#The Chattering Lack of Common Sense || Stormblood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alionne · 3 years

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5 | Deliberate (free write)

Sequel to Scale, because my brain really didn’t want to stop thinking about this. Spoilers for Stormblood. Cursing and flirting but no smut... yet. 3284 words.

He hears her coming, of course.

Estinien had heard her the first time, too, with the pugilist girl, one of the Scions he hadn’t met. Not that he needed to meet any more of them, mind you. The ones he’d encountered were bad enough.

‘Bad’ may not be the right word, he admits to himself, but he’d already helped them on this little trip, there was no need to start doling out compliments, too.

If anything, the cannon had been a welcome challenge. He doesn’t miss killing dragons, nor the rage surging through him each time he fought, but… he is the Azure Dragoon. He has power, and though he’d been trying to direct that power in a peaceable direction, lately, it’s pleasing when problems can be solved with his lance alone.

Of course, the problem with power is that there are all too many parties with an interest in how you use it. The cannon was one thing—what was he supposed to do, just let them all get shot to death?—but linger too long and he’d soon be on the receiving end of a tedious speech about duty and the future of Eorzea, and then he’d have to watch Alphinaud’s disappointment when he turned him down. And then probably sit through another lecture, because the boy was stubborn as all hell.

No, Estinien had come to Gyr Abania for one thing—the eyes of Nidhogg, which were his responsibility, and had somehow floated up from below the Steps of Faith and ended up here. Somewhere.

So he was lying low. After dodging the Imperials’ bullets, he’d set for the highest landmark he could find—an ancient ship, whose origins he did not know. It was a passable hideout, particularly since some ancient guardian attacked him as he approached. Estinien had dispatched it easily enough, but it fought with a ferocity that suggested that commoners and soldiers alike would avoid this place.

But of course, not a day later, he’d heard someone climbing the cliff—his cliff, he’d thought, stubbornly. Whoever it was was talking too loudly to be searching for an errant dragoon, though. Tucked away behind the ruined vessel, he’d waited until it seemed they were facing away, then stole a look.

Of course it was her. Who else would turn up on the very rock Estinien was hiding if not the bloody Warrior of Light, accompanied by yet another Scion of the Seventh Dawn? Still, they weren’t looking for him. They’d probably come to inspect the Garlean outpost and figure out why it wasn’t firing at them. If Estinien stayed out of sight, they’d figure it out soon enough and leave him be.

He hadn’t chanced a second look. Alionne was too bloody perceptive, sometimes, and who knew what powers the other girl had. Still, he could hear snippets of their conversation, when the wind was right— or rather, he could hear the one girl’s chatter, and then the occasional pause, when Alionne was presumably nodding in response.

She’d looked… quite lovely, he thought, mulling over his brief glance as he waited for them to leave. She’d exchanged her heavier Coerthan outfit for something more befitting the desert, and it revealed a great deal more of her form. She’d looked stronger, too, although mayhaps it was simply her outfit, exposing more muscle to admire. Still, even Estinien, who had been avoiding people for moons now, had heard of Doma’s miraculous rebellion. The whole thing reeked of Scion meddling, and where the Scions went, so too went the Warrior of Light, so she’d likely honed her skills on some far eastern magitek.

He’d love to examine her more… thoroughly. Certainly, their last dalliance suggested she’d be amenable, but a few conversations prior to his departure suggested that Aymeric had finally found his balls and was going to ask her out, properly. And while he was fairly sure he’d be welcome in that arrangement, it did mean she could lecture him on both the Scions’ and Ishgard’s behalf, and no potential dalliance was worth that mess.

It’s good to see her, though. Since leaving Ishgard, the only familiar face he’d seen was Hraesvaelgr's, and as… interesting as that encounter had been, there was a comfort in seeing his friends here, even if from a distance. Alphinaud, he’d spotted leaving the rubble of the tower, which was a relief, considering the carnage that had befallen it. And here is Alionne, equally uninjured. He’d done a good day’s work at Castrum Abania.

He hates to leave a job unfinished—that was what had led to him tramping all over Gyr Abania in the first place, unfinished business—so when the Scions finally leave Estinien’s rock, he lingers. No doubt, the imperials will be hard at work repairing their weapon. The Resistance seems savvy enough to press the advantage, but he’d like to see things ended for himself. Besides, if they successfully eliminate the outpost, the Resistance will claim the entire region, and Estinien will be able to leave more easily, dodging only one army, and a much less bloodthirsty one, at that.

