#prince aymeric

[royalchildreneurope]

Prince Gabriel of Belgium, Prince Laurent of Belgium and Prince Aymeric of Belgium attend the conference about “Soldiers Values" by French Army General François Lecointre, at BOZAR in Brussels, Belgium -February 10th 2025.

📷 : Grandes Conférences Catholiques on Facebook.

[royal-confessions]

“Prince Aymeric is underrated” - Submitted by Anonymous

[ifreakingloveroyals]

Happy 19th Birthday Aymeric Auguste Marie! (b. 13 December 2005)

[morganali-art]

Estimeric Week 2024 - Day 3 Fairytale/Folklore

The Lindworm said again to him, “Fair knight, shed a shift.” The temple knight answered him, “Prince Lindworm, slough a skin.”

Apropos of nothing, I remembered the fairytale, "Prince Lindworm," and promptly went feral 👀💦

(separate images under the read more)

[starrysnowdrop]

Hermes is my poor little meow meow.

That’s it. That’s the post.

[zazter-den]

Great News! I got my back blown out, in the best way possible, in the middle of the week. Bad News: I got my back blown out in the best way possible, in the middle of the week.

[worldformula]

complicated relationship with Aymeric you say 👀 I would love to hear about it

also do you have a blank version or link to the blank version of that “characters who are just like my WOL fr” chart it intrigues ms greatly. I love that it’s specific about what exactly the inspiration from the characters is.

Here’s a link to the .psd because the framing layers makes it a bit hard to use as a regular png. Go nuts!

As for Aymeric…

Long story short, they never fostered an actual real relationship before just getting in the nitty gritty of intimacy because it is my religious belief that Aymeric is deeply repressed like a Catholic maiden and Utushama kept just leaving for MSQ immediately the day after they’d fool around. Utushama assumed they were on the same page (this wouldn’t work because they have conflicting responsibilities) (this is also kind of an excuse, he’s starting to develop a pattern of starting something, ditching ASAP, and then using MSQ as a noble excuse) but they weren’t really. I love to pretend Lucia is mad at him for this because it made Endwalker kind of funny. Usual spoiler warning for everything ahead!

Short story long, after the Dragonsong War’s end, they kept things entirely professional including their dinner and dealing w the aftermath of it all but were slowly (and I mean SLOWLY) building a tension between them like it was a Victorian period drama. Like, a show of ankle would give Aymeric a heart attack at this point. So they had two days of building up to this that no one in the world could’ve possibly guessed was any kind of build up to anything followed by one night of Halone-dishonoring acts (initiated by Utushama because why not. Why not hit and run the beautiful President of Dragon Catholics City after you saved them all. Especially after increasingly escalating moments of barely repressed interest). And immediately after, without explanation or any warning, Utushama left for MSQ, with the assumption that they were both in agreement that they couldn’t have an actual relationship because one of them loves their country more than anything else in the world and the other is a traveling adventurer. He didn’t say this because it was so obvious to him but Aymeric was obviously left a little confused and feeling slightly abandoned but bigger things at stake, y’know.

And then they meet again when Ala Mhigo is liberated because all the Eorzean Alliance leaders are there and Utushama is feeling very disoriented and bad because Zenos just killed himself in front of him, denying him of any closure to the distress he’s been feeling for all of Stormblood. And they are once again very professional as if they hadn’t explored each other’s bodies that one time. Aymeric invites him to dinner again and when the subject of trying to define their relationship is brought up, Utushama deflects by hitting him point-blank with the “ok, do you want to do that again” and Aymeric is flustered enough by this that despite being a very savvy politician, the Catholic maiden part of him overrides the many slightly orange flags. Once again, Utushama slips away without warning immediately after.

They don’t speak again until right after the Ghimlyt Dark, wherein canon provided me a lovely moment of quiet between the two of them. Utushama, being injured, is then unable to escape from this conversation that Aymeric begins, wherein Aymeric himself first confesses to hoping to be something more serious, to which Utushama answers in a manner that is between bafflement and regret that they weren’t ever going to be a thing (because again, he thought they were on the same page about this). Aymeric is sad but can see the logic in this and admits that Utushama deserves someone who cares more about him than their political responsibilities, who could and would follow him to the ends of the earth. (There is no reason for him to be so self-deprecating on the matter because it’s not as if he were the one at fault for this, but Utushama just has a way of making people feel bad for wanting reasonable things from him. It’s kind of cruel of him but he also is entirely unaware that he’s doing this.) This is a fun bit of foreshadowing for me personally because this could mean anyone but should the monkey’s paw curl, that sure does describe a certain horrible prince he despises. But after accidentally doing all that to Aymeric, maybe he does deserve to be tormented. Just a little. I’ve been following a sort of narrative path wherein anyone who likes Utushama for being a hero figure can’t actually get with him for good because they’re enabling his bad habits and it’s going to end badly.

