Chapter Text
When the Crystal Exarch first met Urianger Augurelt, he was rather surprised.
Besides the fact that this was clearly not the Warrior of Light (the summoning spell had failed again ), the Exarch realized, very quickly, that this was the best of the Scions to help him in his mission. He remembered Urianger from his time with the Students of Baldesion and the man was, to put not too fine a point on it, brilliant. Not only was there a sharp mind there, but he was talented, skilled, well-versed in far too many things, prepared to work out elegant solutions to problems. Not to mention that he had a similar bent of sacrificial behavior, ready to do whatever it took to save the world, no matter the personal cost. In fact, according to some of the records G’raha had managed to obtain...he already had done so, tricking the Scions in the process.
And so, instead of wrapping himself in mystery, G’raha unmasked himself, sat Urianger down, and explained his centuries-long plan. Urianger had listened intently, asking important questions, and within moments...agreed to the plan.
Of course, G’raha had asked about Gereon after he explained his plan. Urianger’s expression, grim and worried, had softened, almost as if by reflex. A fondness crept into his eyes and he rubbed his fingers over his wrist, where something obviously lay on his slumbering body. “I fear that, were I to attempt to lay mine emotions bare regarding her, we wouldst be kept well into the next day,” Urianger had said. “And yet, there is too much that words would not truly capture. As simply as I can manage…she hath great meaning to me, and many a thing would I do in service of her.”
His head tilts slightly to the side, looking off into the distance. G’raha’s observation skills overtake his common sense as he looks, and he slowly comes to the conclusion that Urianger has grown into himself more. Not that he was not pleasant to look at when they were at school, but...he is beautiful too. His silver hair catches the blue light of the Ocular around them, as do his golden eyes. He seems, in this moment, a literal manifestation of Light, and, in many ways, Gereon’s opposite. Perhaps that is what he is. There was certainly more to it than what Urianger said – perhaps more that Urianger did not want to reveal to a stranger – but G’raha had understood and, in all honesty, he was glad to know that someone else out there loved his hero. “Do you believe she will go along with this plan?”
Urianger shakes his head. “Not in the slightest. Nor would any other of the Scions. ‘Tis too...self-sacrificial, for their taste. The end justifies the means, but Gereon shall look at the cost and weep.”
G’raha sighs. “I suppose it was too much to hope for. I only hope she will understand my motives when the time comes to pass.”
“That she shall,” Urianger smiles. “Didst thou hear of how I betrayed her?”
G’raha makes a tipping gesture with his hand. “I know the broad strokes, but not of the intricacies. Only that you enacted a great plan and fooled the Scions along with others.”
And so Urianger laid out what had happened with Elidibus and the Warriors of Darkness, how Urianger had masked himself and hid his intent so that he could act as a liaison between the Warriors of Darkness and the Ascian, leading them to a point where they would be taken into Hydaelyn’s domain, and then returned to the First to stop the Flood. All this deception to try and fulfil a prophecy, to save his world and another, and he had to keep it under wraps so that Gereon would not find out.
“Twas a difficult decision,” Urianger admits, “but there was no other course. Forward I went, and on my head be the consequences.”
“And how did she take it?” G’raha has to ask.
Urianger laughs. “I lay forth my belief that no man who sticks to his convictions is traitor, even if he be called villain, and...she forgave me on the spot.”
G’raha shakes his head. “She is wondrous, that woman.”
Urianger raises an eyebrow at him, expression unreadable. “‘Tis plain that you think highly of her.”
G’raha has to take great effort not to flush, although he is certain that his ears and tail betray him. “I do. I had a chance to work with her, once. At the Crystal Tower, when Cid Garlond worked on it. I confess to have been enraptured at first – a hero made flesh – but once I stepped beyond the first impression, I was honoured to have a chance to even know her. She is…dazzling.”
“She is.” Urianger smiles a little. “Know I well the price to pay for such actions, as do I know what sacrifices I would make for the good of all. And for her. This I will do with thee, Exarch, though it shall pain me greatly to do so. I simply hope, once our paths cross, she can forgive me for such secret-keeping.”
“I hope that she shall as well,” G’raha replies. He truly does not know, but he has to hold onto that hope, just a little bit. He knows he will not make it out of this plan, not by a long shot, but his home and Gereon can get their happy ending, then he will do whatever it takes.
(Alisaie tells G’raha, two years later, that it isn’t just that Gereon means a great deal to him. No, no, no. The truth was too precious for Urianger to share with a stranger, and G’raha has to sit down and process the knowledge that in his clumsy attempts at summoning, he managed to rip not just Gereon’s friends away from her in a trying time, but her lover.
Well, what she’d said exactly was, “He is in love with her. Desperately in love with her, and he is not alone in his acting like a lovesick idiot. They made each other matching bracelets, for Twelve’s Sake. He keeps petting where it should be, the sap.”
It doesn’t hurt so much that Gereon fell in love or that someone loves her - not at all, Gereon is an easy woman to love and her heart is certainly wide enough to take others into it - but now he knows for certain that he has hurt her. He never wanted to. Not that he hadn’t intended to do so by pulling Gereon here, but…the whole thing stings in more ways than G’raha can put together into words.
When he finally gets a fix on her for his summoning spell, three years after summoning Urianger, he realizes he finally can do so. This plan now must be set in motion and he prays that all will go well.)
Of course, when the time comes, he points the Warrior of Light on her course to becoming the Warrior of Darkness, hiding his true intentions. He lays out a map of Norvrandt for her, describing the locations of all of the Scions. The moment he mentions that Urianger is in Il Mheg, he sees her entire posture change. Not that Gereon was not paying attention beforehand, but it is as though lightning sparks through her. Her eyes are riveted to Il Mheg, and if he didn’t direct her first to Alisaie and Alphinaud, he suspects she would have sprinted for Il Mheg as fast as her legs could carry her.
