Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s already dark as I land by the Atheneum, the skies around me cloudy and black. This doesn’t stop the many people both high- and lowborn moving through the streets, yet as I step off the airship landing, no-one pays me much attention. Ishgard is full of heroes these days; the Warrior of Light can come and go more or less unnoticed.

The cobblestones are covered in a layer of white powder, muting my footsteps. It must’ve snowed during the day. I missed it; I departed with the crack of dawn, as I’ve been doing for the past week or so.

Perhaps I’ve been doing it for too long, as when I approach the aetheryte shard in front of me, I find myself yawning. It’s tempting to jump to Last Vigil and stroll into Fortemps manor and my oh so cosy bed within it. But at the same time… it might be past midnight already, but there’s a non-zero chance Alphinaud is still up and about.

We had a shouting match this morning. Well, it wasn’t really a shouting match; it was Alphinaud yelling at me. What are you doing? Why are you out there picking fruits and killing pests while Estinien is still… he’s still…

That was when he broke down, and I, the brave Warrior of Light, fled, leaving the task of consoling him to Thancred and Y’shtola.

I know people think I’m dispassionate, moving from task to task like a pebble carried down the river without a care. I know Alphinaud knows it’s not true, at least when he’s not freaking out. Still, it was so very tempting to yell back at him. I was not picking fruit or killing pests – well, I was, but it wasn’t the end goal. I was speaking with the Vath; I was doing favours for the dragons at Anyx Trine; I was studying astrology with Levava. Someone, somewhere, has to know a way to pull Estinien from the clawed grasp of Nidhogg.

Nidhogg. The name alone makes me seethe. Eventually, I will find him, I will tear his soul out, and I will crush it so thoroughly, even the memory of him will be gone.

But first, I have to find a way to get Estinien out.

I’m walking, I realize, my anger carrying me down the stairs into the Foundation. My mindless steps have brought me close to the Forgotten Knight, and on a second thought, yes, a few drinks sound quite excellent at the moment. Before I can reach the inn, though, something else catches my eye – the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly. More specifically, the window leading to Aymeric’s office.

The light is still on.

I know the time, but I check my pocket watch just to be sure. Two in the morning. Seems Aymeric is just as bad at going to sleep as I am – except while I can count on Y’shtola and the Count guilt-tripping me into laying down, I can’t imagine anyone doing so for Aymeric. Estinien, of course, but he is… well. Lucia, maybe, but I can just as well imagine Aymeric sending her away with a promise to be abed within the hour, only to work for another five.

I fold my arms, staring at the window. It’s far from the first time I’m seeing Aymeric stay up late, but ever since that thing paraded Estinien’s body around Falcon’s Nest, this became a rule rather than exception. Every night, he remains in his office for longer and longer.

This requires an intervention.

Unlike Aymeric or I, Lucia is a sane person who knows how sleep works; as such, she is absent as I step into the Congregation. The main hall is near-empty, in fact, save for a knight holding the fort at the desk, and a guard at Aymeric’s door. A familiar face, though I can’t quite put a name to it. I wave him a hello, then indicate the door. He steps from foot to foot, pressing his lips together.

“Warrior… it is rather late.”

I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head. The man sighs, and his voice drops to a whisper as steps up to me.

“To be quite honest, I don’t think the Lord Commander should be taking any more visitors tonight. Between all that has happened recently, and his injury…”

I glance back to find the knight at the desk nodding along. The two of them look for all in the world like they intend to personally stop me from interrupting the Lord Commander, and I can feel a smile climb on my face as I turn to the guard and nod in agreement. The man blinks, determination replaced by confusion.

“So why are you here?”

I sigh, trying to form the words. Eventually, I settle on,

“I’m here to drag him to sleep.”

A moment later, the guard’s pushing the door open. Resisting a chuckle, I slip through and raise my hand in a greeting-

Oh.

Aymeric’s sitting in his chair; he’s also laying on his desk, short hair splayed out among the piles and piles of paperwork. I rush up to him, ready to cast – I don’t know what, a healing spell, an Esuna?

Before I have to choose, I hear a soft snore coming from him. Thank the Twelve; I stop and lean in, hearing the guard step inside right after me.

