Chapter Text
The Forgotten Knight is crowded. It always is, in the evenings. Estinien prefers it that way. It’s easier to blend in, nursing his alcohol alone without anyone bothering him. Without his Azure Dragoon armour, he’s just another Elezen; a common sight in a city mostly populated by them.
Three small figures make their way down the stairs; he recognises them as the precocious Eorzean adventurers he’d previously met with Aymeric in Camp Dragonhead. The fluffy tail and ears of the tallest one stand out to him, and he’s reminded, sheepishly, that they have met even before their civil introduction by Lord Aymeric. On the battlefield, she was confident and powerful, a force to be reckoned with.
She also, unusually, has a mean right hook that Estinien hadn’t calculated for in their final spat, if the blooming purple bruise on his jaw was anything to go by.
He watches her converse quietly with the young Elezen boy as the Lalafell woman speaks to the inn’s proprietor. The Miqo’te’s eyes do not stay in one place for long, flitting about the place as if she expects to be set upon from all sides at any second. Her tail – the existence of which sets her apart from everyone else in the room, and she clearly knows this – hangs nervously around her legs, twitching at any signs of loud noise.
Estinien goes back to his drink. He has no quarrel with her presently; there’s no need for him to bother himself with her, not when he senses darker happenings on the horizon. Still, he finds his gaze drawn back to her as her travelling party stand – a little awkwardly – in the corner of the room.
Suddenly, she turns to look at him. He averts his gaze, taking another swig out of his tankard. Out of the corner of his eye, she frowns, her gaze nonetheless moving on to something else that catches her attention. Her eyes, he notes, are slits – bright blue with a slash of black right down the middle. He – truthfully – has never met a Miqo’te in the flesh before her, has never left his homeland in the thirty-odd summers he’s been alive.
He should hate her: it is an emotion that comes easily to him as he vanquishes Ishgard’s enemies and slays dragonkind. But he finds, oddly, that he does not. She’s intriguing, and instead he hates himself for his curiosity; the Eye of Nidhogg, drawn to another? Impossible. She is so small, her frame barely reaching his chest. How could such a feeble adventurer awake the same power that resides within him? And yet, the lance strapped to her back says otherwise, her calloused hands speaking more truth about her abilities than she herself could.
I want to know everything about you, he thought, cursing himself for it.
“Estinien! Gods- you stupid fool. You stupid, stupid fool.”
He’s conscious, but barely- he feels his breath rattling shakily in his chest, pain in every part of his body. But – he’s free. He’s finally free. He’s not had the luxury of his own thoughts for quite some time. He would laugh if his body wasn’t a cacophony of injuries and agony.
There’s a touch, the gentlest of touches, to his cheek. He opens his eyes, and his vision is blurry, but the concerned face of the Warrior of Light will forever be recognisable to him.
Her touch is warm, and he tries to speak, tries to move his arms, but he’s already fading back into the warm depths of unconsciousness. Fool, he thinks, for going against him when he had Nidhogg subdued. Fool, for being so gods-damned honourable.
Fool, for allowing him to hope when there surely should be none.
*
In the days following the Dragonsong War, Ishgard found itself to be the centre of jubilation and joy throughout Eorzea. E’ydi Mardelle was glad to be a part of it: to see joy and happiness spread through the previously grey, war-torn streets. There was still much work to be done, of course; the scars of war still lingered and the poverty of the Brume wasn’t something that could be solved in a day. Still, she watched with some degree of bemusement as Lord Aymeric was elected Speaker of the House. He’d do some good, she thought. He's got the heart for it.
She found the constant attention wearying, though. She wasn’t built for politics, for society and mingling. Alphinaud, bless him, had been kind enough to offer to deal with dignitaries in her stead that morning.
“Go and visit Estinien,” he’d suggested, brightly. “I’m sure you two can brood in silence together.”
She’d ruffled his hair aggressively for that, the little shite, but his heart was in the right place.
In the infirmary, Estinien had been surprised to see her, but had nonetheless nodded to one of the chairs next to his bed. He was sitting up, propped up on some pillows; a book lying half-open at his lap.
“Looking for some peace and quiet, eh? No doubt Alphinaud told you to come and check on me.”
She grimaced, picking at the skin around her nails. “Something like that. I – I brought something to read, so you don’t have to worry about, erm. Idle chitchat.”