In fact, when the Eulmorans chase Gereon into Il Mheg with Thancred and Minfilia, the Exarch cannot help but smile as he pictures her quiet excitement.
Find your lover, Gereon. He is waiting for you.
Bookman’s Shelves had been a good home to him. It was hard won – Urianger doubted that, unless there was the threat of life or imminent death, he would never be able to pull several successive all-nighters ever again, not after that riddle contest – but it was his. He filled the space with all of the books he can scavenge, a simple bed, every bit of research that the Exarch could forward to him, the little memories that he assembled to mark the passage of time in this strange place. The fae are helpful too, their cleverness and trickery helping him try to see new angles to the problem, and they offer him all the information that he can. But it has been a long time. Three years. Three years. He knows his body hasn’t aged, but his soul is tired and lonely. The work exists at this point to distract him because all he can imagine is Gereon lying on the ground dead, among the rest of his friends and denizens of his star, and he would rather die himself than let that happen. So he works. He works and studies and works, trying to find an answer to an impossible question.
How can I save her? How can I save them all? He ponders, flipping through book after book, staring at the words until they make no sense and his eyes ache. It has been three years, and he still has no answer, apart from that which the Exarch has proposed.
A strange man, the Exarch. Urianger had heard about G’raha Tia’s fate in letters, and on one long evening in the Waking Sands, Gereon unfolded the story to him. It was a fascinating tale - the knowledge of a bloodline passed down through the generations, preserved in naught but eye colour, and one man making the ultimate sacrifice so that the knowledge could be used for that which it was meant to. Gereon had described a bright and awkward young man, much like what Urianger remembered from school, but with enough compassion and will in his heart to make the sacrifice. The Exarch, now, has compassion, will, and a sacrificial bent to his drive, but none of that awkwardness. He’s an old man now, one who has given everything that he had to protect the people of his world. He makes decisions that will change the world...but forgets how to be his own person sometimes.
And he is fascinating . Urianger spent many a night listening to him, learning everything that he could about Norvrandt and its people. The Exarch speaks with a balance of bluntness and complexity, depending on his audience, but it seems that there is little that the Exarch does not know. Except, of course, for the future. The Exarch is, of all things, a kindred spirit in this strange place. Urianger has grown to like him, be fascinated by him, and wishes that there were better circumstances where he could learn more without the threat of armageddon .
(He is also beautiful. The way his eyes sparkle at new knowledge is marvellous. Perhaps that is what Gereon meant when she said that he was stunning when he was learning. This, however, is a thought that Urianger keeps firmly to himself.)
He is reading a gifted volume from the Exarch when he hears the knock on his door and the creak of its hinges as it slowly swings open. After that, Thancred’s voice is the first he hears. “He’s here somewhere, I know it.”
Something about Thancred’s voice gives him pause. That’s not how Thancred talks to young Minfilia, that strange distant warmth where he is trying to process exactly who she is. Nor how Thancred speaks to the fae, who poke and prod at him to play games with them and linger for as long as he can. No, he has brought someone else here to Il Mheg. Perhaps one of the other Scions, taking a break from whatever tasks sent them to the distant corners of Norvrandt. Urianger closes his book and rises slowly to his feet, making his way to the stairs. Let it not be said that he was an ungrateful host, hiding from his guests, even if they are uninvited.
Then he hears Thancred smile as the man says, “Call him. I know he’ll come if he hears you.”
There is a brief moment of quiet as Urianger turns at the top of the stairs, preparing to walk down casually. Then…
“Urianger?”
What is breath? What is air? Urianger’s lungs clearly have decided that he needs none of either, because he knows that voice. He knows that voice, has longed for that voice for three years, and if it’s her, oh, if it’s her, then nothing will keep him away from her.
His casual step turns into a half-run, skipping steps, even sliding down the banister for the last few steps, and sure enough, standing in the centre of the room…is Gereon. His Gereon, in modified Crystarium armour, her hair a little longer, and her face lit up like it always is when she sees him. Thancred and Minfilia are in the room as well, but he barely registers them. Only Gereon’s voice as she says again, delight radiating from her, “URI!”
He picks up into a run as he darts across the room towards her and there is no thought of dignity or tact as he crashes into her. Gereon sweeps him into her arms, spinning to use up the last of his momentum, and wraps him up tight in an embrace. He holds onto her with everything he has and buries his face into her neck. It’s her. It’s her scent, her warmth, her strength, her, her, her . “Beloved,” he chokes. “Oh, Gereon, oh, beloved. ”
(Behind them, Minfilia is gaping in surprise, staring with wonder because this is prim and proper Urianger who has just abandoned all sense of decorum to hold someone he calls beloved. He clings to her like a young man in love, who missed the one he loves, and she remembers somehow that Urianger is younger than Thancred. In another corner, Feo Ul is grinning because oh, their sapling has a mortal under their spell, and it’s the one who has been living here for some time, and oh, isn’t this exciting. Thancred, for his part, is smiling to himself, shaking his head at the sight of his friends reuniting, the bloody saps. He knows how long Urianger has been waiting for her to arrive, how much the old coot missed her.)
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry I took so long,” Gereon says softly as she holds him tight. Urianger’s muscles tremble, threatening to give out, but he knows that Gereon will hold him up. She always does. She shifts one arm under his astrometer, the other under his arse to keep him close. His legs are half bare, robes draped around them, but he does not care in the slightest. He focuses instead on how she kisses his cheek and whispers in his ear, “The Exarch told me what you saw. What you’re working to prevent. Thank you.”
It is easy to bend the truth a little as he buries his face in her neck. “I cannot- T’would be no greater devastation than to lose you, for myself and all the worlds.”
Eventually, she has to put him down, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. It is a feeling that he has missed too much to withhold it from himself. Her fingers lace with his, her thumb occasionally rubbing his knuckles, her delight in seeing him palpable. She keeps a steady hold on him and keeps him in her sight, and that is beyond grounding, to assure him that this is real. The entire time he speaks, he does not let go. Not while he explains his (re: the Exarch’s) vision, the possible future, that which they must do.
