Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started with Thancred’s sixteenth name day. A small, yellow flower was left at the door to his room with a single note tied to the supporting stick and the flower’s weak stem. It read:

Thancred stared at the long stemmed flower in its cup from his door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had only been living in Sharlayan for little more than twelve moons after being plucked off the streets of Limsa Lominsa like a wayward kitten by Louisoix. The boy had nothing to his name but a coin purse with two gil inside and the clothes on his back. He had befriended Urianger early on in his survival studies, who excitedly offered him several book recommendations for moons to come. Soon Thancred had so many books in his chambers that he had to start returning them to Urianger for lack of space to keep them. The younger elezen boy had given him a small nod and a weak smile when he took the books back, saying he would think of something more appropriate to give Thancred in the future.

But a flower was not what Thancred had expected. He took the plant inside his room and placed it on his desk.

From the shade of his messy fringe, Thancred continued to stare at the flower, trying to extract meaning from the splayed petals. He wondered if Urianger gave such gifts to everyone. The note itself was vague, as well. Still, he did like to look at it. The lone flower brightened up the dreary room he called home.

Later, when the sun was at its highest, Thancred decided to ask Master Louisoix about the flower, too afraid to ask Urianger lest the boy think he was rude or ungrateful. Louisoix listened to him describe the flower and laughed, giving a name to the plant: A yellow moth orchid, its stem too weak to stand on its own, usually needing a support to grow onto. When asked what it meant, Louisoix chuckled and said that he could do research on the matter, and also reminded Thancred that he needed to study plants for his survival work, as well. Thancred mumbled and said that he had, but did not think to study much on flora, only remembering a couple poisonous ones, like mistletoe. Thancred worked up the courage to ask a final question to Louisoix before letting the matter die, however. What does one do with the gift of a flower? Will it not wilt away and perish?

“Such is the way of life, is it not?” Louisoix smiled at the young hyur boy, but Thancred would not leave it at that and put his hands on his hips in defiance with a pouty expression twisting his face.

“Yes, yes, very poetic. But that seems so damned wasteful…” Louisoix gave the boy a pointed look, his eyebrows knitting together. “S-sorry. But I don’t normally get flowers as gifts. I don’t know what to do. It feels wrong to just… dispose of it.” Thancred looked away and stared into a realm beyond, lost in thought. A bad thought seemed to strike the boy and he shook his head, his feathered hair shaking with the movement.

Louisoix sighed and rubbed his beard with his hand, exasperated from trying to corral Thancred’s focus sun after sun. “You could press the flower. Many people preserve old flowers to keep them with the memory,” he said after some thought. “You could ask Urianger, as well, to explain…?”

Thancred interrupted him. “No, absolutely not. But yes, preserving it, how do you do that?” His eyes shone bright, thrilled to have an answer he finally liked from his master.

The boy’s planned studies came to a halt, as all his focus was now on the matter of floral preservation. He could tell this bothered Louisoix slightly, but perhaps because it was the first name day that Thancred could remember being genuinely happy about, his mentor chose to let all grievances lie, instead answering any and all questions with a patient smile.

Thancred headed home, head full of answers to his growing questions. With his head in the clouds, he still managed to spot Urianger talking with Moenbryda. He wondered if Urianger gave her flowers, too, with the tinge of jealousy beating in his chest. He shoved the feeling down into his gut.

At that moment, Urianger noticed Thancred’s staring and gave a small wave with a gentle smile. The gesture was just as small and soft as the smile but it made his heart jump. Thancred had hoped to not be seen and lightly kicked the dirt beneath his foot with a small expletive under his breath before approaching the two taller children. Thancred had not reached his full height yet, but he knew he would never tower over the likes of Moenbryda nor Urianger, though they were only a few ilms taller than him now. He tried not to take it personally. He shyly smiled and nodded his head to Urianger.

“T-thanks for, the, er, thanks for the flower, Urianger.” He was never shy when talking to girls but with Urianger, something was different. He wanted to impress him, wanted to make him smile more.

Urianger beamed and Thancred’s heart shook again. Urianger bowed graciously, holding a book to his chest. “‘Twas the least I could do. May the Twelve bless thee on thy name day.”