Anyway, all this made the Endwalker casting quests very fun because they just kind of josh around lightly and even reference their old fling without it being a whole thing and it feels like the weight of whatever they were doing is off Aymeric now so he’s able to be confident and normal again. If they ever fool around again post-Endwalker, it’s noticeably different because Aymeric has moved past the whole blushing maiden for the hero role. Utushama is admittedly kind of. Strangely sad to see him move past him but by then knows that it was probably for the best. It’s just hard for him to even metaphorically feel like he’s the one being left behind. And Lucia is no longer mad at him but it’s really funny to let him keep thinking she is!

So yeah, his relationship with Aymeric is kind of tangled and convoluted and despite indulging once or twice, he doesn’t actually seem to like talking about it beyond whatever’s professional because he’s just very private. I’ve no idea what the general consensus is on Aymeric and Estinien’s relationship but I imagine it was much more straightforward than this. Utushama inadvertently projects and assumes it was just as complicated based on the way Estinien talks about Aymeric in MSQ tidbits but I think it’s funnier if it was actually relatively tame and Estinien is just being dramatic.

[i-dont-even-like-elves]

Tried the new hairstyle on Aymeric and added the Credendum circlet. He feels even elfier now

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[royalchildreneurope]

Happy 19th Birthday to Prince Nicolas of Belgium and Prince Aymeric of Belgium -December 13th 2024.

[royal-confessions]

“Emmanuel, Aymeric, and Nicholas are all going to an NCO school to prepare for the Royal Military Academy’s entrance exams. It’s great if they really want to pursue a military career, but based on Laurent’s statement on how important it is for him that his sons have military training makes me think this was not entirely the twins’ decision.” - Submitted by Anonymous

[ifreakingloveroyals]

[pupsmailbox]

ROYALTY︰FANCY ID PACK

NAMES︰ adalinda. adam. adela. adelaide. adelio. adrienne. agnes. aladdin. alaric. alasdair. albert. alexander. alexandra. alexandria. alice. allegra. alyssa. amadeo. amelia. anais. anastasia. andrew. angelica. anita. annabelle. anne. anneliese. anthony. antoinette. ara. arabella. archibald. archie. aricia. ariel. armel. artemis. astrid. athena. augustus. aurelia. aurora. aymeric. balder. baldr. baldur. bano. basil. beatrice. belle. benjamin. blanche. blanchesse. blanchette. bonnette. bonnie. bowesse. bowette. brendan. briar. brioc. camilla. carl. caroline. caspian. catharina. catherine. cecilia. celeste. chainesse. chainette. chainne. charles. charlotte. chelidonis. christian. claude. clemente. clementine. cleopatra. corsette. crosse. crossette. crownesse. crownette. cynfael. damita. damyanti. darius. delphine. deoch. diana. duke. duncan. eadlin. edward. eleanor. eleanora. eleanore. elisabeth. eliza. elizabeth. elsa. emmanuel. erendira. eric. esperanza. estelle. eugene. eugenie. evelyn. fang. fangesse. fangette. farsiris. felix. frederick. frederik. frille. frillesse. frillette. gabriel. gabriella. gabrielle. gearesse. gearette. george. gladys. gormlaith. grace. griffith. haakon. harry. hector. henrik. henry. ingrid. isabella. isadora. izella. james. jasmine. joachim. josephine. julia. julien. kiana. kingsley. lacesse. lacette. lacey. laurent. leonore. lilibet. louis. louise. lucas. lucienne. mabel. madeleine. mael. maelie. maelle. maelys. magnus. mailys. margaret. maria. marie. marina. martha. michael. montgomery. nicolas. nikolai. nina. noire. noiresse. noirette. orla. oscar. palesse. palette. pari. paris. pearlesse. pearlette. philip. primrose. prince. princer. princessa. princesse. princette. princey. princie. prinze. prinzess. prinzessa. prynce. pryncess. quille. reagan. regina. regulus. ribbonesse. ribbonette. ribbonne. richard. robin. rognvaldr. rosalina. rose. rosette. rufflesse. rufflette. sabrina. sadie. saina. sara. sarah. sarai. sebastian. sharai. sofia. sophie. soraya. steven. sverre. theodora. tzeitel. vampesse. vampette. vampie. victoria. victorianne. vincent. watchesse. watchette. william. yseult. zadie.