He insists on coming along, for his experience with the fae, but really, he keeps looking towards Gereon like he cannot afford to let her out of his sight or she shall vanish. Thancred sees through his excuse immediately and grins at him. Gereon appears to as well, as her expression softens at the sight of him.
(She always looks at him as though she has seen nothing so wondrous in her life as him. It is sometimes more than he can bear, but oh, he would bask in her gaze now as if it were a sunrise.)
“Before we go, I’ll give you two a moment,” Thancred smiles, joining Minfillia outside. “No defiling Il Mheg with delicate ears around!”
“We shall preserve thy delicate ears,” Urianger teases, beyond grateful for his friend’s care.
Gereon laughs, her voice warm and bright as the door swings shut behind Thancred. “You can’t tell me what to do, hypocrite!”
As the door thuds closed, they are finally alone in the room. Gereon stands before Urianger and he slowly reaches up to cup her face in a hand. His thumb brushes slowly over her lip and he murmurs, “Pray indulge me, mine nights hath been plagued with one desire over near all else.”
“Whatever it is, you shall have,” she smiles, her hand resting easily against his waist. “Always.”
That is music to his ears. He leans up to kiss her, standing on his toes to reach her. He loops his arms around her neck to hold position and, as always, she supports him. For three years, he dreamed of this feeling, and even though he knows that this is not his body, that his body lies somewhere in the Source and that she is only kissing aether, it still feels as it should. She kisses him like she fights, rushing in all at once, but with her familiar edge of care behind it. Warmth and healing, as though her lips can seal the cracks made in his soul by his isolation. It does not fill them entirely, but when they finally pull apart to breathe, he feels like a new man.
She smiles at him, that lovely smile, and she turns her head to press a kiss to his palm. “I like your new look,” she replies, petting his new robes. “Not that you were not beautiful before, but now, you do not hide it.”
He blushes at that, unable to stop himself. “I thank you, beloved. ‘Tis the garb of Sharlayan astrologians. I thought to learn more of the craft to work further towards these goals.”
“Well, they suit you,” she spins her finger in a circle and he, obligingly, spins around so she can see the whole outfit. He can practically feel her eyes burning into the curve of his back, the way the robes fall over his behind, as though she is committing him to memory. When he finishes his circle, meeting her eyes, she looks impressed. “So much jewelry, my darling. They’ll hear you coming from miles away.”
“Perchance it shall distract thy foes that thou may act swiftly,” he replies with a smile. “As well, I may heal thy wounds, if thou would have me follow thee.”
“Urianger, if it would not put you in danger, I would have you with me always,” she draws him in for another kiss.
“It would be my pleasure,” he replies after the kiss, his cheeks a bit red with exertion.
“But come. Show me this land you have lived in. Feo Ul has told me some, but I want to know what you have seen.”
“I shall lead thee forward gladly,” He offers his hand to her and with no pause, she gladly takes it. It looks good together, their fingers intertwined, and he takes a moment to just soak it in before leading her outside. “First - to Pla Enni, where we may speak with the Nu Mou.”
And so, he guides her as best he can as a diplomat. She fights monsters, nearly drowns at the hands of the Fuath, uses the necessary words of power on the Nu Mou, finds a relic of a Warrior of Light for an old amaro - poor Seto, Gereon looked ready to start crying at his story - and speaks to Minfilia about the legacy that awaits her in the future. Finally, when they have gathered all that they need, Urianger watches the door of Lyhe Ghiah close behind her as Gereon goes to fight the Lightwarden. He is frightened, of course, but before he is cut off from her, she looks back at him and nods confidently.
This is nothing that she has not faced before. She is ready. His fear fades and he braces himself for whatever may come their way.
There is a flurry of activity afterward. Holding the Eulmorans at bay, the light in the sky parting and giving way to darkness, Feo Ul taking the crown of Titania, and there is Gereon, flying in on an amaro, ready to join the fray. She looks as beautiful as ever, and once more, Urianger remembers why she is considered by so many to be a hero.
They spend the first true night in Il Mheg, nestled in the grass in the curve of an old Voeburt house. The others of the party are camped close by, huddled around a fire, but Urianger pays them no mind. Not when the love of his life is here, having survived yet another fight against a creature of the same magnitude as a primal, and she still stands as strong as ever (with Light burning inside her, but that is a realization that he shall deal with later). For now, he wraps himself into the curve of her body, head resting on her heart, arms around her tight. Her heartbeat is a soothing sound, and he drinks it in as much as he can.
“‘Tis beautiful,” she says quietly.
“Which, pray tell?” He asks, voice just as soft.
“This place,” he cannot see her face from this angle, but he feels her body move under him, as though her head is turning. “I do not know of the like in our world.”
“Tis of great splendour, yes,” he replies in turn, “but the beauty hides darkness in turn.”
“The ghosts of children that will turn you into bushes, for instance,” Gereon elaborates.
“Exactly. But ‘tis vibrant, and the ever-changing chaos of it felt fitting for the work that I needed to do,” Urianger rubs his thumb idly at her side. “And time I had a plenty to consider, after mine summoning.”
Gereon stiffens, just a little, but enough that he could feel it. “I was prepared to fight the Exarch for that,” she replies, voice low.
He does not tease. “Prithee, my love. What is it?”
It takes a moment for Gereon to gather her words and speak. “I have never been so scared as when I saw you fall before me and knew there was nothing I could do,” she says quietly, “Nothing. I just had to hope you would be safe, wherever you were, whatever happened to you.”
He holds her close again. “I pray that such events shall not occur again.”
She runs her fingers gently through his hair. It catches a little on the elaborate jewelry he made her, the bracer and rings of aether crystal to aid in her casting, and he rubs at his own wrist. It was empty for a time, but when the fae learned that he had lost something precious, they made him a small bangle, something to keep its place. The little bit of metal jingles, and Gereon’s eyes dart towards it. “I apologize for lacking the token thou presented to me.”
