Aymeric/Lucia Commission!
Commission for @illustriya, posted with permission! Thank you so much for your patronage!!!
Post 3.0, but doesn’t deal in spoilers! Content warning for reference to injury, but nothing explicit or gruesome.
Commission info!
When there had been reports of Imperial spies and engineers out in the Highlands, on a path through Coerthas, the decision to intercept them as early as possible was an easy one. Backed with the support of the Alliance to engage the enemy, Aymeric had felt confident in sending some of his best knights and engineers to head off the invading forces, sent on their swiftest, most stalwart of steeds.
That his best included his beloved weighed heavily on his mind, even as he gave the order.
Lucia had reassured him, as she always did, with a kiss to his temple that morning and a firm salute to him as she led the contingent out of the Arc of the Worthy, and he had managed to hold fast to her fondly exasperated promise to come home.
Held fast, at least, until he received the reports from Whitebrim.
The Imperials were quelled, those not defeated outright surrendered into custody. Thus far, none of the Ishgardian response team had perished, though many were wounded, with varying degrees of severity. The chief chirurgeon had made a point to note that Ser Lucia had fallen last— stubbornly marking down to the last man until she was sure she had protected their men well enough and the threat was passed. The first responding field medics on the scene had been quick to stabilize her, and among the other severely wounded, she was transported back to the Congregation, to the chirurgeon’s ward for immediate treatment.
Reassurances that Ser Lucia’s wounds were far from mortal, and she would make a full recovery ere long, did little to put the Lord Commander’s mind at ease. Attempting to work through it did not prevent his worry from taking over his thoughts. When he tried to take to pacing the floor of his office to walk out some of the anxious energy, he realized that he was only getting further and further into his own head— she had been injured on his order, in service under his banner, and he had let it happen—
Aymeric was down the corridor leading to the chirurgeon’s ward before he had even realized he had left his office.
It caught him off guard when he spied Iriya stepping out of one of the patient rooms. Concern for his friend’s well being bade he call out to her. The Dragoon offered him a wincing smile.
“Aymeric.” She said his name with a sigh of relief, which surprised him. “I was just about to track you down, but I see I shouldn’t have worried.”
Peering over her shoulder and through the gap in the not-entirely-closed doorway, he realized with alarm that the room Iriya just stepped out of was Lucia’s.
“Thank the Fury I came when I did, then.” Aymeric managed, even as his eyes did not stray from the sight of Lucia lying in bed. “You spare the chirurgeons my worried questioning.” His eyes briefly met Iriya’s. “How...how is she?”
“Concussed, and a bit disoriented because of it. She got tossed around a bit, by her own admission, I won’t lie to you.” Iriya replied honestly, deliberately softening her voice to give her friend the news gently. Much as Aymeric appreciated the effort, it did little to stop his stomach from rolling in guilt. “None of her wounds are grave, Aymeric. I promise you, she will recover.” She must have seen some evidence of his fear on his face, as she carefully laid a friendly hand on his arm. “Go check in on her, she’s still awake. And don’t worry about how long you’re taking— I’ll make sure Handeloup holds the fort down while you’re in there.”
Aymeric had not realized he had been faintly trembling until Iriya had touched his arm. With a shuddering breath, he rallied his resolve to steady himself. When he met her gaze again, a smile came easier on his face, bolstered by his friend’s support.
“My friend...I thank you.” He murmured sincerely, his voice thick with emotion.
“You don’t have to. Go on, now, before she’s too tired.”
With a reassuring squeeze on his forearm, Iriya stepped around him to make her way back down the hall toward the Congregation proper. Taking another moment to mentally prepare himself, Aymeric knocked on the ajar door to alert Lucia of his entrance before he stepped inside the room.
Lucia made a noise of startled confusion at the knock, vivid, verdant eyes fluttering blearily in search of who had just stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The sight of her, normally so solid and stalwart, lying in bed, lost and confused, made Aymeric’s throat tighten with the pressure of unshed tears.
“Lord Commander…?” She called a second after their eyes met, as though she needed a moment to process what she was seeing.
Something about her words tore his heart asunder. Swallowing the tears that threatened to spring to his eyes, he mentally clung to every scrap of his mental fortitude as he moved in quick, long strides to kneel beside the bed.
“My love,” he whispered, gently reassuring her that they could be less than their titles in this moment. “I feared the worst.”
“I told you: you have nothing to fear. I promised I would come home.” Lucia tutted around a wry smile. “Though I suppose I had also promised I would do so hale and whole. Forgive me my broken promise.”
“Only if you forgive me for sending you out in the first place.” He countered.