PRONOUNS︰ blu/blush. bonnet/bonnet. bow/bow. chain/chain. che/cher. corset/corset. count/count. cro/crown. cro/own. cross/crosses. crown/crown. crown/crowned. crowned/prince. crowned/princess. dear/dear. dress/dress. dress/dress.apple/apple. dress/dresse. elegant/elegant. eth/ethel. fluff/fluff. frill/frill. frill/frilly, frill/frilly. frilly/frilly. gear/gear. gem/gem. gold/gold. grace/grace. he/heir. he/heiress. he/hir. he/ir. heart/heart. heir/ess. heir/heir. heir/heiress. heiress/heiress. jewel/jewel. king/king. lace/lace. lo/love. lord/lord. lord/lordship. love/love. luv/luv. melody/melodie. mirror/mirror. mon/arch. night/night. no/nobili. no/noble. pale/pale. pearl/pearl. pillow/pillow. pink/pink. polish/polish. pretty/pretty. pri/ince. pri/prince. pri/princess. prin/cess. prince/prince. princess/princess. princess/princesse. princess/princesses. queen/queen. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. ro/rose. ro/royal. robe/robe. rose/rose. roy/royal. royal/royal. royal/royalty, royal/royalty. royalty/royaltie. royalty/royalty, royalty/royalty. ruffle/ruffle. shine/shine. shy/hyr. silk/silk. silver/silver. sleep/sleep. snore/snore. suit/suit. tea/tea. throne/throne. ti/ara. ti/tiara. tiara/tiara. victorian/victorian. watch/watche. yawn/yawn. zzz/zzz. ⚔. ⚜. 🏰. 👑. 💎.

[starrysnowdrop]

Happy Little Ladies Day! 🌸

~ From Hali and Aymeric 💖

Seneschal Prince Aymeric surprised his Princess by showing up in Ul’dah unexpectedly while Hali was entertaining the crowds with her dancing before the Songbirds took to the stage. As soon as Hali’s performance was complete, the happy couple enjoyed the rest of the celebrations together.

[zazter-den]

"Keep talking like that, and I'm gonna go feral"

"...That supposed to get me to stop?"

This man is gonna drive me crazy

[myreia]

All the Spaces In-between

Rating: Explicit Characters: Aymeric & Aureia (WoL) Pairing: Wolmeric Word Count: 5,245 Summary: Aymeric receives an unexpected—but much appreciated—linkpearl call from his lover on the far side of the world. Tags: Smut, explicit sexual content, linkpearl sex. Set during stormblood. Mentions of past Aymeric x Estinien. Aymeric POV. Read on AO3

It is two bells to noon when the linkpearl hums.

At first Aymeric thinks he must be imagining it. The delicate thing has been dormant for weeks, ever since Aureia left on her journey. She was so flushed and bright-eyed when she gifted it to him, pushing it eagerly into his hands on the day she left for Gyr Abania. A token, a private link to keep them connected while she journeyed away from Ishgard.

They have only used it three times. Once when she arrived in Castrum Oriens. A second when she reached Rhalgr’s Reach. And finally, a third not long after the Resistance was raided. She was so silent then, saying little more than a word or two. He prattled on, filling the silence with arbitrary small talk and unimportant politics and Emmanellain’s latest tomfoolery, until she finally blurted it out. She was injured. Badly. And she wished to return to Ishgard.

She was coming home from her foray too soon, bruised, bandaged and broken.  

Her injuries healed quickly under the chirurgeons’ care—she had survived much worse, Alphinaud said—but her spirit remained crushed. This was no simple taste of defeat; there was a hollowness inside her that was eating her alive, and, gods be damned, she could not speak of it. He could not bring himself to ask what happened on that horrible, horrible day. He knew the details, of course—the burning base, the Imperial destruction, the tally of the injured, the tally of the dead. Zenos yae Galvus stalking the battlefield like a demon summoned from the Void.

But there was something else beyond the fight. Something that she still cannot voice, that shattered her into a million pieces and left her to pick them all up again alone.  

Aureia’s silence was unsettling. This was not the first time she had fallen in combat, nor would it be the last. She is no stranger to defeat, and yet the Garlean prince left an undeniable mark on her. Even after her recovery and the plan to travel to Othard was put in place, she was distant. Faded. Like an autumn leaf torn from its branch, falling away from the place it called home.

The linkpearl hums again, the white bead pulsing faintly with light.

Aymeric stares at it, certain now that he is not making it up. He wets his lower lip and puts down his pen, stretching out a hand. His fingers hover above the linkpearl’s box, its home since he removed it from his ear. Out of the way, but not forgotten. Housed safely and waiting, ready for when she saw fit to call. There was no expectation for her to call right away. The journey to Othard is long, and the seas are perilous. She has more important things to do than to worry about calling him.  

