Work Text:
It’s not often that Thancred is so distracted as to forget to get his armor touched up, but he’s been far too busy fighting hordes of sin eaters and keeping Ryne out of harm’s way to realize just how bad the state of his armor has become. Not until he’s swung his blade against the sizzling flesh of the beast and hears the crack of his gauntlet between sharp teeth and watches it fall to the ground dented and cracked as the Light dissipates with the creature. Ryne pulls from her fighting stance and rushes to his side, fretting as usual and he brushes her off.
“I’m not hurt,” he promises, sighing as he grabs the warped pieces. “Though the timing could not be any worse.”
“We need to go straight to the Crystalline Mean!” Ryne rests a hand on his unarmored arm and grips a little tighter. “You cannot fight with broken armor, Thancred; I won’t allow it and I am sure Urianger wouldn’t either!”
At the thought of having to tell Urianger that his elongated weeks away from him resulted in a complete disregard for something so simple, Thancred cringes. “Let’s not tell him about this incident.”
“Only if we go to the Crystarium.” she replies, crossing her arms with a slight pout. “We are already late at greeting him at the Bookman’s Shelves; I do not think he would appreciate us returning with you in such a state.”
A fair point but he wonders if Urianger’s wrath at his forgetfulness would really be worse than his arrival being made even later by this detour. Looking at Ryne’s stubborn face and once again falling whim to her insistence, he figures that bridge will be crossed when they get to it. In the meantime, he must chart a path back to the Crystarium and pray to the returned night sky above that they encounter less enemies than they have so far.
It seems the stars have blessed him every night as his and Ryne’s journey is the easiest they’ve walked so far. Ryne drags him by the wrist to the Mean but gets easily distracted with an Amaro trainer chatting with the Amaro veterinarian, Bethric. Thancred sighs and turns to the Iron Bellows' one and only Iola, smiling when she grins right back at him and motions for him to come closer. He feels awkwardly embarrassed presenting the damaged gauntlet to her, and when she insists taking a look at the rest of his armor, feels himself growing red in the cheeks at her gasp at how he managed not to die with armor this far into disrepair.
“I’m not usually like this,” he tags on, crossing his arms as he defends himself. “My mind has been distracted as of late.”
“And what distractions can lead to this!” She bemoans, measuring the size of the dents and shaking her head with a heavy sigh. “It will take some time to fix the damage here, and I will definitely need more titancopper ore, maybe dimytherite, too.” She hums to herself and sorts through the mess of metal on table, pausing at the gauntlet that got them into this mess. “I am unsure if there is much to do with this piece, though. It is almost impossible to remold into a new shape. Even if I were to smelt it, I fear it would never be as potent as it’s original form.”
Thancred pinches the bridge of his nose. “May I inquire what you suggest I do with this metal then?”
“I recommend seeing if it can be fashioned into lesser forms. Things such as simple jewelry; I do believe the metal can still be helpful as long as it’s not bulked in the fashion of large armor pieces.” She turns to her fellow forgers and points out one smelting a bar of rose gold. “Our local goldsmith, the best of the Mean, might have some ideas; try asking him!”
After discussion of payment and commission time—almost three weeks! Urianger will certainly strangle him with his bare hands for this—Thancred ventures to the goldsmith, eyes catching on the display of earrings and necklaces littering his workspace. Jewelry isn’t something Thancred has been too concerned with personally; he finds it pretty on other people but hasn’t dabbled in much when it comes to his own body, though he has been told he would look stunning with various metals about his ears, nose—and one time, someone even mentioned his navel! He wears what is necessary for battle, a bracelet here, a ring there, his choker to cover the tattoos about his neck. It wasn’t until he drew Urianger into his arms and kissed his way into a relationship with the elezen that he truly found how appealing the twist of gold around one’s upper arm and the shine of color across the bands of long fingers could be.
Thancred’s wandering eyes catch on an ear cuff prototype—a typical Ishgardian elezen beauty standard for emphasizing one’s ear shape. Urianger is most definitely not Ishgardian but there is no Ishgard here on the First and maybe the elezens in this land fancy cuffs to decorate their ears as Ishgardians do. Thancred finds himself lost in memories of nipping at Urianger’s fine ears, tracing his tongue across the point of it and feeling his beautiful elezen shiver at the sensation. How sweet it would be to pattern that sharp curve with worn metal and bring all attention to such a gorgeous feature upon his lover.
“Excuse me,” starts Thancred, distracting the goldsmith from his metals. The man looks up at him with raised eyebrows tilted with slight irritation. “If you have a moment, of course.”
“You can speak with me as I work; I do not mind.” He turns back to shaping the hot metal, working the thin strand with pliers and a small hammer. “What is it you wish to ask?”
“I see you are familiar with forging ear cuffs.” Thancred coughs into his fist and places his damaged gauntlet on the table. The goldsmith’s eyes widen and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a snide comment. “Can you forge one from this metal?”
The goldsmith pulls up from his work and frowns. “Aye, I could. It’s enough for many smaller pieces indeed. Ear cuffs, bracelets, rings, bracelets; whether for decoration or battle if you can you name it, I can make it.”
