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Acting normal around the Warrior of Light is possibly the most difficult thing that G’raha Tia has done as the Crystal Exarch. It is one thing to stay neutral when he has read so many stories about her victories, her bravery and courage, the kindness of her heart, the many things that she has done simply to make the world a better place. She inspires him in more ways than he can put into words, and he longs for a moment when he could talk about such with her as an equal and friend. But to try and hide that he knew her, that she knows him, in one shape or another?
Defeating a Lightwarden alone would have been an easier task.
Gereon has changed since he worked with her on the Crystal Tower. Her hair is shorter – he read an account suggesting it had burnt off in the attack against Gaius van Baelsar and she liked the shortness of it – and she traded her long white robes for casual wear, sturdy trousers and a short sleeved shirt that reveals her dark muscled arms. She is still a healer, her friends tell him, but she has taken up the sword when necessary. Dark magic in tandem with her white. But when she first walks into the Crystarium, her staff on her back and her hands in her pockets, and she greets him with a smile, he knows it is still her, at her core. Her smile is like a hearth, a sweeping wave of warmth, and it took every ounce of dignity he had gathered with his prolonged age not to prick up his ears and hug her. He hides behind his lowered hood and greets her politely, with all the formality and disinterest he can muster, and prepares himself to play this simple part in her journey.
She looks at the Crystal Tower with a familiar expression, her eyes raking it from top to bottom. It was the same look in her eyes when he first met her in Saint Coinach’s Find. Curiosity hums in her, although it is tempered now by caution. With all of the dangers she has faced, he is not surprised that she would be concerned. He is prepared, in some degree, to play the villain in this story so that she can be the hero in her own, and he does not dissuade her much of that fact.
As they talk about the Crystal Tower, he says softly, “As for the Crystal Tower’s origin, you may have noted that details were sparse. The structure is, in fact, the selfsame one you know from the Source, transported to the First in its entirety. It was my first attempt at breaching the boundaries between worlds – something of a trial run for your eventual crossing. And although I do not know which era I tore it from, I do know that its arrival served to set the wheels of fate in motion.”
He is not prepared to see Gereon’s face shift from thoughtfulness to something deeply crestfallen. Her golden eyes flick toward the tower, and her voice trembles. “Just like that? Then…G’raha Tia is…?”Dead, she doesn’t ask.
He hasn’t heard that name in a century, and takes the moment that she looks away to swallow down the rush of emotion in his chest. She remembers him. She cares. “…I am not familiar with that name,” he lies. “Is there something I should know?”
Gereon turns back to look at him. “He was my friend,” she says softly, the words punched out of her like a knife into her chest. “A Student of Baldesion, descended from the Royal Line of Allag. We worked together to unlock the Crystal Tower. When we realized the power held within it and what would need to be done, he locked himself inside, waiting for the right moment.”
She speaks with such pain in her voice, and he watches her arms wrap around her body, squeezing herself for comfort. “I watched him make that sacrifice, Exarch. He was the first friend that I lost for the greater good.” Her voice turns pleading. “You…you are certain he was not inside? No body? Nothing?”
If he tells her, she will not let him make the final sacrifice. There is no way that she would. She loves her friends, and would sacrifice all for the sake of one. No matter how much her words touch him, he cannot let this secret break forth. “An extraordinary tale. But I’m afraid I found no such individual residing in the tower when it passed into my care. Mayhap we can revisit that mystery another time. For now, I think it best that we focus on the present.”
But she doesn't let it go. She isn't able to go further into the Tower without his permission, but the Exarch can tell that she is still trying to puzzle it all out. He hears her one day speaking to Feo Ul, sitting at one of the lookouts, eyes scanning Lakeland. "He was supposed to be in there, Feo Ul. He was supposed to come out of that place one day, ready to use whatever knowledge his bloodline gave him to save people. He can't just not be there. He can't."
If he imagines that her voice is half agony and half hope when she talks about him, well, that is between him and his imagination.
Even when she manages to return the night to Lakeland and to Il Mheg, it lingers in the back of her mind. She is exhausted, worn out by so much travel and by absorbing so much Light into her body, so he tries to offer her what breaks he can. It's a long and arduous task that has been laid before her, much like so much that she has taken on. It is the least he can do to provide her with food and tea, a time to gather herself and breathe. And when she asks him to join her for tea, just this once, well, how can he refuse? He certainly should. He shouldn't spend any more time with her than he must, just so that he can maintain enough separation to stick to his goal. But there is something in her smile, a warmth in her golden eyes, as she beckons him to sit beside her. Before he realizes it, he is there, in her room in the Pendants, sharing a cup of tea.
