Chapter Text
Ever since his little brother had been a toddler, Estinien had learned to look at eyes. They said so much more about a person – their thoughts, emotions, desires, intentions – than spoken words did. One could school one’s words to hide one’s heart, but one’s eyes hid naught from a careful observer. There was a power in that raw emotion visible in one’s eyes which was why so many soldiers chose to hide theirs from the enemy in order not to show their fear of the slaughter which awaited them.
Fear, despair, and pain… those had been the last things Estinien had seen in the eyes of his little brother before life had left them. That sight would haunt him forever. Even though he also remembered the times there had been pure joy in them, or affection and admiration for his elder brother, that last look into those deep blues would always cast its shadow on the brighter memories and fill him with hatred.
Estinien wore his dragoon’s visor almost always – not to hide his fear, for he had none, but to hide the ugliness residing within him. He had learned from his parents that what he had been feeling after their death – hatred, wrath, cynicism, thirst for vengeance – were naught to be nurtured but things to be defeated. He cared not because those emotions were all he had. Ferndale had made him a creature of war, a beast even, and such fiends ought to have the decency to cover their eyes from those who still had a heart.
Those who knew him had gotten used to his preference to hide his eyes. Since becoming the Azure Dragoon, it had been his trademark of sorts that he always wore his full armor, no matter where he was. Aymeric would not think of questioning his boundaries and there were not many others close enough to Estinien to call his habits into question. Whenever he picked up someone from the tavern to satiate his carnal needs, he made sure to take them from behind and please them so thoroughly they didn’t complain about the lack of eye contact.
Nidhogg was the only one who Estinien met eye-to-eye. They were both beasts living for vengeance and hatred. Occasionally, when he was alone, Estinien took the Eye out simply to look at it without the hindrance of his helmet and to see his own wrath reflected in the burning crimson orb staring at him. He felt more than heard the wyrm’s vengeful thoughts and its seductive offer of power, should he succumb to it. But how could he? Nidhogg had made him who he was and naught, not even the wyrm’s death by his hand, could make him aught else.
Because of the visor, everything in Estinien’s world appeared dulled, grey, inconsequential. Everything but the vivid red of Nidhogg’s eye or fresh dragon blood on white snow. That is, until Aymeric summoned him to Camp Dragonhead to meet some Eorzean dignitaries. Such people would have been naught to Estinien otherwise, but Aymeric had requested his presence and mentioned that the party included the person lauded as the Warrior of Light. Even Estinien had heard of her and would admit to some lingering curiosity.
He had been told to be prepared for a small woman who had dragon-like features, and that was exactly what he saw – until she turned a pair of large emerald eyes on him. Suddenly, there was a new color in Estinien’s world. It was deep and enduring, full of sorrow and triumph, loss and love. Above all, there was power and wisdom in it. For the first time in decades, Estinien yearned to remove his helmet, to actually throw it forcefully into a corner, only to be able to look into those emerald eyes unhindered.
His voice came out raw and gruff when he said, “So, you are the adventurer of whom they spoke… I see now why my blood fair sang in anticipation of our meeting.”
To his astonishment, she raised her hands to sign instead of speaking. The small magical creature floating above her left shoulder said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Estinien.”
He gave the faerie a judgmental glare. “That is not what she said.” He turned his eyes back on the surprised green gaze of the woman and signed, ‘Well met, Warrior of Light. My signing skills are rusty, but you need not use that thing to talk to me. Unless you want to.’
Her eyes smiled at him so genuinely the warmth of their radiance nigh reached the eternal frost that was his inner self. ‘Thank you, Ser Estinien. I have craved company such as yours for longer than I care to admit, for not many people speak my native language. By the way, my name is not Warrior of Light, but Zaya.’
Estinien nodded. ‘Estinien is fine, Zaya.’
“Well, now that we have all been introduced, let us proceed to the matter at hand,” Aymeric began.
Estinien forced himself to focus on what was being discussed instead of the twin greens twinkling their warmth towards whomever was speaking. When inquired, he explained how the longevity of dragonkind made them differ from men. As Aymeric mentioned the last time Nidhogg had awakened, Estinien balled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw. While doing so, he saw a small movement from the corner of his eye and realized that Zaya had made a question about his tenseness.
Before he thought better of it, Estinien signed, ‘Twenty summers ago, he killed my family.’
She did not have to word her condolences: he could see them in her eyes. He could see she understood and felt for him in a way that was more genuine than a great many of the fine speeches he had heard since being orphaned.