“You still have it on, in the Source.” She keeps petting him, every movement of her hand easing the knot in his stomach. “It’s strange - you don’t feel any different. For all I know, you’re all here, not just your soul.”
He shrugs. “Perhaps ‘tis a function of how much aether exists in the air - that condensed aether feels solid.”
“Possible,” she replies, “That doesn’t explain the ghost following me who can’t touch anything.”
Urianger’s eyebrows shoot up and he sits up slightly to look at her. “I beg thy pardon?”
“Ardbert,” Gereon looks off to the distance. “He said he’s been wandering for a century. Minfilia wanted him alive for something. No one else has seen him, but...he’s there. Watching.”
If there is something there, Urianger cannot see it, but he looks that way anyways. He wonders what the former Warrior of Light thinks as he watches them, watches all that has passed here in Il Mheg. “Twas painful for him to observe such interactions with those of his past, I imagine?” He asks Gereon quietly. Especially Seto.
Gereon nods. “He looked ready to weep.” She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine it - living for so long, watching the world slowly turn to hate you, with only a few remembering who you truly were, and not being able to speak to them.”
Urianger nods. “I pray that we shall restore that which hath been forgotten, then.”
Gereon nods and buries her face in Urianger’s hair. “And we will find a way out of this. To save this world and our home.”
(A ghost watches the couple curling up together and feels a deep pang of loneliness in his chest. As much as it hurts to do so, he sits beside them, legs crossed, ghostly axe on the ground beside him, and he watches the night sky twinkle above them.
Was this what he was meant for? To protect Gereon, her fledgling love, and her friends? What did Minfilia want from him?
He keeps this to himself, and simply watches over the happy couple as they slowly fall asleep.)
...
Some days later, when Gereon walks into the Ocular with Urianger in tow, the two walking close together, the Crystal Exarch can’t help the smile under his hood. They do not walk hand in hand, but their closeness would suggest that they are restraining from doing just that. Not only that, but the two of them look delighted. Urianger looks revitalized, rejuvenated, and Gereon walks with more purpose.
(They walk in beauty together, opposites of darkness and light. When the Ocular’s light falls on them, G’raha ponders to himself that if the people of Norvrandt had met them instead of him, they may have considered the two to be gods.
He wouldn’t blame them.)
“I am glad to see that you found Urianger,” he says instead of any of this.
Gereon smiles at him and seems to hold back many of her own words. “I may be happier than you on that fact, Exarch.”
They speak on their next points regarding going to Rak’Tika Greatwood to find Y’shtola, which Gereon happily agrees to. She departs briefly to finish scouting Lakeland, something about helping track down a cardinal virtue with a dwarf from the tavern, but she stops just before she leaves the Ocular. Instead, she turns back around and looks at the group, scanning them. The Exarch opens his mouth, about to ask what is going on, when Urianger shakes his head and chuckles. “My beloved, whilst I may scry the stars to perceive the future, 'tis no skill of mine to scry the mind when one does not speak of it. But if thy desires are as mine imagination declares them to be, then pray consider for thy observers, for whom such a gesture may be grandiose and ostentacious.”
She shakes her head at him in return. “I don’t know what will happen here, so I intend to make every moment count, Uri.”
He sighs but smiles. “As thou desire, then I shall oblige thee. Thou hath mine consent.”
The Exarch knows better than to speak now. Instead, he just watches as Gereon strides across the room to Urianger, puts a hand on his back, and kicks out his feet before dipping him into a kiss. The full sweeping kind, where he holds on to her neck and lets her hold him as if he weighs nothing, straight out of a play. Under his glamoured hood, the Exarch stares in quiet awe at the sight of the two of them. They are…beautiful together. Truly, truly beautiful. Now that he sees them side by side, clearly in love, he doesn’t know how he ever thought otherwise. When the two part from a kiss, lingering for just an extra second, the sheer happiness filling their faces hits G’raha hard in the center of his chest. Slowly, she lifts Urianger back to his feet, waves goodbye, and makes her way back to her mission.
Urianger sighs, a bit lovestruck, as Gereon walks out of the room. Alisaie gags. “You two are disgusting.”
G’raha raises his eyebrows, even though no one can see it. “I see that you were telling the truth that there was more between the two of you than you could put into words.”
Urianger’s cheeks go red and he hangs his head slightly. “'Twas our first meeting, Exarch,” he says. “What was I to say? That for all the magicks in all the worlds sundered across our universe, ‘tis plain that no greater spell exists than that which she hath cast upon me? Such admissions are…more dramatic than I care to do so.”
Again, Alisaie looks a bit sick, but the words ring in G’raha’s head. He just smiles. “I understand.”
He is a little jealous, and worried more than anything that Urianger might let some of their plan slip while he is speaking with his love...but he understands. He trusts Urianger, who has kept secrets from Gereon before, who is partly going along with this plan with the understanding that it will keep the love of his life alive. Even if this secret is eating up both of them.
(He has tea with Gereon when she returns from her mission. She is hunting Sophrosyne, the cardinal virtue that was once the dwarf Lamitt, and as they move forward, Gereon is following the sin eater, ready to track it down.
And then, it is not Urianger that he has to worry about keeping a secret. No, no, it’s himself, when Gereon reveals that she knows exactly who he is, and she holds him in her strong arms and G’raha is so weak in the face of her warmth and kindness. He adores her, absolutely adores her, and he holds her words tightly in his chest.
“Whatever you are planning, Raha, I shall be there to support you. 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.”
When he finally slips from her arms and she departs for Rak’Tika Greatwood, G’raha Tia hopes to everything he holds dear that he knows what he is doing.)
