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G'raha's fingers traced over the worn leather spines of each book. The shelves were chock full with them. From floor to ceiling they were carefully sorted, in the Sharlayan fashion. The system itself was brilliant. Each topic and genre was given its own numerical range. Within said range were further subdivisions, and due to its relative nature, new books could be added infinitely within. Currently, he was browsing area 398.2. It housed literature relating to children's' stories and folktales.
A few books were already safely stowed in the crook of his arm, but he still sought after one last anthology. Said writings contained his most favorite tale, and the one he wished to share with the Warrior of Light most. His ears stood tall, tail stiffening as his diamond pupils narrowed.
Aha! Found it!
He reached up on tip toes to retrieve it, tail swaying back and forth to keep his balance. It was quite the stretch, but G'raha was too stubborn to call for assistance from one of the pages. He willed his fingers to extend just a little bit farther, grimacing slightly as he felt the edge of the binding catch beneath his fingertips. His tongue slipped out to the side of his lips, so focused on the task at hand that he didn't notice the expression make itself known on his face.
C'mon, almost there...almost...there! Aha! Got you!
The thick anthology spilled forward, nearly tumbling to his feet. G'raha's reflexes were quick enough and the hand that once fished for his prize, dropped low to catch the book in his flat palm. His ears wiggled with satisfaction, and he strode with a bit of pep in his step towards the circulation desk to check out his newfound treasures.
He spent most of his afternoon hunched over a wooden desk with books and parchment. The tomes he borrowed earlier were stacked tall with little strings of ribbon to mark key places of interest within each text. Rather than attempt to carry them all to the specified meeting spot, he hoped to transcribe them into his own collection of sorts.
The Warrior of Light had long served as his inspiration, but these were the tales that left him daring to dream as a young boy. Long before he even knew of the Warrior of Light, these heroes lived in his mind without paying an onze of coin. Rereading them and copying each word brought back feelings and memories of wonder and delight. His tail flicked behind him, toes tapping against the wooden floor in pent up energy. He could feel the excitement build within him, and he practically vibrated at the thought of the next day.
He only hoped his hand would hold out from the long hours of writing. His wrists could only take so much strain from the focus required to master such penmanship. Memories of sipping potions to prolong such stamina in his Studium days flooded back. He hadn't been the first to struggle with such pains and he wouldn't be the last. Thankfully, scholars were a clever and ingenious bunch. The application of their daring intellect only needed the focus of good study to harness results.
G'raha let himself lean back on the two posterior legs of his wooden chair. Many an hour had been spent in such a position in his youth. He allowed himself a moment to shake out his hands, gently massaging his fingertips into the most painful joints. As important as it was to focus, rest was equally pertinent to his work. He let the chair fall back into its static position, standing to his feet with limbs extended towards heavens and helps alike.
He could spare a few moments to stretch his legs. The books weren't going anywhere.
Old Sharlayan had long been a paradise of sorts. Tall pines and firs lined cobalt blue seas and lush green grasses. Alabaster stones curved paths through the deep emerald lands with the keen planning and forethought of the city-state's finest engineers. Structures and homes fashioned in stone and marble lined said walkways, with open forums and markets brimmed with people of all races. Each and every one of them dedicated to a single purpose: learning.
G'raha directed the Warrior of Light to meet him in a very specific location. Just beyond the Leveilleur Estate was a public garden of lush violet and lilac blooms. Carefully presented and curated blossoms stretched out amongst tall willows. Creeping vines of ivy and grapes climbed stake and stone alike. G'raha set out a blanket, his favorite local wine and meats and cheeses. Tataru assisted him in acquiring such a spread, his Warrior deserved only the most scrumptious of finger foods. Tucked within the safety of the woven basket was the book of tales he had recorded in his own hand. Now all he had to do was still his jittering limbs and wait.
The Warrior of Light was a busy person. Even in lands where they stepped foot for the first time, their reputation preceded them. Old Sharlayan was no exception, and even in a city state that leaned towards insularity, their appearance was met with curiosity and intrigue. Thus it was no surprise that the Warrior was late to their meeting with G'raha.
G'raha did his best to calm his anxieties. It was true, they were friends, but his heart fluttered at the very mention of their name. It still hadn't quite sunk in that his childhood dreams had come true. From uncovering the mysteries of Ancient Allag, to becoming a leader and hero in his own right, G'raha had lived lives many would gaze upon with green envy. All of those memories were precious to him, but they all paled in comparison to the time he spent adventuring side by side with the Warrior of Light.
Steady footsteps sounded from the pathway. Many had found their way to this place to promenade with friends and paramours alike. G'raha knew those footsteps from anywhere. His ears perked, tail wagging in delight. Nervous hands wrung about one another as he forced the most natural smile he could bear. He was certain he looked like some strange amalgamation of goofy and lovesick.
