Title: Flash-Frozen
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Relationship: Aymeric/Estinien/Haurchefant
Rating: T
Length: 1728
Content notes: One-shot, mention of relationship trouble
Author's notes: Set pre-canon. Can be considered spoilers for both late ARR and HW.
Summary: Nobles, knights and commoners alike had been asked to help clear the new-fallen snow from Ishgard.
Prompt: Leaf
Other prompts used: Year of the OTP 2023 June - Downpour

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Aymeric paused in his labors to wipe sweat from his brow, fearing that if he left it to itself it would freeze. Though he had wrapped himself in as much wool and fur that he could find, the bitter cold still cut to his bones; he found himself jealous of his old cat, the only one of his household who was not assisting in this in some way.

Knights, nobles and commoners alike had been asked to assist in this - the clearing of the snows in Ishgard, when it had at last become apparent even to the most optimistic clergymen of the Holy See that it would not melt on its own. They had attempted to use pyromancy to melt the worst of it, but that had only resulted in the snow melting to water and then freezing into slicks of ice that clung to stones and made footing even more dangerous; it had quickly become apparent that the snow needed to be removed before such efforts could bear fruit.

The red moon in the sky had incited panic in Ishgard and its surrounding lands, as such things were wont to do. Some had spoken of ancient prophecies, only to be shouted down by others more loyal to the Fury. They were Her people, the clergy had declared, and so She needed to be the source of their wisdom, not a raving madwoman of another land. There had even been cries to call out to the South, to join the Gridanians in their fight... but the Astrologians had declared the flashing of the Dragon Star the greater threat.

Many of their countrymen had believed that if they kept to themselves and their own affairs - if they could only ignore the Calamity itself - it would pass them by without effect. How very wrong they had been. Aymeric had been resting off a crushing blow to his ribs when the snow had first started to fall, entombing the plants that grew outside the manor, leaving everything cloaked in white.

Now he wielded a shovel against the snow, having already cleared the door so that it could at least swing open. His ribs still ached, but he could hardly fail to do what he could. He did not have the advantages of some - he'd been told that the Skysteel Manufactory had improved on the pyromancy idea, that Stephanivien de Haillenarte had developed a system of heated pipes to clear the worst of the ice and allow the water to flow over the side, where it would freeze as it fell over the crevasse. Snow was piled to the sides of passageways and into carts, to be carried there once the roads were clear enough.

At least there was none falling for the moment; if they had tried this the day before, the snow would've fallen too fast to clear, he thought, remembering as it fell. It was not so shocking as the first day, at least - he was not watching leaves fall from the trees, borne down by the weight of the snow. The greenery had lived through many downpours, rain dripping easily away from it, but this icy weather was something else entirely. Would he ever see such greenery in Ishgard again?

"I never thought I would say this, my friend, but I fear I will be utterly sick of snow by the time this ends!"

Aymeric looked up, a smile on his face; the voice was muffled, but familiar all the same. Indeed, if not for his voice he might not have known Haurchefant, as he was out of his now-familiar armor and wrapped in more warm clothing, with even a scarf covering his mouth. "Then you are stronger than I, Lord Haurchefant," Aymeric said, coming to clasp his gloved hand in his own, "for I have been sick of it for quite some time. Are you well?"

"I am indeed! My men and I have kept Camp Dragonhead clear, and so I came to assist my family - but it seems their servants have already been quite busy." Something dark flashed in his eyes - Aymeric knew why, had heard about the Count's wife falling ill the day of the Calamity - but it was gone quickly. "I wondered if I would find you here, toiling away despite your injury."

"The injury is healed, though I am touched by your concern. What of the Camp - is all else well?"

"Well enough. Several attacks from the south... a few outsiders coming for shelter, as the Observatorium will not provide it. Although why anyone would be entering Coerthas at a time like this I cannot imagine."

Aymeric shook his head. "Would that we could know more of the conditions in the other nations. But for now we must preserve ourselves."