Minfilia has been restraining her curiosity throughout their journey. Urianger can sense it. She knows the basics of their life in the Source - Thancred has told her this much - and he is fairly certain that she asked someone about how he and Gereon became the pair that they are. However, she has, as far as he knows, never experienced anything like romance. Not just because of her youth, but Eulmore did not seem a place for sentiment such as that. As such, he can feel Minfilia - Mini, as Gereon affectionately calls her - watching every time he and Gereon are close. They fuss around Twine in Amh Areng, trying to get the mine cart moving, and, of course, Gereon is sent to do the heavy lifting.
“Darling!” Gereon calls from the tracks, Thancred beside her. “I will return shortly. I love you!”
Ah, such words should be familiar by now, but Urianger cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face. “As do I for thee, beloved. Fight well.”
She grins at him, even as Thancred mutters something that makes her elbow him in the side. With a smile that seems to say ‘you know I do’, they make their way down the railway tracks to go find the necessary ore for the Talos. She walks along the metal of the tracks, taking elegant steps over the railway ties, her boots clicking, and Thancred has to half-jog to keep up with her. How she can stand to walk around Amh Areng in long sleeves and leather, Urianger does not know. The two of them make an overheated pair, anyway.
Finally, when they are alone and the shapes of the two heavy hitters fade into the distance, Minfilia asks him the question. “Urianger…”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Tell me...you love her, do you not? Gereon, I mean?”
Urianger nods. “Without question nor condition.”
“What does it feel like? To love her,” Minfilia clutches her hand at her breast. “I am trying to understand.”
Urianger smiles, unable to stop himself. “I would have her by mine side for all eternity, her voice in mine heart and mind, her hand on mine shoulder and all the same I shall offer to her. I would love her to the end of time and follow her to the ends of the earth. ‘Tis a feeling of...gravity, where I am both anchored and weightless at once.” He looks at Minfilia gently. “When we are in love, there are things t’would seem foolish, but ‘tis for the sake of that love that we persevere through it.”
They look back at the shapes of Gereon and Thancred fading into the distance, where they search for something lost that might will lead them one step closer to their next goal, one step closer to the next hard decision, to whatever future might come for them.
Urianger continues, “‘Tis a difficult thing to think about, love, but it is yet something else to believe in. I hold true to mine own belief - that the worst may come to worst, but we shall know that we loved and were loved in return. Gereon hath love for me, and I for her, come what may.”
Minfilia’s expression looks soft and thoughtful. “That may be the sweetest thing I have heard you say.”
He tries not to blush at that. “I pray we have more occasion for us, but our tasks come first.”
Of course, Gereon and Thancred return with an enormous chunk of ore, perfect for the talos, and it doesn’t take long for it to be up and running. Magnus bounces between joy and sorrow at his wife’s efforts brought to life once more, and Jeryk is absolutely jubilant at the idea of getting the massive mine cart rolling again. Gereon, for her part, is quietly pleased with the work, if tired, and Minfilia is bracing herself for whatever will come ahead. She needs her pep talk, of course, but they do manage it.
“I shouldn't be here. I don't deserve to be. I don't deserve any of the things you've done for me!
I'm just a burden, helpless and hopeless. If tomorrow came and I was gone, it would be better for everyone! Thancred most of all. He'll never admit it, but I can see it in his eyes... I wish he'd just say it─just say that he hates me! That he wishes I was dead so that she could return…”
“None of this is thy doing, child. 'Twas I who set the Oracle on her path unto the First. I who condemned you all to suffer these torments. 'Tis my sin alone, and one that will haunt me unto my dying day. Yet I dare not dwell overlong on my many regrets, for the world is a tapestry of fates, interwoven and inseparable, and we who strive to better it cannot choose but make difficult decisions. For naught of worth was ever achieved without sacrifice. And thus must man ever struggle to weigh life against loss. The one for whom thou mournest beareth no grudge. Were she here, she would not suffer thee to languish in sorrow. She would tell thee to seek thine own path, thine own purpose. It is a truth which I myself was slow to learn. Yet a truth it remaineth.
Thou needst but have faith. Have faith and all will be well.”
They cannot call the time for sleeping ‘night’, not when night never falls, but they do try to rest before heading off towards Nabaath Areng. In the shadow of the mining cart, preparing for their great journey, Thancred and Minfilia rest, leaning against each other. The townsfolk are busy elsewhere, making their own preparations, and in their seemingly peaceful solitude, Gereon says quietly, “Uri. I heard Y’shtola talking about something with you in Rak’tika.”
Urianger feels cold dread knot in his stomach, his expression struggling to stay still.
“I tire of these games, Urianger. Why do you pretend you cannot see it? The blessing may spare her the fate of becoming a Lightwarden, but you cannot be blind to the nascent corruption! She is not as she was in the Source. Though I have no proof, I fear that the light which poured forth from the Wardens was not negated at all. I fear it was absorbed. That she has been suffused with their light.”
“Though I have given thought to this possibility, I dare not speak until more is known.”
What did she hear? Pray, please tell me she did not hear...
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” She asks, looking at him intently. Even in the shadow, he can see her eyes plain as day, staring him down.
“I know not what thou meanst,” he tries.
She raises an eyebrow. “Then I shall be plain. Uri, what’s happening to me?” He can feel himself sweat and cannot summon a single word for obfuscation. Silence fills the air between them. “Urianger Augurelt.” Her voice is blunt. Heavy. She does not ask him again, because she demands an answer.
“Beloved,” he says in an attempt at the same tone, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like begging. Please, please do not make me explain.
Gereon huffs, looking at him intently. When she speaks, her voice is hesitant. Worried. “Is this like the Warriors of Darkness? That you have a plan and it will work out for the better, but you cannot tell me for fear of my interference?”
Urianger closes his eyes, turning away from her sharp gaze. His words lock in his throat, unwilling to come out. He cannot bring himself to lie to her again, not again, but nor can he tell her the truth. After a long moment of mental debate, he nods once. That is all he can manage. A sharp nod, his gaze looking out in the direction of the frozen Flood of Light, his mouth tight. Forgive me, my love, for the secrets I must keep from thee.
