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“Estinien…?”
“Who else would it be?”
Sitting in the middle of Aymeric’s dorm room is the dragon himself, wings and tail present but curled protectively around him. He’s clutching something in his claws, a bundle of something from far into the mountains. He holds them like their precious treasures to be guarded, so Aymeric is careful in his approach.
“You have been gone for a week. Is aught amiss…?”
The bundle is thrust out in Aymeric’s direction.
With furrowed brows the brunette takes it and inspects it, pausing when he clocks exactly what it is. “Did you…–”
“Not another word, Borel.” Estinien does not stand from where he is sitting, hunched in on himself still. It brings Aymeric closer, gives him pause when he catches sight of dried-over blood on the curve of Estinien’s wing.
Poachers, likely. For Estinien to be so far from school grounds and be a full-grown dragon familiar, he would be a lucky catch had they managed to knock him out of the air.
Rather than make a scene, Aymeric cautiously steps into the bathroom to retrieve some of his healing poultices and brings them to the silver-haired man without further discussion. After a few minutes of deliberation, retracting claws pluck the vials from offering hands and uncork them. With careful precision they are poured and rubbed into the wound, the silver-haired dragon hissing the whole time. Aymeric supervises, knowing his help will be met with more heated debate than it is worth.
“You didn’t have to do this,” the brunette starts again, ignoring the baleful look he receives once he opens his mouth. “I could have made do without them.”
“Could have, but won’t have to,” Estinien bites back, tail flicking hard enough that surely the neighbors downstairs can hear its meaty thump. “It’s my job. Leave it be.”
Aymeric certainly will have a leg up on his classmates in the next potion class with these fresh ingredients straight from the source, it is true. And Estinien is his familiar, that much is also true. Was it sheer instinct that drove Estinien into the cold to retrieve the winterberries and snow carrots for him? It makes the pit of his stomach ache just imagining it. He does not want to be the reason Estinien throws himself into danger ever again.
As if reading his mind, Estinien hisses at him again, still more serpentine than human with his wings and tail present. “I chose to. So quit looking like a kicked puppy.”
Aymeric is almost positive that his expression has been neutral this entire time, but Estinien always has had a way of reading deeply into cornflower eyes and seeing past his unruffled demeanor. “If you insist. I just cannot wrap my head around why you chose to do so now.”
“I told you, it’s my job.” Estinien’s wings finally start to recede, but he lost the inability to retract his tail long ago. It seems like only yesterday a tiny dragonet was thrust into Aymeric’s arms, told he was too feral to be a familiar despite the wizard’s denouncement. The tail had been proof of that conversation ever since, but Aymeric has never been bothered by it. If anything, he welcomes the presence of it. It is wholly Estinien, often expressing emotions that the taciturn male otherwise struggles to pronounce.
Now, once completely transformed, Estinien is as large as a true dragon, and just as tough. He can be ridden, when he has the inclination. No longer is he a tiny, feral dragonet. No longer does he refuse to use Aymeric’s name or avoid his questions and refuse to do basic familiar tasks. Instead it is almost the opposite; he throws himself into them headlong, as if making up for lost time or something. Proving himself.
“You spoil me.” Aymeric changes his approach, taking a seat beside Estinien to wrap an arm around his middle protectively. “I only wish you had allowed me to enact protection spells before you left.”
That seems to soothe the man’s temper. Touch and positive affirmation always does. He slouches a little, allowing Aymeric to draw him closer, into his lap. It matters not that they’re sitting on the floor. The tail flicks slightly from side to side.
“Thank you,” the beauty says, rubbing his fingers through dirty silver locks. Estinien is filthy and smells of travel, but it does not bother him as it should. He did all of that for Aymeric’s sake, for something as mundane as showing up Zephirin and the other members of the Ward in the wizard’s potion class. “You did well, Estinien.” Full lips press a kiss directly between stormy blue eyes.
The tail thumps softly.
“Now go bathe; if I am to make proper use of your spoils tomorrow I am in need of more magic.” The curve of Aymeric’s lips betray the feeling of accomplishment that bubbles up every time he sees Estinien’s ears go red. “Rinse off and refill the tub once the dirt is gone. I will add healing herbs to the water and join you.”
A swish of the tail brings it in reach to snatch, so Aymeric gives it a teasing little tug. It makes the color of Estinien’s ears climb all the way to his cheeks.
Before he can be further teased, the dragon stands and stomps off to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him to the ring of Aymeric’s warm laughter.
He really does have the cutest familiar on campus.