Moenbryda laughed and put a hand on Urianger’s shoulder and the elezen boy stumbled under her grip. Already taller than the two boys, she grinned down at them. “Have a good name day, Thancred.” The clip in her hair seemed new, Thancred noted. Her name day was close to his, he guessed, both being children of summer.

“Y-yeah, I can try. Thank you. Both of you.” Thancred gave a short wave to the two and stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling his face getting warm with embarrassment. He scampered back to his room with even more questions in his head.

The yellow moth orchid sat on Thancred’s desk where he had left it, named, but not defined. He pulled the notes from Louisoix from his pocket.

Thancred looked at the pristine flower, nervous. Its five-starred, rounded petals and core seemed to stare back at him. With it not being connected to its roots anymore, though, it would surely wither away, petals falling to the floor and its head limp. It would be such a waste, and Thancred could not stomach this thought. He tightened his hand into a fist and got to work.

Between the parchment, the delicate flower was ready to be crushed by the heavy tome, arranged just so it would fall flat in a way that did not take away from its beauty.

Thancred hesitated, worried he would mess it up and ruin the gift entirely. He sighed, and shut the book carefully. Books he had kept from Urianger’s suggestions were placed on top of the flower-holding book. He took a breath in and out to calm his nerves and went to bed, falling onto the sheets like a plank of wood. His heart was still racing.

Twelve moons later, it had happened again, but this time, a different flower. An entire summer older, Thancred and Urianger had joined the Circle of Knowing under Louisoix. A small bunch of five-petaled light blue flowers with their accompanied leaves and short stems sat in a cup on the floor before his chamber door. A note sat folden beneath the lone cup. He smiled and grabbed the cup and brought it inside. The note said the same as it did last summer, but now with even more flourished calligraphy. Urianger had been practicing at getting so good at writing that it was nearly illegible to anyone apart from himself.

Thancred was more sure of his flower pressing now. He had practiced with a couple he had plucked from his travels. The thought of giving the pressed flowers to Urianger did pass his mind, but he dismissed it every time, unsure what Urianger would interpret from the gesture.

Opening the drawer, the previous moth orchid was now pressed between two thin sheets of glass, its petals only slightly faded from their bright yellow. The flower brought a sense of calm to him, like it was a new ritual between two friends. Something like this would be a good bookmark for the avid reader, but perhaps regifting was the wrong answer here.

He closed the drawer and got to work, plucking the excess leaves from their stems, humming as he plucked at them, thinking of Urianger and working together with him in the Circle, how much he had learned under Louisoix, what they could accomplish together. With nimble fingers he left the small stems intact and placed them on the parchment carefully. Eight flowers were slowly enclosed within the heavy tome together in a circle.

More and more summers came, with several new flowers. A blue campanula one summer with a pretty bulb and starred petals splayed out; another had four red cloves each with four leaves and a scent so strong they had to be freshly plucked. All became pressed between heavy books and enclosed in fragile glass. Thancred had been able to identify most of the flowers' names after journeying for so long in his intelligence gathering, but not the meaning behind the ones Urianger chose, or why they were different each summer.

After becoming Scions of the Seventh Dawn under Minifilia’s direction, they moved into private chambers within the Waking Sands. Urianger among them was silently overjoyed, almost visibly shaking, to have a private library to himself to study and gather information for his research. The books began to gather and accumulate there. Rows and aisles were built just for his studies in the arcane, the primal, and aetherical. A small cot was even built for Urianger to rest within the library, as many would not even venture inside past sundown. Thancred rarely spent long in his chambers for more than sleep; most possessions were not worth bringing with him other than the sheets of flowers and a bag full of books. That his few prized possessions had survived the Calamity was nothing short of a miracle.

With the coming of still warm and humid winters in the Footfalls desert, Urianger’s name day would result in a new book that Thancred had procured in his travels, perhaps with coin or without, but who was to say? Many books were added to Urianger’s shelves, as many flowers became stacked within Thancred’s desk drawer. Through the elezen’s goggles and grinning teeth, Thancred could see the brightness in the taller man spark with the simple act of a new book he had yet to read. Urianger would regale Thancred with information gained from the previous book and Thancred would listen to his dear friend and comrade to the best of his ability, leaning against the cool stone walls of the library. They became closer with each passing sun, each summer and winter to come, each small gesture, each new flower and tome.

