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Bellyachin'	By : WonderMint Category: Final Fantasy XIV > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy FFXIV: ARR is owned by Square Enix and based on the creation of Hironobu Sakaguchi. May they ever walk in the light of the crystal. I own no right to the characters and settings herein and seek no profit therefrom.

Chapter List
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A/N: In case anyone is wondering, the Geomancer's middle name is Macguffin. I'd like to apologize for the shortness of the chapters, but at least this way they come quickly. More to the point, I'm afraid this chapter is still lacking in smut, though things get kinda flirty. The next scene, which will encompass [two] chapters, is where things start getting serious. Shouldn't be long now.
*Edit: this chapter has been re-worked and expanded in light of my increased comfort with the characters. Nothing has really been changed, merely added. Conversation has been slightly expanded and feelings have been enumerated where once they were merely implied. Hopefully subsequent chapters will flow better as a result.

In the depth of the Coerthan night, a knock sounded on the door.
It was late. Nearly midnight, Alphinaud reckoned, the hour of darkest night and deepest cold. Even Lord Haurchefant was ordinarily abed, or at least well out of his hair, by this hour. He quickly set aside his quill and went to the door to greet whomever was in such dire need to call upon him.
He nearly slammed the door in the visitor's face when he saw him.
Instead, he leaned helplessly against the wall by the door to make way for Ser Aymeric to enter. He did his best to conceal his face behind his hands as he slid down the wall a few ilms in mortification.
"What has Tataru demanded this time," he groaned. He had truly thought the problem solved. The very day following his surprise supper guest, weeks ago now, he had explained in no uncertain terms the damage her innocent worrying could have done for their cause. He had impressed upon her the value of Ser Aymeric as a diplomatic champion who nonetheless respected their strength. She had apologized immediately, stricken by the unintended consequences of her words, and had seemed quite sincere in her promise never to repeat the mistake.
Ser Aymeric was undeterred, balancing a large ceramic pitcher which he placed on the low table before the fire. When Alphinaud had the courage to look up again, he had poured them each a mug of some steaming drink, and was reclining in the plush chair in his regal way, breathing the vapors from his cup. "Nothing at all," he replied at length. His face ever showed the serene blankness of a fresh snow, but the twinkle of his eyes and the tiny impish curl of his lips betrayed his mirth. "It is mine own initiative. I saw the light beneath your door as I passed by."
Tataru had, of course, also insisted that she had not pressed the supper visit upon the other man, merely mentioning that Alphinaud had hardly been eating since his arrival. One of them was at the very least exaggerating the truth. Alphinaud was beginning to realize his initial guess at which may have been wrong.
He filed the thought away for later, a tired sort of surrender to the irrationality of his life of late. Choosing instead to deal with the issue at hand, he straightened from his undignified slouching against the wall and went to sit with his unwelcome guest. "By all means, then, do come in. Make yourself at ease," he said more to emphasize the liberties taken than to welcome. "What import brings you here in the dead of night?"
In response the knight handed him the second mug, a pleasant scent of spice and fruit tickling his nose. "I am come only just now, on the eve of battle. On the morrow, we strike the Geomancer's warren and raze his unholy magicks into dust and ash." The commander blew softly on his own drink and sipped a tiny bit, making a face when it proved too hot. "It is cold, I am weary, battle calls at dawn. Share with me a cup of mulled wine," he said with quiet solemnity, "that mine thoughts may turn to warmer things."
What could any man say to that? Alphinaud, once again defeated, only raised his cup in salute, then blew to cool the wine and sip cautiously. The man's tongue was silvered indeed, that he could feel mortification in one instant and humility in the next. The thought that Aymeric would seek him out for such companionship mirrored the pleasant heat that spread trough his limbs as the wine settled.
"Warms the quick, does it not?" observed the knight. Alphinaud could only agree.
As promised, they talked of their happier memories. To the table Ser Aymeric brought stories of great battles, dreams of his youth, and old friends. “Estinien has ever been a thorn in the side of his 'betters,' if only because he disagreed,” he mused. Alphinaud had known that the Lord Commander and the Azure Dragoon had been friends, but was surprised to hear the stories of their battles together. “I began to fear every time we were assigned a new post. The third time our commanding officer ran screaming from his tent in the middle of the night, naked as a shaved karakul, I resolved to do what I could to counter his mischief. It became a deadly game, watching each-other warily over dinner, then sneaking off in the night to hide clothing or blankets in strategic locations while he was soaking undershorts in water... or filling them with nettles.”