“Alright. Then I trust you.”
He lets out a bitter little laugh, turning to look at her. “Thy faith in me is overwhelming,” he says, his voice soft and wondrous. “Truly.”
“What was it that you said to Minfilia? ‘Thou needst only have faith’?” She gently tilts his head towards her and touches her forehead to his. “I believe in you, Urianger. I always have. I know your intent, I know your drive. You have a plan, and I will follow it in whatever paths you lay for me.”
Urianger chokes and leans into her, burying his face in her shoulder. “I would say thou art better than I deserve, beloved, but thou hast prohibited me from saying such things.”
“Damn straight.”
“As thou wouldst say, neither of us are.”
Gereon barks out a laugh and kisses his temple. “Then lead me on, my darling. I will not let you down.”
As the mine cart departs, Urianger watches until he can no longer see it in the distance. Then, slowly, he turns to look in the direction he knows to be the Crystarium. I hope thou art right, Exarch. For all of our sakes.
By the time Gereon finds where G’raha has tucked himself away, she has nearly worked herself into a panic. She sprinted down every path on the Upper Bench, desperately trying to locate the Exarch, praying that he hadn’t been attacked by anything. She knew he was weak away from the Tower. This was so far that she worried. It is in an almost hail mary gesture that she finds him asleep by a rock, facing out towards Eulmore, and her sigh of relief is almost loud enough to wake him.
“Raha?” She asks softly, kneeling in front of him. “Raha, darling , are you alright?”
It takes him a moment to stir, but when he does, he mumbles, “The future...is where my destiny awaits.”
If I did not know it was you before...
Then, as he startles awake, she can see his embarrassed expression, even through the glamoured hood. “Forgive me, I was...lost in a dream. I needed some fresh air and thought to rest for a moment. It would seem I am more fatigued than I thought.”
“Raha…”she tsks him gently, kneeling down in front of him. Her fingers brush his jaw carefully, and she notices very, very obviously that the Exarch leans into her touch, soaking it in. “You must take care of yourself.”
She can’t see his eyes, but she can see him sigh. “It is fine. ‘Tis too close for me to rest now.”
“You can and you will.” She slides beside him and pats her thighs. “I promised you a hug, didn’t I? They always help.”
There is a long moment of reluctance, but he complies. He takes up so little space on her lap, his back against her chest. She holds him close, staff at the ready, her casting bracelets twinkling with magic against him. For this moment, he even slowly takes off his hood, letting it rest between their bodies. He looks so old when she looks down, frail and tired, worn out by all that he has wrought over the last century coming to fruition. They look out at the horizon, and he sighs.
“Too much time away from the tower, I fear. It drains me - leaves my body frail and weak. Though, in truth, it is debatable whether I can still call this my body…”
Her heart aches at those words.
“When first I turned my mind towards the salvation of the world, I came to the conclusion that it would take many long years. Many more than remained to me...and so I made myself one with the Crystal Tower, that I might live indefinitely.”
“Oh, Raha,” Gereon says softly. “You have taken on so much.”
“But thanks to you, the end is in sight. My wish will finally be fulfilled,” he tilts his head back against her chest. “How goes the construction effort?”
“We are almost done,” she replies gently. “We will be on our way to Mt. Gulg within the hour.”
“Then this may be the last moment we have to ourselves for a while,” G’raha sighs. “Tell me, when all of this is over, what will you do?”
“I hope to rest a while,” she replies. “I will have to beat Zenos into the ground, but I want to rest. ”
She can’t see G’raha’s face, but she can hear the softness of his voice. “That would be well deserved. You might consider roaming Norvrandt not as her saviour, but as a simple sightseer. Viewed through such eyes, I am certain she would be quite different. But...whatever it is you decide to do, I have every confidence that you will do well. For you have the strength to forge your own path.” His head tilts back to look at her, his expression nothing but pure earnestness. “You will leave countless lives better than you found them, and the souls you touch will never forget your kindness. Then, in trying times, when you question your worth and your choices, they will raise their voices to remind you of the difference you have made. And thus will your deeds come to affirm your path. Remember this.”
“Sweet talker,” she teases. “And you? What will you do when this is over?” She slides a hand up the arm that isn’t crystal, pushing the robes back to feel the strength in his arms. This man. This sweet, sweet man. He is definitely fatigued, enough that he doesn’t notice the sound he makes when she touches him. It’s one to treasure, one that makes him sound so much younger than he is. It makes her think of the young man asleep in the crystal tower. She keeps her hand where it is, petting the soft skin there, and it takes G’raha a moment to gather his words enough to speak.
Finally, he does speak. “When this is over...indeed…”
(He sounds surprised to even consider such a thing. As though it is a novel thought.)
“I once told you that there are things we can ill afford to lose. ‘Things’, I said, though in truth I spoke of a person. One who is unaware of the full extent of me and my plans. Though they deserve to know, I have good reason to keep my counsel,” he looks off into the distance. “I have come to terms with this in my mind, yet my heart yearns to lay everything bare. For they are my inspiration, and I would give much and more for the chance to speak with them as friends, with no thought of concealment. Should they indulge me with their tales, I would regale them with my own - about my efforts in Norvrandt, perhaps. Though...ultimately, that tale is more yours than mine.”
Gereon doesn’t speak. She simply keeps her gentle touch on him, listening to him speak.
His head tilts up to look at the sky. “Then...I would ask them about their next adventure. And if they should wish me to be a part of it, oh…” the delighted sound he lets out, the sigh of delight as though it is the greatest event of the year, “how happy it would make me. Together, we would travel the lands and cross the seas and take to the skies upon the eternal wind...my heart swells simply to imagine it.”
It’s her. He’s talking about her. His voice is longing, quiet, desperate, and Gereon wishes more than anything that they could have that time. She tips her head forward and touches her forehead to the back of his head. “We’re there, aren’t we?” She says softly.