Twilight beckons just beyond the window and after their little chat about the Crystarium, she turns to look at it. If the Exarch had any ability for artwork, he'd paint her. "What a beautiful sight," she says softly, her low voice soft, like waves lapping at the shore.
"It is," he says, not knowing if he is referring to the night sky or to Gereon herself. Perhaps both. He forces himself to simply acknowledge the former. "And to think that is a sight that hasn't been seen for more than a hundred years."
"I couldn't imagine a world without night," she explains softly. "'Twas always my favourite time."
These are details that were never mentioned in her chronicles. "It was?" He asks hesitantly.
She nods. The faint sunlight catches on her face, highlighting her faint smile. "When I was fighting still for Ala Mhigo, on the few nights we had quiet, I'd go stargazing. Find a blanket, lay it on the highest rock I could reach, and turn away from the Imperial lights to map the stars." She reaches her fingers out to trace a line in the faint stars in the darkening sky. "I wondered if someone out there was watching us, watching us fight, and I hoped that they wished us victory. And peace, if both of those things were possible."
Slowly, she turns away from the view to look back at him. He is more than a little grateful that the hood hides the infatuated look he is certain is on his face. "And do you think they did?"
"We won, did we not?" She smiles a bit. "No matter what the future brings, Ala Mhigo was free. Doma was free. Perhaps the stars wished us luck."
The Exarch nods and hides his smile in his tea. "Now, let us hope that same luck carries itself to this star."
Gereon nods and takes a bite of a sandwich, following it with a sip of tea. “I think he would be happy to see this. G’raha, I mean.”
There is something particularly soft in how she says his old name. Like a precious treasure. Like a friend. The Exarch makes a show of tipping his teacup, letting the liquid move around in it, and tries to put together his next words. Careful now, old man. “From what you have said of him, perhaps he would. Those who make such sacrifices never get to see the results of their labours.”
She nods. "That is true. I know not what he was thinking, but," her mouth twitches in a sad little sigh, "I think that he would have been proud to have tried. I can imagine the smile on his face when night first spread."
He had smiled. When he watched through his looking glass and saw her strike down Philia, the Lightwarden at Holminster Switch, he'd run to a clear patch of earth and immediately thrown his head up to stare at the sky, no matter the blood dripping from his sword. Lyna had jumped in surprise, not used to seeing the Exarch in such a rush, but then the sky had split in two, the light tumbling away, and darkness spread across the sky. After a hundred years of light, the Exarch had, for just a moment, let himself be G'raha Tia. He'd laughed with joy, grinning wide like a fool because she'd done it. She had done it. There was hope after all.
"If he thought as highly of you as you do of him, I suspect he would be happy and proud of you," he says carefully, trying not to let too much emotion carry through.
She smiles a little. "I like to imagine he is out and about somewhere in the First, seeing the world, trying to help where he can. He was a kind soul."
"I wish I could have known him," The Exarch lies.
The Warrior of Light, resplendent as always, sighs, pausing with her cup to her mouth. Her expression is neutral, although there is a little bit of gentleness in her gaze. “Exarch, we are alone. No one to see or hear or ruin your reputation. You do not have to lie to me. Not anymore.”
It feels as though all of the air has been sucked out of the room, his lungs included. The Exarch freezes in place and stares as she sips her tea, slow and careful, and then sets her cup gently on the table. Her golden eyes never falter from him, staring deeply into him, and he feels absolutely flayed alive by that gaze. He grips the teacup, his crystal fingers scraping a bit against the porcelain, and he does his best to school his expression, what little she can see under the hood. If she can see that she has struck a particularly sharp chord, he doesn’t know what gave it away.
What gave me away?
“I have lost many people over the course of my adventures,” Gereon says softly, “but not so many that I forget their faces, especially those who spent their last moments looking at me. Nor do I forget their voices when they told me that it would be okay. I don’t understand how it is you...but I know it is you, G’raha.”
She doesn’t sound angry. Perhaps that is the worst part of it all. Her voice is mostly inscrutable, but it is hopeful and sad, like an extended hand, beckoning him back from a high ledge. The Crystal Exarch does not show a reaction, other than to slowly set the teacup on the table so not to drop it, and he places his hands loosely in his lap. The tail hidden by robes does not even twitch. Finally, the voice cracks and the teacup settles on the table, the Exarch’s head falling forward. He cannot keep it from her any more. He has to conserve his strength for bigger decisions ahead. “What gave me away?”
“I saw your tail, honestly,” she responds. “And you paused when I said your name before. The same way Lyse used to when she went by another name and she heard her own.”