Their smile had him melting into a puddle of warmth. Any nipping breeze from the ocean currents was forgotten in the warmth of the Warrior's expression.
"Raha! Sorry for being late, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?" Their hand reached to the back of their head, a nervous tic picked up ages ago in their adventures throughout Eorzea.
"No need to apologize, my friend. I can only imagine how popular you are, I hope the Sharlayans haven't been too forward in their desires?" G'raha patted the space beside him on the rich red blanket.
The warrior accepted the invitation, taking a moment to set aside their weapon before settling beside G'raha, their back comfortably resting against the willow.
"Some have been better than others. I've already been harassed by a fair lot of students over aetherology experiments." They chuckled, mirth echoing out into the open air. The Warrior always held themselves with such positivity. Even the most annoying of gnats seemed to provide an opportunity of sorts.
"Ahh, I admire your patience. I'm afraid I left mine back at the Studium, and even then it was sufficient at best," G'raha blushed, feeling the Warrior's gaze upon them. It was the kind of attention he starved for, but when the spotlight found him, he was always too flustered to act.
A moment passed and G'raha sat shock still as the Warrior extended their hand to the top of his head. He willed himself to stay resolute as their calloused fingers grazed against his sensitive ears. The movement was swift, and soon G'raha found his head cocked in question.
The Warrior opened their palm, the stem of the willow canopied above them revealed.
"Almost didn't snatch it. It looked good on you, Raha," they grinned.
G'raha could not tell if they were teasing, but he suddenly wished to learn to weave flower crowns just to feel their touch once more.
He cleared his throat, the silence growing too heavy to bear between them.
"I brought food and wine, but most importantly there were some stories you wished to hear?"
"That sounds fantastic! Let's dig in!" Their enthusiasm nearly blew him over. Thankfully, he managed to sit upright, pulling out the contents of the basket Tataru had prepared. Most precious of all was the book in his hands.
It was a little known secret that the Warrior of Light could not read. They were of humble upbringing, their skills laid in arts more practical such as crafting and weaponry. G'raha was not sure what he had done to earn their trust, but he cradled it closely. Like a mother might brood over her nest, he saw the Warrior's trust and friendship as something most precious and dear.
At first, he was nervous. His fingers shook and his voice wavered as he tried to find the right tones to convey the beats of each story. He dared not glance in the Warrior's direction, for fear he may have put them to sleep! However, they chimed in with questions here and there, and soon G'raha' found his courage.
Firmly in his element, he began to add hand gestures, giving different voices to different characters, and acting out each scene with vigor. When something silly happened, the Warrior laughed, when the heroes struggled against all odds, they gasped, and when hints of romance fluttered from the pages, they seemed to swoon, their eyes fixed upon G'raha.
Too soon, he was at the final page. A sadness fell over him, ears flattening as he closed the book. The stories were over just as soon as they had begun. Surely, stories would be written of the Warrior of Light's adventures, but would he be by their side in those pages?
"I can see where your sense of adventure came from. It's no wonder how you've grown into a Scion, Raha. Truly, you deserve a place in these epics!"
G'raha found himself taken aback. He shook his head, stowing the book back into the basket with the remnants of their meal.
"You flatter me far too much. It would be an honor just to be remembered by a hero like you,"
Despite the depth of his affections, G'raha never dared to step forward and confess. The fear of disturbing the precious balance of their friendship, the trust that the Warrior placed in him was too great to overcome. To suggest he did not seek more would be a bald faced lie, however.
"Everyone treats me differently, you know? Almost like...I'm not a person," the Warrior confessed. Both hands had settled behind their head as they leaned back against the tree. Their legs spilled out without care on the blanket below. Little spirals of willow blooms rained about their hair like a crown.
G'raha leaned forward, daring to let his fingertips ghost at the side of their thigh, mere ilms apart.
"But you? You never did any of that. You always make me feel like I'm me, Raha," their features softened, the halo of light filtering through the buds and leaves. They looked radiant, dappled in beams of light.
"B..but of course! You've always been my inspiration...but now you are so much more than that. A hero from the pages come to life, but also a friend," his voice trailed off, barely a whisper as he murmured something incomprehensible.
The Warrior dropped one of their hands, taking G'raha's own in their firm grasp. They closed their eyes, lips curving upward in a serene smile.
"Thank you Raha. I don't know what the future will hold. But, I'm glad I have you by my side. Stories be damned if I don't have you to read them to me,"
G'raha nearly doubled over. His heart yearned to cling to those words for eternity, to see them as an invitation to something more. By the Twelve, he was a coward! A blustering fumbling coward, but try as he might, his lips would not move.
Instead, he managed a hum, letting himself lean against his Warrior. If only for just a moment, he could cherish this quiet time together for the rest of his long life.