𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃  much  like  a  request,  Estinien was  no  fool.  Beneath  his  friend’s  heartfelt entreaty  is  a  plea  and  a  need  for  yet  another  promise made.  Twould  be  a  night  for  oaths  exchanged.  How  unlike  Haurchefant to  need  such  reassurances  and  yet  this  brave  and  stupid  and  wonderful  man  had  very  nearly  passed through  the  threshold to  death’s  domain only  hours  before. To  behold  one’s  own  end,  however  near  a  thing  it’d  been  must  shake  the  foundations of  one’s  own  resolve.  Would  he  be  as  firm  and  implacable were  he  wounded as  his  friend, weak  and  infirm and  confined  to  a  bed  while  the  world  and  fate  itself continued  to  turn  on  its  axis  around him?  

         No,  he  rather much  doubts  he’d  be  as  complacent.  It’d  take  all  of  Ishgard’s combined  might  to  keep  him  lashed  to  the  bed  no  matter what  grievous  wounds that  would  afflict him.  But  Estinien is  in  possession of  the  gift  of  knowledge. Nidhogg  is  gone,  yet  Ishgard remains  still  under  threat.  And  it  was  he  alone  who  had  the  power  to  save  them  all.  Locked  away  elsewhere,  he  senses  it  still.  That  great  font  of  power  of  the  Eye  that  churns  with  such  fury  even  with  its  master gone.  It  could  drown  him  if  he  would  let  it,  wash  him  away  as  mere  refuse  against a  wave.  There  is  his  great  ordeal, not  for  a  single  moment can  he  let  the  barricades of  his  heart  and  mind  falter  for  even  a  fraction.  

        ❝ It  would  take  more  than  an  old  man  and  whatever  trickery he  means  to  employ  to  bring  about  mine  end. ❞  He  understands little  of  the  Archbishop’s  schemes, but  it  matters little  in  light  of  the  sins  that  Thordan  and  his  dogs  had  committed against  Haurchefant  and  Aymeric  both.  They’d  hurt  his  dearest friends  and  there  was  no  crime  more  deserving  of  the  most  gruesome  of  deaths.  Yet  what  thoughts of  vengeance  that  stirs  in  head  are  banished  at  the  touch  against  his  cheek.  Estinien very  nearly  jerks  away,  a  breath  caught and  held  in  his  lungs  that  burn  like  DRAGON  FIRE  in  his  chest  until  finally, after  moments  too  long,  he  exhales  and  with  it  follows  his  tension.  He  relaxes,  leaning against  a  familiar touch  he’s  unknowingly missed.  How  long  had  it  been  since  he’d  sat  as  thus  with  Haurchefant? So  many  distractions, their  duties  carving a  chasm  between their  lives.

        Something  shivery  and  raw  runs  hot  through his  veins  at  the  sound  of  his  name  and  he  thinks, however  briefly,  however foolishly,  how  much  he’d  like  it  if  Haurchefant  would  say  his  name  in  that  same  manner  again  and  again. It  is  a  weakness  he  can’t  deny,  after  so  long,  but  he’d  very  nearly  lost  this  man  today.  He  could  afford a  moment  of  indulgence.   ❝ There will  be  time  enough  to  rest  when  this  fool’s chase  is  over. ❞ He  moves  away  only  long  enough  to  undo  the  rest  of  his  armor, each  piece  falling heavy  against  the  floor  until  Estinien  is  in  nothing but  a  linen  under-shirt  and  linen  under-pants. It  was  freeing to  be  divested of  such  weight. ❝ You  were  never  one  to  make  excuses to  invite  me  into  your  bed,  a  sure  sign  that  the  man  who  is  in  need  of  rest  between us  is  you. ❞  

