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The Warrior of Light was much shorter than he’d expected.
Miqo’te weren’t usually very tall, but she was so very much on the short side of things that he found himself wondering how old she was. She couldn’t be much older than himself, if they weren’t the same age. Her face was smooth and young. She was even shorter than him, which was saying something.
She was also much… girlier than he’d expected. He’d imagined a woman tough as nails, tall and hardened, something like Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn. But the Warrior seemed to like to wear dresses. She carried no weapons that he had seen, just the heavy tome that hooked onto her hip. And she was a healer. And she was pretty. Not what he had imagined a hero to be.
Although that wasn’t fair. Even though she kept her hair in those sleek pigtails, and the enchanted coat she wore into battle was some mauvy shade of pink, he saw her squatting in the dirt with Biggs and Wedge all of the time, or sorting through monster guts for Cid.
She didn’t seem at all interested in his jokes, which he thought was a damn shame, because the practical jokes and theatrics were what had gotten him all of the attention he could manage back at the Studium. Part of him had decided that perhaps she was a little stuck up, and not worth the trouble. That the vaunted Warrior of Light had let things go to her head and she wasn’t going to be the exciting ticket to Allagan mystery that he’d hoped.
But then as he knelt in the dusty surrounds of the still locked Labyrinth, pouting at the multitude of basketed artifacts he needed to haul from the trench and catalog, Dian appeared with a smile and her hands on her hips.
He looked up and dusted his hands off, wondering what she’d actually say to him today. She'd nearly ignored him up until this point.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He allowed. He realized he sounded entirely too guarded, but then he noticed that she was in trousers and shirtsleeves, grey and black, rolled up to bare surprisingly muscled arms. He didn’t think healers did much heavy lifting?
“Cid’s out of camp today, can I help you? Wedge said you might be able to use someone for ‘small fiddly work’, he called it.” She was still smiling, and he caught himself staring at the way her dark skin looked like cobalt glass in the morning sun.
“Fiddly work.” He repeated. “Well, yes, I will, but I need to get this all back to camp before the fiddly part starts.”
“I’m assuming I need to be very careful with everything I touch, yes?” She sounded like she’d been given this order many times already, likely by the Sons of Saint Coinach in the days she’d spent working with them.
“Preferably.” He couldn’t help his small grin. “I know most of the people here are looking to uncover just enough to disable the Tower, but I’d like to document as much as we can for future review and research as possible. There's much we could learn about the Allagan Empire from what’s already here.”
“Knowledge of the past can be powerful.” She agreed, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll admit I’m no scholar or historian myself, but I can follow directions and have an eye for detail. So how can I help?”
G’raha took a moment to sort himself out, but explained his plan and where things should go. She was attentive and followed his directions without any fuss. Once they had started carrying artifacts back to the camp he had to admit that he was not used to the physicality this kind of work entailed. She easily oustripped him, hauling heavy baskets of gadgets and shards of stone with an unending cheer that he found hard to match before it was even lunch time. Perhaps he had spent too long behind a desk at the Studium. Her dark furry ears never drooped towards her shoulders like his did.
“I think I need to apologize to you, Warrior.” He said, as they sat down in camp to eat.
She didn’t respond, but watched him while she chewed on the meat pies sent over from Revenant’s Toll. As she tilted her head, it dawned on him that he was going to have to explain himself.
“I had an idea in my head of what kind of person you were going to be, and you’ve been altogether different. I think I may have treated you as though you’d wronged me when you have done nothing of the sort.”
“No harm done.” She said, but she wasn’t smiling like she had earlier. She stared at the pie in her hands without moving. “But you should call me Dian, if you’d like to get to know me as a person.” She looked up and met his eyes. He felt a shock of--something--course through him. Nerves, anxiety, adrenaline; he wasn’t entirely sure, that was the first time he saw what set her apart from any other adventurer. And he’d yet to see what she was light in a fight.
And he likely wouldn’t, until Cid got his devices ready to disable the outer defenses.