--
Zaya had felt a kinship with Estinien almost as soon as she had laid eyes on him, and the feeling had gotten even stronger when he had signed at her and revealed a past pain at her gentle query. He appeared complicated and simple at the same time, even more so when he revealed that he had made himself a vessel of Nidhogg’s strength. On the one hand, it made sense – and undoubtedly offered pleasure – to use your enemy’s strength against him. But, on the other hand, would you not detest having anything to do with the one who slaughtered your family? Would it not be literal torture to always carry his thoughts within you? She watched the dragoon and wondered if he had chosen that for himself or if he had been somehow brainwashed into thinking it was a grand idea. She decided she would ask him, should they become close enough friends to allow such an invasive question.
After the meeting had ended, Zaya noticed Estinien gesture that he wanted to have a word with her. She approached him readily, expecting they would discuss the oncoming attack in the presence of the others. To her utter amazement, he nodded towards the door, placed a hand on her back, and guided her outside. The easiness of the soft touch took her by surprise because he did not seem like the touchy-feely type, especially in that spiky armor of his. She wondered from whence the familiarity came. Was he, too, feeling the kinship? Or did she remind him of someone else?
Once outside, Estinien let go of her, and she regretted losing his gentle touch, slight as it had been.
‘In the meeting,’ he signed, ‘you looked to your right, as if listening to a voice none other heard.’
Zaya examined his helmeted face and found herself wanting to see what the man under it looked like. He was more observant than Ser Aymeric or any of the Scions, that was evident. Plus, he had shared something personal with her. She ought to show him the same courtesy and trust that he would not cry heresy.
‘I hear a different dragon than you, Estinien. And he did not give me power, he took some of mine away.’
‘Are you able to fight?’ he asked right away.
You have to admire a man who knows what is important, she thought and shrugged. ‘I have a feeling you will see that soon enough, given that we are allies now.’
‘Allies,’ Estinien repeated and offered her his hand. She shook it with a smile.
--
When the light went out in the eyes of the small dragon Estinien had pursued to the top of the tower, the dragoon glanced down to what was going on the bridge. Nidhogg’s champion, a beast of monstrous proportions, had been stopped by a petite figure radiating determination. ‘Twas evident Zaya could still fight. Estinien was so far up he could not see the details of the fight but ’twas clear she was the one holding the dragon in place, locking it in single combat whether it wanted to be in one or not. She was the one who defeated the creature and brought victory to Ishgard. When he saw her raise her gaze to where he was stationed, he nodded at her and jumped off. He would let Aymeric do the congratulating and flowery words of praise since the Lord Commander was so much better at them than him. He did want her to know one thing, though, so he called his friend.
“Tell her I am impressed,” he told Aymeric before hanging up.
--
Estinien thought he was seeing things when he spotted a familiar shape in Ishgard. Closing his eyes for a second and shaking his head minutely did not remove the vision, however, so he decided that his mind was not deceiving him.
“Zaya!” he called to the Au Ra.
She stopped and turned towards his voice. When she saw him, a smile lit her emeralds and made them radiate at him anew. He swallowed. He had not seen her in a while, so he had almost forgotten how alive her gaze made him feel.
‘Good to see you, Estinien. I have seen nary a friendly face around,’ she signed and tilted her head. ‘Well… figuratively speaking. Your countrymen are not accustomed to Au Ra, are they?’
‘To strangers of any kind,’ he admitted. ‘Though… I imagine your appearance reminds many Ishgardians of a dragon.’
Realization hit her and she looked around. ‘Am I getting you into trouble by speaking with you in public?’ She took a couple of steps back.
Estinien made a calming gesture hastily that she would not rush away from him. ‘I care naught of their bigotry. What brings you here?’
A flair of fury lit in her eyes. She made a series of signs Estinien did not know but he guessed they were swearwords. ‘Sleazy politicians framed us for the murder of the Sultana and kicked us out of Eorzea. Me and my surviving friends are now refugees – no, wanted criminals – to whom Count de Fortemps has kindly offered protection.’
Without thinking, Estinien grabbed hold of her shoulders. In doing so, it struck home to him how small she was compared to him, and he had to remind himself that this was still the Warrior of Light who had brought down the Ultima Weapon and a champion of Nidhogg. Nonetheless, he felt an urge to protect her. Her expression showed surprise at his reaction, but she did not try to escape his hold. Her eyes, now so much closer than before, were breathtakingly green. There was no sign of the hesitation and apprehension with which most Ishgardians regarded Estinien because of his fearsomely bloody reputation.
“Are you alright?” he asked out loud.
--
Zaya stared at the Elezen holding her so gently, speaking to her with a clear touch of concern in his voice, and she knew she could be honest with him. She had to be cheerful for the others and speak of how everything would turn out alright in the end. Alphinaud’s optimism and Tataru’s giant, hopeful eyes could not bear it if she told her friends what she truly felt then. But the messed-up dragoon who was marinated in the blood of his enemies, who had been molded by the death of his family, and who listened to the voice of his nemesis within him every fucking day of the year – he would understand.
She stared at him fixedly and slowly shook her head.