Alphinaud laughed, no longer missing his time alone, only basking in the smiles the other man shared along with the wine. “I have never heard of such a war,” he said. “Who was victorious?”
“He was, of course,” frowned the commander, waving his hand vaguely toward the past. “Being the instigator he always had the initiative, and I could only react to his schemes. I was never a prankster mineself. I understand now that mine motives made the endeavor quite futile. If I had wanted truly to succeed, I would have needs become a mischief-maker mineself, not merely sought to reduce the effect and the punishments. I was able only to soften his blows, ofttimes, or if I was very lucky, to induce the victim to laugh at his own expense. But it was in response to my meddling that Estinien grew ever more bold, and before long, I too was a target in a game that I had wished to end from the first.”
The smile on Aymeric's lips as he savored the wine indicated that he no longer regretted his actions. “In the end, I was able to secure ceasefire only through surrender. I bore his assaults, and gave him no reply. And thus I learned that, even for a knight, it is sometimes only through defeat that one might accomplish one's aims. Once I no longer opposed him, he found that he no longer took joy in the suffering of his superiors, as the challenge had all gone out of it. I still see him glower at me, on occasion. I suspect he feels that in surrendering, I betrayed his friendship more than by standing against him.”
“Surely,” suggested Alphinaud from behind his cup, “it would not be difficult to gain access to his rooms. You could lock a goobuey in there, or replace his armor polish with green dye, and make him truly happy again.”
Aymeric laughed, joyfully and without restraint. It was astonishing to hear, light and sonorous, with his mouth open and his hand clutched to his chest. It was the first undignified display he'd seen from the knight, if he didn't count the suffering he'd endured at the younger man's hands, which he still felt strangely guilty for. But especially in laughter his voice was beautiful, and he could not help but join.
“Nay,” said the knight, through a hedge of chuckles that did not seem to want to die. “Such a thing would be more dangerous than you could imagine. One does not raise a sword to the Azure Dragoon and expect to emerge with his dignity intact. I rather enjoy not having to look over mine shoulder as I lay down to sleep, nor have my food tasted by some innocent person tasked with being a martyr for mine tongue. No, I assure you, I remember far too well the dangers of treading that path. I will bear any accusation of cowardice, head held high.”
“What has he done to you to make you fear his wrath more than a dragon's fire, pray tell?” asked Alphinaud, the corners of his lips turning more than was decent, imagination springing to life in wicked joy.
The other man's eyes narrowed to sleepy slits, serpentine and guarded as though the young Elezen were his old enemy, on the battlefield once more. “If you are so curious, you are welcome to challenge him yourself,” he said, and his voice slid into a warm, amused growl that Alphinaud felt all through the length of his spine.
For his part, young Alphinaud contributed memories of his grandfather, and the fantastical adventures he had imagined with his twin sister. They had thought they would save the world, someday. The memories were bittersweet still, like the sharp spices that punctuated the dark wine. He took a long pull of his second cup, quite cool now, and found it emptied.
The cup was filled again, the pitcher's belly finally emptied. "Your sister, how fares she? I cannot but imagine the beauty she has become," Aymeric teased, perhaps sensing the turn of his companion's mood. The jackal had sensed weakness, and circled to cull the herd.
"Tsch, she is well as ever. We parted paths some time ago, though it was she who orchestrated our recent rescue." Bitter indeed. He would have been drawn back into his melancholy had his companion not raised one eyebrow with a subtle grin, reminding him suddenly that Aymeric was a man and his sister a young woman, and making him suddenly quite irate. "You shall be disappointed to know that even friends often struggle to tell between us. We even dress alike. She has no need for finery or suitors," he added pointedly. And well that she hadn't.
"Ah," the knight surprised him by replying, "if she takes after you, she must be a beauty indeed." Amusement mixed with something like flirtation played across his features, his grin sly and thin like a fox.
