49. nightfall
49. nightfall
That Estinien opted to part ways with their group wasn’t a shock, but to do so after a particularly harrowing Dravanian assault was far from convenient. They’d lost over half of their numbers to dragonfire, and were herded like karakul into unknown territory during the chaos. With the sun having dipped past the mountains, they were effectively lost and stranded until morning.
Estinien seemed… agitated with this outcome, to say the least.
Without so much as a second thought, Ancel pursued their wayward comrade. Estinien had apparently taken his leave into the woods while they were busy gauging and treating their wounds, but he hadn’t bothered to cover his tracks; either he hadn’t tried, or simply intended on using them to prevent himself from losing his way.
Regardless, it wouldn’t do to lose one of their best to the elements, or injuries yet unaccounted for. Ancel followed him silently, mindlessly, hardly contemplating his own motives for doing so.
Hardly noticing that he was doing a terrible job at keeping himself hidden.
“Do you think me so incapable of minding my own surroundings?”
Estinien’s voice startled Ancel, and he noticed only then that he’d been standing a few feet behind his comrade, entirely out in the open. Awkwardly. Idiotically, even.
Ancel wasn’t certain how long he’d been following Estinien, nor how long he’d let his mind wander—but it seems they were stopped at the edge of an unfamiliar spring. Estinien was in the process of removing his armour, baring the battle-torn tunic underneath, and had already laid his bloodied lance against a large rock.
“… Ser Aymeric was unable to inspect you for wounds ere you departed,” Ancel finally answered, back straightened. “He was rather preoccupied with tending the others, so I offered to…”
“Check on his behalf,” Estinien finished for him impatiently. He tugged his hair free of the frayed cord, letting silver locks fall against his shoulders. “I’m in no mood to be coddled. I assure you—both of you—I’m well.”
“Might I have a look regardless?” A disapproving grunt escaped the other, and Ancel frowned, speaking on without thinking. “Please. It isn’t safe out here, and I would rather not risk losing more of us. I’m—worried…”
His argument wasn’t finished, but wincing from his own insistence, any further words were snagged on the tip of his tongue. There came a moment of ponderous silence, yet Ancel swore he could hear Estinien ruminating.
He received his answer as he watched the shorter Elezen pull his tunic over his head and discard it carelessly. Gathering his hair in one hand, Estinien scooped it over one shoulder and lowered himself to sit on the ground.
“As you like.”
Ancel blinked, steadfastly forcing the rise of molten intrigue in his chest to the back of his mind. This was no time for that. There was no excuse.
You know better—shame on you.
With forced calm, Ancel closed the distance between them, kneeling and dutifully observing Estinien’s back. He reached out and ran his fingers, featherlight, down his shoulder blades, brow furrowed as he noted the injuries he could see plainly.
“A burn here… Large, but not too dire…” Ancel mumbled, tracing around the area with his thumb. Estinien hummed in some manner of acknowledgement.
Travelling down his ribcage, Ancel trailed past the odd cut and yet more minor burns. He would come to rest against a large, bruised patch of flesh near his spine, and pressed lightly to assess Estinien’s reaction; he didn’t recoil, but the gesture earned a slight swell of the lungs.
“Sorry,” Ancel whispered.
But I saw how hard that fiend struck you with its tail.
It was worth the concern. Dragon tails were weapons unto themselves, capable of shattering bones with a single lash; Ancel learned the hard way in his youth. He was relieved to know that Estinien’s injury was minor, recalling instead the way the lancer brushed off the blow and dispatched the offending beast brutally. He’d even done so before Ancel could come to his aid.
Ancel would proceed to ignore how warm and heavy the air seemed to become at such a recollection.
How, even marred with blood, sweat and ash, Estinien was always… Striking in his confidence. His capability.
Both hands dipped to Estinien’s waist and lingered.
You’re looking for wounds.
Yes…
Yes. There were many on the surface, all minor and easily dealt with. But—
Ancel blinked, feeling a quaver in his throat as the weight of realization settled there.
But his soul is hurting even more, isn’t it?
As his hands travelled upwards, across Estinien’s tense muscles and scarred flesh, he keenly sensed his anger, his regret, each emotion that drove him to greater and ever-admirable heights—drove him to kill, to excel, to achieve.
To run, to distance, to isolate.
He couldn’t pretend to truly know Estinien so intimately, nor would he dare to dream that he could. But no amount of willful ignorance could hide the storm that stirred in this man, clouds so thick and tangible that Ancel swore the smell of rain filled his nostrils each time they drew close.
He could always offer his shield to Estinien as he needed it, could always extend the hand of succor. He wanted to; yearned to, no matter how little Estinien needed him.
But against foes unseen, against insistent solitude and weaponized rancor, Ancel was—
Useless.
How useless he must think me—
Ancel’s heart shuddered as the telltale seed of distress bloomed in his chest, eyes staring unseeingly at the rise and fall of his comrade’s shoulders as he breathed. The feeling was too new and raw and overwhelming; an outcry so painful it threatened to suffocate him completely in its wake.
I wish I could help you.
“… You are helping,” Estinien remarked softly with the faintest lilt of bemusement; it caused Ancel’s heart to skip. Startled eyes looked up at his fellow knight, finding with mounting surprise that Estinien was leering over his shoulder at him.
Ancel stared stupidly for a moment before realizing that he’d whispered his last thought aloud.
That his hands were wound perhaps a bit too tightly around Estinien’s shoulders.
“Have you finished?” Estinien prompted. “Or do you intend on massaging me as well?”
“I—“ Ancel cleared his throat, ears burning as he loosened his grip. “No. No, I’ve finished.” He lowered his hands and placed them politely in his lap, the staggering force of mortification causing his voice to lower. “Bruises and burns aside, you’ve no serious ailments.”
“Aye. As I thought.” Estinien surrendered a dismissive wave before leaning forward, and dipped cupped hands into the water. He brought them up to his face and splashed it, running his long fingers across his scalp in the process. He repeated the motion, taking the time to scrub his skin of excess dirt and dried blood.
Ancel was in the process of taking his leave, but before he could rise to his feet, Estinien paused and spoke up once more.
“… Ancel. Is that right?” Though he sounded unsure, Estinien didn’t bother waiting for affirmation. “The water… is quite refreshing.” He gestured vaguely to the spot beside him, his voice strangely soft; calmer than he was before. “‘Twould clear your head. If you wish.”
A suggestion—an invitation.
Coupled with the sound of his name on Estinien’s lips, spoken in a placated tone, Ancel had to swallow the immediate instinct to flee, grasping his own arms as he trembled with the unexpected whirlwind of...
... Of joy.
Instead, he bowed his head and blinked tightly.
“I think...” Ancel’s voice was suddenly small. “I think that would do me well right now.”
thank you so much for the prompt @cadrenebula!! this got too long I’m so sorry LMAO... I SWEAR IT WAS SHORTER WHEN I CONCEPTUALIZED IT ;_; regardless I hope you enjoyed this brush with Ancel’s Inferiority Complex and Gay Pining feat. Estinien !!!!! 👏👏
[prompt list!]