His gaze flicks to the chronometer above his mantlepiece. Then back to the linkpearl. The day is still young. A fire crackles in the hearth, staving off the early cold that creeps in through the windows overnight. He returned from morning prayers not that long ago. A pile of paperwork is stacked upon his desk, and this only matters so urgent he must deal with them at home. There will be others waiting in his office at the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

That really is a mouthful, you know. Has no one thought of renaming it to something maybe under seven syllables?  

The memory murmurs at the edges of his mind, softened by the haze of reminiscence. They were lying in bed, perhaps. His bed—or was it hers? No. It must have been his. The sun was too bright that morning, flooding through tall windows. She sat up with the sheets pulled around her, her hair a mess, creases in the corners of her eye, glowing like a beacon in the sunlight.

The linkpearl hums once more.

Aymeric shoves his seat back and rises to his feet, seizes the linkpearl and puts it in his ear.

“Aureia,” he breathes.

Nothing at first. Then—

“Hi.”

Her voice is clearer than expected. He closes his eyes and presses a hand to his chest, as if the pressure can soothe his aching heart. “You called.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

A pause. Faint music echoes from her side, too distant for him to make much sense of. Melodies played on instruments unfamiliar to his ears. Where is she now? How far has she gone? Has she made it safely? Is she hurt? Halone above, he does not know what he will do if this is how he discovers she has been gravely wounded again— 

“We’re in Hingashi.”

“Hingashi?” His eyes widen. “Then you—”

“Made it, yes.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank Halone. Your journey was uneventful, I take it?”

“An incident with pirates.” He can envision the playful smile on her lips from her tone alone. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. I suppose one could say Alisaie taught them a lesson or two. Or four.”

“Would that I could have seen that.”

“Would that you could have come with us.” She pauses, the score of the city shifting in the distance. The instruments have faded now, but he can hear the rhythm of a busy street, the cacophony of distant gossip. Is she outside? Sitting by a window? If only his tongue wasn’t so tied, he could ask her to paint the picture for him. “I think you would like it here in Kugane. The city is wonderful.”

“Any snow?”

“No.” He’s certain he can hear her grinning. “Tataru took us on a tour of the markets. And the tea houses, Aymeric! The tea here… I can’t describe it. I hate to say it, but it puts your Ishgardian brews to shame.”

“I would very much like to argue that. Ishgardians pride ourselves on our tea, you know.”

“You could, but I don’t think you’ll win.”

“That’s hardly fair. I taught you everything you know.”

“And now I have surpassed you.”

He chuckles, a soft smile spreading from ear to ear. Abandoning his desk, he pads across his office and slows to a halt by the hearth, watching the flames dance. It wasn’t so long ago that she was here, curled up on the couch. Her favourite coat—a red leather duster—is still here, flung over the back. “Then I look forward to this tea sparring match upon your return,” he says, warming his hands above the fire. The chronometer ticks, the second hand moving determinedly forward. “Shall you put it in your calendar or shall I?”

“Mm. I think we can think of better things to do than to spar over tea.” Her voice drops to a murmur, low and husky, thick with suggestion. It’s surprisingly forward of her, considering their lack of contact over the past weeks. Or is that another thing he is imagining? “Did you know they have public baths here? Hot springs. Perhaps there are more similarities between Ishgard and Hingashi than we thought. Just like the mountains. They’re beautiful here, Aymeric. I don’t know if I there will be a chance to visit before we move on, but I can see them from my window before the sun sets too far.”

His throat constricts, his breath shallow. “Is the sun setting now?” he asks, leaning a shoulder against the mantle.

“Yes. It’s just gone below the horizon.”

“And it is morning here.”

A pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think… I can call again later. If you’re busy—”

“No, no. Please.” He exhales a long breath and rests his forearm along the mantlepiece, his fingers tapping the wood near the chronometer. “It’s good to hear your voice. More than I can say.”

Another pause. “I’m attuned to the aetheryte here now, you know. I could slip away. Come see you in person.” Though there is hopefulness in her voice, it isn’t as much a question as it is a daydream. One where the weight of nations doesn’t weigh on their shoulders. One where their names and faces are unknown. One where he isn’t the Lord Commander and she isn’t the Warrior of Light.

“It would attract too much attention to receive a visitor all the way from Kugane,” he answers softly. “I cannot guarantee there wouldn’t be talk, and any talk can find its way back to Garlemald. Best stay discreet.”

“I know, I… I miss you. I wish I could see you.”

“But I can hear you. That is more than enough.”