So he keeps an eye to the south as he sets up a camp. Movement suggests repairs to the ceruleum pipeline are indeed underway, but the cannon barrel stays put. By mid-afternoon, Estinien is dozing slightly, which is why he’s caught off-guard when there’s suddenly a large hole in the glass window of the castrum’s command room. On instinct, he leaps to his feet, grabbing his lance, before he realizes that whatever’s happened, it’s hardly something he can leap off and address. He sits back down, watching the outpost more closely.

In the next few minutes, the small dots moving to and from the broken pipeline suddenly cease. They’ve stopped repairing the pipeline, then. Well, that’s as sure a sign as any that the Resistance have done something. Pushed someone out a window, it seems.

No further activity comes from the castrum as night falls, and Estinien slowly relaxes. The cannon is dealt with, so he can resume his search for the Eyes. He doesn’t know how much aether remains in them after such a powerful summoning, but he’s confident he’ll recognize their signature, no matter how faint. He’d sensed nothing from the Resistance camps, so they were probably in the hands of the Garleans—besides, if the Eorzean Alliance had found the Eyes of Nidhogg, Aymeric himself would probably have arrived by now, bloody guilt complex the man carries.

So, East, then, to occupied territory, where the Resistance themselves are no doubt headed. And, assuming he finds the Eyes, perhaps further East, after that. No Eorzean had seen anything like the great dragon summoned over Baelsar’s Wall, but Estinien had found a tome of Far Eastern lore depicting such creatures. With Eorzea’s dragon troubles mostly-sorted, Estinien might be more useful in other parts of the world.

It would be a nice change, too, from this endless desert. Even Coerthas was more than snow, once you got far enough out. This… he’d never begrudge the Ala Mhigans their homeland, but it could do with a bit more color. And Estinien had heard that the hot springs in Kugane rivaled those of Ishgard.

He’s nearly drifted off, imagining it, when a familiar sound brings him to full alertness. The whistle of a rope, tossed over a hold, the scrape of shoes on stone. Someone is climbing his cliff, and a great deal more quietly than the Scions earlier.

Or… not that quietly, he amends, hearing a muttered curse. Not a stealth mission, then. Mayhaps the Resistance had sent a scout. Or a desperate Imperial was climbing to high ground, looking for intel.

Well. He was very good at hiding in the shadows. He would watch them from here. If it was a Resistance member, he’d stay out of sight, and they would never be the wiser. If it was an Imperial… well, they wouldn’t see him, or anything else, for that matter.

Silently, Estinien tucks his few belongings away, glad he hadn’t started a fire—there will be no trace of his presence if he leaps away. He hefts his lance, eyeing the cliff’s edge. The moon was near-full, so whoever it was hadn’t needed a torch. Or they knew the cliff well. Or they were desperate.

Or… a hand grasps the edge of the cliff, and Estinien stares at it a moment, trying to figure out why he recognizes a hand and, Halone’s swiving teats, it’s the Warrior of Light, of course it is, because Alionne is too lucky, or persistent, or something for her own good.

Estinien is frozen in indecision. Is she here for him? The imperials knew their cannon had been destroyed by just one man, and the Resistance likely had spies among them, given the lack of an all-out assault on the castrum. There weren’t many men who could single-handedly cause that much damage, and as much pride as that brings Estinien, the Scions might have guessed his presence. Although that didn’t explain why she knew he’d be here, on this particular rock… it could be another reason. She’d been here before, perhaps she was scouting something. He could jump away, while she wasn’t looking, and she’d never know he was here. He could do it now, in fact…

Which is fair strange, because he’s been staring at her unmoving fingers for far longer than it should have taken for her to climb up over the edge. What is she doing? What kind of person climbs a cliff (my cliff, Estinien thinks mutinously), just to stop, right at the end? Is she hurt? Is she daft?

He’s taken a few steps towards her before he even notices, and that, more than anything, makes the decision for him. He’d been granted a second chance at life, and he’d vowed, upon waking, to make the most of it. For some reason, Alionne Bloody Ralnara is climbing his cliff in the middle of the night. Might as well see why.

