Estinien levels his gaze at Aymeric, expression unreadable, brow heavy from thought. It is ludicrous, in his estimation, that the other temple knights should be so preoccupied with the birth of a peer who had already proven himself otherwise capable -- even superlative.

But, were sympathy wanted at all, and Estinien isn't even sure that it is, he wouldn't even know how to begin to express it. So, instead, he says, "How boring. There is much more about you worth finding fascinating."

A pause, he lets his attention trace the outline of Aymeric's perfect form, haloed as it is by the bright noon sun. "Does it bother you?"

Whatever his answer, Estinien decides that he will see to it that the whispers stop. On his own time. Without Aymeric noticing.