#2. I really like weddings actually. and writing Aytien fluff

[efrmellifer]

Eternal Devotion

I still think Squeenix would be so rich it’d be like printing their own money if they let us marry NPCs

Aymeric hadn’t known how to bring it up when Etien had greeted him at the door, so now he had this fact, this funny little anecdote, to share with her just hidden under his tongue.

But it didn’t dissolve; it burned there, waiting for him to spit it out and tell her.

And yet, he was nervous to. There were so few things he had ever hesitated to tell her—perhaps that he loved her, at first. But that was only for the sake of Ishgard. She was a busy woman, and the last thing she had needed to be dealing with when she was flying off for Azys Lla was carrying around the feelings of the Lord Commander whom she barely even saw.

Hells, he would have expected her to have fallen for Estinien at that rate—well, she had, but he meant to the exclusion of himself.

In any event. That had been more about Aymeric denying himself the relief of sharing the burden of his feelings, for the betterment of his nation and the well-being of its savior. This, on the other hand, was intimately personal.

And frankly, all the more frustrating because of it.

“Etien?” he said finally, placing aside his fork and clearing his throat while he waited.

She looked up, letting her wrist hang limp, then putting down her fork and knife as well. She took a sip of water, then looked him in the eyes, eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

“I had a—ahem. I came across something of an unfortunate discovery while I was consulting with the Sultana and the Elder Seedseer today.”

Etien tipped her head. “Just them? So Merlwyb didn’t attend your meeting?”

“No, she was attempting to handle part of the very problem we were butting up against.”

“Interesting. And what problem was such that it seemingly stumped the Alliance’s leaders?” She paused. “Or, well, I assume it did.”

“You would be correct, loath though I am to admit it.”

Etien scooted her chair closer to the table, leaning in. “Ooh, that’s even more intriguing.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll like it when I actually reveal the issue—the Alliance hasn’t been properly processing incoming paperwork.”

She sat back, sighing. “More paper-pushing?” Her expression shifted to mild shock as a realization came over her. “Wait. Aymeric. You didn’t agree to take on more, did you?”

“No.” Still, he looked away, swirling his wine before bringing it to his lips.

When he put the goblet down, it was to see Etien with her hands folded below her chin, supporting her re-tilted head. He could practically see the halo of innocent ignorance floating there between her perked ears.

So Aymeric heaved a sigh and told her. “Most of the paperwork that was improperly run through and promptly mislaid was coming from Ishgard and Ala Mhigo. We were still too new to the alliance to add more to the workloads of those poor scribes, but after the victorious Ala Mhigan liberation, then the loss of the Scions and then the battles with Garlemald… things slipped into the cracks and disappeared.”

“Oh no,” she murmured, listening intently now.

“It gets worse. Do you remember what events happened between the removal of Imperial forces from the Ala Mhigan Quarter and the fighting at Ghimlyt?”

She counted on her fingers. “There was the drowned city, we had the wedding and our honeymoon, there were all those meetings with Hien to get Doma involved with us again, Thancred fainted, I explored the Burn and Gaius showed up with Alphinaud… yes? Why?”

“Well, we still have our Ishgardian marriage certificate, at least.”

Etien’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no. That’s not funny.”

“If I were telling you a joke, it would be,” Aymeric replied, taking up his fork again.

“Are we not married?” she hissed, whispering as if it were going to start a scandal.

“We are. But Greater Eorzea has no record of it.” He took another sip of wine.

“Other than the hearsay,” Etien snorted. “Among other bits of physical evidence.”

That got Aymeric to laugh, and so they sat in shocked, giggling quiet for a long while.

Finally, the silence was broken with a question. Etien wasn’t usually the one to ask it—normally, she was the one having to enact whatever the answer was, but this time she would ask it and be part of its solution.

“So what do we do now?”

“Well,” it came light and airy, “one of us could marry Estinien, and we can effectively commit legal bigamy. But that would hardly be fair to whichever of us got left without an extra spouse. So I suppose our course is clear: we get married a third time. That is, of course, unless you’ve changed your mind and won’t have me?”