Something close to mirth crossed Estinien’s face for a moment, belaying his otherwise gruff expression.
“Thoughtful of you,” he said, as she sat down. “I’ve hardly been able to sleep thanks to the ongoing racket of celebrations outside. I even considered getting out of bed to take my complaints to the Lord Commander himself.”
His tone was light, but E'ydi noted the heavy dark circles under his eyes.
“I can let you sleep,” said E’ydi, concerned. “I’ll find somewhere else-”
He moved his arm suddenly, grasping her by the wrist as she moved to stand.
“Please,” he said, quietly, “Stay.”
There was a pause as their eyes met; E’ydi’s face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. Estinien retracted his hand, clearing his throat.
“I’ve just – I’ve had it up to here with nurses and chirurgeons fussing me about. You’re quiet. I like that.”
She rolled her eyes. His usual surliness had returned then, so he was obviously feeling better. She sat back down, thumbing open her book. Estinien watched her, from his half-prone position, a small smile on his face as he noted the title.
“‘The Pride of Ser Guillaume’?”
E’ydi grimaced. “Emmanellain’s doing. He said he had been recommended the book by one of his, ahem, ‘lady friends’. I am…not sure if he liked it.” The book was in mint condition; Emmanellain had clearly not reached further than a few pages in before giving up on it.
“Not exactly a stellar review,” Estinien raised an eyebrow, frowning at the cover. “Popular amongst many Ishgardian damsels though, I’ll tell you that.”
Now it was E’ydi’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “A surprising confession, Estinien. I didn’t take you to be a fan of, er, current literature.” I didn’t think you had any hobbies other than killing dragons, she thought, curiously, but decided against voicing it.
Estinien frowned, folding his arms defensively. “It came out a few years ago. All of the maidens in the Knight’s Dragoon were reading it at some point or another. And most of the men. I could never get rid of the sight of that bloody book.”
A small chuckle escaped, despite herself, from E’ydi’s throat. The mental image of Estinien grumbling his way past several groups of gossiping dragoons, noses in books, was too funny to pass up.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Don’t let me stop you. I’ve never read it, myself.”
E’ydi shrugged. “Okay.”
She opened the book again, turning the page. The plot looked interesting from the blurb on the back but in truth, she was struggling with the flowery Ishgardian text; the small letters swimming in front of her eyes and long sentences mixing themselves up in her head as she tried to read. She had never been good at reading; books, like politics and public speaking, she had always left to the experts.
Not to mind, generally speaking, the fact that she had been fundamentally illiterate until adulthood. A rather unfortunate shortfall on her parents’ pitiful attempt at education. Her siblings had tried their best, bless their resting souls, but she had only ever grasped the basics until much later in life.
Her frown must have deepened as she tried to focus, as Estinien raised an eyebrow at her, breaking the silence.
“You’re not taking in a thing of that book, are you? You haven’t turned the page for the whole time you’ve been sitting there.”
E’ydi frowned, feeling her blood rush to her cheeks in mortification. “It’s your bloody literature that’s the problem,” she snapped, a white lie. “And the text is so small. I haven’t understood what’s going on for the last four chapters.”
“What chapter are you on?”
“…Four.”
Estinien snorted, though not unkindly.
“Have you tried reading out loud?” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Hamignant often struggled with his words when we were younger. He found that focusing on reading the words out loud helped it all make sense.”
“Hamignant?”
“My…brother.”
“Oh. Yes.” E’ydi was silent for a moment; embarrassed. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Estinien, it seemed, has lost as much as she had. They had more in common that she would care to admit.
She sighed. “I appreciate the advice. I’ll try that, sometime.”
“Why not now? I’ve got nowhere to be.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of Estinien’s lips. E’ydi tried not to think about how much that suited him.
“Me neither, surprisingly.” Tataru had almost forcibly wrestled her away from her weapons and told her to relax that morning, so she was doing as she was told, for once. She took a deep breath, turning the pages back. “Fine. I’ll, er, start from the beginning.”
Estinien gestured for her to continue, settling himself back down on his pillows. Slowly, E’ydi stuttered her way through the opening paragraphs, the words coming easier the longer she spoke. Ishgardian phrasing was still entirely too long, of course, but she was at least able to make progress on the plot. She tried not to blush as she felt his eyes rest intently on her, especially – as she was quickly realising – the book Emmanellain had loaned her was, indeed, a romance novel.