The stickiest summer Thancred could remember, the summer after the events that unfolded at the Praetorium, came with his body restored to him. He was no longer under the control of Lahabrea, the clawed hands on his mind and soul, pulling at him any time he tried to fight out of it. The thought of it sickened him to his core. He had failed and his heart ached. A whole moon had passed with him afraid to leave his room, lest it be a sick joke, or a dream that he was himself again, no longer bringing harm upon his friends and his fellow Eorzeans. He could not fathom that he was safe once more thanks to the Warrior of Light.

Most people in the Waking Sands had assumed he needed time to heal the bruises and cuts from the fight the warrior had with Lahabrea, using his body as a conduit and shield. This allowed him safety and privacy within his chambers, but he did not expect the loneliness. His friends were afraid to approach him, he could tell, and some likely still feared that the Ascian had a grip on his mind.

He could barely stomach anything, barely think. Thancred gripped the sheet of his bed and threw himself upright. Going out for air from his stuffy room in the Waking Sands was like walking through fire, but he had to get a hold of himself. Tataru gave him a solemn nod and said nothing to him as he passed her desk at the entrance. He made his way, stumbling, to the pier to sit on the softened wood, letting his feet dangle off the edge and watched the moon glide across the starry sky.

He stayed there for what felt like several bells, breathing in the sea’s breeze, listening to the waves gently crash against the pier.

Thancred was unsure how long he had stayed on that pier, but when he returned to his chambers, there was now a bushel of green clustered hydrangeas, their many blossoms welcoming him back in a stout vase. Thancred slid the folded note closer and flipped it open, a professional at parsing Urianger’s slanted and looping letters by now.

The jasmine-like scent from the hydrangeas filled the room. Thancred wondered more just how long he had been out, but the sun was not even out yet. Did Urianger wait for him to leave? Did Tataru inform him of his departure? When did he have time to tend to such beautiful flowers? His questions wandered as he took the cluster of flowers and held them gently in his arms, and inhaled their sweet scent. As he exhaled his lip began to quiver and tears held back for so many moons began to pour onto the petals.

Several moons passed, getting closer to Urianger’s name day in the winter. Thancred wandered into Urianger’s library with his friend nowhere to be found. He passed his eyes through the packed books, looking for answers to his cryptic friend’s riddles. His hand slid across a title describing floral arrangements and hesitated. He wondered if it were truly that easy, and it was, for the opened book revealed all his answers and more.

The heavy book was filled with illustrations on its thin pages. Diagrams, complicated scientific language, the anatomy of flowers. This one was useful dried and used for tea, this one has a poison that can be extracted. Thancred saw that the first named flower in the book had a meaning attached to it if given as a gift or arranged into a bouquet and his eyes widened. This was the book Urianger used, he was sure of it. It detailed history, the locations of where it was found. He flipped through its pages with ferocity that would have made the late Master Louisoix proud.

A yellow moth orchid, the first gift, brought thoughts of new beginnings, friendship and joy. The periwinkles he had pressed during the second summer of this exchange, brought thoughts of purity, everlasting love and trust, new beginnings and friendship as well. Thancred thought back to the eight flowers grouped together in a circle beneath the glass. His artful intentions were impulsive but they were horrifyingly apt. The cloves brought good fortune and luck and protection of hexes and negativity, and an interesting new scent to his chambers, he noted with a smile.

He found each flower by memory, their image seared into his mind from how often he had looked at them in their enclosed glass casing. He held a hand to his mouth to hold back a laugh at the absolutely poetic and kind gestures of Urianger, the almost daft gesture of giving him a book each winter suddenly not seeming like enough. The man was three winters younger than Thancred and put thought into every single action he took, even the simple act of leaving a flower for a friend.

He had found the most recently pressed: the green hydrangeas, now separated and arranged together in a similar looking cluster between glass after several fortnights of draining their moisture. Renewal, rebirth, prosperity, good health. A fresh start. The answer from the page seemed to glow. A tear somehow found its way to his cheek and Thancred wiped it away with his gloved hand and listened for any wayward footsteps approaching the library.

Chancing the risk of being found out, he placed a similarly sized book into the empty spot on the shelf. This would have to do, at least until he could replace it properly. Thancred stowed the flower tome into his bag and absconded back to his room.

Three summers had passed since the Scion’s eventful ‘escape’ from the palace. Thancred was thankfully returned to a physical form after being thrown in the stream of aether to drift until popping back in the Dravanian Forelands naked as his name day. His only request now was to stay in his body for more than maybe two summers at a time at this point in his life.

His chambers within The Rising Stones, despite all events that had unfolded with the Crystal Braves, remained untouched besides growing layers of dust. All except for the tall glass containing tall purple clustered flowers on the desk by his bed, waiting for him.

He had completely forgotten his name day had arrived, finally being reunited with his fellow Scions, being able to take a bath in peace and not covered in animal skins. He had not seen Urianger in a while and was curious where he could be. But now with the Warriors of Darkness, he could barely rest. He approached the flowers and flipped open the note.

The note was maybe the most vague note Urianger had ever written. The penmanship was even strained. A thought shot through Thancred’s skull and he rushed to pull open the second drawer in his desk where his stolen book rested. The flower resting before him confirmed his suspicions that Urianger did not notice his switch long ago, but worry still panged in his chest. He flipped through the book’s contents with intent. The flower’s sweet scent filled the room.

“Hyacinth, hyacinth, it has to be… Yes! Now, Urianger, what has gotten into you,” Thancred mumbled, eyeing the flower.

Thancred’s eyes widened and he left the room not caring that the door slammed behind him, with the book fallen to the floor, and the lone flower on the desk only slightly shaken. Urianger’s disappearances, his elusiveness in regards to the Warriors of Darkness, all became clear.

Something was wrong and Thancred had to fix it.

Urianger’s teacup clicked against the porcelain saucer and his long fingers clenched and relaxed. Thancred watched Urianger collect his thoughts in silence, his tea already finished and his hands behind his head, the heel of his boot lightly tapping on the floor of Urianger’s cottage in Il Mheg. Cup and saucers for their impromptu meeting rested over parchment, nestled between scattered books on Urianger’s table. They were soon returning home to the Source, but Urianger had asked Thancred to meet him at the cottage before they departed.

Urianger’s eyes were fixed on the steam of the freshly poured cup. After withholding information from the scions once more, Urianger had promised to be more forthcoming with his thoughts and feelings, rather than just his knowledge, or lying by omission, and Thancred understood more than anyone that it takes patience from everyone. But he also knew that this also has to come from within.

“Thou dost worry that Ryne will be well, without our presence,” Urianger began. Thancred looked to him in surprise at the accurate accusation. Urianger clenched his hands again and exhaled a quick breath. “However, I do not think thou shouldst worry, for thee, and our warrior, all of us, bequeathed unto Ryne the best possible parting gift.”

Urianger smiled at Thancred, his lips curling with serenity.

Thancred tilted his head slightly. “What could that be, Urianger?”

“A place to call home. Something thou searched thy whole life for, and found, with us. Something thou hast given unto me and shared with me.” Urianger looked straight into Thancred’s surprised eyes and held a hand to his heart with sincerity.

Thancred blinked at his long-time friend. Urianger’s gaze did not waver. The golden gaze of the two men connected for a long moment. Thancred broke the silence first by laughing heartily, his chest warm and lighter.

“Is that so?” Thancred held back more laughter, just glad to see his long-time friend so earnest.

“Truly.” Urianger blinked into a warm smile again. He looked away from Thancred to the shelves that lined his cottage and sipped the rest of his tea down, still nervous. His free hand rapidly hit against the parchment in dull taps.

Thancred assured his friend that he was not laughing at him, just the circumstance of it all, being so worried that he could barely think straight. He was thankful, he assured Urianger. The simplicity of Urianger’s response brought a smile to the older man’s heart. Suddenly the fabric of Urianger’s gown shifted against itself and the parchment on the table fluttered at the swift movement from the man. Without much more than a couple words telling Thancred to wait, Urianger briskly stepped up to his bedroom, the lattice door latching behind him, leaving Thancred wondering what would follow.

Thancred sat there, tea cup empty for some time. He drank in the feeling of being there in that cottage, the smell of books, candle fire, the scent of lingering tea leaves. Despite the ever watching eye of the fae, the cottage was a peaceful and restful place. Urianger was taking some time, however, and Thancred wondered if he should have followed the man.

He was moments from getting up from his chair as Urianger pushed through the lattice door, holding a long glass vase that housed a long stemmed white flower of many petals sprouting from its darker core. Urianger stepped gracefully to not let it shake in its vase, stem cut.

“Forgive me, for I know full well that we cannot bring this divine bloom with us whence we return. However, the blossoming petals seemeth aptly appropriate for thy name day. And lo, I am without a note penned in my name, as well.” Urianger gently ran a finger along the soft petals with his eyelids half closed. The serenity of the elezen man made Thancred’s heart beat faster like it had when they were children.

“Is it my name day? It’s so easy to lose track of time in the First.” Thancred shrugged, trying to bring levity to his racing heart. He clapped his hands on his knees and used them as support to stand.

He approached the man as normal until he realized this may be the first time Urianger had given a flower in person. Thancred’s heart beat faster with pride in his comrade, his dear friend, the one who helped him raise Ryne to the lovely and happy girl she deserved to be. He truly was trying to push himself to be more open. Thancred hesitated, but reached his hands to take the vase carefully from Urianger’s gentle hold. The flower had so many petals and he was tempted to pluck just one, but held himself back.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Urianger stated with a light sigh. “But the season of summer hath indeed come to the First nonetheless.”

Thancred bit his lip and sat back down, placing the vase down on the table in front of him.

“Urianger…” Thancred found it hard to find his words now. But he had to try, for Urianger, who was trying harder to bring voice to his feelings. He had the opportunity and privacy available to ask. “I am thankful for your annual gifts, more than you know, I think. But the question was ever present in my mind, I will admit.”

Urianger staggered back in just the slightest way that if Thancred did not have his eyes fixed on the man, he would not have noticed the faltering. “What dost thou inquire?”

“Why flowers? Summer after summer, always different. And they mean something different, do they not? This is… If I am not mistaken, a light colored Gerbera. The Source has similar flowers, I’ve seen them close to Coerthas, its name praising Halone, I believe. But this one… I do not know the meaning, I will admit.”

Urianger cleared his throat with a light cough, bringing the words from his impressive memory, more excited to recite than to admit his feelings. “Lessened sorrows and stresses of life,” Urianger stated as fact. “The color evokes an ever present innocence and cheerfulness… Among other meanings, as well.”

“But the first question?” Thancred pressed, trying to make sure his tone did not make Urianger anxious.

Urianger held his arm, looking away. “Didst thou prefer a gift more fitting?”

Thancred would not let Urianger’s mind wander to anxiety. “That is not what I asked or why, my friend. I cherished them,” he assured and Urianger’s face seemed to redden. “I just wish to know why this particular kind of gift, with so much thought, but one that I had to find the meanings behind with my own research. Your vague and short notes did not exactly spell anything out.”

“I see… I supposed that flowers wouldst not burden thee. A fleeting thing, to be disposed of whence upon the aether within dissipates, much like anything in life, but appreciated in the moment… In a way, the very opposite of the bond I feel to thee, ever strong.” Urianger covered his face with a relaxed hand, but continued. “‘Twas never was my intention to overburden thee, but it seems that I still managed to do so. Pray, forgive me.”

Thancred played Urianger’s words in his head a second time, eyes widening with realization. Master Louisoix was correct in one assumption, all those summers ago, but did not strike the nail quite on its head. Perhaps this was Louisoix’s way of making Thancred figure it out, though. His heart could be heard in his head and he shook his head in disbelief. All his questions and more had answers, except one final riddle beating against his ribs. Why did his heart beat so fast around Urianger? But Thancred did know the answer, he just couldn’t put words to it – not yet.

“Urianger, there’s… You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’ve loved them all. Truly. And… If you will forgive the wait, I think I just thought of the perfect gift for your name day come winter on the Source.”

Winter came swiftly, the mountain’s chill air falling onto Mor Dhona with the gloomed aetherical charges pulsing through the air. Thancred watched the door, tapping the heel of his boot against the plush rug rapidly, drumming his fingers on the table before him. Urianger was set to arrive at any moment. All the cards were in place to the best of his ability. Tea was being prepared and ready to be set. He tried to relax but a bead of sweat ran along his temple. Surely this would be okay?

The Rising Stones was still and quiet, everyone out on adventures with the world’s champion, researching, or on various errands. The only one who remained for the longest while was Tataru, who Thancred had coaxed to leave for a while, assuring her that he would watch over The Rising Stones in her stead. While she doubted his intentions, but with a sigh and a shake of her head, she took her leave, hopeful for a vacation from the stresses that built up over the time of being the Source’s best receptionist. He took the opportunity to place the stolen book on her bookshelf. The large spine seemed out of place among Tataru’s record keeping, the floral design enough to point to easily.

The door creaked open and shut behind Urianger. The elezen looked around before seeing only Thancred at the side table nearest Tataru’s desk. Thancred gave a quick and small salute of a wave with two fingers and a smirk. Though his heart was beating out of his chest, Urianger’s presence always brought him calm and his feeling was returned with a soft smile from the elezen in turn.

Thancred successfully managed to set the tea together and place the saucer and cup before Urianger without a drop spilled. He had managed to call Urianger to The Rising Stones without inflection giving anything away. Everything was going fine and he took a deep breath before sitting down before Urianger at the table. Urianger did not seem to notice the glass sheets and cup sitting near the leg of the table. His legs must have protected them from the elezen’s acute observations.

Thank the Twelve, Thancred thought with closed eyes.

“Pray forgive my rudeness, but I am to assume thou hast a gift? This is thy reason for calling me here?” Urianger sipped his tea with trepidation. He smiled to the warmth nonetheless, likely content to be inside from the cold.

Thancred bit his lip and dropped his head. “Yes, well, first, it is not our traditional exchange but I hid something inside one of the books on the shelf behind you, if you would like to check for me?”

Urianger blinked and put down his tea, the silken skirt of his gown making the slightest sound as he seemed to glide effortlessly to the shelf of Tataru's bookkeeping, budgets, and logs. Thancred pointed to the large leather-bound tome with a floral pattern imprinted on the edge and Urianger’s fingers paused over it, before giving Thancred a look of bewilderment tinged with the slightest irritation.

“Open it,” Thancred implored him with a waving motion. “There’s a bookmark inside that I think you will like.”

Urianger opened the cover to see his younger self’s handwriting on the front page, confirming his suspicions that it was his book. The elezen gave Thancred a look with his eyebrows knitted and he squeezed the top of his nose with a sigh. Thancred rested his chin on his hand with a sly smile. The older man waved again to Urianger, urging him to open the book further.

Urianger paused, running his thumb along the familiar pages. Thancred’s eyes glinted deviously, the smirk growing wider as the pages turned. The younger man said nothing as he flipped through the pages until it fell open with the help of a stiff bookmark held in place by the spine.

At the corresponding page to the moth orchid, next to the mirrored ink drawn diagram of the flower, the physical flower lay adhered to thick parchment. The faded yellow wings of the yellow orchid were delicately placed and covered with a sealing adhesive to keep them intact. Age and time had faded the flower’s yellow glow, but it remained together even after sixteen summers. It truly was the very same moth orchid that Urianger had gifted to Thancred on his sixteenth name day that Sharlayan summer. Urianger held his palm to his lips.

“I never felt right just tossing it away,” Thancred spoke up, jolting Urianger to look at him, shocked. “It was one of the first gifts I had ever received, and to let it wither in front of me… felt wasteful. It felt cruel. I had learned how to press flowers that day and practiced. I got quite good, actually. You unknowingly gave me a hobby, if you can believe it.” Thancred laughed. He had a sip of tea, now much colder than he was expecting.

“Thancred…” Urianger looked back to the flower’s bloom, dried and the color faded, but the gesture brought new meaning to the petals.

“Afraid I am not done yet.” Thancred put down his teacup in a rush and reached down to the floor. Tied delicately together with string, Thancred lifted the fragile stack of the other flowers together. They all remained suspended within the glass frames, arranged beautifully. The Warrior of Light miraculously had some handiwork in blacksmithing and welded together iron frames around the glass to keep it sturdy without breaking the glass or shattering the contained flowers. Thancred offered to pay them handsomely for such an act, along with their silence in the matter, but the Warrior waved his worries away profusely. Something about the matters of the heart being beyond what gil could pay.

Urianger staggered at the glass ornaments as Thancred untied them and presented them like Triple Triad cards. His dexterous hands displayed each card before being set back down on the table in a stack. Thancred had truly kept every single one, and had even procured the Halone-named reflection of the gerbera Urianger had gifted him on the First and pressed its many petals between glass. Thancred slid forward on the table, feeling triumphant and relieved at the look of awe on Urianger’s face, careful not to bump his tea or the glass ornaments now placed before him.