Thancred blinks, imagining Urianger decked out in jewelry of his own commissioning, designed by him meant to subtly help the man in battle but also pretty him up to the nines. It doesn’t take much reasoning for him to commission the goldsmith and begin designing a complete matching set of jewelry. And oh, does this side quest lighten his coin purse until it could almost fly away in the wind but it’s very much worth it. He loves the pops of color present in the design for the earrings, the slope of the cuff that matches Urianger’s ear, the thinness of the ringlet bracelets so light they’ll sparkle simple lines across tanned skin, and the rings such a shade of rose tinted gold to contrast the colors embedded inside.
Once payment is complete and Ryne is back at his side, the two settle for the night at a room in the Pendants—both out of needed rest on the day for their travels and some subtle avoidance of returning to Urianger armor-less and receiving a lecture that will make him wish the sin eater had made him dissipate instead of the other way around. They break their fast the next morning in the company of Lyna and the Exarch who each promise to keep his deeds quiet from Urianger. Ryne leaps off to train with Lyna and Thancred drafts a missive to let Urianger know it will be just a bit longer before they return to him. In the interim, Thancred catches up with denizens, finding joy in the fact these people have the night back to contrast their forever day, and how refreshing it all must feel. He certainly knows after the years spent here and is pleased to partake in their happiness.
A week into their stay and a day after receiving Urianger’s answer wishing them safety in their travels, Thancred receives another missive—this one from the goldsmith informing him the commission has been completed. Nervousness fills his belly about the final result as he walks upstairs. Coinage aside, he could not bear to present this to Urianger if the end result is not worthy of being worn by the elezen, but when the goldsmith opens the box, Thancred only finds himself gasping seeing his vision come to life.
He’s reminded of a conversation early in his acquaintanceship with Urianger; Thancred had casually mentioned one day getting a piercing and Urianger had chuckled and stated the man would suit it far better than he had. At the usage of past tense, Thancred had sputtered and immediately asked for the details on that particular affair. Apparently, Urianger had a bit of a rebellious streak and he got a few piercings with Moenbryda, mostly to keep her from feeling scared as she insisted she had no fear of needles even though her fingers tightened in his grip at the sight of one so close to her head. The piercings most definitely have closed up by now, probably aided by healing magics as Thancred has never seen an ilm of a scar. He hopes he can fashion new memories for Urianger with these earrings, never to cover up the old ones but simply add new ones to his collection.
If Urianger wants it, of course. Thancred can always get them switched to clasps later if needs have it, or get it smelted into something else. Anything to ensure Urianger is comfortable.
The goldsmith seems tickled pink by his speechless reaction and offers to wrap up the gift for free. “Tis almost Valentione’s day after all,” he says as he ties a neat bow over the box.
Dates haven’t meant much to Thancred in his time living under undying light—he has always been amazed at how anyone manages to separate the days from one another, though he’s gotten used to it with his extended stay here. He thanks the man for his services and tracks down Ryne, letting her know they’ll be making their way back into Il Mheg starting tonight.
“Your armor is finished already?” Ryne gasps, only frowning when Thancred flushes and shakes his head.
He stares down at the box in hand and pulls it to his chest. “No, no; I still have but another two weeks until that reaches completion.”
Ryne’s gaze falls to the gift in his hands and her frown curls up into a very Urianger-esque smirk. “Is that for Urianger?”
“No,” he lies and then scowls when Ryne starts giggling behind her hand. “And what if it is?”
“Then I would be happy to see you happy and invested in fueling your love for Urianger.” She replies with earnest, blue eyes shining with a happiness that echoes the smile of the Minfilia Thancred lost in the Source. “Tis been an age since I last saw you smile and if pampering Urianger brings that smile to your face, I only wish you to do it more.”
Sometimes, Ryne sounds much sager than her age would have one think. This is one of those times, Thancred muses as he watches her say her goodbyes to the locals before making her way to Thancred’s side. He pats her head, laughs when she bats his hand away, and starts the dangerous pixie filled trek back to Urianger’s abode. Though Thancred may not have the best of his armor on hand as it’s repaired, he does have enough to keep himself from being one-shotted by the glare of a sin eater. Ryne is overly protective though and halfway through when she’s recharging his cartridges and muttering under her breath when she thinks he can’t hear her as he scrubs dried blood off his hands from bandaging a wound in his side, he regrets being so eager in his desires to see Urianger again.
He will most definitely be confined to the couch at his return.
When they are only a few hours away from Urianger—and those few hours are only hours because the pixies love their tricks and insist Thancred and Ryne play with them for entry onto their lands—Thancred feels giddy and impatient with the desire to shower Urianger with a gift that isn’t a stack of random tomes like he’d done when they were younger and he was annoyed by the man’s chattering. How he’s changed, he thinks with a chuckle, and hopelessly in love he must be to feign listening to a lecture yet care enough to actually be listening. How lovesick he must be to desire Urianger’s company even if he spends it all watching the man read a thick tome from beginning to end. Once the pixies free them with complaints about the duo being such a bore in their eagerness to see their favorite elf, Ryne bursts through the doors first with a cry of “Urianger!” and Thancred laughs under his breath when the elezen spins to face her with shock written all over his alluring face. Urianger is predictably improving on his astrologic tactics; Thancred sees evidence of notes on long rolls of paper and three different tomes all splayed open atop his desk. It’s a familiar sight that brings a burn to his chest and makes the gift in his bag weight heavier with each second he watches Urianger and Ryne converse.