In three strides, he’s at the edge, and he reaches down and grabs her—a little rougher than he means to, but maybe it will shake free whatever daydream has left her hanging from a cliff, like an idiot.

“Only a fool would climb a cliffside like this at night,” he grumbles as he pulls her up.

Irritatingly, his gruffness seems to calm her. “And only a fool would be waiting at the top,” she informs him, and he lets go of her wrist immediately.

They stare at each other, taking in the changes of the last few moons. Alionne eyes his new armor, and Estinien admires how fetchingly her dress sits atop her collarbones. Still, he’s suspicious, and that isn’t helped by the satisfied look she’s giving him.

When she doesn’t speak, he folds his arms. “Well? Out with it, then.”

Alionne gives him a curious look, and Estinien huffs. He hates this conversation already. She’s far too good at making him do the talking.

“You must have come all this way for something,” he points out. “Come to plead your case for the Resistance, then?”

Her gaze sharpens in disapproval. “No, actually,” she retorts. “I just missed you.”

Estinien’s traitor heart flares up beneath his breastplate, and he has no idea what to do with the feeling. “You climbed up a hundred-yalm cliff—which you shouldn’t have known I was on, mind you—because you missed me.” And now they’re glaring at each other, which doesn’t make any sense, she just got here.

“I saw you, from Castrum Abania,” Alionne informs him coldly. “Or, I thought I did. And I thought I might see if my friend, the one who might have destroyed an entire cannon for us, was still here.”

Ascending cliffs on the chance that friends might be present is not logical behavior, in Estinien’s opinion, but he also doubts arguing the point will get them anywhere. Which is why he hates talking.

“You let me find you,” adds Alionne, “so clearly, you missed me too.” And… gods, how had she read him so easily? He hadn’t realized it himself, until she’d said it, but something in him had warmed just because she was here.

And just like that, she’s won their conversation, and Estinien never had any chance, did he? She could ask him to assassinate Lord Zenos now, and he’d be too outmaneuvered to refuse.

“How did you become an expert in my emotions?” Estinien grumbles. It’s a concession more than a question, so he’s surprised when she answers him honestly.

"Oh, Aymeric told me,” she says, flashing him a smile, and Estinien is not qualified to interpret whatever feeling thrums in him at that revelation. “Estinien's fast,” she quotes, “so if you catch him, it’s because he’s let you. He said it’s how you show affection.”

It’s maddeningly accurate, and of course Aymeric is the one to have figured that out, he’d chased after Estinien often enough in their youth. But what has Estinien wanting to fling himself off the cliff edge is that he’s never noticed. Self-reflection has never been his strongest suit, but he’d thought he’d improved at it, lately, and yet, here Aymeric is, slicing him open from half a continent away.

“Alionne,” says Estinien, wearily. “Please stop telling me things about myself.”

She drops the subject (and why wouldn’t she, she’s already won) and looks over his shoulder curiously. “Where have you made camp, then? I thought I might join you.”

A suggestive remark sits on Estinien’s tongue, but he’s off-balance, and isn’t sure he wants to make it. “Pick wherever you like,” he sighs, instead.

And so, he finds himself helping the Warrior of Light set up a much more elaborate camp than he’d planned. He’s not sure when he went from leaning against the ship, arms crossed, to arranging rocks that will protect a small fire from the wind. “If there are any imperials left, we’ll draw them straight to us,” he complains.

Alionne raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to point out how ridiculous he sounds, and he scowls. Just because he’s lost doesn’t mean he has to lose gracefully.

“Have you had the chance to sample any of the local fare?” Alionne asks, ignoring his complaint. She pulls a tin from her bags, and sets it atop the fire to warm. “The bread is a little tough, but the stews are hearty, and the Resistance cooks seem to find ample herbs to spice them with, no matter where we camp.”

“I have not.” Where is she heading with this?

“Well, I have enough for two,” she says, smiling, and just like that, he’s out of patience for playing house, or whatever they’re doing.

“Alionne,” he bites out. “Why are you here.”

Her eyes search his face, more calculating than angry, and then she fixes him with a serious look. “I told you. I missed you, and I thought you might be here. So I came to see.”

Which doesn’t answer the real question in the slightest. “And now that you’ve seen me.”

“Now, I’d like to see what you think of this stew. And if you like, I can tell you about my time in Doma. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to thank you for destroying that cannon, because you saved a great many lives.”

She’s open, and honest, and there’s no way it can be that simple. “Do you have. Questions.”

She seems to genuinely consider it before shaking her head. “You seem to be dreading anything I could ask, so, no. I will hear anything you wish to share, but I will not ask anything of you.”

He catches her phrasing. Not, I will not ask you anything, but, I will not ask anything of you. No expectations. No requests, from well-intentioned Scions or Resistance leaders or… Aymerics. The tension drains from him, and he is only slightly annoyed at how quickly he’s trusted her.

Not that he hadn’t before. But before, he’d trusted her to watch his back, and to not make things too awkward if they ever had a falling-out. Now, he knows she won’t push, where it’s not welcome. That she’ll respect his choices, whatever they may be.

Shite, he trusts her with his heart, as awkward and starry-eyed as that sounds. He’ll be mooning over her, next. Or mayhaps he already is, since he’s been silent for far too long, now, and Alionne’s still looking at him intently, as though the longer she stares, the more he’ll believe her declaration of good faith.

“...Thank you,” he manages, stumbling only slightly, and her gentle smile warms him all the way through. And mayhaps this conversation was never one to be won, or lost.

Well, if that’s the case, he’s been an unsociable bastard. Estinien stares at the fire until he feels capable of stringing sentences together and being... well, not charming, but maybe— civil. “In light of your promise, this request is markedly unfair, but may I ask you questions?”

Alionne, who has been politely giving him space, suddenly beams. “I would be delighted.”

“In that case,” says Estinien, allowing himself to smirk at her. “Would you share your stew with me, then, and tell me of your time in Doma?”

The stew is remarkably flavorful, and tender, compared to the dried foodstuffs and hastily-roasted meats he’s been eating, lately. Though it is no doubt enhanced by the company, as Alionne tells him of pirates and shinobi, of underwater villages and nomadic warrior tribes. She keeps the tale light, even though Estinien knows it must have been far more difficult for the Scions than she lets on. He’s thankful—he doesn’t think he has the stomach for serious conversation, not unless she’s brought some spirits to accompany the stew. Besides, because it’s not important that he focus on the details, he can admire the way Alionne’s eyes flicker in the firelight.

Eventually, they’ve eaten their fill, and a comfortable silence stretches between them. When Estinien thinks of what he’d expected to do this night (very little), a deep thrum of satisfaction curls in his belly, powerful enough to take him by surprise. Until these last few moons, Estinien has never been indulgent, too focused on vengeance and discipline. His recent ventures have been instructive, and this night most of all.

“May I ask another question?” he asks her.

“If I haven’t been clear enough,” says Alionne, playfully exasperated, “you may ask me anything you like, Estinien, and I will do my best to answer it.”

For a moment, Estinien considers asking something embarrassing, but he quickly discards the impulse. There’s only one question he really wants to ask, anyway.

He gestures to their campground. “Did you come here just to talk?”

Alionne sends him another calculating look. Estinien returns it, confidently. He’d made his choice when he’d grabbed her wrist. “That depends on whether there’s more on offer,” she says, eventually, and Estinien can feel the space between them narrowing.

Wait. First things first. He leans backward, not breaking the mood, but prolonging it. “Have you and Aymeric talked, yet?”

Alionne’s gaze goes distant, and softer, which answers Estinien’s question before she speaks. “We’ve talked a great deal, yes. As you suspect, some of it was about you. Neither of us is promised to the other exclusively, if that is your meaning.”

Something about her tone suggests that Aymeric and Alionne have been uncomfortably forthright about their feelings, in a way that Estinien can’t consider right now without bolting, but luckily, Alionne’s body language suggests she won’t mind cutting the conversation short.

Good. He may be a poor conversationalist, but Estinien is confident he will have the upper hand in this.

#*shrugs and goes straight for that ot3 content*#aymeric's not even here but he's in my brain alright #overuse of italics #there's like a 50-50 chance I write a smutty sequel eventually #and like a 99% chance I start fleshing out this timeline with HW-era stuff #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #ali writes #Estinien x WoL #aymeric x estinien x wol

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