"True enough." He saw a crease in Haurchefant's brow, then - did he not agree? Aymeric himself did not, not completely... but he knew there was not much to be done then. The Archbishop had seemed determined to keep their nation clear of other concerns. If only it could be different -

"Ser Aymeric," he said quietly, "I had a guest in the camp at the time the summons came. He... accompanied me as well."

"Oh?" Aymeric blinked. "Forgive me, I was thinking. Who did you say -?"

"Ser Aymeric."

Aymeric could not help but turn at that; the mere sound of his voice nearly knocked the breath from him, or so it seemed. He would have known Estinien anywhere.

He did not wear the Dragoon armor - perhaps out of necessity, as they had not yet found a way to make the cold metal more bearable yet - but he was unmistakable. He carried one of the wide shovels that the rest did, though he held it more like he did one of his spears.

"Ser Estinien." It felt strange to be so formal to someone he'd been close to for so long - but Estinien was the Azure Dragoon now, and even though Aymeric was himself an officer, the position demanded respect. "It is good to see you."

Estinien looked puzzled for a moment, and Aymeric wondered for a moment if he would say something else - it was not as if he had not seen the man, though it was largely quick and formal visits with teams of other soldiers. They had been close, after they had both survived the ambush years ago. Then they had given him the Eye of Nidhogg, put him to his new post...

"I am glad to see you as well," he finally answered. "We have not... had much opportunity to speak of late."

"That much is true." Though as much as Aymeric wanted to say that seemed to have been Estinien's design, he did not. He wanted to walk up to him, take his hand. He wanted so much....

Estinien cleared his throat. He still wore his visor, and his coat was lighter than the others; he would try to prove his endurance, Aymeric thought, even at times like this. "You shouldn't overexert yourself," he said, eyes darting away. Was it just the cold, or were his cheeks reddening? "Not after your injury."

"I am well enough to work, if not so hard as some," Aymeric protested. "So my house's chirurgeon has said."

"Good," Estinien said, glancing up at him - and yes, there was a smile on his face, the like he hadn't seen since before he'd taken up the Eye. Aymeric felt another pang in his heart, remembering that face, how much he missed seeing that smile....

But the scowl quickly returned, and the moment was gone, as quickly as it came. "Then be careful," he said, turning to the side. "I would not want to hear that you are bedridden again."

"I will," he said quietly, staring after him as he walked to another Knight, perhaps to ask where another hand was needed.

He barely felt Haurchefant's hand on his shoulder through all the layers he wore, but it was comforting, all the same. "He does miss you," Haurchefant said, soft enough that only Aymeric could hear him. "We've spoken of it, though he will not stay at the camp for longer than a bell, at the most."

Aymeric nodded slowly, still remembering that night when Estinien had jumped away from their touches, when he'd declared he could not share what he now bore with them. He had tried so hard to be patient and understand, but the pain of it lingered, like his bruised ribs. "Will he not speak thus to me?" he said back, just as quietly.

"He will. I'll make sure of it," Haurchefant replied, with steel in his voice, before pulling away. "He is right about your injuries, you know," he said more loudly, and Aymeric could see the smile lines around his eyes again. "You'll set the shovel aside if the pain quickens again, won't you? You'll do more good directing others than you would harming yourself again."

"Of course," he said quietly.

"Good!" He stepped back again, turning to take a look in the direction of the road to the Foundation. "Now. While the stablehands have kept the stables largely cleared, the heavy snow beyond them seems to be spooking some of the chocobos. They've asked me to assist in coaxing the stubborn ones out. You'll send word if you need any assistance, won't you?"

He nodded. He'd missed Haurchefant as well, since he'd been reassigned to Camp Dragonhead... though Aymeric knew he'd be welcome there, if only he had the chance to get away. "I will. And thank you."

Aymeric turned for a moment as his cheerful friend turned to head to the stables, to see if Estinien was still conversing with the other Knight... but he was already gone. He sighed briefly - but there was no time to linger, not in this cold, and he found himself digging again almost without thinking, taking another shovelful of the snow and turning it with the rest. He saw it then, fallen over the snow - one of the leaves that had frozen the night the snow had started. By some strange miracle, though it was frozen and dried, the leaf was still green.

He found himself hoping that it was something of a good omen.