When the girl has had her say and treks upstairs to grab a fairy tale in which to immerse herself, Thancred steps behind the younger man and wraps his arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Urianger sinks into it with a smile, no words needed between them to acknowledge the unspoken welcome home. Thancred pulls away to reach into his bag for the thankfully undamaged box; he doesn’t bother with the fanfare typical of this particular day and reaches over Urianger’s shoulders to press the box into his paper-cut-calloused hands.
“For you,” he murmurs, stepping back to let Urianger turn to him with widened eyes.
Thancred motions at him to open up, eager to see his reaction and holds his breath as Urianger stands and lifts the lid. There’s silence for a long moment. Urianger’s face doesn’t move a twitch and Thancred grows worried that maybe he’s made a wrong move somewhere though he can’t possibly imagine where. Stepping forward once more, he covers Urianger’s hands with his own and that’s when the other man finally looks up, tears shining in his bright eyes. Overwhelmed by the intensity of Urianger’s emotion, Thancred breaks eye contact and bites the inside of his cheek. Urianger leans down to peck his nose then begins to work the jewelry currently layering his skin off his body.
He places each piece one by one on the table, covers his tomes with shine and gloss until his arms, fingers, and neck are barren and still so stalwart and beautiful. With a caring smile, he pats at Thancred’s hands still holding the box. “Pray, willst thou dress mine arms and hands with thy workings of thine heart?”
If anyone were to ask, Thancred would not admit that his hands are shaking but they do as he slides gold-tinted arm bands up thickly corded muscles until they settle perfectly against warm skin. He takes the wide choker and unclasps the back, settling the braided metal encased with ruby and aquamarine jewels against a long neck and broad, kissable collarbones. He takes the ear cuffs and unfolds one, warming it between his fingers before he slides it across the flesh of a sharp pointed ear, equally hating and loving the way Urianger sighs and presses a kiss to the part of Thancred’s arm he can reach. When he traces a finger along the metal edge, he cannot help but lean in for a featherlight kiss himself, all too cautious of the young girl upstairs who could come bursting down at any moment. Ringlets of muted yellow sparkle against Urianger’s wrists when Thancred settles the metal of Urianger’s new right-sided ring-and-bracelet chain properly. He almost drops two of the rings, his stomach churning as every ring avoids one particular placement. Thancred feels more than hears Urianger’s soft gasp when he caresses the empty space on the elezen’s left ring finger as he kisses him again.
Last leaves the earrings; one pair with a pointed jewel dangling from a thin chain of hoops and two stud pairs: one mixed with a yellow tinted ore and shaped into tiny stars and the other swirled blue into balls with silver like nebulas. “I wasn’t sure if I should request them needled or clasped,” starts Thancred, unsure where to start. He wonders if Urianger remembers their conversation all those years ago or if the earrings are a step too far into a past love the elezen has yet to recover from.
In response, Urianger brushes his moonsilver hair behind his ear and tilts his head downward. “Tis time I indulge mineself once more in the freedoms found within the comforting arms of thy affection and mine never-forgotten memories.”
It’s but a moment before the stud earrings are each dressing Urianger’s ears, the stars a point at the tip of his uncuffed ear and the conch of his ear for the cuffed one, the orbs at the bottom of his lobes, and the bejeweled dangled pair each half an ilm from the orbs. Thancred grabs a cloth to dab at the red behind each ear and sighs to himself. “Are you certain this does not hurt you?”
“Nay; I haveth endured more numerous pains than the ones that currently deign my lobes.” Urianger fiddles with the jeweled earrings and Thancred pulls his hand away in fear of him making the insertion worse. “I will be fine; I have mine magics to heal what may befall from this; though I prayeth there shall be no need for such drastic measures.”
“Mmhmm,” hums Thancred, too distracted in watching the way the light glints off Urianger’s new jewelry and the fact it’s all made from his own armor. It’s an extension of himself subtly layered on Urianger’s skin to help him reach for the stars that grant him signs of power. “I daresay t’was worth ruining my gauntlet to see you like this.”
A poor choice of words as Urianger seemingly snaps from his affectionate haze and the beginnings of a glare settle on his face. “Ruining thy armor? Pray tell how these bijouterie came into thine hands.”
And when Thancred finds himself sent straight back to the Crystarium the next day to wait for his armor to be completed in full—as despite his anger, Urianger refuses to let the day pass without falling asleep in Thancred’s arms, especially after healing his injury—he can’t say he didn’t expect it.
The beds at the Pendant are far more comfortable than the couch anyway.