He had to admit--he was a little awestruck after watching her performance--performance!-- in the Labyrinth. And while he told her so, he caught that same look in her eye as when she told him to call her by her name, not Warrior.
Her eyes darkened, the purple irises lost some of their shine, and he found himself desperate to understand what he had done to upset her. They made their way back to camp, and he found himself walking behind her, trying to somehow read something in the way her hair--usually tied up so neatly into two tails-- was tangled, little wisps of blue curling up this way and that. How her coat--he recognized it now as one of the Ironworks garments, enchantments and clever artifice protecting her small frame--was dirtied with odd singes across her arms, but no dirt, no blood like any of the other adventurers. Truly, she was smaller than him; she was tiny. Where did she get such force? How did she inspire and protect those around her so?
The next day, she was up and standing in the center of camp slowly eating breakfast and he found himself staring at her again. She was lovely.
By the twelve… He wasn’t getting this way over a girl, was he? Well, the Warrior of Light, was that any better? Or less believable? Or gods forbid, worse?
Thankfully, she found her occupation helping the Ironworks folks for the day, and he occupied himself by scribbling notes about the many catalog entries he needed to finish before he could actually write an analysis of anything.
Well, scribbling notes and staring at her.
She didn’t look as unfailingly cheerful as she had the day she’d worked with him hauling goods out of the ruins. She didn’t look thoughtful, like she had after he’d gushed over how she fought through the Labyrinth (in retrospect, G’raha could see why she’d not appreciate that. Girls didn’t want to be lauded for how well they slaughter dragons and Atomos’. Right?). But she did look distracted. And creators, he was distracted today, too. Was he allowed to think she was pretty?
Luckily there were enough people rambling around the camp that he wasn’t obvious, sitting at his desk, surrounded by baskets of material. So he watched whenever he couldn't focus any longer. He grinned as she cast a quick Physic on Wedge after he apparently hurt a finger somehow. Her hair was neat and slicked into its two tails again, but she didn’t insert herself into the middle of every conversation. She wasn’t jumping to lend a hand or contribute to the conversation.. She didn’t watch the conversation with those bright eyes that he’d come to find so endearing. So later and later into the day, he found himself watching, noticed the way her ears tilted, trying to read what she was feeling. They seemed… flat, somehow. Was she unwell?
By the time the sun threatened to set, and most of the NOAH folks were preparing for dinner, he was convinced he was the only one who had noticed that something wasn’t right with her.
He made a point of grabbing his food early, and an extra bowl for her too, and seeking her out to eat. At that point, she was standing slackly near one of the tents, leaning against a work table, staring at the backs of the Ironworks crew.
“Dian?” She looked up at him and smiled. Why did she look so… tired? “Hungry?”
“Yes.” She agreed, rousing herself with a little shake of her head. She took what he offered and they walked back towards the small campfire and sat. They talked briefly about what progress had been made, but she just seemed off, distracted.
“Anyways, Cid will probably be ready to pick your brain any time now about which of his theories is most likely to be true. You’ve got the most knowledge of what the Allagans were capable of, so you’ll be the one to help to winnow what’s likely to work from what’s not.”
“That’s what I’m here for, ideally.”
“Ideally.” She repeated with a smile. It was something of a relief to see her smile directly at him, as he’d not noticed her smiling at anyone else in his surreptitious watching throughout the day.
“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but are you well today?”
“I’m tired.” She agreed. “I think I managed well enough for no one else to notice. though.”
“Did you sleep badly?”
“I think I’m getting sick.”
“Can you not heal yourself? Or can your fairy not?” He asked. He didn’t see it around, and wasn’t entirely sure how the little flitting ball of light worked.
“Not exactly, no.” She laughed. “It’s not that kind of magic, I guess. Even with the fairy, there’s very specific things I can do, but even Eos mostly prevents hurts.”
“Eos.” He repeated. “What exactly is Eos?”
“Well, she is exactly a fairy, but she’s a relic of the kingdom of Nym. I’ve been working with a friend to research some of their history, and discover more of what she’s capable of.” She smiled fondly. “She seems like a kind little thing. I like her.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a scholar.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of it as ‘scholarship’. It just seems like we should preserve what we can, and Nym had much that should be saved. Much that could help people.”