“There is naught you need forgiveness for.” She yet parried his rebuttal, just sharp enough through the concussion to manage reassurance in the form of their usual playfully professional banter, if a bit delayed and slowly spoken for the injury and pain medication.
“Then we are again of like mind: you have done naught that demands forgiveness— least of all from me.”
Aymeric marveled at her, at the way that, even as her eyes yet seemed dull with a lack of focus, she found him and stared with such love he was nearly moved to weep. He rallied all of his composure— he had an unlimited fount of it, a bottomless reserve of anything she might need of him, she inspired him so— and reached for her. His need to anchor himself against her warmth and know she was real compelled him thus, though the fear of agitating her injuries made the motion fizzle out, his hands trembling in the space between them.
Lucia noticed his hesitation, the fear in those frost brightened eyes of his, and her smile softened, the faint tension in her frame easing against the pillows propping her up.
“I am not made of glass, dearest.” She reminded him in a quiet voice.
“You are not.” He agreed. “Yet I know not the extent of your injuries. How do I touch you, without causing you pain?”
Lucia huffed a laugh to hide how deeply moved she was by his devotion, as she always was, and took a moment to close her eyes when the room started to sway around them. Without opening her eyes, she replied, “You might start by rising, Ser Knight, and finding yourself a seat to cease my worrying.”
With a faint laugh of his own, she heard Aymeric rise from his kneeling with the telltale pop of his knee, not quite the same since the Dragonsong War. Her smile widened when she felt the bed dip with his added weight, and once she felt more grounded and the dizziness passed, she opened her eyes to find him seated at the edge of the bed, ilms from her.
“This should suffice, I hope?” He asked, and despite the playful tone in his voice, she could still see those bright eyes of his searching for signs of her discomfort, her pain.
“A sensible start.” Lucia agreed, reaching for his hand, and he eagerly met her halfway in the space between them.
Though she guided his hand to her face, he chose to mold his palm against her cheek of his own enthused volition. She leaned into his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, and smiled when his thumb brushed along her cheekbone. The contact was soft, gentle, a welcome balm on her battered body.
“Be truthful with me, beloved: how bad is it?” Aymeric asked in a whisper.
“Broke my leg, bruised ribs— not on this side, you are fine.” She rushed to amend when he made to jolt off the bed to give her room; she would not suffer his absence, nor any distance between them. Not now, alone with him. “The pain medication is helping with much of that. Regrettably, ‘tis the concussion that keeps me abed more than aught else.”
Her eyes fluttered closed when his free hand mirrored the one on her cheek. Cradled in his palms, she felt the weight of her head press into his touch, the pounding in her head pronounced enough that she failed to hide a wince.
“Forgive me, my focus is in disarray. There is...it is hard, to take in too much.” She admitted reluctantly.
And Aymeric— her gallant, sweet, courteous knight— leaned to draw the curtains closed against the bright light of day. The pinching, prickling feeling behind her eyes eased, for a blessing. His hands found her again, though rather than touch and caress her, they instead reached for the circlet she had refused to let the chirurgeons remove. He hesitated, locking eyes with her in search of her consent, he found it in her slight nod, and unclasped it from around her head. The release of pressure on her skull rushed out of her in a sigh of relief. She sagged deeper against the veritable mountain of pillows keeping her up, exhausted.
Once the room was swathed in the dim darkness and her circlet was safely on the nightstand, he shifted to bring his legs up, scooting to properly lie beside her, curled into her. His hand returned to her cheek, carefully coaxing her into turning her head to look at him.
“Aymeric…?”
“Shh…” Her beloved soothed, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Deep breaths.”
When he pressed his forehead against her third eye, she realized what he was doing— what he had done many a time in happier circumstances, after she had shown him that doing so pulled all of her focus to him. Centered on him, on the scent of lavender and balsam fir she so deeply associated with him, on his steady breathing and the thrumming of his heart, she felt her broken focus coalesce. She let every ilm of her attune to every ilm of him, and sighed again in relief, and let her eyes drift closed.
“Thank you, dearest.” She whispered, already sinking into slumber and into him in equal measure.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have naught to thank me for.” His lips whispered against hers in a faint, unassuming kiss. “Rest. I will be here.”
“Haven’t you a country to help manage?” She asked around the exhaustion that had begun to at last gain a foothold in her defenses.
“Ishgard can manage without me. I, however, would be lost without you.” Aymeric kissed her again, lips soft but solid against hers. “I swore to you, my love, that we would face all our tomorrows together or not at all, for as long as you shall have me. I meant every word of it.”
“Together or not at all.” Lucia agreed, and let herself fall asleep knowing he would be there when she woke, to face tomorrow together.