From the moment had Aymeric said that, a softness came into Etien’s eyes. It was hard to read at first, but he’d been looking at her for a while now in their shared life (he enjoyed it, in fact), and he managed to sift through the layers with a little extra looking. There was a sort of sadness—he could almost hear the teary huff, the very idea, that after I’ve loved you so long, I could even think of backing out—and there was a touch of mirth. It was funny, he knew it. And there was one more very clear element to it, one that was easy to pick out because of how often he saw it. Love. There was so much love in Etien’s expression that he could have drowned in it.

But he didn’t have time to drown, nor even to swim, because then she spoke.

“If you’ll have a silly little bard for a bride, I’ll have you for my bridegroom even if we have to do this a thousand times.”

Aymeric rose from the table, their dinner utterly abandoned with the advent of this piece of news, and came to Etien’s chair.

“A thousand is a little excessive. It does get expensive after a while.”

She giggled, her hand lifting to cover her mouth.

He took it, kissing just past her fingernails. “Marry me, Etien Felis Regina Mellifer. Again.”

“I will.”

“What a pity I didn’t have a ring the first time I proposed, and I certainly didn’t prepare another one for this occasion.”

With minimal struggling, Etien removed the chain from around her neck, slipping her wedding ring off the end. For a second, they both looked at the glint of the silver and the sapphire in the firelight, then, she handed it over. “We only need the one.”

He slid it onto her finger, and it fit just as naturally as it had the first time it had been placed there.

“I swear, it could have been made for you,” Aymeric mused as they admired the ring in its place for a moment.

Etien put it back on the chain and around her neck again, settled with a locket from Estinien, a purple shell charm, and her mark of Llymlaen. “As long as it’s found its place.” She took hold of his shirt to bring him closer. “Can I kiss you?”

“I would be more than a little upset if you didn’t.”

“Well, we simply can’t have that,” she purred, smiling against his lips as they met hers.

_

In much an echo of the first time, they made their way to the Sanctum of the Twelve with Artoirel and Lucia in tow to witness the second affirmation of their union.

Of course, the Elder Seedseer came along, too, to make sure that the paperwork went directly to be filed, for a whole host of reasons ranging from Alliance leadership needing to set an example to the Sanctum gearing up for a busy season as spring started to wash over the Black Shroud.

Aiming for some degree of accuracy to the usual protocol, Etien had acquired a gown in a starkly white hue—and only white, missing the accents of pink and black that had been part of her other wedding dress. Aymeric wore the same tuxedo he had before, and looked just as good in it a second time.

It was a short ceremony, with no one there to throw flowers, open sparkling wine (not that the bride could have had any anyway), or cry into their handkerchief. And so they were ushered out into the bright day in what felt like less than a bell.

Before they could mount the chocobo waiting for them—but after Etien’s shout of recognition, being able to call the bird by name—he pulled her close.

“It’s a shame that I never get to do this until we make it outside.”

“Do what?” she asked, blinking up at him.

“Brace yourself.”

She gripped his shoulders, and he dipped her low for a kiss. “That. I’ve wanted to since the ceremony was coming to its end.”

“The kiss makes it official?” she asked as he helped her up and onto their mount (Vittelina, Etien had cried).

“Official, no. Complete, I think so,” he added as he settled onto the saddle.

She kissed him again as Vittelina began plodding forward. “I wholeheartedly agree. You should do that more often.”

“I fear I’d make you dizzy.”

“Your kisses certainly can have that effect.”

“Etien,” he scoffed.

“Aymeric,” she cooed. “Darling husband, thrice over.”

His feigned offense at the joke melted completely. He laid his hand over hers on the saddle. “My dearest wife.”

#Aytien #fic #okay before you judge me I did this for three reasons: #1. I think the 'oops we aren't actually married' trope is funny #2. I really like weddings actually. and writing Aytien fluff #3. I got to reference their proposals from so long ago #I thought it was cute and indulgled myself a lottle #I hope you enjoy too c: