Chapter Text
In the quiet town of Ferndale in the highlands of Coerthas, Estinien Varlineau lived a simple life.
It wasn't as if he had never dreamed of grand adventure, of traveling the world and becoming a hero. Like every young boy, he had once watched the Temple Knights as they marched through the village and wished to be among their numbers one day. But the heavens turned ever onward, the karakul needed raising, his family's goods needed trading, and the allure of knighthood grandeur slowly faded away.
Soon after Estinien came of age, the widow Ponette who raised the community’s herding chocobos on the edge of town passed away, and the village determined that her cottage and pastures would become his. The first night he lay in the bed, alone in a house of his own, he realized simultaneously that he was likely to spend the rest of his life there, and that he was content with his lot. He would live out his days as Estinien Varlineau, the shepherd.
Though he still caught his thoughts wandering over the Coerthan ridges to the unknown world that lay beyond, his heart soon settled into the life he had been born to. With every lamb and chick that he cared for with his own hands, every pound of his own wool that he sold to the traders, the little cabin felt more and more like a true home, and he was glad he had never chanced to run away to the cold spires of Ishgard like some of the other Ferndale boys had done.
One chilly early autumn morning some two years into his adulthood, the knights were on Estinien's mind again. He had come down to the village the previous day to retrieve the wheelbarrow he had brought for repairs, and caught the end of the knight company's procession as they made their way down the dirt road. It had been some time since any of his animals had been attacked by Dravanians in the area, but the threat was ever-present. He had not thought to ask where they were headed, but it must have been fairly close. In the late hours of the evening he had heard a faint dragon's cry from over the ridge. With the Fury's blessing, he thought, they would succeed in their battle.
He thought nothing more of it as he busied himself with his usual morning routine, the sun just beginning to crest over the eastern peaks as he bundled himself in his woolen overcoat and made his way to the chocobo barn. The tasks he undertook each morning for his animals were a touch more difficult on his own than if he had sought to hire help, or taken a wife as his parents had suggested with varying degrees of subtlety, but Estinien found that he preferred to live alone. His family was near during the busiest times of year, but it had ever been his nature to enjoy the company of his animals over that of people.
The sun slowly warmed the air as he made his way over the southern ridge of his steading with the karakul and Yza the herding chocobo, rounding the rocky corners that were as familiar to him as his own body. It was a fine morning, and Estinien enjoyed the crispness of the air and the soft sound of the taller grass in the breeze. His thoughts were of nothing in particular as the sheep grazed, letting out bleats of contentment when he patted their backs idly.
The ridge had only just grown warm enough for Estinien to consider removing his coat when something in the distance caught his eye. The karakul milled about him, their soft cries rising into the air as they began to disperse around him and Yza, but his gaze was fixed on the small figure in the valley. Estinien was not inclined to interact with a stranger, but the figure was too far away for Estinien to make out enough details to determine if they were friend or foe. If they were some manner of threat, letting them go onward would be a mistake. Just as he had nearly made up his mind to get closer, the figure wavered, tipping sideways and falling into the grass. A few heartbeats passed, and they did not rise again.
Well, that settled it then. Even a natural loner like Estinien could not ignore such a thing. He hurried down the hill, leaving his flock at the top of the ridge with Yza minding them. As he got closer, he realized that the figure was wearing armor, and that in fact they appeared to be one of the knights he had seen just the previous day. Had the battle gone poorly after all? He moved as quickly as he could without tripping until he was at the knight's side. "Ser, are you hurt?" he asked, kneeling in the grass, but the knight neither moved nor responded.
For a heart-stopping moment Estinien was certain the knight was dead, but as he reached out toward their mail-clad shoulder, a crackling, labored breath came from their lips. Alive, then, but likely injured. Estinien glanced around, but only a few flecks of blood stained the grass around the knight's body. Not about to bleed out straight away, then. Though the knight's haubergeon appeared to have been damaged, no injuries were immediately apparent to Estinien, and he grasped their shoulder carefully to turn them over.
The knight let out a groan as Estinien rolled them onto their back, finally getting a good look at their face. A young man, who couldn't be much older than Estinien himself, with short black hair and dirt smudged across his features. His lips were parted, and Estinien could hear his weak breathing as he leaned in. It was a good sign, at the very least.
The young man's injuries were much clearer from the front. His haubergeon had been torn by whatever creature he had fought, and an ugly burn wound marred the exposed skin. His sleeve was stained with blood, and his leg lay at an awkward angle, likely broken. It was a wonder he had been up and walking at all, however belabored it was.
Estinien gritted his teeth. His medical knowledge was limited to his animals, but the young man had no other options. He was not in danger of dying straight away, but if he were left to the elements without any care, it would only be a matter of time. There were no chirurgeons in a village like Ferndale, and transporting the young man to Ishgard was absolutely out of the question. He was in Estinien's hands, for whatever meager help he could give him.
It was a shame that the man's armor had been destroyed, but it could still be put to use. Estinien carefully lifted each of the man's arms in turn, easily finding the clips to remove the pauldrons and bracers. They were straight enough, at least to adequately serve him until he could fashion a proper splint. He removed the haubergeon entirely, doing his best to keep the jagged edges of the torn mail away from the wounds on his body.
The gambeson underneath the mail fared no better, dark bloodstains drying in the rather expensive-looking blue wool around the rips in the fabric. Estinien frowned as he examined the knight's forearm, which still appeared to be actively bleeding. He hated to waste such fine cloth, but there was nothing to be done when it was in this state. Making a mental note to see if his mother could salvage the unbloodied pieces later, he undid the ties at the front of the garment before taking the small knife from his hip and cutting each sleeve in turn from the shoulders. Estinien kept one eye on the young man's face, but he showed no signs of stirring as his arm was wrapped in the torn sleeves and his leg was straightened between two pieces of his own armor, bound with the rope Estinien always carried.
It was probably for the best that the knight was unconscious. Estinien had broken his leg once as a young boy, and had struggled tremendously to keep from crying out as it was set. Just to be certain, he leaned in once more, and his heart was settled at the soft sound of the man's breath pushing weak yet steady from between his lips.
Estinien sat back in the grass, looking over his handiwork. There was much to be done yet, but first came the matter of getting the young man back to his house. Yza was a small, wiry herding breed of chocobo, not meant to take a rider like those raised elsewhere in Coerthas, but Estinien was no stranger to carrying an injured sheep over the hills when necessary. With slow, deliberate movements, he lifted the young man onto his shoulder, keeping a tight grip on his good leg as he adjusted to the weight.
Estinien's thighs burned with strain as he made his way back up the hill, but he kept his focus on the knight's breathing. He had never considered himself an especially selfless person, but with each step towards home he felt his duty towards the nameless man growing larger within his heart. Estinien had never been one to put much stock in the idea of fate, but for better or for worse, it seemed that Halone had brought the knight into his hands.
Estinien awoke disoriented the next morning, his sleep-addled mind not recognizing his surroundings, until he sat up and saw his own bed across the room. He blinked, and everything came back to him. He had slept on the floor in order for the injured young knight to use his bed to recover. Stretching his arms, he winced at the stiffness in his shoulders. Not how he preferred to wake, but it couldn't be helped. The knight needed comfort far more than he did in his state.
Rubbing the lingering sleep from his eyes, he made his way to the bed where the knight rested. He was already looking much improved from how he had been the previous day, at least to Estinien's untrained eye. There was a little more color in his cheeks, and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully and free of pain. It would certainly take some time for him to heal completely, but the worst appeared to be over. Estinien's eyes fell upon his face, and he found himself idly wondering when he would wake. He surely needed food and drink, but it would be a difficult task to feed him while he slept.
Now that Estinien was actually paying attention to the man's features, he couldn't help but notice that he was… rather beautiful. His long dark lashes, his upturned tapering ears, his full lips parted as he slept… Estinien had never before met someone like him in Ferndale. He was likely well-off, he surmised as he noticed a small blue gem glimmering at the man's earlobe. Surely someone like this had a lover awaiting his return to Ishgard.
The thought rose unbidden in his mind, and Estinien stumbled back from the bed, wanting to slap himself. What was he doing, thinking such things about a man whose name he didn't even know?
He shook his head, trying to clear the errant images from his mind as he retrieved a pair of biscuits and a strip of salt fish from his cabinet. Sitting heavily on his stool and cramming a biscuit into his mouth, he ran through what needed to be done for the day. The karakul could be penned for the day, but the chocobos were due for a run soon. The Ishgardian breeder who bought his chicks wouldn't be due for another few moons, but it wouldn't be long before winter set in and they'd fetch a higher price if they were well exercised. He would have to visit his parents, both to explain the situation and ask for his mother's advice to treat the knight's wounds. Old Madame Beauvais had an extensive collection of herbs and medicines from the valley if his mother's cabinets were lacking, but her farm was quite a distance off. He was running low on salt fish, so--
"Excuse me...?"
Lost in his thoughts, Estinien nearly fell out of his seat at the sound of another voice. He whipped around, nerves alight, to see the knight awake and struggling to sit up in his bed.
Oh, Fury's blessed arse. Any vague thoughts he might have entertained about the man being less beautiful when awake were thoroughly dashed. He had looked up at Estinien's movement, revealing the brightest blue eyes Estinien had ever seen before in his life. He was captivated, and only realized he had been staring when the knight's arms slipped underneath him and he groaned in pain.
"Ser! You shouldn't be gettin' up," Estinien said, willing the flush on his cheeks to die down as he rushed to the side of the bed and shoved the extra pillows under the man's back, propping him up as best as he could manage. Thankfully, the man did not fight against Estinien's ministrations, leaning back against the pile of pillows with a soft sigh.
"Ah… there is no need for such formality. My name is Aymeric," the man said, his lips curving in a warm smile, as if he were not currently lying incapacitated and surely in pain. "Might I know the name of my savior?"
Estinien took a step back from the bed. The knight-- Aymeric's steady gaze on him was overwhelming, making him want to run across the hills and draw closer at the same time. How was he supposed to speak to a knight of Ishgard? Every thought had fled Estinien's mind, and several heartbeats passed before he remembered the answer to the question he had been asked.