She falls silent. A distant rush of wind—a breeze blowing by her window, perhaps?—and he can hear the faint trail of music once again. “I should let you go, then,” she murmurs. “Let you get back to work. And I should go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Aureia—”

“Yes?”

He flips the chronometer around, pushing it face-down into the mantlepiece. “Stay with me a while?”

She doesn’t answer. In the uncertain space between breaths, he wonders if he is about to find the answer to the question that has haunted him for weeks. How did a Garlean prince—however ferocious—shake her so badly that their relationship feels unstable? Have they reached that impossible place he fears the most? The immutable point where they begin to break apart, slowly but surely moving away from one another. It has happened before. He was young and foolish when he let Estinien into his heart. Has he learned anything since? Or is she destined to meet a similar end?

There is something about these warriors his heart chooses—bound to wander like distant stars, while he is ever bound to Ishgard.

Aureia’s voice murmurs in his ear, warm and firm and with such tenderness he is reminded why exactly he loves her. “I would like that.”

“You would?”

“Mhm.”

Warmth rushes through him, warmth that certainly has nothing to do with his proximity to the hearth. He thrums his fingers against the mantlepiece and runs his tongue across his bottom lip, the sound of her voice stirring something deep within him. “You were preparing for bed, yes?” he asks quietly.

“Mhm.” A rustle crackles through the linkpearl, the sound of leather brushing against linen. “I was just about to undress, but it’s a bit chilly here by the window. I’ll have to give up this view.”

“Why don’t you retire?”

“I’m not tired yet. Sleep’s been elusive of late.” Another pause. More rustling, as if she has pushed herself to the edge of her chair.  “I haven’t had a moment to relax, you know. Perhaps I should run a bath…?”

“A bath, yes. That sounds…” He inhales a breath, his fingers now curling against the mantlepiece. “…magnificent.”

“Then maybe I will.” A pause. “I can bring you with me, if you’d like.”

His heart skips a beat, desire blooming in his core—too early, far too early for an official morning like this one. Perhaps that is the consequence of distance. He yearns to see her, to touch her, to kiss her and more. To slowly peel away her clothing and reveal her piece by piece. To caress the curve of her breast, run his hand across the underside of her thighs, press his tongue to the sweet place between her legs. Kiss her there until she is shaking and trembling and gasping, the way she did their first night together on this office’s very floor.

His breeches tighten in the tell-tale way.

“By all means,” he murmurs. “I would enjoy that.”

“Aymeric?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you exactly?”

“In my personal office.”

The way he lingers on personal should tell her all she needs to know.

“Good. Stay there.” A soft rumble from her end followed by a click, as if she has opened and closed a sliding door. “Why don’t you lock the door? We might be occupied for a while. Unless, of course, you’d rather not.”

He chuckles. “Tell me, why would I rather not?”

“Well, no risk, no reward, right?” He can imagine her cocking an eyebrow, a mischievous smile brightening her face. She would never admit it, but she enjoys a challenge in all aspects of her life. “And doesn’t it taste a little better with a little risk? I seem to remember a certain someone slinking around the Forgotten Knight at certain inadvisable hours just to see me—”

“Aureia—”

“Ducking into dark corners just to give me a kiss—”

“Aureia—”

“Sneaking away from the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly for half a bell just so you could put your mouth on my—”

“Aureia!”  

“Well? Am I wrong?”

He laughs. Fury above, the images she places in his head… This is a dangerous turn of conversation, and like most of the dangerous events in his life, one he has run headfirst into willingly. A pleasurable chill runs down his spine—or perhaps it was a beat of sweat. It is too damn hot now before the hearth, but he doesn’t dare move. If he moves now, he’ll find himself lying flat on the couch with his breeches down to his knees, stroking himself to his end.

It’s too soon for that. Far too soon.

He slips a hand beneath the long front layer of his uniform and palms across the hardening length beneath.

“Where are you now?” he asks.

A pause. The linkpearl crackles with interference of some kind. “Bathroom,” she says after a moment, her voice distorted. Perhaps that’s rushing water in the back. “It’s nice in here. Lots of steam. Lots of plants. A little waterfall. The bathtub’s sunk into the floor. I wish you could join me.”   

“I am joining you.”

“Are you?” Her voice returns with the distortion gone, suddenly louder and fuller than it has ever been. As if she is in this room with him and holding him tight, speaking into his ear. “Then what I am doing now?”

Fabric slithers against skin, the sound too obscure for him to know exactly how. She could be doing anything, anything at all, but he would rather fall for the spell his imagination casts then seek the truth. He has a feeling she prefers it that way. Let them build this fantasy together—it’s all they will have for a very long time. “Undressing,” he murmurs. “You’re undoing your shirt. Opening the clasps one by one…”

“Mhm, maybe. What else?”