‘“Lillibet was m-much too embarrassed to say a word. After a short p-pause, Guillaume added, ‘You are far too generous to trifle with me.”’
Her lips stumbled over the words, the stutter becoming more pronounced as the words swam in front of her.
‘“If your feelings are what they were upon the m-moon of the S-second Umbral, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.’”’
E’ydi exhaled sharply, despite herself. All this time…the taciturn Guillaume had, in fact, been in love with the stubborn Lillibet…
She broke off, noticing Estinien had drifted off to sleep at some point whilst she had been reading. He looked so gentle in slumber, she thought, watching his chest rise and fall for a few moments. She wondered, distantly, how long it had been since the man had had a proper night’s sleep; she certainly wasn’t the only one in their travelling party that had suffered from nightmares on their long journey into Dravania.
“I’ll let you sleep,” she muttered, though his deep, slow breaths suggested that he was already too far gone to hear her as she stood to leave. “Rest well.”
Impulsively, she stretched her hand out to smooth his bangs away from his eyes; caught for a moment by his beauty, how impossibly soft his long, white hair was. A moment of weakness, perhaps, but it was what it was. Her thumb rested on his cheek for a moment; he sighed a little, in his sleep, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. (Or, perhaps, she was merely imagining it.) Her heart thumped, once, twice, in her chest, and she swallowed thickly.
It was a bad time to be getting feelings involved, she knew that. The cloud of war was yet brewing on the horizon again; E’ydi knew it wouldn’t be long before the Scions were called upon again. And Gods knew Estinien needed time to heal from his ordeal. She suspected her errant feelings were nothing more than the culmination of relief she felt from seeing her friend alive; from finally, actually being able to save someone.
She closed the book, shutting within its hopeful message of romantic reciprocations. Pleasant dreams, Estinien, she thought to herself as she padded silently out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her.
“He’s fast asleep,” she told the nurse waiting on him, “Let him rest, will you?”
The nurse, a middle-aged hyur woman, nodded. “Of course. Someone will be in to check on him later.”
E’ydi smiled tightly. “You have my thanks. And, er-” She cleared her throat, nervously. “I’ll be leaving Ishgard tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll have time to tell him before we depart, so-”
“I understand,” the nurse smiled. “I’ll let him know.”
E’ydi nodded, her heart surprisingly heavy, despite their recent victories. “Thank you.”
She turned, book tucked under her arm, tail swishing low to the floor as she exited the room.
Estinien couldn’t recall the last time he had slept so deeply. Nidhogg’s rage had weighed so strongly upon him throughout the years that he had almost forgotten what it felt to feel…normal.
And, confusingly, he was almost certain he had dreamed of E’ydi Mardelle. His face reddened as images of the Miqo’te brushing her hand tenderly over his forehead come to the forefront of his mind. He could almost feel her, the pressure of her thumb against his cheek.
It was almost too much, so he quickly tried to push the visions out of his mind. They had been at loggerheads, once, the two of them. The two Bearers of the Eye could not have been more poorly suited, they way they’d fought and snapped at each other. Still, something within them both had softened, these past months.
And privately, dreams of the Warrior of Light were infinitely preferable over his previous nightmares, blood-filled terrors that often left him shaking and sweating come the morning. It didn’t stop the fact from being embarrassing. Of course, he was fond of her. Who, across this entire continent, could say they weren’t fond of the damned woman by now? She was a person of few words, but her heart was pure; the care and affection she held for her companions and those close to her was palpable, even to Estinien. Her small stature belied the power that lay underneath; Estinien would certain he could live to old age and not ever meet someone quite like E’ydi.
He sighed, mulling over the events of the afternoon prior to his nap – it wasn’t like he had much else to do – and tried not to think about how easy it was to be in her company. He had found himself – and heaven forbid he ever say these words out loud – relaxing. An odd, unnatural concept to Estinien, but not one that was necessarily unwelcome.
“How long was I out?” he asked the nurse, when she next came to check on him. She opened her pocket watch.
“Well, the young lady left around lunchtime. Said you weren’t to be disturbed. About six hours, I’d say.”