Again, she does not sound angry. She sounds sad, if anything, and when he briefly flicks his eyes up to look at her, he can see the ache painted openly across her face. He lets out a long, slow breath, though it does rattle on the way out. “I...I have not heard my name in a very long time. It is...strange to hear it again, when I have pretended for so long that it does not exist.”
The long hood hides his eyes, he knows, but the tremble in his voice doesn’t hide the fact that his emotions are getting the best of him. He tries to hide it, clenching his jaw and willing his traitorous eyes not to let any more emotion leak from him, but he is failing. Instead, he watches as Gereon turns to look at him fully and moves her chair closer, almost so their knees are touching. “Why did you not tell me?” She says softly.
He swallows. Because I have a goal in the future that I need to achieve, and I needed to be anonymous for it. “Perhaps I am used to keeping secrets, when necessary or otherwise. Perhaps I am not the same as I was before and did not want you to know it.”
“Perhaps you did not want me to think a friend had ripped me and my friends across time and space to a dying world when there is so much at stake back home.”
That is not a reason he had thought of, but the sharpness of her tone makes him wince. His fingers grip tight in his robe. “You have a great capacity to forgive, Warrior of Light. But I did not think you could forgive me this. I did what needed to be done, and I made grave mistakes along the way.”
“You told me you spoke with Urianger and you still thought so?” She smiles sadly.
He remembers the stories Urianger shared about how easily Gereon had forgiven him for his actions, for siding with the Warrior of Darkness and with Elidibus to lead Minfilia into becoming the Oracle of Light. Urianger, still shaking his head in bewilderment, head in his hands and saying, “Without a second thought. The Warrior of Light hath great faith in those she places her trust. She is a woman unlike any other, and I more than understand why thou risketh so much to ensure her survival.”
(There was something else in his voice too. A longing, deep and heavy, and there was perhaps something of the relationship between Gereon and the Scions that wasn’t in the stories. Something where, when Urianger spoke of her, his entire being softened, his eyes warming, and his hand twitching as though it should be holding someone else’s. After two years of wondering, Alisaie had finally said it to the Exarch, plain as day. “He is in love with her. Desperately in love with her, and he is not alone in his acting like a lovesick idiot.”)
“You are in love with Urianger,” there is a slight smile at the edge of that tightlipped mouth, even as the words hurt to leave him. “I imagine he would get a bit more grace in his mistakes than I would.”
She tips her head, considering. “Perhaps, though you meant a great deal to me, G’raha. I mourned you deeply.”
Had he?
He thinks back to the moments they spent together on the Crystal Tower project. When he saw her for the first time and realized that this, this was the Warrior of Light, the hero of Eorzea, he'd been spellbound. Not only was she beautiful, but she was kind and passionate, a bottomless well of compassion and desire to help. Then, he got to know her just a bit more and found that there was power in her stance, a dream in her eyes, a laugh always at the edge of her mouth. She'd taken that image of her and brought it truly to life. He fought alongside her once, his arrows flying to try and help when her white magic healed and cut its path through her enemies. She was radiant. And...he remembers sitting beside her at one of the high floors of the Tower, leaning against her, his shoulder resting against her bicep. They looked out at the night sky, stars barely visible under the glow of crystals. She was warm to the touch, even through their clothes, and when he tilted his head up to look up at her, the tattooed stars on her skin had been brighter than any constellation. Then she had smiled, and oh, that smile had made his heart flutter like the infatuated fool he was.
I do not think I have ever been so high, other than an airship, she’d said, voice wondrous. There’s so much to see.
I think I can see Coerthas from here, he'd noted. And there is Midgardsormr in his lake. To see the world from up high is its own wondrous experience.
Maybe, when this is done, you can come with me for a time. Travel. See what lays ahead. She’d looked down at him again and slid her arm around his shoulders, tucking him in from the cold wind. I always find interesting things. It would be wonderful to share them with someone clever.
He’d rejoiced at her touch, burrowed into it, and tried not to let his ears and tail give his giddiness away. That would be wonderful.
But then he’d remembered his responsibility and closed the gate behind him to the sound of her cry of his name, the picture of horror on her face. Her hand reached out to him, even as she’d been held back, and even as he knew he did the right thing, it hurt to know he'd caused her such devastation. It wasn't his intent, but he'd hoped she understood. And she did, from the sound of it, but that didn't stop her pain.