“ he is no more a mere old man than you a simple soldier, “ haurchefant retorts,  though the strength of his tone wavers with exhaustion setting in anew.  he knows full well this is not a discussion he can win no matter his worries and yet it does not stop him from worrying.  whatever trickery thordan and his knights are employing is unlike any magic he’s ever witnessed or felt before------- estinien may be surprised at his own need for reassurance,  but the fact that he can still sense its malicious intent creeping cold and deadly beneath his skin where the lance hath pierced it true scares haurchefant more than he is willing to admit.  what pressure would befall his friend if misfortune strikes and he’s left to grapple both the eye’s influence and whatever dark powers thordan now wields?  “ a fortemps shield is not meant to break so easily and yet it took a mere thirty seconds for his trickery to do what countless other foes could not.  be careful,  that is all i ask. keep the warrior by your side. “

and with that solemn request and his previous energy all but spent,  haurchefant tries to push away the worry and fear for what the morrow may bring and focus rather on the here and now.  how long ago has it been since they sat side by side like this?  how long ago has it been since he felt estinien’s skin beneath his touch,  the warmth of his body divested of the armor so close?  his thumb brushes soft and tender over the sharp curve of estinien’s cheekbone before it drops back to the bedspread.  a wince escapes him upon shifting to the side,  far enough to grant space for the other to join;  a sound that just as quickly morphs to a soft huff of rueful amusement.  estinien has the right of it,  of course.  it is unlike him to be hesitant; and yet, nothing about this situation quite feels like the norm.  “ ah,  that may be so, but those invitations usually imply other activities which-------- well, would not be in the cards tonight,  i’m afraid. “ as much of a shame that is,  he thinks anything more strenuous than being held will more like than not undo the physicians’ hard work; no matter how tempting estinien looks dressed in naught but his under-clothes.  “ come here. “

the heat of his friend’s body is almost shocking against the chill in the air.  haurchefant wastes no time arranging himself in just the right position,  and though his movements are sluggish, face pulling several grimaces as they jostle his shoulder a little more than necessary he eventually finds himself just as he intended:  cheek nestled against estinien’s shoulder,  wounded arm curled carefully over his friend’s chest and their legs entwined.  a shiver passes down his spine, breath hitching as the broad of estinien’s palm rests over the bandage;  a sudden warmth spreading through his skin and cutting through the dull ache better than any potion before did. here, finally,  he feels himself relax;  remaining tension that kept his muscles locked and mind awake slowly leeching away like snow for the sun.  the relief of it is more than welcome,  gratitude filling his breast enough for him to lift his head and press their lips together in a sweet, shallow kiss.  “ thank you. “  

referentblood:

     ❝     𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞  𝐝𝐨  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞  𝐡𝐢𝐦  𝐭𝐨  𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥 ,    ❞    aymeric  sounds  exasperated , but  the  smile  on  his  lips  tells  another  tale . in  truth  he  pays  little  mind  to  haurchefant’s  banter , to  estinien’s  protest , and  instead  does  diligent  work  on  the  strands . any  knot  that  proves  too  much  for  a  simple  comb  through  is  tenderly  held  in  his  hand  before  worked  over  more  thoroughly    –    but  it  was  hard  to  be  gentle  when  estinien’s  scalp  was  so  sensitive .    ❝    it  is  unfortunately  what  happens  when  you  stick  such  beautiful  long  hair  into  such  tight  confines , but  at  least  you  have  us  to  lend  you  aid  in  it’s  caretaking .    ❞

        𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃  is  Aymeric  gentle  in  his  ministrations,  far  too  diligent with  that  damnable brush.  Yet  no  gentle  hand  is  enough to  stay  the  sting  of  his  scalp  when  it  would  seem  his  supposed  darling was  intent  on  yanking  each  and  every  strand of  hair  from  his  head.  He  hisses, shamed  when  he  turns  to  lean  against Haurchefant  for  solace.  He’s  taken  far  worse  wounds than  this,  every  nick  and  scratch  and  scar  upon  his  body  standing  testament to  this  and  yet  it  would  all  seem  pale  by  comparison  when  Aymeric  tugs  once  more  in  earnest at  a  particularly stubborn  knot.   ❝ We  are  FINISHED. ❞ He  tries  to  stand,  but  with  Haurchefant’s sturdy  frame  barring his  way  and  Aymeric’s  comb  still  stuck  in  his  hair,  he  was  forced down  again.   ❝ My hair is fine. There’s little point in doing  aught  more  when  I  can  list  a  hundred  and  one  other  tasks  at hand. Damn  you  both.  Damn  you  both  to  every  hell.  The  void  take  you  all  —-   ❞  The  litany  of  curses  would  continue  unabated.  

soft affection / n. a.

haurchefant shivers against the chill, wincing as his easing out of his sodden furs makes pain flare up in his shoulder.  as prepared as he thought himself,  so used to the bitter colds in coerthas,  he’s quickly come to find there is still a marked difference between having knowledge of the comforts that await in warmed chambers and fresh clothes upon return after a mission and having naught but the protection of a tent after a long day’s walk through both winds and rain with no certainty of finding any town or hamlet for shelter close by.  whatever protection his clothing offered him is all but made obsolete by the elements; and though this would usually be but a minor discomfort for a trained knight, one he’d have borne with alacrity, the throbbing ache slowly spreading through his shoulder and arm like cold fire, one that will not abate no matter what he does, has seemingly sapped him of whatever energy he’d still had to get them to this point.  

a tired exhale escapes his lips as the cloak finally slips free.  his fingers try for the mail next,  but his shoulder protests anew,  the sharp ache making him grip at it instinctively.  “ fool, “ estinien’s voice comes soft from the tent’s entrance. haurchefant’s eyes blink open,  gaze lifting to meet the dragoon’s,  lips slanting down both in pain and displeasure at having been found out;  not liking the sensation of feeling like naught but a burden.  as much strides as he’s made throughout his recovery,  the frequent reminders that things are not and will never be as they were still weigh ‘pon his breast.  concern sharpens the other’s eye,  and as reassuring as it is to have his friend’s – his love’s – worry and affection,  he won’t deny the sting of the former.  how pitiful he must look, no better than a bedraggled chocobo chick.  “ i told you to wait for me. “

he only hums low in response, body listing forwards to familiar warmth as estinien enters the tent in full, easing down in front of him before knocking his hands away.  his forehead finds the curve of a shoulder, another tired exhale following the first as he gives himself over to those clever hands.  the chain mail and undershirt soon follow the cloak, followed by boots and socks.  the air’s already warmed courtesy of their shared body heat, yet goosebumps still rise on his skin, another shiver forcing its way down his spine at the lingering chill. 

lids flutter shut, exhaustion pulling at his very bones.  he feels rather than sees estinien shift,  fumbling with something behind him,  before suddenly —— warmth.  the shock of it makes him gasp, then sigh low as his body adjusts to the pleasing sensation.  hands lift from his lap to finger at the fabric now draped over his shoulders and back.  estinien pulls it tighter around his frame,  forcing his eyes open when his partner gently urges his arms up:  it’s the dragoon’s coat,  his newest addition purchased upon relinquishing his old armor in wait of a new one;  though already a little frayed at the edges with its less than gentle handling at the hands of its new owner, it feels comfortable and snug around him.  haurchefant can’t help but bury his nose into the collar, breathing in the familiar scent. exhaustion pulls that little harder now he’s warmed up, forehead once again finding the crook of estinien’s neck.

     HOW EASY IT IS TO FORGET that this man is as adept with his words as their mutual friend. A talent that Haurchefant is unlikely to use when his preferred blade is the one he can strap to his side. Yet the SHARP STING that cuts straight through his armor and through his chest is reminder enough that this man is capable and lethal when he desires. To be surrounded by men with a noble’s education, what miserable curse to have befallen him, an ailment Estinien is wont to be bemoan when both Aymeric and Haurchefant conceive to stir his ire. Full glad is he to have both the veil of night and his own helm to obscure his grimace, but it avails him little for the ache that still twists with the keen edge of an assassin’s knife. There etched upon his mind is that memory he doubts will fade within his lifetime. The brilliant gleam of that accursed blade of light, the sight and smell of blood, Haurchefant prone upon the ground until the laboring rise and fall of his chest had proven to all that he still yet lived.

    Both of them are soldiers, knights sworn to the safety of Ishgard and her people. He’d known as much as any other youth that to be a knight, to be a dragoon itself is to live a short and unhappy life. He knows loss. Not a day passes without some manner of tragedy. An ETERNAL WAR, only briefly halted with the falling of one dread wyrm, but Nidhogg’s death did not mean the end of strife, only a reprieve. And as Azure Dragoon it was his duty to see this war to its end.

    Or die trying.

    Yet knowing as much, seeing Aymeric and Haurchefant and the few who’d managed to mean something after all attempts at distance, it did little to ease the turmoil that stormed within his heart. They were knights as well, warriors, guardians and protectors. They too swore the self-same oaths. They too could fall as easily as the others.

    Estinien twists away. Why could it not stop? Why did he let himself care? He could lie, he could wrap his heart in as much steel and iron as he could afford, but there was no fleeing from the truth. The hand around his wrist comes as a surprise as it always does when he knows full well of Haurchefant’s propensity to touch. The first touch in weeks, he realizes and reaches for that hand before it withdraws fully, fingers linking together. ❝ I will not lose you. ❞ A new oath. Perhaps one to subsume the old. And a delusion. What good could he do when he knows that the moment Haurchefant is able that he would throw himself before more danger. Such knowledge only has his grip tighten. ❝ I am the protector of Ishgard. I am the Azure Dragoon. I was the chosen by the Eye and what good is that power if you and Aymeric and all the rest charge with reckless abandon against danger? Nidhogg is dead and soon Thordan will meet his end. I will DESTROY any and all that would threaten what we have. ❞

    It is a better promise. One he means to keep. Meaningless in the face of Haurchefant’s request. He snaps his mouth shut, wondering if there will ever come a time in which this DAMNABLE MAN wouldn’t surprise him as he does. With a grunt, he shakes his hand free and reaches with deft and expert fingers to undo the clasps that keeps his helm in place. The room is kept warm with the myriad of candles and the low fires of the hearth, but to Estinien who’d been in clad in metal for so long, he felt only the chill upon skin that’d been confined for so long. He runs a hand through the silver locks that’d fallen free of the tie from his exertions. By the Fury, had it really only been a day?

    The unease that flutters in his chest is ridiculous when Haurchefant has seen him without his armor as much as he’s seen him with, yet he realizes how long it’d been since he’d taken his helm off in the company of others. ❝ Am I given leave to stay now? ❞  

oh,  my dearest friend. how those words touch him,  even forcing a lump to his throat,  equal parts love and fear alighting within his breast at such singular conviction.  and who then protects you,  he wants to ask,  who then keeps you safe if ever that power were to fail you?  what of the eye’s dangers? it is true that estinien possesses a power far greater than he could ever hope to wield,  but even the azure dragoon is not infallible,  especially when he insists on going it alone.  and yet,  he does not voice his worries;  does not return a similar oath,  knowing full well that to do so now would be laughable at best the condition he is in.  what use has a bed-ridden knight?  it could be months before he’s full recovered from the lance’s wound and if the healers were to be believed,  it may never even recover fully at all.  physically, yes,  but the damage to his aether?  well.  try as he might,  he cannot stop the fear and doubt that stab at his chest at the thought of this uncertain future and what lies in store for him.  he’s only ever been a knight,  a commander,  a warrior.  what is to become of him now,  if he cannot keep those he loves safe?  if he cannot protect his home? what good would his words and promises do?  

self-pity is a look ill suited for you,  a voice whispers at the back of his mind:  one sounding remarkably like the voice of the very elezen now stood at his bedside holding his hand in a tight grip.  a slow breath escapes through his nose and haurchefant swallows past the tightness snaring the back of his throat.  there’s no point in worrying yet when he doesn’t even know how it’ll all pan out.  no point in wallowing when logic tells him even if he had been in perfectly fine condition, he still wouldn’t have been at estinien’s side in the fight against thordan,  but at aymeric’s right here in ishgard, keeping their walls safe from whatever threat might still fly or come their way.  besides,  estinien is not alone:  the warrior will be with him;  and if there is one person besides aymeric,  besides himself that he would trust with that task,  it would be them.  so he squeezes the fingers linked with his in reassurance for them both,  rueful smile finally quirking his lips.  “ and as always,  as per my utmost faith in you,  i do not doubt for a second you’ll succeed in your endeavors and make your words ring true. just ---, “ he falters briefly,  gaze pulling inwards and down at their hands,  “--- try to come back hale, hmn?  i’d not like to lose you either.  “