“Where?” He asks.
“Your plan,” she replies softly. “The one that you can’t tell me, I will not like, but it will save us.”
G’raha tenses in her arms but she feels his head bob in a nod. “I’m sorry, Gereon. I’m so sorry. All of these hopes...all of this is contingent upon our victory in the coming battle, and this plan. The people of this world have entrusted their hopes to us. We cannot fail them.”
She bends her head and presses a kiss to his hair, directly between his ears. They spike up in excitement at the touch, and Gereon takes advantage of the moment to bundle him even closer to her chest. “Then I will do my best to let you do this and save them. Even if I think it’s stupid.”
He chuckles weakly. “Perhaps it is, but it is all I can think of, and it is what I have worked towards for years.”
They linger for another few seconds. “I…I have a request,” he says softly. “It is…foolish, more so than any plan I could come up with, and the thought that you would allow it is even more foolish, but I cannot help but ask anyway.”
Gereon smiles tenderly and smoothes her hand over his wrist. “Anything, Raha.”
It takes him another few moments to gather himself, but he finally asks, “I…confess that there are some things I have never done. And there is one, foolish as it is, that I would like to do before such a significant battle. For luck.”
He doesn’t continue for a moment, but Gereon slowly understands that this is personal. Deeply, deeply personal. She taps him on the shoulder and murmurs, “Turn around.”
It will look strange to anyone who comes upon them, to see the Exarch in the Warrior of Light’s lap, straddling her thighs while she looks down at him, but there they are. He looks nervous, rubbing his arms to let the nervous energy out, but when he looks up at Gereon again, she gives him her most calming smile. Slowly, the energy fades, and G’raha takes a slow breath.
She expects him to scent her or some other ritual that belongs to his people. That would be the most logical request here – G’raha likes her, has liked her for some time, and whatever comes in this battle and his plan, perhaps he does not want to have any regrets. But he also knows that she and Urianger are together, although not that they are willing to let another in.
She does not expect the kiss.
It is possibly the most nervous kiss that she has ever had in her life. Her eyes are open in surprise for a moment, but she sees that G’raha’s eyes are squeezed shut, his cheeks puffed out, even as he has his mouth pressed to hers. His exhale trembles out against her lips and before she has a chance to respond, he pulls away.
“Pray forgive me, I-” he begins, but Gereon puts a finger over his mouth.
“Raha, darling , if you want a kiss before a grand battle, you must do it right,” she replies, feeling herself smile. “A proper one, do you not agree? Or it is not truly good luck.”
Her fingers slide down to cup his jaw, holding him loosely so he does not try to run away. His next exhale shakes out nervously, overwhelmed, and he nods slowly.
“Good. Then let us try again.”
G’raha nods slowly and raises his hands to her shoulders to anchor himself in place, while Gereon holds his waist in one hand. With him secured (and looking a bit nervous), she leans in and gives him a proper first kiss.
Gereon kisses him as though she will never get to kiss him again. Perhaps she won’t. Either she will die, or he will die, or something will go wrong as this Lightwarden falls. But all thoughts of that possible ending slip away as G’raha makes a desperate sound into the kiss, his hands coming down to grip at her shirt, his whole body melting into hers. Her hand still supports him at his jaw, keeping him close, and when she brushes her thumb on the seam between crystal and skin, he whines. He kisses without any skill or experience, just eagerness as he tries his best to please her, to make up for whatever perceived slight he has caused by kissing her. There is none, of course. She wishes she’d asked him sooner. This is one of the sweetest kisses she has ever had. Too bad it’s in such terrible circumstances.
In any other moment, she would try to push his boundaries and deepen the kiss, just to see what other sounds he could make. But she slowly draws back from him, brushing her nose against his on the way back. G’raha makes a displeased sound and instinctively chases her for another little kiss (which she provides, of course). Eventually, though, she has to ease him back and murmur, “Breathe, Raha.”
He chuckles breathlessly, chest heaving as he gathers himself together. Her hands stay as they are, on his waist and jaw, supporting him as he comes back to himself. His fingers knead a bit at her shirt, like paws, and she watches the colour bloom across his cheeks at the realization of what he is doing and has done. His red eyes are wide, his cheeks equally red, and there is her black lipstick smeared on his lips. It is a good look for him, she thinks, and she would love to put that look on his face again.
“Much better,” she tells him, her voice a low rumble. Slowly, she licks her thumb and wipes some of the lipstick off of his face. It wouldn’t do for the Exarch to walk back to battle like he had just been making out with the Warrior of Darkness, after all.
“Quite,” he manages. “I pray Urianger will not kill me for taking such liberties.”
“I offered them,” she replies. “And we will need to speak after the battle regarding those liberties. All three of us.”
She didn’t realize that he had been kissing her goodbye. As he stands haloed in light and she screams in pain, her own pain, the pain of losing him, the pain of the Light filling her veins, she clings to the memory of that kiss. She refuses to let it fade.
When Gereon awakes, Urianger is waiting by her bedside. Unsurprisingly, he is reading, but there is a different expression than his usual concentration painted across his face. No, this is worry, and he stares at the book in his hand as though he needs it to be the answer to all of his prayers. Perhaps it is. She looks at him for a long moment before she asks, “Good book?”
He flinches, startled, and nearly tosses said book directly into her face. Somehow, he keeps a hold on it, but then sets it down to touch her forehead with the back of his hand. “How fare thee, my love? Tis my first concern, above all.”
“I feel like I got chewed up by a morbol and spit back out,” she mutters softly, leaning into the hand. Her skin feels warm. Electrified, almost, like there’s something burning under it and trying to break out. As the memory of her last waking moment sets in…perhaps it is. “What happened?”
“Thou hath been asleep for some time,” he explains, voice slowly growing darker and angrier. “The night hath faded away unto day, and the Light burns within thee, waiting to consume thee. A Lightwarden thou shalt become lest we do something .”