"You think me a woman, how charming," Alphinaud bit back with venom, but he was blushing, and he knew it. A creeping feeling tickled the back of his neck, something akin to deja vu. The wine had gone to his head, making him feel slightly out if his own control.
"On the contrary, I find you to be a man most extraordinary." Sharp eyes still danced puckishly, but gone was the grin. "Too often you sell yourself short. But you have moved mountains to bend their ears to you, when the might of nations could not. And know that the friends you keep do not promise their loyalties lightly." He let the last declaration hang in the air a moment, his eyes uncharacteristically losing their bright focus. "I certainly do not," he added quietly, as if no-one were there to hear but his wine.
The silence weighed heavily in the room, stretching itself around every chair, resting on the table and weighting down papers on the desk. At length, Alphinaud found his tongue to reply. "Then I am honored that you count yourself one of them." An odd pressure in his chest informed him that the words had been inadequate somehow, but he could grasp for no more.
The Lord Commander smiled at him, warmth flashing but a moment before he returned to his cup. Whatever serious mood had seized him refused to relent, and he swirled the remains of his drink morosely. The other man had teased him so easily out of his melancholy, but Alphinaud found himself reluctant to intrude on the knight's private thoughts. He contented himself with watching the narrow fingers that held the clay mug flex and bend. The man before him displayed such strength and grace, both requirements for his station. The easy laughter and quiet melancholy, though, seemed at that moment for him alone. He felt oddly grateful to be privy to either.
Finally, the sullen knight downed the last gulp of wine, whatever use it was to him having played its course. His voice was soft but clear like a cathedral's bell ringing in the distance. “Do you know what happens to those accused of heresy?"
Alphinaud searched his dusty lumber room for the answer, the drink making him fumble. He felt he had heard it before... a sense of dread pooled in his stomach, wondering at the reason for the question.
"No," he responded at length. He searched the other man's face for answers to entirely different questions, but he received none. Cutting blue eyes communicated nothing, merely staring into the middle of the room, with an expression too tired and listless to be fully considered a frown.
"Well that you don't," was all Ser Aymeric would say in reply.
The conversation had wound down, like a top that was too tired to spin any longer. The wine had aided it to a gentle peace, and were it not for the uneasiness of his heart, Alphinaud might have fallen asleep in his chair. Aymeric begged his excuse not long after, bidding farewell with a fond smile, only slightly dim. “Thank you for the solace of your company, friend.”
The younger man paused by the door, considering his reply as though the weight of the world rested on it. He would have thought an admonishment would spring to his lips, perhaps a reminder of the last time the knight had gone fearlessly into battle. But somehow Alphinaud did not feel that embarrassment and bruises were the worst that could befall him, and it did not feel right to trivialize his danger, when such anxiety rode on his shoulders.
“May the gods keep you safe,” he said instead, clasping the other man's forearms briefly. “May they guard you and your people, and ensure the success of your mission.”
He might have been imagining it, but the knight had seemed to duck his pale eyes briefly at the benediction.
Alphinaud had been tired, relaxed and delightfully sleepy, but it took some time for his mind to settle into the deep grooves in his skull and cease its movement. Their conversation had been warm and easy until Aymeric had promised his friendship. And it was then that he had sunk into a melancholy and refused to emerge. The older man was a warrior, and a leader. No doubt he was no stranger to suffering, and the wine could have stirred up any number of memories that were better left buried.
But, like the fluttering wings of his own thoughts, flitting round and round on suspicions he could not even name, he knew there was a deeper story here. There was simply no reason for the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights to be speaking of heresy save as something to root out and destroy.
No reason, save one.
It was preposterous. So ridiculous that he could hardly entertain it. But still the doubt nagged at his mind, mingling with vague memories of reports from the Stone Vigil affair, until finally his thoughts turned to dreams.
When Alphinaud awoke some bells later, startled by a commotion in the hallway, they all slipped away like melted snowflakes. He could remember only one thing, one chill piece of ice remaining on his tongue. Aymeric had said to him, quite clearly, “I stand accused of heresy,” and then the knight had fallen, fallen, and his hands could clutch only the empty air.
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Bellyachin'