“You seem to make friends wherever you go.”
“Maybe.” She got lost staring in the fire for several moments. “I think most people just hear my byname and make assumptions. Or presumptions. And requests.” She laughed at that. “I don’t think I’ll ever lack for occupation at this rate.”
“Sounds tiring. .”
“Oh, I don’t mean to sound… unpleasant. I just… this all started because I left Gridania hoping to find…” she swallowed heavily. “I guess just somewhere to belong. I never really anticipated all of this. I just wanted to do some good. Help out somewhere.”
“It seems you’ve managed that.”
“So it does.” She gave him an apologetic grin. “I guess I’m just not feeling up to it all today.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” He suggested.
“Yes.” She looked at her empty hands for a few moments. “I should get to sleep. Goodnight, my friend.”
“Have you seen Dian yet today?” G’raha asked.
“Hmm? Oh, I think she went into Revenant’s Toll for a few days. If you want to check on her, come back before too long. I'm going to need your expertise shortly to narrow down a few possibilities of what to do about that door.” Cid replied.
“Yes sir.” G’raha agreed.
Dian hadn’t said anything about leaving last night, but indeed, her chocobo was gone, and the tent that had her things in it now had just an empty cot. He could probably borrow a chocobo himself to check on her and be back before afternoon to help Cid. How was it suddenly so busy here in the middle of nowhere? There were entirely too many interesting things in this wilderness between city-states.
Indeed, he caught up to her before she even made it into the gates. She was riding slowly, her bag slung across her back, mostly letting her bird follow the path. Had she not been accosted by any of the gigantoads on the road?
“Dian!” He called, and she turned in the saddle and waved at him.
“Hi, G’raha.” She smiled.
As he got closer he realized that she did look unwell. Her cheeks were pink even against her blue skin, and her eyes looked glassy. He led his bird close enough to reach out to her and she didn’t resist as he touched her forehead.
He’d never checked another person for fever before, but he couldn’t imagine that one was supposed to be hot to the touch quite like that.
“You are sick.”
“I am.” She agreed. “I’m going to stay at the Rising Stones for a few days with the Scions until I feel better.”
“You could have said something, I would have ridden back with you.” He glanced ahead of them at the creatures crawling the unpatrolled road.
“You’re a good friend, G’raha. But I didn’t want to pull you away from your work. I know this is important to you.”
“Yes, but…” He frowned at her. “But you’re not well, and I don’t want you to get hurt because you’re distracted, or not at your best.”
“I’ll be okay. I can certainly manage these beasties until I get into town. So can Stanley,” she said, patting her bird’s shoulder.
He shook his head.
“Come on.” He urged his chocobo on, and clicked his tongue at hers, grateful that the other bird trotted alongside with so little urging.
Any doubt he carried about his decision to take over and escort her disappeared when they reached the stables. She stumbled dismounting her chocobo, and only caught herself on the railing of the stall. He jumped down himself and caught her, letting her steady herself before she cursed under her breath.
“Are you glad I’m here now?” He asked sardonically.
“Yes, mother.” She shot back at him. She looked around and took his arm as though they were just going for a promenade together. Head held high and respectable.
G’raha didn’t mean to get distracted by how her little hand fit into the bare crook of his elbow. Her skin was hot, and it shouldn’t have left him shaken, that she was so comfortable touching him like that, her side close against his own, but it did.
“If you take me up to my room, I can ask Tataru to bring me some food later.”
“Right.” His mouth was dry. “Your room.”
Her room was up two flights of stairs, in the western side of the building, she had one little window that looked out over the crystal stretching in spires from the ground of the old campsite.
She dropped her things on the floor as soon as she got in, and unfastened the heavy Ironworks coat, dropping it over a chair; toed off her boots and flopped onto the little rope frame bed against the wall. She was wearing a linen shift with the sleeves rolled up like she had all of the days they’d worked at Saint Coinach’s Find.