Now, the Exarch tilts his head up to look at the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness, the woman who remembers a piece of him he thought he'd lost long ago. She does not hold her hand out to him again, but he feels her reaching for him anyways. He darts his gaze from side to side, confirming that the room is empty. It is an unnecessary thing, but he cannot remember the last time that he allowed anyone to see his face. Perhaps Lyna, when she was a child, but she does not remember such things now. It is a great effort to do this, and he considers far too many times that he should just abandon this entirely, but his shaking hands finally come up to his hood. They linger for a moment, the metal spikes pressing against his fingers, but he slowly presses it back, letting it fall to his back.
He knows he looks older than she remembers. He’s thinner now, frail from age and lean from so many years of not eating well, barely needing to sleep or eat with so much crystal fused into his body. His hair is partly white, a visible sign of his age, and he can feel the wrinkles beside his eyes. The crystal climbs up his neck to his face, touching the edges of the markings by his eyes. Slowly, he lowers his hands onto his lap, wringing them in his robes. Gereon leans down slightly to look at him, tilting her head slightly. His ears are flat to his head in worry, and he feels the need to look away, red eyes staring at a corner of the room, not wanting to see her face. What does she see? An old foolish man, desperate to help those around him, ready to give up everything at that chance? One resigned to live as a passing shadow?
Her fingers rest gently against his chin. He can barely feel it through the crystal, but the faint warmth seeps through anyway. She tips his head slightly towards her, and he lets his eyes be dragged back to her. The stars are still there on her dark skin, if broken up by a couple of scars, and her golden eyes shine. Then she smiles, warm and sad, and G’raha falls for her all over again. “Hello, Raha.” Her voice is a little wet, her eyes glistening along with it, and her thumb brushes across the sharp line of his jaw. “I missed you.”
He chokes on his next exhale, eyes locked on her. “Hello, Gereon. I missed you too.”
He doesn’t speak further, not able to find the words, barely able to breathe. If he was a braver man, a man who allowed himself little pleasures and ignored such considerations as monogamy, he would kiss her. They are close enough to, her dark lips only a few inches away. She may even want to, but that is a conversation for another time (and one that requires Urianger be present). He should lean away, try to escape the temptation, to simply accept the comfort of her words. But she surprises him. Instead, she leans up and rests her lips against his forehead in a soft kiss.
Oh.
For so long, G’raha kept himself going through memories of her and of the time they spent together. It is foolish of him to say that he is in love with Gereon, with the Warrior of Light, but the dreams persisted regardless of his sense. He imagined kissing her on the forehead like this, just the once, perhaps if she needed comfort. But never, never, did he imagine that she would offer him the same degree of care. Never. And in this moment, he cannot remember the last time he was touched with such gentleness, and against his will, his entire body melts. His breath rushes out of him in a choked exhale, and his eyes flutter closed at the touch. He falls forward and Gereon, with all of the ease of the world, wraps her arms around him, tucking him into an embrace. She is so warm, and though it may be unbecoming of an old man, he burrows into the touch. After a moment, she lowers her arms from his back, but only so she can haul him into her lap. He is small for a mi’qote and her tall for a Roegadyn, and he lets himself be enveloped in her.
“You have been so strong, haven’t you?” She says, careful not to hurt his ears as he nestles into her body, her chin resting on his head. Her voice is a low rumble, her throat against his forehead, vibrating like a purr. “Holding an entire world on your shoulders for so long, making sure you survived long enough to keep everyone safe. You brave, kind man.”
G’raha can’t quite make out the sound he makes, but he grabs onto her clothes, holding her tight. She makes a soft little shushing sound, holding him still, and when did he start shaking? He hasn't been touched so much in ages.
“And you have been taking care of me while I have been here,” she continues, rubbing his back. “All with a new name, a hidden face, all the mystery to keep your people and yourself safe.”
She says this with such kindness, such deep warmth and gentleness, and all that he can think is that she is too good for him. He will always think of such. But for now, he soaks up what he can get. He doesn’t speak, barely breathes. His crystal fingers creak as they grip onto her robes. Her fingers slide up into his hair, just above the braid, and pet the back of his head, slow soothing touches. For a moment, he considers that she is pressing her warm healing magic into his skin, wrapping him in magical comfort, but no, it is simply the effect of her touch.
“It is why I am here,” he breathes. “You died. I had to…I woke up to a world without you.”