Well, he’d obviously needed the sleep, then. It had been kind of E’ydi to inform the staff so. The nurse paused, setting down a tray of food at Estinien’s bedside. “She also mentioned she would be leaving tomorrow. Might not be able to visit before then.”
Estinien grunted in acknowledgement. “Right. Well. Thank you for letting me know.”
Privately, he was glad for her unassuming farewell. He had never been one for emotional goodbyes; soon, he would be discharged from the infirmary and free to do as he pleased. He had harboured no intentions that he would be joining E’ydi and the Scions on their next world-saving adventure; he had other duties, other loose ends to tie up.
Still, though. Selfishly, a small part of him would have liked to see her again. To sit, free of worries, content in each other’s company, perhaps with another book.
Visibly, he shook himself. Nidhogg’s possession must have affected him more severely than he’d initially thought.
Get it together, Wyrmblood.
“Tis good to see you again, Warrior of Light.”
Of all the people she’d expected to see, all the way out on the Azim Steppe, it certainly hadn’t been Estinien. He was all business, of course, given that a dragon driven to madness was in danger of rampaging through the settlements of the Steppe at any moment, but she was glad to see him nonetheless.
They sat together, afterwards; a little way off from the Mol camp, enjoying a meal by the campfire before their respective duties pulled them in opposite directions. The people of the Steppe were eager to reward them for dealing with the dragon, and the hospitality after weeks spent travelling was welcomed.
It had been many months since she’d seen Estinien last. He looked – different. In a good way. His face, once hidden away by his spiked helm, was open to the elements, the breeze causing his long hair to flutter gently in the wind. His eyes, once sunken and gaunt, looked alive, as if looking upon the world with a new appreciation.
E’ydi had always thought him handsome; objectively, of course, in the same way she could appreciate attractive people without actually being attracted to them. But upon seeing him, here, in the Azim Steppe – she felt an odd swooping feeling in her stomach whenever she looked at him. She remembered, distantly, how peaceful he’d looked in slumber when she’d seen him in Ishgard last.
“Nice armour,” she said, and she meant it. It had the appearance of something old, much older than the two of them, and resonated a certain kind of ancient power that E’ydi couldn’t quite put her finger on. “You suit that colour.”
Estinien chuckled, a short bark of a laugh that brought, albeit briefly, sunshine to his harsh features. “You have my thanks. T’was, would you believe, a gift from Hraesvelgr.”
E’ydi couldn’t believe, and listened intently as he recounted the tale of Ratotoskr’s carefully crafted armour. She watched as his eyes, more animated than she’d ever seen, shone with a pride, a different kind of life. Being free of Nidhogg’s thrall, of Estinien’s own path of vengeance, suited him.
“Amazing,” she said, when he’d finished speaking. “Truly.”
Estinien tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You look different, yourself.”
She supposed he was right; the fresh, clean air of the Azim Steppe and the warm climes of Othard had done wonders for her mood. Not only that, but the way she presented herself, too. During her time in Ishgard, she had hidden herself away behind thick winter clothes and suits of armour, her beloved drachen mail serving as a buffer between Ishgardian gossips and her small, foreign, Miqo’te stature. She had withdrawn into herself a little, upon arriving in Ishgard: a visitor to a foreign land, yet again. Estinien hadn’t seen her at her best, she thought, mildly.
Now, on the other hand, she found herself dressing more like she used to – preferring sleeveless leather armour and hand wraps over the restrictive, cold metal of Ishgardian dragoon armour.
(She still wore proper armour to battle, of course, but it was refreshing to have something else to wear in the middle of all that.)
Her hair was growing again, too – she’d cut it short, chin-length, in a fit of impulse, in a cold washroom in Camp Dragonhead after that fateful banquet. Slowly, though, it had inched back down towards her shoulders. Lyse had taken to braiding it, fancy ones that wrapped over the crown of her head like a hairband that kept her bangs out of her face.
Still, the fact that Estinien had acknowledged her new appearance made her blush. She was glad of the fading light, night swiftly approaching, to hide such embarrassments.
“Yes, well,” she said, “Different climates call for different clothes.”
“Not just that,” he shook his head, “You look – changed, somehow. A little happier now you’re no longer an exile of Eorzea, sheltering in sorry Ishgard, hm?”
This earned him a smile, something she rarely gave him during their time travelling together previously.
“Coerthas is a beautiful part of the world,” she said, with a laugh, “But it’s bloody freezing. I hate the cold.”
“I’m finding that I…don’t dislike these new climates,” Estinien admitted, quietly. “I have learned much, travelling these last few months.”
They were interrupted by Orn Kai snoring softly in his sleep, rolling over on his grassy patch: belly full from the large helping of raw meat that the Mol tribe had generously provided upon hearing that their dragon problems had been solved. E’ydi stifled a giggle. Estinien rolled his eyes.
“You’ve an odd travelling companion there, my friend.”
E’ydi shook her head, smiling, poking their campfire idly with a stick, sparks fluttering off into the night.
“He’s a pain in the arse,” she said, “I’ve never met a creature with such a bottomless appetite. But his cause is just. And knowing that one less dragon has been saved from Nidhogg’s rage…well. It makes it all worth it.”
Estinien grunted. “’Tis certainly easier than killing the damn dragon, in any event.”
She looked at him. He was leaning back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky; apparently lost in thought, judging by the small frown between his eyebrows.
It was not the first time she had caught him staring up at the heavens; nights spent in the Churning Mists, high above the clouds, had left much time for stargazing. For all of his posturing and bravado back then, he’d been as enraptured by the lands above the clouds as the rest of them.
She lay down on the grass next to him. “You can truly see all the stars here.”
Estinien tilted his head curiously. “As opposed to…?”
“The Empire built ceruleum refineries close to the island I grew up on,” E’ydi said, by way of explanation. “They were so bright, even from so far away, that they blocked out half the stars when they were running.”
Silence next to her; she hazarded a quick, sideways glance, and noticed a slight frown between his eyes. She supposed, distantly, that she hadn’t spoken much about her life prior to becoming an adventurer.
Hurriedly changing the subject, she pointed to a small cluster of stars. “That one’s called the Lucky Rabbit.”
“Why?”
“Well, ‘cause it looks like a rabbit. And an old legend says that if you see it at night without any clouds, you get good luck for the rest of the week.”
There was another, longer, pause whilst Estinien appeared to mull this over in his head.
“E’ydi, if you’re seeing the constellations, then surely it’s already a clear, cloudless night?”
E’ydi waited three seconds before she burst out laughing. Estinien folded his arms.
“Ah. You’re making fun of me.” He made to sit up, but she put a hand on his arm.
“No, no, I’m sorry. It’s an old family bit of humour. My sister always told us this to cheer us up. Luck will always come to those who deserve it, that sort of thing.”
Frowning, Estinien squinted up at the sky. “I still don’t see the rabbit.”
“Tilt your head a bit,” she said, touching his shoulder, leaning over to guide him. “See? The bits that make up the ears?”
He stiffened at her touch; E’ydi, blushing, quickly withdrew her hand.
“Ahem. And that one there is the rabbit’s little fluffy tail.” She pointed again, at a small twinkling cluster of stars.
Was it a trick of the light, or had Estinien’s face turned a bright red?
He rolled his eyes. “You sound like Ishgard’s astrologians. Pulling things from the stars that aren’t there.”
Admittedly, she didn’t know enough about the art of astrology to dispute that. She wasn’t the superstitious type, nor was she honour-bound to tradition. Those were two things that the remaining members of her old clan had been, and she’d quickly outgrown that. Still, the dumb rabbit story was a fond memory in a life mostly filled with bittersweet ones, and she cherished it. She hoped her sister was doing alright – she hadn’t been able to get a letter out to her in some time, occupied with fighting other nation’s wars.
So lost in thought as she was, she hadn’t noticed Estinien staring at her, but his eyes slid away as she glanced at him.
He cleared his throat. “We should – ahem. We should get some sleep.”
“It’s late,” she agreed, a hint of gloom threatening to spoil her good mood. She wanted to say something to him – perhaps, just the hope that they would see each other again? – but her brain refused to provide her the words, so she stayed silent. “Goodnight, Estinien.”
There was a beat of silence. “…Goodnight, E’ydi. Sleep well.”
She didn’t see him the next morning, of course, as he’d already left by the time the sun peeked its way over the horizon, waking E’ydi with its rays.
“He said he had a journey to make,” said Cirina, apologetically, when E’ydi inquired after him at the Mol camp. “Mentioned something about not overstaying his welcome, but that you’d understand.”
E’ydi snorted, shaking her head. Somehow, she had awoken with the feeling that fate would once again spin them together.
The where and when of it all would just remain to be seen.
“Fool,” muttered Estinien, to no-one in particular. “You chose a damned awful time to collapse in front of the enemy.” But his heart tugged, terribly, the weight of what he’d seen sitting heavily on his chest.
He had arrived, unannounced, at the Ghimlyt Dark, mere hours earlier. Aymeric, rather than chiding him for his sudden (and often) disappearances, had directed him immediately to the front lines. Where the Warrior of Light, amongst others, was currently holding ground.
He remembered rolling his eyes. Of course, she’s here. In the centre of the fray, as always.
He hadn’t expected to arrive there, leaping atop rubble and felling Imperials as he went, to see E’ydi fall to her knees like a ragdoll in front of Zenos. Leaping in without a second thought, he’d been surprised by the ferocity of the Imperial Crown Prince himself, the strength in which he pushed back. For a moment, it felt like a fight he wasn’t going to win. And then – a retreat, faster than Estinien could pursue.
If Estinien were to be honest with himself, the past few years had oft found him imagining what it might be like to hold the Warrior of Light in his arms. What she might feel like against him, her laughter in his ear. He hadn’t ever imagined he would be lifting her up, close against his chestplate, bleeding in his arms as he spirited her away. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he placed a hand over her cheek to steady her.
The Alliance’s healers took her from him as soon as he reached them without another word; he followed, lamely, unsure of what else he could do. Pacing awkwardly outside the tent, every other Alliance soldier giving him a wide berth, until someone finally plucked up the courage to tell him that E’ydi was, at the very least, breathing, and would he like to see her?
Such a question required no answer, and he gingerly pushed the flap of the healer’s tent open to see what lay inside. E’ydi was currently the only other person there; the chirurgeons and healers had moved on to those that needed them most, and Estinien was quietly glad for the space. She lay on a field stretcher, looking awfully small against equipment built for men twice her height. Her skin was deathly pale, her eyelids fluttering weakly. Her armour, usually so immaculately maintained and polished, was covered in blood and mud spatters, its shine dulled by the fighting.
Quietly, he found himself dropping to one knee, next to her: thinking back to the last time they had seen each other. The Azim Steppe had been bright, and airy, the mountains providing an idyllic backdrop amongst the clear night sky. She had been in fine spirits, the liberation of Doma fresh on her mind; uplifted by the victory. He remembered her smile, laughing at the antics of her new, small, dragon friend. Her smile, directed towards him, made him feel an entirely different sort of way.
Looking down at her face now, ghostly and pallid, he wished he could have seen that smile one more time. His heart lurched with guilt, as it often did, as he looked upon the scar across her cheek; slicing her clan markings on that side neatly in two. He had given her that scar a long time ago: a leftover of Nidhogg’s rage when they were both chosen as bearers of the Eye.
In a fit of impulse, he placed a gauntleted hand over hers, squeezing softly; her pulse fluttering weakly under his touch.
“This had better not be it,” he muttered, gruffly. “You’d better live, E’ydi Mardelle.” I’ve got much I wanted to say to you, he thought, placing her hand gently back down over her chest.
Standing, using his lance to push himself up, he saw Aymeric approaching, peering through the tent flaps.
“Off already?” his friend asked him, a sad smile on his face. Estinien shrugged.
“She doesn’t need me hanging around. I was planning on doing some investigating of my own in the Far East.”
It was a half-truth. He knew he would be more useful elsewhere. And he had never been one for emotional farewells. She was safe with the Eorzean Alliance now; with Aymeric, his most trusted friend.
But mostly, he couldn’t bear to see her like this.
Aymeric merely nodded, understanding. “I will make sure she is seen safely to Ishgard.”
Estinien swallowed. “You have my thanks.”
“And I yours. Were it not for your timely intervention, I shudder to think what might have happened instead.”
Aymeric was right, of course, but Estinien didn’t particularly want to think of the alternatives.
With a brisk nod, he turned, leaving as swiftly as he arrived, vanishing into the night. Godspeed, E’ydi Mardelle.