“Lord Commander?” he gasps. I shake my head.

“He’s asleep.”

Asleep in a most orderly fashion, to his credit. Not a single crease in his armour coat, not one toppled-over pile of papers; even the quill in his hand is plucked into the inkwell. He is, however, using an unfinished letter as a pillow. As I pull at his arm to wake him, I can’t help but notice the ink on it is still wet. Nothing he can’t wash off later, but the image of Aymeric with a missive written across half his face makes me chuckle.

“Aymeric,” I whisper, still smiling. “If you wish to rest, there are better places for it than your office.”

No response, save for a deeper breath that sounds almost like a snore. My smile falls as I shake him, to the same non-reaction, then glance up at the knight standing in the doorway. We look at each other, then down at Aymeric. The knight leans out the room, then firmly closes the door.

Right. While the people on the streets might ignore the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Light carrying the unconscious de-facto leader of Ishgard would be the talk of the town. Assuming he has a house I can carry him to; I don’t actually know if he lives somewhere in the city or if he has a bed here, at the Congregation.

The guard walks up to me, embarrassment and determination warring across his face.

“The Borel manor is in the Pillars. You can see it from the window here, actually.”

He points it out. I follow his finger to find the right rooftop, then nod. He bites his lip.

“I just don’t know how to…”

I shake my head and take a few steps back, then bring up my collection of soul stones. It takes only a brief moment to find the right one; I grasp it and press it to my chest, then pour my aether into it.

With a flash, I feel my dragoon armour settling over me. I stand steady against the tilting floor and blink away the spots of light floating before my eyes. When I can properly see again, I find the knight staring at me, mouth agape. I reply with a raised eyebrow. Has he truly never seen anyone change soul stones?

Well, no matter. I pick Aymeric up. It’s too easy; for an Elezen, he is uncomfortably light in my arms. He does not stir as I grab him, nor as I hold him, despite the pointy armour making a poor pillow. How long had it been since he last slept, or ate a full meal? I pen crash at Aymeric’s place for breakfast into my schedule for tomorrow’s – well, today’s – morning. If he’s forced to host me, maybe he’ll be forced to actually take care of himself as well.

Meanwhile, the guard recovers and moves to open the window for me. I nod to him, vault the wall and leap for the skies, cradling the slumbering Lord Commander against my chest.

That he remains asleep when I finally hit the rooftop of the Borel manor is a rather worrying testament to the strain of the past few weeks. I sigh, looking down on him. His brow is furrowed, his jaw is clenched; it seems even his dreams aren’t restful. His left cheek is smeared with ink; I resist the urge to wipe it off his face, fearing that my gauntlet would cut his skin.

Looking around, I find a silhouette not unlike my own on a nearby spire. Estinien, somehow back to watch over his fool of a friend? I open my mouth to call out to him, but then my brain catches up with my tongue. It’s probably just another dragoon, maintaining their silent vigil over the city.

Perhaps I’m too tired, if my brain is conjuring up phantoms in place of real people. I’m only glad I wasn’t tired enough to miss any of my leaps across Ishgard’s abysses.

I gently jump down to the manor’s balcony. The door is closed; I consider breaking in, then disregard the idea as I spot movement in the corridor on the other side of the room. I knock on the glass, then again; eventually, some maid notices me. She gasps as she runs up to me.

“Uhm, honoured dragoon, how can I…” This is when she notices Aymeric and stops, then looks over me again. “O-oh! Warrior of Light! O-o-one moment, please.”

She wrestles with the door to pull it open, then moves to the corner to light up a lamp. As I walk in, manoeuvring to not break Aymeric’s neck on the doorway, the chamber fills with warm yellow light, revealing itself to be a bedroom befitting a highborn lord. The canopied bed alone is large enough for a Lalafell family to comfortably live in.

“D-d-did lord Aymeric fall asleep in the Congregation again?” the maid asks, dragging the acres of cot off it. How often does this happen, then? I nod and roll my eyes as I set him down. He sighs as he sinks into the bed, but still doesn’t wake.

