thefeywood | why don't you figure my heart out?

Aymeric's expression turns serious almost instantly, though Estinien asks the question for them both. Theodlac glances back at Saidine and stays silent, and she turns her own grim expression to the senior knights in front of her.

"A few of the locals have reported that the monthly allotment from the Holy See has yet to be received."

Aymeric raises his brows at that, eyes flickering to Estinien for a second. "Do we know when it was scheduled?"

"Nay, Captain. 'A week or more' is what was stated."

He brings a hand to his chin and rubs the edge with his thumb in thought. "A delay could be expected if forces and supplies needed to be directed towards the Dravanian conflict, but with no activity of late..."

Theodlac looks back up. "Does that mean it was missed?"

Aymeric offers a placating smile as he drops his hand. "'Tis possible, but it is likely a clerical error. There are several villages and townships in the Highlands that receive monthly aide for their dedicates wares. With men being in charge of such efforts, mistakes are bound to happen now and again. I will touch base with the committee in charge and see that this is corrected posthaste."

Theodlac, at least, looks relieved and nods. Saidine nods as well.

"Anything else to report?"

"No, Captain."

"Then you are dismissed. I'll see you in the morning."

The pair salute, Theodlac sparing one last almost hopeful gaze at Estinien before they exit, leaving the door shut behind them.

Estinien steels himself against the onslaught of whatever that look means, staring back at the young man for only a moment before turning his gaze towards Aymeric. He tries to shrug it off.

"Who would be in charge of dispensing those funds?" he asks, tilting his head. As naturally suspicious as Estinien is, it does sound like something that was likely an error caused by carelessness. Still, he's well aware of how critical such relief could be to struggling townships.

He does note that Theodlac seemed particularly concerned about the situation. He can appreciate that instinct in a person.

Aymeric's posture does not relax when his knights leave, though his expression does open up more when it settles once again on Estinien. It's clear the other man is troubled by the news as well, likely in no small part because he grew up in the Highlands, feeling for the folk in similar situations.

"Ser Fauwax de Moutette. I have never traded word with the man, but I have seen the work of his committee. It is no small task orchestrating the woven supply chains across the region as routes become no longer available..."

And the worst, when villages are removed from the chain entirely. But he says naught of that aloud. It goes without saying.

Aymeric shakes his head. "What troubles me most is that the locals saw it fit to speak so plainly of this to patrols. My squadron is not stationed at Hemlock, only to scout the surrounding areas."

He leans back again to sit on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms, frown deepening.

"As much as it pains me to put it as such, Hemlock is both near enough to Ishgard's walls and a large enough settlement that there ought to be a Knight stationed there at least on a semi-regular basis. Would this report not have been best delivered through them?"

Estinien pauses to contemplate the implication of that. Aymeric has a point. Surely there should be enough presence in Hemlock that there would be people to report to beyond a wandering patrol. He frowns more deeply.

"Do you suggest that the locals may not trust the resident knights enough to lodge a complaint with them?" Estinien asks. "Or... that believe naught will be done as a result?"

It's the only explanation that comes to his mind for that. Ishgard does give plenty of reasons to become disillusioned in the system for the common folk.

Aymeric's brows pinch together in thought. He does not like admitting that Ishgard favors the townships that are of most economical import or are the closest to her own borders proper, but he also does not like thinking on the different ways the commonfolk are let down by the establishment. It is the sad reality of their time, one that should--nay, will need be corrected.

"Mayhaps both," he finally says, then shakes his head. "It is no secret that the Temple Knights have done little in recent years to earn the trust of the masses. If only the Holy See realized that it is equal import to the war that we wage against our enemies."

He exhales sharply through his nose, turning his gaze on Estinien proper. "Either way, I shall raise the issue and instruct the squadron to pass through Hemlock proper on our next patrol. I may join as well, to at least validate that their concerns were heard and to reaffirm that they are yet valued citizens of Ishgard."

Estinien nods his head. It sounds like a solid plan to him, and he feels like not many captains would take so much initiative for the townships under their watch. It's heartening to see Aymeric in a position where he can finally start working towards his vision, no matter how small in scale.

"It sounds to be a situation where your skills would be of use," he agrees, knowing that Aymeric is more skilled than average at leveraging with others. As much as the sound of the situation causes his hackles to instinctively rise, he would hope it's something that could be resolve plainly.

He pauses, glancing back towards the door the other squadron just left through.

"Tell me, what do you know of Ser Theodlac's origins?"

Aymeric cants his head to the side as if to say 'we will have to see'. There has definitely been a singular benefit to receive ire throughout most of his life for his questionable origins--his ability to play diplomatic under tense situations. This would be his real first venture out to speaking to citizens on behalf of the Temple Knights, though, so it is something he wants to do justice, both for the villagers and for his squadron.

At Estinien's question, he raises both of his brows. Aymeric had thought that Theodlac's clear excitement for all things Dragoon might have been too much of a deterrent, yet it seems his heart and empathy may yet be his saving grace.

"I know that he is from a settlement that is close to our border with the North Shroud, though his papers indicate he has lived in Ishgard proper for several years prior to enlisting. I believe his father was a Wood Wailer before coming to Coerthas. I venture that it was his father's abilities with a lance that gave rise to Ser Theodlac's own enthusiasm for the discipline."

Estinien does not have much to spare in terms of being a bleeding heart, lest he exsanguinate himself completely, but if he couldn't respect it in other people he certainly wouldn't be friends with Aymeric. He could easily see that Theodlac had a good heart, and attention towards his fellow man that not all Ishgardians managed.

He nods his head, as if that explanation confirms something in his mind.

"An immigrant, then," he confirms. That could be as troublesome as anything when it came to existing in Ishgard. Even if Theodlac himself had been born in Coerthas proper, the fact that his father had not been is something that would be talked about. Immigration was very uncommon, and his father must have had to prove himself wit his lance.

"Not as cloying as I might have thought," he adds a few moments later, as overt of approval as Theodlac was likely to get.

Aymeric gives a short huff of amusement at that. Is this Estinien going soft on someone new? He won't say as much despite the fact the thought hands readily at the forefront of his mind.

So he merely nods, though he does not bother to hide the smile steadily growing on his lips. "His father, at least." He has little idea of his mother, though he assumes she is of Coerthas for his family to have settled in the region.

"I am sure given the opportunity he would have much to ask you."

"And wind up disappointed," Estinien says with his own soft scoff, shaking his head. "I've not much skill in giving advice. Mayhap on the training field."

He crosses his arms, leaning back against one of the desks that is decidedly not Aymeric's. Nobody is here to stop him.

"But if I started giving private lessons to just anyone, surely there would be no end to it."

Aymeric chuckles, making just a small effort to hide it behind his hand out of feigned politeness. They have no need for such overtures but he mostly uses it in jest.

"Ah, but think of how excited he would be to say he was a pupil of the next Azure Dragoon?"

Estinien knows that Aymeric is joking, but he can't help but reflect on how much he would hate for someone to go around telling everyone that. The last thing he needs when it comes to his interactions with Ser Draneux is for there to be word on the wind of Estinien already preemptively claiming the title.

"If I live to see retirement, mayhap I will follow in Alberic footsteps that way," he say. "But I have no intent on starting yet." It lets that sit for a moment, shaking his head slightly in amusement. Then, he looks up.

"Do you have other business to conclude?" he asks.

"Hopefully you also mean in regards to retirement." Another jest. They are both yet young and have really only taken the first steps to their long and arduous careers. Though Aymeric sees a few avenues that his path may take him, he is still getting a feel for where he may be most useful and have the greatest amount of influence.

To Estinien's question, Aymeric shakes his head as he pushes himself off of the edge of his own desk.

"Naught left for the day, though I may stop on the third floor to see if I can yet catch Ser Fauwax before he takes his leave. No sense in letting the situation in Hemlock carry on longer than it has."

A pause as he taps the edge of that same desk twice.

"Would you join me for dinner?"

Estinien nods his head in agreement, both to the idea of speaking with Ser Fauwax and also to having dinner. Left to his own devices, he usually just grabs whatever the easier to eat rations are, but it can be nice to stop for something a little more formal when Aymeric is around.

"I would. I also thought it could be a fair night to test ourselves in the training yard." They've been training less frequently since their respective duties intensified, but for a while it had been part of their routine, and Estinien thinks fondly of it. "Mayhap after the food has settled."

Aymeric's lips twist upwards into something akin to a smirk as his eyes sparkle with mirth. It has really been too long since they stood together--or against one another on the field. A little friendly sparing may be overdue.