“I hoped you would like them. I debated long and hard on whether this constituted regifting. To that matter, I had another gift.” His arm reached down, hidden.

“Thancred, you hath done much and more than I could ever expect…”

A glass cup was raised and placed on the table gently, Thancred using his finger to muffle the sound. Two black cosmos flowers, cut at the stem, with eight perfect petals each, stood proud in the cup.

Thancred cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you could look in that book to see what these mean?” He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, the beating in his ears. Everything led to this. He had to try and convey this correctly.

Urianger’s face bloomed in red, his long ears becoming red to match. “The… the cosmos in black…”

“Oh, you can read from the book. It has been a while since you have had it, correct? Sorry about that. I simply had to borrow it.” Thancred’s voice was tinged with anxiety now, his face was surely as red as Urianger’s but he tried to keep the smirking mask going for just a moment longer. He prayed silently to Menphina, to any of the Twelve that would hear him in this moment. Please.

With nervous fingers and a nod, Urianger found the page containing information of the cosmos flower. He cleared his throat and read from the page directly. “Cosmos often symbolize order, harmony, and balance. Thus they are favored by followers of Nald’thal. Their symmetrical pattern of eight petals is regarded as favorable among enthusiasts of flowers for its aesthetic pleasing quality…”

“Yes, yes, further on. I believe the color has… meaning. Purpose.” Thancred felt his face getting hotter.

Urianger’s throat bobbed, gulping for air. He nodded and continued to read aloud. “‘Black cosmos… are given by those too shy for words, for feelings hard to express, but undoubtedly convey the feelings of… the infinite and intense nature of love, admiration, and passion for the receiver.’”

With Urianger’s eyes on the book, he did not notice Thancred had risen from his chair silently, or that he grabbed the flowers from the glass jar.

Thancred held the flower out to Urianger, his fringed hair covering the scared expression of his eyes.

“Urianger… I do not know when… but I have always wanted to be by your side.” Thancred rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, urging himself to calm down. “You have given me strength, support, patience… So much more than just flowers. I could never have raised Ryne into the wonderful girl that she became without your assistance. I admire your dedication, your grace. All of you.” Thancred pushed every word from his heart at a time like the very act of removing petals from a flower. He could not bear to look at Urianger, not yet. His gaze remained on the flower’s petals. “I love you, Urianger. I only pray that you feel the same.”

The sound of the heavy leather-bound book closing with a snap echoed against the stone walls. Thancred was sure it was the sound of his heart falling into his gut. The book was gently placed onto the shelf and Thancred’s fingers tightened into a fist, preparing himself.

In a graceful flash, Urianger took the flower from Thancred’s fingers and wrapped his long arms around the shorter man, holding him close to his chest. In shock, Thancred’s body flinched in the embrace before holding himself tighter to Urianger. The man stood a head taller than Thancred, and it was a new feeling for him to feel wrapped like this, feeling safe. Loved. Not one person had held Thancred like Urianger did in that empty hall for all that he could remember.

“Thou art a fool to think thy feelings unrequited,” Urianger whispered into the hyur’s ear. His voice shook with conviction. Thancred hands gripped tighter to Urianger’s back in another flinching response. Urianger held his head low and rested his forehead on Thancred’s shoulder. “Pray forgive me and the stillness of my tongue, even after all we have been through. That I lacked the courage to speak the words, even in the language of flowers.”

Thancred stood back and lifted his head to finally look Urianger in the eye, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Golden eyes softened by gentle smiles met, and Urianger lifted Thancred’s chin with a slender finger to have their lips meet. The kiss started soft, but quickened with urgency. Urianger held the flower’s stem tightly within his long elegant fingers behind Thancred’s back.

Thancred held Urianger as close as he possibly could, their rising heartbeats growing faster together. Their kisses were interrupted only by their grinning and smiles curling their lips. He brought an arm behind the elezen’s neck for support, fingers resting on the grooves of the neck plate. He could not possibly let him go. Urianger’s long hair was as smooth on the back of Thancred’s hand as the silken gown that hung to his body. But the most striking, just as Thancred had dreamed, Urianger’s lips were just as soft as flower petals of the cosmos.