That had been the most painful thing of it all. To wake up and find out not only was the world falling apart, falling to ashes around him, but the knowledge that she had been destroyed while trying to save them. Yes, he’d known that by locking himself away in the tower, he had resigned himself to a lifetime without ever having truly known the Warrior of Light, only hearing of her exploits, but…to hear that she’d died in action, died trying to save a dying world was something else. He hadn’t had much time to recover when the Ironworks found him, before they sent him off in the Crystal Tower, but he’d had a brief moment to grieve. He’d sobbed, wretched sounds as he read the accounts of all of the good works she had done, the friends she had made and the lives she’d changed before her life ended. That had been the deepest motivation of them all, one that he would hesitate to acknowledge – not just all of the people that were lost to the Eight Umbral Calamity…but her. She had to survive. She had to live. Not just for the sake of all of the people she could help, but because it would have been just as great of a calamity to lose her.
Another kiss to the top of his head, and his words die in his throat. “I am here now, Raha,” she croons, his name dropping with ease from her mouth. It sounds fitting. Right. It takes more effort than he would like to admit to keep his emotions from exploding out of him. “I am here and we will solve this together.”
Together. What an unexpected delight. G’raha sighs and nestles into it. “A century ago, I longed for such an opportunity,” he whispers, “to work and fight alongside a hero.”
He can’t see Gereon’s face, but he feels her steady breathing. “And now?”
“Now, ‘tis simply a desire to work alongside you.” Perhaps it is both, but it is more because it is Gereon.
He cannot see her face, but G'raha is certain that she is smiling at him. She presses another kiss to the top of his head and continues to hold him tight. Her warmth seeps into him, into his skin and crystal, finding the protective ice he'd wrapped around his heart and melting it. If there was any doubt in his heart that he is in love with her, it is cast to the side now. His tail sways under his robe in unspoken pleasure, and despite his best efforts, a purr rumbles up from deep in his chest. This is a moment of contentment, of peace, and he is going to savour every single second of it.
"You are too kind to an old man," he jokes, voice far too happy to be self-deprecating.
"I must respect my elders, mustn't I?" She teases back.
Ouch. He smiles into her breastbone. "Then perhaps, if you are inclined..." He can't bring himself to make the request.
"I will hug you again, Raha," her voice feels like thunder, a comforting summer rain. "When we have time."
Thank you. "I will treasure those moments."
After a moment, she leans back so that they can look each other in the eye. Her eyes aren't wet anymore, but her facepaint does appear a little smudged in the shape of tear tracks. She gently lifts his chin up to look her in the eye. “Whatever you are planning, Raha, I shall be there to support you,” she cups his cheek tenderly. “No matter how hard it may be. I know it shall not be easy, and it certainly will not be painless, but you have been planning for a hundred years. You do not have to tell me all of the twists and turns and tricks. I shall be at your side and see it through beside you.”
Her faith is boundless in those she trusts, Urianger had said.
Trust. She trusts him. Why does that feel so good and yet so painful? "It shall be harder, now that you know who I am," he says honestly. "Only Urianger knows the whole truth."
She raises a dark eyebrow at him and shakes her head. "Of course he does," she says fondly. "My genius self-sacrificial secret keepers."
He is too old to have such a knot of joy balling up in his throat to be in the same class as the man she is in love with. He swallows it down and tries to speak. "I worry that I will not be able to move forward with this plan, because you know who I am."
She sighs. "It will be difficult, I will not lie. I do not know what you plan, but I would be a fool to believe that all things shall resolve themselves and we all live happily ever after. But...it will save this world and ours?" When he nods, she holds him a little tighter, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "Then I will do my best. Maybe Uri will have to hold me back."
G'raha looks down at Gereon's muscles and back up at her. "I am unsure whether he could do so."
Her laughter is beautiful as she grins at him. "He can try, at least. Although I think Emet-Selch might have a better chance of holding me back."
That...is true. "Sometime we must talk about the Ascian, but...I trust you will not tell anyone else about me for now? I doubt they would be as understanding."
She nods. "I promise. It shall not be easy, but I promise."
They make no move to separate at all. At first, he think he should, but when he tries to climb off of her lap, Gereon grips him just a little bit tighter. He does turn around so he can reach their cups of cooling tea, which he heats up with a fire spell, and nestles with his back against her stomach. He is barely tall enough for her to rest her chin on top of his head, and she does so in between sips of tea. At one point, she finishes off her sandwich and has to wipe the crumbs out of his hair, but there are absolutely zero complaints. Not at all. G'raha can't help feeling that the moment he climbs off, this moment will be shattered. He will have to be the Exarch again, dignified and separate from the rest, and she returns to the role of the Warrior of Darkness. Perhaps she will tell Urianger that she has figured him out, but she will hold her tongue for the rest of her party. Then time will march on, she will face more obstacles, and finally, finally, he will have to make the decision that he has been dreading.
But now, there is tea and Gereon's arms around him. And that is enough.