#post-endwalker

Rating: G

Word Count: 650

Summary: Stella brings Hades a picture while he's working. [Takes place in the OT4 AU, while Hades and G'raha are still at odds with each other. Note, very rough draft, words did not agree with me tonight.]

[Master Post]

“Twenty.”

“Thirty.”

“What are you betting on?” Varshahn drew level with the fence where Estinien and a few of the Radiant Host had gathered. Each saluted him as he drew up – child though he might appear – but Estinien only inclined his head in greeting, turning his head back towards the empty space of the sparring grounds ahead of him.

“How fast she’ll get him on his back, of course.” There was no small amount of amusement in the voice of the former Azure Dragoon as he nodded towards the match about to unfold in front of them.

Ser Aymeric stood in the middle of the cleared area, stripped of his formal Ishgardian armour in favour of the lighter fare that he wore more frequently now that he was spending so much time in Radz-at-Han. He held Naegling in one hand, his grip loose but his shoulders tensed for movement. Across from him, the Warrior of Light stood facing him with something almost like a smile flitting across her expression, her own dragon-forged sword in one hand.

Mayhaps I commemorate her with a new one, Vrtra thought to himself, eyeing her blade contemplatively. She, as her partner, was dressed simply for combat, and stood matching his posture move for move. Only the sharpest of eyes – and those who had been tracking her healing’s careful progress – would be able to mark the way she favoured the wound she’d taken to her side, or the way her new scar tissue pulled uncomfortably at her neck and shoulders as she settled into a stance.

“They’re going to spar?” Varshahn’s tone betrayed his surprise, and no wonder. The Warrior’s recovery had been slow and painstaking, beginning months before her arrival to the city and carrying on for many weeks after. It seemed only recently that she’d grown weary simply walking the city streets – here, she seemed to think she was ready to fight.

“It’s the only time it’s a fair fight,” Estinien replied, seemingly content to be intentionally obtuse. “None of us stand a chance against her when she’s fully well.”

The satrap seemed to weigh his words, studying the hero from a distance with the sort of fatherly eye that betrayed his age far beyond the simulacrum he employed. “She will get hurt.”

That, at least, made Estinien turn to face him, one eyebrow arched. “You think for a minute that he’d hurt her? I’m more concerned for Aymeric.”

The couple faced each other with the easy familiarity that came only with many years spent together. Members of the Radiant Host gathered comfortably at the fence, arms crossed and nudging each other good-naturedly at the idea of seeing the two seasoned warriors face off against each other, while bets were placed in more than a few hands.

“They blunted their weapons with temporary alchemy,” Estinien added, turning back towards the pair. “It’ll be fine.”

It happened in an instant. 

One moment, they were motionless, staring wordlessly at each other. In the next, they were on each other, blades clashing with a sound that rang out into the bright sunshine. They moved nearly faster than it was possible to follow, dodging and slashing around each other with a viciousness that never would have given away the true nature of their relationship for any casual onlooker.

Varshahn, however, only had eyes for the Warrior of Light’s face.

It was true that she wasn’t at her full capabilities; he’d seen her in battle during the Final Days, and this was a mere shadow. That wasn’t what drew his attention. It wasn’t even the way she found lightning-fast ways to move around her own limitations, or how she was avoiding landing blows that would cause any actual damage to the Lord Commander.

What caught his eye was her fierce, nearly savage joy at having a sword in her hand once more.

“She’s been cooped up too long.” Estinien’s voice at his side was quietly approving, and his eyes followed the same path as the satrap’s. “Just you wait. This will do more for her recovery than any healing poultice ever could.”

It was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. A few moments of violent movements later, and the champion of the Source had the Lord Speaker of Ishgard flat on his back, her blunted blade hovering directly above his exposed throat. 

“Pay up.” Estinien collected his winnings with cool assurance, stowing his coin safely away where it could be irresponsibly spent later. On the training grounds, Aymeric got to his feet, relief warring with pride in his expression as he squeezed the Warrior’s wrist just a fraction of a second longer than was strictly professional before moving away into position again. The expression on her own face was as hard and unreadable as ever, but there was something lighting her expression – something in her eyes, maybe, or that particular tilt of her head where any other person would have laughed – that made her nearly impossible to look away from.

Perhaps it does make sense, the ancient wyrm thought for a brief moment, why so many of these mortals seem to love her so. 

At Varshahn’s side, Estinien had disappeared.

“Don’t make me lose the money I just won on you.” Having hopped the fence in one nimble movement, the former Azure Dragoon approached the couple with his lance drawn and held loosely at his side, prepared to enter the fray with as much determination as any true battle they’d faced.

On the sidelines, Varshahn turned to look up at one of his Radiant Host, wide-eyed with an almost childlike innocence on his small face.

I keep thinking about their life post-EW and A’nora finally getting to have a real family for the first time in her life 🥺🥺🥺