"Estinien," he managed at last. "Estinien Varlineau, of Ferndale."
"Then may all the Fury's blessings come to you, Estinien Varlineau," Aymeric said, sincerity in every word. "I would surely have perished without your aid, and I am forever in your debt."
Estinien felt his face warm once again, and he cast his gaze to the blankets, fussing with the way they lay over Aymeric's legs. "No need for all that, ser," he mumbled. "Was only the right thing to do."
"Please, I insist that you call me Aymeric," the knight said, reaching out with his good hand with a hopeful look in his gorgeous eyes. Estinien swallowed as he stared at the outstretched hand, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. A pampered Ishgardian son Aymeric may well have been, but with every word he spoke it became clearer that he was not only kindhearted, but charming as well.
Estinien's heart pounded as he reached out with his own hesitant hand, their palms clasping together in a firm grip. Aymeric's hand was calloused from whatever weapons he favored, yet retained an unexpected softness and warmth.
He was doomed.
"Would that we could have met under better circumstances," Aymeric sighed, letting his hand drop down to the homemade quilt laid over him. "If I recall, Ferndale is yet quite a ways from Ishgard. I do not mean to flee from your most welcome hospitality, but may I ask if there is any way to send a missive to the city?"
"Sorry, se-- Aymeric. We won't be gettin' any traders from Ishgard afore the harvest," Estinien explained. "Not many have a reason to come out here after shearing season. It'll be two moons or so, unless your knights come back."
"I see. I imagine my remaining company has already reported me as a casualty, and I wished not for anyone to mourn me," Aymeric said with a wry smile. "But if what you say is true, it cannot be helped. Though my heart aches for what the Vi-- ah, for what my dear mother must be going through."
Estinien nodded in sympathy. His own mother was dear to him as well, and he hardly wished to imagine the tears she would shed if he had run off to the wilds, only to be reported dead. "Aye, s-- Aymeric. I understand. We'll do our best to get you back soon," he said. "I suppose you have lots of people waitin' for you."
The last words slipped from his lips without thinking, and his fist clenched in a moment of panic. He hadn't meant to pry, but Aymeric responded only with a sad smile, his gaze growing distant.
"Perhaps a few less than you might imagine," he said vaguely. "But--" a grimace of pain twisted his mouth "--I am not quite sure I would be capable of traveling in my current state, regardless."
Estinien shook his head. Right, as distracting as Aymeric was, he still had wounds that needed tending. "Aye. Your leg's broken," he said. "We've no chirurgeon, but I've splinted it as best I could. Should be able to get a crutch for you soon enough, and some balms for your other wounds."
Aymeric nodded. "Truly, I could not express my appreciation enough. Please avail yourself of any coin you might need from my satchel. I insist."
Estinien couldn't help but smile at the earnest look in Aymeric's eyes. Though his heart still fluttered in his chest, the tension in the rest of his body had begun to ebb. "Won't be necessary, s-- Aymeric. Don't know how you do things in Ishgard, but here in Ferndale we take care of one another. You'll be in good hands here, and that's a promise."
Aymeric's lips parted, a tender glimmer filling his bright eyes that sent sparks flooding into Estinien's belly, but before he could speak a loud gurgling sound split the silence between them.
Aymeric's cheeks bloomed a deep pink as the heartbeats passed. "Ah. I am afraid that was my doing," he said, his smooth voice taking on a light air of embarrassment. "My apologies, but I have not eaten since before our battle with the Dravanians. Might I trouble you for any provisions you might spare me?"
Estinien bit back an open laugh at the flush on Aymeric's face, but could not suppress his grin as he turned to retrieve his uneaten biscuit. Aymeric was certainly the most polite Ishgardian he had ever met, and he was growing fond of him at an alarmingly fast rate. Though they had only just met, something about his air already felt… comfortable, in a way. He had no idea what Aymeric could have meant, saying that fewer people would be waiting for his return. Estinien was already sure he would have to chase near every woman in Ferndale from his door once they got the chance to speak to him.
The thought sent an unexpected wave of discomfort into his belly, and he busied himself searching his cabinets for more biscuits. Fury's tits, he couldn't be thinking like this. Aymeric was surely a good man, and Estinien could not very well deny that he had set his treacherous heart alight, but he would be gone for Ishgard soon enough and would have little reason to return once he did. It would not do to allow his own fancies to take flight when he knew they would surely be crushed forever in a moon or two. No, he would care for Aymeric and enjoy his company, but that was as far as he should allow it to go. If only his damned heart would cooperate.
"Here y'are," he said, pushing the food into Aymeric's grateful hands. "I'll likely be out until the afternoon, but I'll be sendin' my brother Hamignant when I see him. Just let him know if you'll be needin' anything else."
"Thank you, Estinien," Aymeric said, and shite, he could already feel his resolve weakening at the sweetness of the smile on the knight's lips. All he could do was nod, words failing him as he gathered his coat and hurried out the door.
The clear blue of Aymeric's eyes and the soft curve of his lips filled Estinien's thoughts through his morning chores, and lingered as he made his long journey down the road into the town.