His breath hitches. “You’ve tossed it on the floor now. Pushed it out of the way. You’ll do your brassiere next, unclasp the front and…” He exhales, desire coursing through him as he imagines the scene. Her, standing there half-undressed, toying with her clothing. It would be the lacey one, he decides, the fine black netting crisp against her skin, a rosy nipple peeking through. Slender fingers pull it free, revealing her breasts—full and round and always a little too large for her frame.   

He strokes his hardening cock through the padded fabric. “Your trousers, Aureia,” he growls. “Remove those next, if you would.”

She chuckles, low and husky. Somewhere behind her, he can make out the trickle of water. “What do you see?”

“Your arse.”

A peal of laughter. “What else, Aymeric? What do you want to see?”

Anticipation thrums within him and he loosens his breeches. “You,” he rasps, hunching against the mantlepiece. His hand splays against the polished wood, fingertips clamped against the carved edge. “I want to see all of you.”

Fabric rustles against fabric and he is certain she is undressed for real now, pulling her clothes free and abandoning them in a pile. She sucks in a breath, the sound wavering in his ear, and a spike of longing courses through him until he is shaking. Though he prides himself on being an even-tempered individual, he has never wanted something so far out of reach so badly. It takes considerable effort not to rescind his earlier decision about using the aetheryte and ask her to return to Ishgard immediately.

“I’m not wearing anything,” Aureia whispers. Water sloshes—she must have put a foot in, testing the temperature. “Are you coming into the bath or not?”

His mind fuzzes with desire. “By the Fury, yes.”

The sound of water sloshing around her as she steps into the path has him weak at the knees. He pulls his erect cock free and runs his fingers across the length, groaning in relief.

“I’m sitting down now,” she murmurs. “The water’s warm.”

He nods, only distantly aware that she cannot see it. “Aye… yes, it is. Aureia?”

“Hm?”

“May I…” He loses the words, panting for breath as he squeezes the tip, swiping his thumb across the wetness gathered there. “May I touch you?”

She’s quiet for a time—only the sound of rippling water comes through the linkpearl. “Yes. Where?”

He grips his cock and pulls a long, aching stroke. “Your hips, your thighs…” He groans. The fire dances in its hearth, its soft orange glow spilling out over him. “Between them.”

“Mm.” She sighs breathily in his ear and the sound pierces him through to his core. It’s enough to envision her lying in the Hingan bath, hair piled high on her head, breasts tantalizing submerged just beneath the waterline, droplets clinging to her collarbone. Legs spread wide with her hand between them, touching herself slowly in response to his voice. “Where else?”

Pleasure mounts within him. “Your breasts,” he murmurs. “Let me put my mouth on one.”

“Already done.” Her voice trembles, holding back a moan. “My hand’s here.”

“Good, I…” In his mind’s eye, the water flows about her—drip, drip, drip—as she pulls herself upright and trails her fingers across her breast, toying with the nipple. “By the Fury, how I wish I could kiss you now—”

“What’s stopping you?”

Aymeric groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “How I would if I could,” he breathes as he strokes himself, grinding his other hand into the mantlepiece for support. “I would strip myself of all my livery and descend into the water’s embrace with you.”

“Mm—”

“I would kiss you once and then a hundred times more.”

Aureia’s voice caresses his inner ear with a quiet, sensual gasp. The tables have turned; it is his turn to coax pleasure out of her with his voice alone, and he is eager to cast that spell. There is something about the enchantment of words and imagination, and this sensuality that only distance can provide. Unfortunate they did not discover it sooner, but he is fortunate they know it now. It cannot replace the intimacy of sharing a space, but if there is anything she has taught him—and Estinien before her—it is that intimacy comes in many shades.

He bites his lip, a husky moan rumbling in the back of his throat. “I would… I would make love to you in that very bath, Aureia,” he presses, stroking faster now. “Once, twice, thrice more, whichever way you choose—”

“Gods, don’t stop,” she murmurs, the works thick with desire. “Tell me, please—”

His cock throbs in his hand. “I would pull you here, onto my lap. Let you take my cock and ride me. Fury above, I could be inside you right now—”

“No.”

The word sudden and small, as if it slipped out of her by accident. Though he’s still trembling from his mounting pleasure, something in the pace has broken and he is left floating in a strange, numb limbo. He slows, holding himself with a hesitant hand, brows drawn together in concern. “Aureia?” he murmurs. “Are you all right?”

“I…” She pauses. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

He wets his lower lip. “We can stop.”