I take a moment to swap out of my armour, then reach for a handkerchief at the bedside table – itself worth a fortune for sure, with those polished wooden figurines carved into the legs. I sit on his bed and move to get that ink off his skin before it stains all the decadently luxuriant pillows. How he can sleep at his desk knowing this world of softness awaits home, I have no idea.

As I brush the ink off his face, his eyes flutter. I freeze as it occurs to me what it must look like – me leaning over him in his bed with a hand against his face. One can only hope we won't make it awkward.

“Estinien…?” Aymeric mutters, blinking rapidly.

Oh. I’m… not sure what to say.

“You didn’t have to…” he murmurs. “Would be fine…”

He turns to the side, leaning into the pillow. I glance at the maid, but she’s beating a hasty retreat down the corridor. Hmph. I’ll have to hunt her down later before she starts spreading wild rumours about me and Aymeric. Actually, I could do that now, seeing how he’s quiet again. I stand up and head for the door.

Of course, that’s when the Echo decides to say good evening.

Aymeric is asleep at his desk again.

Estinien glares at him, to no effect. Of course; Aymeric has only ever been immune to his glares. It’s one of his greatest qualities, not that Estinien would ever say so to his face.

And in all honesty, he doesn’t really want to glare at Aymeric. He’s known the man long enough to be familiar with his habits. Aymeric deals with stress by working himself until he’s too tired to think on it, as though he could solve all the world’s troubles by filling in enough checklists and reading enough reports.

Still, something must be done. The freshly-minted Lord Commander of the Temple Knights is asleep at his desk in the dead of night. Even though his conduit has been exemplary, the whoresons up in the Vault would no doubt scoff about how it’s no wonder a ‘man like de Borel’ – the Fury-damned cowards would not even say the word, lest someone challenged them over it – would ‘neglect his office’.

Estinien firmly closes the door behind him, then opens the window. There are only a few people milling about the plaza at this hour. Even helmeted, Estinien’s glare is enough to make them look the other way. The Congregation thus hidden from view, he lifts Aymeric off his desk and leaps out onto the rooftop, then away towards the Borel manor.

Aymeric is warm against his chest. Estinien ignores that as he jumps onto one of the city’s many arches, but he can’t ignore Aymeric squirming against him.

“Why are you…?” the man mutters.

Estinien clenches his teeth. There’s no-one looking at them just yet, but they have to get moving.

“Go to sleep, ‘Meric,” he tells him. “You need to rest if you’re to keep leading us.”

“Mhm.”

Aymeric leans into chest, hand gripping his armour as he stills again. Asleep, or merely aware enough to know he shouldn’t move; Estinien can’t really tell. He brushes a stray strand of hair off his face and readies to take another leap.

As I shake myself back awake, I find Aymeric is curling up in his bed, some nightmare poisoning his rest. I can’t really glower at the Echo, but I do send a heavy stare towards the ground. Thank you, I’m sure I really needed this particular vision.

It was a bit odd I saw it from Estinien’s perspective, given that to my knowledge, he was still out there being worn like a skinsuit by that thing, but the Echo is not exactly consistent.

“Estinien,” Aymeric gasps, clenching at the pillow. I walk up to him, unsure what to do. He grips my hand and his eyes snap open.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “My dearest friend, I should’ve…”

He’s not really seeing me, is he? I place my hand over his and this time, the words come naturally.

“Go to sleep, Meric,” I repeat after Estinien. “You need your rest if you’re to keep leading us.”

My impression of a grouchy dragoon is imperfect, but effective. Aymeric’s eyes close as he breathes out in relief, and his grip relaxes. I try to slip my hand out, but he murmurs something and grasps it again.

Oh, well.

I stay with him until his breath evens out. My own eyes are slowly closing by now; it’s high time I left. I stand, pulling my hand out of Aymeric’s hold. The cot is bunched up at his feet. I pull it over him, and his breath hitches. I think I hear him say Estinien’s name again.

“We’ll bring him back,” I tell him as I turn to leave. “I promise.”

I’m not sure if I’m swearing it to Aymeric or myself, but the oath rings true in my heart.

Even should I storm the very afterlife to do it, I will bring him back.