"Then I shall inform Alfred to hold the wine for dessert." Namely, after they have trained and Aymeric decides he needs something sweet to finish the night off. Estinien is aware by now that even when Aymeric's dinners are far from extravagant, he never forgets to have something for dessert.

He motions to the door with a sweep of his arm.

"Shall we?"

And so they do. Estinien allows Aymeric to conclude his business while he returns to his room to change out of his armor and into something more practical - after all, if they are going to have dinner, he may as well enjoy himself, and in Drachen Armor you can scarcely sit down without turning the chair sideways. He even runs his fingers through his hair a few times, evening it out a bit, before taking only his lance to greet his friend at the manor.

Dinner proceeds as expected, with conversation staying light and spirits high, even without a visit to the wine cellar. Then, it's off to the training yard. Estinien leaves his dragoon armor in his room in favour of something a bit lighter, and a bit more evenly matched to Aymeric's. It's not a gesture intended to go unnecessarily easy on his friend - more that they will both get more out of it if Estinien focuses on honing the aspects of himself that do not rely on the power of the armor from time to time.

Though he would never want to end up without his armor in a true battle against the Dravanians, the future can never be guaranteed, and he would not allow himself to grow soft without it. It's in that spirit that, after some familiar weapon-based trials, they move on to some hand to hand sparring.

It's largely focused on grips, blocks, and dodges, as they have an ill need to pummel each other into submission. Towards the end of the session, even Estinien is getting tired, and with their scrabbled having wound up on the ground, it's feeling close to when they might want to call it quits.

"Do you yield?" he breathes into Aymeric's ear, having taken the advantage for the moment as he pushes his friend into the ground. Though training is often all business for Estinien, it's hard for him to not be a little bit cheeky in this context. He has fun when he does this with Aymeric, and not in a way he would with anyone else.

The best days are the ones that he is able to spend with Estinien, he is quickly finding out. They are not as frequent as he would like, but in some respects that makes the ones where they do manage to find time with one another all the more special. He does not voice these thoughts, of course, already being prone to helpless sentimentality as he is and tries not to overwhelm his friend with it.

Dinner is simple but filling and once they feel up to it, he is only too glad to face the dragoon on the training grounds. It feels nostalgic. Though he spends some time there with his squadron to oversee their progress as well as get in practice himself, facing Estinien has always been a welcome challenge. He fights in a very different way than Aymeric, but so used his friend's movements as he is, it becomes something of a game to see how predictable he can be.

It is unsurprising that Estinien has a few surprises. His style of fighting has always been more wily and if there is anyone to best him, Aymeric would prefer it to be Estinien.

That does not mean he willingly throws in the towel.

Aymeric lets out a strangled breath of his own, a happy surprised exhaustion. It's good that his cheeks are already flushed from the excursion because the feeling of Estinien's breath on his ear does something to him that he ought to ignore.

He grins towards the ground and breathes out,

"Nay."

With a grunt, Aymeric pushes back up against Estinien, swinging one leg outwards to hook his foot at the back of Estinien's knee. He yanks hard to destabilize his stance, effectively dragging the lower half of his body down while pushing the top half up. Aymeric pushes his advantage, twisting around to pin his friend instead on his back, pointedly straddling his hips and looking quite proud of himself.

"Do you yield?"

Estinien is successfully flipped, landing on his back with some surprise. In a different context, he might find himself being more desperately competitive, but it's not as if hand-to-hand wrestling is the field in which dragoons excel. There's more space for him to grow, and so losing feels more like an opportunity than a failure.

He puts a momentary effort into struggling, pushing up with his hips to try to dislodge Aymeric's hold, but when his squirming doesn't get him much of anywhere he finally rests back against the ground. His hair is spread around him in a halo of white, his cheeks and ears flushed with effort. He laughs, more hearty and whole than he would often muster.

Aymeric is the only one allowed these moments, and within them, Estinien is filled with a different sort of life than he would be otherwise. Thriving, perhaps, instead of surviving his march towards his goals.

"I am at your mercy," he says, breathing heavily as he recovers from his exertion.

So preoccupied was he in pressing his advantage that Aymeric did not at all consider the view he would be given. Under any other circumstances--with anyone else, truly--Aymeric would simply smile and stand up. Wrestling is, after all, a contact sport and there is nothing at all compromising about the situation to an layman, to the Knights at all.

