far away, all of a sudden, the only sound being the water lapping in his ears and the far off evening chorus. Estinien’s hand in his. They could be the only two people in the city, enveloped in this tiny moment of peace.
‘... They’re scars.’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘The marks. On my chest, my arms. My hands.’ Estinien’s voice was low in the dark, staring up into the distance and very much not at Aymeric. ‘Burns. From when I lost my family. Alberic had to pull me out of the rubble. I’d laid down there to die with them. Shock, the medics said. My soul hurt so badly, it overrode every instinct I had. I couldn’t bring them back, so my mind shut off, I suppose. Decided to do the only thing it could to rid myself of that anguish, because the physical pain would be gone soon enough. Apparently I was there for almost a full day before they found me.’
Aymeric squeezed his hand tight. ‘I cannot claim to know such pain, and I pray I never will. But if you ever wish to speak of it, I shall listen, and hold your hand. For as long as you need.’
‘Heh. You’ll need a long time.’
‘Then isn’t it a good thing your swimming skills aren’t quite up to par yet? We still have a long way to go.’
‘Only… only if you let me listen to you, too. Wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t.’ He craned his neck to look at Aymeric, but the wariness was gone from his eyes now, replaced with a softer expression. Aymeric just offered him a smile in return.
‘Tomorrow night, then?’
‘Aye. Tomorrow night. Then mayhap we can find less of a death trap to sit and talk in.’
Because some things never changed.