She sits up slowly in her bed and takes his hand, cupping it around her cheek. There is nothing she can say in response to that. What could she say? ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep my elemental balance in check long enough for you to keep me from going mad and transforming into an inhuman monster’? Not exactly reassuring. “And Emet-Selch?” She asks.
“There hath been no sign of him, nor of the Crystal Exarch,” Urianger replies quietly. His thumb brushes over her cheek, slow and steady, as if committing her to memory. A cut on her face stings and he says softly, “Thy injuries glow.”
She blinks and teases halfheartedly, “Will I still need my facepaint?”
His laugh is halfhearted, his smile sad. “Perchance a different pattern in the future.”
If I should have one. “Anything else changed?”
He reaches beside him to the table and pulls over a small handmirror for her to look at. Taking it, she tilts it to look at her face and blinks. He’s right - every single injury from the fight with Innocence glows white, sparkling, and her skin almost seems to sparkle along with it. The aether, perhaps. Gereon doesn’t know enough aetherology to get a proper sense of what happened, but perhaps it’s just how much of it is in her body, and how much of it is being held back. It’s even in her hair. She tips her head forward and combs her fingers through to see strands of white and grey in her overgrown pixie cut.
“Thou art beautiful as always, though I confess in a more…” He doesn’t seem to know how to finish.
“Concerning way?” Like how thin and pink-cheeked people with consumption are?
“Precisely.”
Gereon sets the mirror down. “Do we know how much time we have?” She asks, not sure she wants to know the answer.
Urianger doesn’t answer. Over his shoulder, Gereon thinks she hears Ardbert’s voice. “Not long enough. They’re worried sick about you. All of them.”
With a cough, Urianger takes his hand back and squeezes the hem of his robes. “I apolgoize for failing thee. And for lying to thee yet again.”
“You did not fail me,” she replies. “Your plan would have worked, even if I would have screamed myself hoarse in outrage over it.”
“T’was not my plan, if it helps,” he says a little hopelessly.
Gereon hangs her head in frustration. “Of course. He always did have a rather self-sacrificial bent.”
There is a long pause until Urianger hesitantly asks, “When didst thou discover his identity?”
Gereon stiffens, but answers the question anyway, her voice soft. “He was the first person to die for me. I ingrained him in my memory. I knew his voice, his jaw, his tail, his conviction. And anyone who lives in the Crystal Tower would have found its sleeping sentinel. He’s not a good liar.”
Urianger chuckles. “Nay. ‘Tis not one of his talents.”
Gereon reaches forward to take Urianger’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Words cannot quite put their feelings to words, and she quietly speaks. “He and I spoke in Kholusia, before the march on Mt. Gulg.” Her voice is a little wet. “He told me about…a person he could not afford to lose. Someone he wanted to speak to without hiding, someone that it would make him happier than anything to travel with on an adventure. His inspiration. I think he was talking about me.”
Urianger nods. The two of them meet their eyes, sorrow writ plainly on their faces. “He was. I bore witness to how he gazed upon thee when thine attentions were elsewhere,” Urianger admits softly. “Glamour hid his gaze, but even so, his attention scarcely veered from thee. Not that t’is a cause for surprise - Rambroes spoke of his fondness for thee even at the Crystal Tower.”
“Thancred says that when I kissed you in the Ocular,” Gereon says quietly, “he couldn’t stop staring at us. Thancred thought it was because he was surprised, but…I’ve seen how he focuses on you as well. Like a kindred spirit just out of reach.”
Urianger’s cheeks go a little pink at that. “I…believe that is a correct assessment. Our commonality is something I have observed and appreciated.”
“As have I. My genius self-sacrificial secret keepers,” Gereon says fondly, her words tapering into a chuckle. “Did you know he asked me for a favour? Before we went to the battle?”
Urianger raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Pray tell, what favour?”
“I thought he was going to ask me to pet him, or let him scent me, something of the like,” she replies gently. “But...he kissed me.”
He blinks in surprise, eyes widening, before his mouth twitches in a smile. “And was the experience favourable? One to repeat?”
“He had no idea what he was doing,” she chuckles, her voice a little wet, even as it is soft. “He’d never kissed anyone before. He required a repeat performance and some instruction, and he definitely enjoyed it. Not that he said it, but he made this sound.”
She makes a noise in her throat, a high pitched little whine, and for all of their sorrow, Urianger’s reddening cheeks cannot hide how attractive he finds it. “Thou art lucky,” he replies fondly. “I envy thee the experience and long for mine own.”
“He apologized for taking liberties, especially without you knowing.”
It is one thing to know that you are loved. It is another to wonder what to do with it. “In the Source, on one occasion,” Urianger ponders out loud, “we spoke of the possibility of bringing another into our relationship, should they be agreeable.”
“We did,” she says softly. “And you believe it would be him?”
“If he did not believe we would kill him for suggesting such?” There is a little huff of laughter. “I can think of none other who would fit.”
“What about the G’raha Tia in our world?” Gereon asks softly.
“‘Tis a challenge for the future, should we free our love now.”
Gereon is quiet. “I don’t know what future I have , my love.”
Neither one of them wants to consider that fact. They sit in quiet, his hand squeezing hers tighter as Gereon finally says, her voice soft, “I don’t want to die.”
“I will not let you,” he speaks without formality, just this once.
“You may not have a choice, Uri.”
“Please. I have lost too much already. The thought of losing thee… I cannot.”
They hold each other tight, too many unsaid words choking their throats. Eventually, Gereon asks quietly, “Uri? That song you told me of. Would you mind singing it for me?”
It takes him a moment to figure out what she means but he nods. “Of course.” He hums briefly to himself, hoping that he can stay in tune with how his voice wants to choke up, and begins. “ Shadows fall and hope has fled, steel your heart, the dawn will come…”
Over her shoulder, a ghost stares at the two of them and makes a decision.