“I don’t want to. I want this, I do, but…” Water sloshes through her linkpearl, as if she is rising from the tub. “Can we not do that? I just… I don’t think I can have that kind of sex right now. Even when it’s imaginary.”

“I understand.”

A lump forms in his throat. It’s a sensitive topic, and not one he is willing to press her on now. Their intimate relationship has come a long way since their first night together; he still recalls her broken expression and the way she curled up on herself when the single act she desperately wanted proved to be too painful for her body to handle. Time and effort and trust have all lent their aid in easing her difficulties, and she was ecstatic the first time they succeeded. Though they’ve since overcome this particular hurdle, she still has challenges and days when it simply will not work—and nights when she twists herself into an emotional wreck because of it.

She has said, when they discussed it, that it is her problem and hers alone to solve.

What he sees—though he is hesitant to say it—is that she pressures herself into seeking the things that she believes will make her normal.

Things that both of them could do without.

Sex is not often at the forefront of his mind—at least not as much compared to other men his age. And compared to the way some noblemen discuss their mistresses and their wives and assorted other affairs, he balks at the idea of this one particular act being the crowning achievement of intimate relations.

The youth of the High Houses would no doubt be disappointed to learn that the charming Lord Commander has never been a philanderer. His experience with sex and romance is limited, and his youthful days with Estinien were a long time ago. Even if they weren’t, this particular issue would never have been a problem given that Estinien is neither a woman nor equipped with the necessary physiology. Though Aureia keeps insisting on this one specific act, he has not once felt the need for it when there are dozens of others that bring them just as much satisfaction. And still she seems to think she is somehow lesser for being unable to do it without pain.

Some days he doesn’t know what to do.

A question dances at the back of his mind. It has been a long time since she has struggled with it and their last month together was one of unhampered bliss. As far as he knew, she was making progress—right up until the day she left for Castrum Oriens.  

So, what changed?  

Aymeric sighs. “Aureia,” he says quietly. “You’re certain you would like to continue?”

“I’m sure.” She chuckles. “Tell me what you’re doing right now. Where are you?”

“Well, I have not left my office on account of my trousers being fully undone.”

“Where are you in your office?”

“By the hearth.” A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “The fire has come unexpectedly close to witnessing a debauched act right in front of it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Your office attracts debauchery.”

He laughs, his concern melting away, and sinks onto the couch. “Consider it a secret only Halone will know,” he says, casually throwing an arm over the backrest. His fingers meet the soft leather of her favourite coat, and his heart pangs, cursing the distance. His breeches are still untied, his half-hard cock poking out. “You left your coat here.”

“I know. It was hard to say goodbye to it.” A door slams abruptly on her end, and he hears the distinct sound of her bare feet padding against wood. “Keep it safe for me?”

“That’s a promise I can keep.” He leans back, watching the flames dance in the hearth, his hand idly passing across his cock. Just enough to cling to his earlier arousal and coax it back to life. “You’ve moved. Where are you now?”

“Bedroom.” The tell-tale creak of a mattress squeaks over the linkpearl.  

“Dressed or undressed?”

“Neither. Towel.” She pauses and he swears he can hear her smiling. “You’re on the couch now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good guess.” The mattress creaks. There’s a light ruffle, as if she’s moving pillows around, and then she relaxes, sighing breathily in his ear. “I’m lying down now. On my bed. Shall I take this towel off?”

“Yes. Please.” Desire blooms within his core and his cock hardens beneath his grip. He lets his legs spread wide and shifts the front of his livery to the side, allowing for easier, deeper strokes. He imagines it is her hands grasping him, her lips pressed tight around the head as she sucks him. “Is it gone?”

She chortles. “Impatient!” More rustling, long and slow. The anticipation makes his toes curl. “It’s on its way.”

He groans, pumping faster.

“Do you want to know what I’m doing?” She whispers the words, coy and alluring. He pictures the way she must be trailing her hands across her body. Up and down her curves, along the valley between her breasts. She untucks the edge of her towel and peels it free. “I think you’d like it.”

“Yes. Yes. Fury above, Aureia, I wish to know—”

“I’m quite naked on this bed right now.” She exhales, long and languid, dancing on the edge of a moan. “Spread out. You’d see everything if you were here—”

“Everything?”

“Everything. I have a hand on my breast, just for you. The other’s between my thighs. I…” Her breath hitches and a moan slips out. “I’m touching myself now, with just my fingers.”

Arousal beads across the tip of his cock. He tilts his head back, loose hair brushing his jaw, and seeks deeper into the cushions. He grips himself with both hands, stroking over and over. He imagines her spread on the bed, legs open for him, her lips parted in that soft shape as she pleasures herself.