But to Aymeric there is. Something. He can feel it when he takes in the way that Estinien's hair lays in a messy halo because of him, the particular shade of pink at his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, and how utterly charming it all is in combination with the full-bodied happiness he so rarely gifts Aymeric with. Aymeric's throat tightens, those words cutting to places that he immediately dismisses.

Aymeric has long since acknowledged (privately) that he finds Estinien attractive--and who wouldn't? But to see what he sees so plainly and to allow it to affect how he approaches their friendship is something else entirely. He has no intention of doing so, of course. Does that mean he cannot look a moment longer?

Aymeric's own breathing takes a moment to calm, the heaving of his chest slowing down. He lets out a breathy laugh, his gaze not leaving Estinien's as he runs a hand through his bangs, feeling that a bath will be necessary soon. It is the good kind of exhaustion he feels settle in, even as his heart is racing at an embarrassing rate.

"Then--" he begins in a breathy tone, "--you will find I am merciful."

He swings his leg backwards and moves off of Estinien's hips, pushing up onto his own two feet before offering a hand to the other man.

Estinien doesn't seem to catch the tension forming within his friend, and is happy to accept his hand as soon as he's been freed. He pulls himself to his feet, scooping back his own hair which is similarly in a mess.

"That's enough for tonight, I think," he says, stretching his arms. "If you, too, are sated."

The training yard is empty at this point in the night, leaving them the space to collect themselves at their leisure. He supposes this is where their ways could part, each returning home to wash and rest, but he finds himself inclined to linger.

"A productive day, overall," he comments. More accurately, it's been a good day, at least for him.

Sated. Yes, he supposes he is in a few ways. Aymeric pushes those thoughts aside as well, dropping his hand only when Estinien releases that and forcibly looks out towards the training area at large. He stretches as well, hands at his waist so he can flex the muscles in his shoulders.

"Indeed," he agrees with a smile. Much had been accomplished both professionally and, perhaps, he does truly feel sated on a personal level as well. Unknowingly answering some of Estinien's own thoughts, he has to offer,

"Do you yet have it in you for dessert? I fancy that wine that we postponed."

Estinien bends into a few more involved stretches, pressing low to the ground as he works the kinks out of his legs. Being flexible is a necessity for his combat style, with many of the leaps being hard on the body. It's important to keep his muscles loose.

As he works on that, he looks to Aymeric. There is no reluctance in his answer at all.

"If I didn't before, I do now," he says. "Though I'll need to stop in my room to change." And wipe himself off a bit, at the least. As he winds down, though, something else comes to his mind.

"...On another note... did you ever find out what happened to Hemlock's allotments?"

Aymeric nods, dropping his hands and only idly watches the other man stretch from the corner of his eyes. Aymeric will change and bathe quickly back at the manor as Alfred readies the sitting room for dessert, he knows.

"Of course. I can come with you back to the barracks or we can meet back at the Manor, whichever you prefer." Obviously just to...wait outside.

To Estinien's question, Aymeric bows his head slightly.

"There appears to be naught amiss in the paperwork. So then I am left to believe the error occurred when the supplies were set up to be shipped. Mayhaps with the wrong carriage or the wrong chocobo? That will be much more difficult to investigate, but I will follow this thread ere our next scheduled patrol."

"Hmph." That's all that Estinien says at first, seemingly annoyed by the mundanity of the answer. He tilts to the side, huffing out a breath as he stretches his shoulder. "Not as dramatic as it sounded, is it."

It seems all too likely that some manner of human error resulted in the problem, which is annoying on a different level from it having it be a conscious effort. To have a few clumsy fools result in such difficulty for an entire town...

"I hope you determine where the trouble began," he says, after a moment. "Someone may need their ears boxed." A particularly deadly threat for an Elezen, no doubt.

It is indeed, seriously enough for Aymeric to flash his furrowed brows in Estinien's direction. Though the effects of the mistake are suffering many, if it is an honest mistake, there ought to be opportunity to do better in the future. That much Aymeric can afford, though he knows not all are fortunate enough in the position as he.

"As am I. With all good intentions, this matter shall be dealt with quickly. Mayhaps we can personally escort the next allotment to ensure it reaches its proper destination."

Aymeric is determined to get to the bottom of it, of course, though he will be willing to set the investigation aside for a day in order to make sure Hemlock does not go without for longer than it yet has been.

He shakes his head. "But there is naught to do for this eve. Come, let us fill our heads and bellies with something more pleasant."

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