“How does it feel?” he rasps, his cock throbbing beneath his hands. Pleasure coils in his groin, hot and liquid. His peak is within reach. The promise of it urges him on, fuelled by thoughts of her writhing on that damn bed. “Aureia, please—”

“Good. It feels good.” Her breath comes in shallow gasps now. She’s close—he’s certain of that. He can hear her trembling over the link. “Are you touching yourself?”

He pants. Faster and faster, more and more, careening to the edge. “Yes, yes—” 

“I wish it was my hands there. Just as I wish yours were here—”

“They will be in the future—” 

“I want you, Aymeric.”

“You have me. I’m yours—”

“I… I wish I had you now—”

“You have me, Aureia. You have me—”

Her voice breaks, rasping in his ear. Then she whispers those final small words, words that send him over the edge.

“Do you want to hear me come?”

In the moment he is certain he says yes, but later he cannot recall the word ever leaving his lips. He moans, a distant memory of her on top of him summoned to his mind—dark lashes sweeping against pale cheeks, black hair spilling about her face, her breasts bouncing, a smile like the sun—and sultry heat rushes through him. Sweat clings to his brow, his neck, his chest—his skin is damp beneath his heavy uniform, too hot in this damn room.

His back arches, his hips rise, and at last he shudders at the peak.

Warmth flushes his hand as he spills into his palm, catching the mess as best he can. He trembles, hips bucking as the last few aftershocks course through him. Biting down, he muffles his moans and desperately hopes that none of his staff have suddenly decided that now is the correct time to check if the Lord Commander has drowned beneath his paperwork.

Slowly, he stills, blissful exhaustion spreading through him from his belly, and he collapses back into the couch.

“Aymeric?” Aureia’s voice is gentle, much quieter than before.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “I’m well, I…” He trails off in a haze and opens his bleary eyes, one hand still holding his cock. He should do something about that soon. But not yet. Not yet. “I have not felt this well in a fortnight.”

She giggles. “Good.”

He pauses, the linkpearl hard in his ear, and stares dumbfounded at the ceiling. Despite her question allowing his imagination to run wild, he didn’t hear her reach her end over the link. Perhaps he was too preoccupied with, well… all of this. “Did you…?” he asks, trailing off, the heat of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Thank the Fury she can’t see him. “I’m sorry, I seem to have caused quite a—ha—disturbance, shall we say—on my end.”

“Mmm…” Fabric rustles and he has the distinct impression she has rolled over onto her side. “I’m well, Aymeric. Thank you. It was wonderful.”

He wets his lower lip. It’s not an answer to the question.

Damn it, man, leave it be. If she says she’s satisfied, she is satisfied. There is no reason to doubt her.  

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Another pause where the distance of the passing seconds fills him with unease. His imagination, no doubt. He is seeing something that isn’t there. “We should do this again sometime.”

“I would like that.”

“When?”

He smiles gently. “Perhaps for the next time I can arrange for a morning off. That way we do not have to rush.”

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your mornings for me. We can arrange for your evenings.”

“Perhaps we can do both.”

“Both.” She trails off. “I like that. I miss you.”

He nods, once again reminding himself that she cannot see the gesture, and slowly unfurls from the couch in search of a cloth. Finding one at his desk, he cleans himself up and stuffs himself back in his breeches and laces them up. “Aureia, may I ask you a question?” he says.

“Of course,” she replies at once. “Anything.”

Aymeric pushes dark hair out of his eyes, his next words lingering on the tip of his tongue. He should say it. He needs to say it. Better to say it than to keep it locked within. “You have been different as of late,” he begins quietly. “Since the raid on Rhalgr’s Reach. I know how difficult it was for you—”

She sucks in a breath, short and sharp.

“—and I do not mean to pry into a place where I do not belong if you are not ready. But I must know what happened, if anything grievous happened at all beyond your injuries. And if my behaviour in the past months has unknowingly contributed or if my actions have caused offense, then I must offer every and all apologies I can—”

“It’s not you, Aymeric.” The coolness is tangible even through the linkpearl. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

He pauses, hesitant to try again but determined to regardless. “Then—”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about Zenos yae Galvus. I don’t want to talk about Rhalgr’s Reach. I have a personal vendetta against our common enemy and there’s nothing more to say about it than that. I’m fine.”

But you are not. You’re hurting and I don’t know how to help you. “Very well.”

“Aymeric?”

“Yes?”

The linkpearl hums. “Good morning.”

“Good night, Aureia. Sleep well.”

“I love you.”

The connection cuts off and he is alone in his office on the far side of the world.