“Dian.” He muttered. He found himself cleaning up after her. Why? G’raha Tia had never fussed much about the neatness of his dormitory, tending to leave tomes and notebooks strewn about in an order that was more esoteric than logical, but something about the exhaustion with which she moved told him that he needed to take care of her. So, he tidied her boots next to the door, hung her armored coat on the stand, and pulled the blanket out from under her and tucked her in. She grinned as he pulled the quilt around her shoulders, and he wondered if she was messing with him.
“G’raha.” She parrotted him, tucking her fist under her chin and letting her eyes drift shut.
“Do you need medicine?” He asked, unsure what to do next, and somewhat afraid to stick around much longer.
“Go back to the camp. You’re actually useful to them right now.”
“You’re useful too,” he said, thinking back to how everyone relied on her to make the Labyrinth safe, and would probably call on her to run into danger again soon. But something about the word ‘useful’ struck him. It was like when she frowned at being called the Warrior of Light. “Besides, you’ve become a friend to me, and I want to make sure you’re okay. The Tower’s not going anywhere.”
She opened her eyes and leveled a look at him.
“You be careful talking to me like that G’raha Tia.”
He scoffed, when after the warning her eyes drifted shut again.
“Medicine?” He asked again, unable to resist placing his hand on her forehead again, just to see how hot she felt. Not that he knew what to do with that information, it just seemed important. Important that she was letting him do that. He knew it was a boundary, and wasn’t entirely sure why he was allowed to cross it, but found himself wanting to take whatever territory he could.
She sighed and sat up, waggled her fingers at her bag, ‘give it here’, she seemed to say. He passed it to her without a word. She dug out a small canvas bag that clinked as she put it in his hand.
“If you can find chamomile tea, it can help with fevers. Or ginger, yarrow, or lemon balm.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know different things than you, G’raha.” She smiled at him for a few moments, and that odd sadness he’d seen in her eyes the night before was like a distant memory. Despite sickness and obvious fever, there was something joyous in her eyes. They sparkled as she looked up at him, and he felt broken inside. She was not like any of the girls at the Studium, the worried thought flitted past his conscious mind.
“Call me Raha.” He found himself saying.
She squeezed his hand, and laid back down.
“Thank you, Raha.”
His heart was pounding as he left her room, shutting the old wooden door behind him. It was missing a plank at the bottom he realized idly. The Scions must not have been here long.
He busied himself running her errand: tea.
He repeated the list of herbs in his head, chamomile, ginger, yarrow? And lemon balm.
Chamomile, ginger, yarrow, and lemon balm.
On the way back outside to the little market place, he spoke with Tataru. If he could find the herbs, she could boil water and provide cups. She’d also get a tray of food he could take up to the Warrior’s room, and she’d check in on her later tonight. And wasn’t he such a friend for taking care of her like that.
He didn’t like the way she grinned through that last sentence.
Anyways, the marketplace had what she needed, mostly, there wasn’t any yarrow, but he got what else was available, finding himself a bit agog at just how many gil were in the bag she’d handed him without a qualm.
He briefly debated buying flowers to bring her, and quashed the thought, Tataru’s teasing echoing as he eyed the yellow daisies.
He’d simply have to come back tomorrow.
After returning to the Rising Stones and putting the herbs to steep in the teapot of boiling water that Tataru directed him to, liberally adding honey--just the way he’d like it-- he brought the tray back up to her room, up two flights, at the end of the hallway, with the one little window.
She didn’t so much as stir when he opened the door and set the tray down, and he found himself feeling nosy.
She had a large spinning wheel set up in front of the window, with fat bobbins of thread both stacked and full, and strung somehow through the works. There was a flat topped chest, sitting open with a tray of various gemstones and rings of metal, all in different stages of being shaped and shined, and a jumble of tiny metalworking tools. The back wall had bundles of some sort of tall yellow grass tied up and drying, and the table had several pairs of boots in various sizes and stages of assembly. It was certainly busy. He found himself fascinated. The Warrior of Light spent her free time making… all sorts of things, apparently.
He found himself straightening up the tools in the chest enough that it could be shut, and moved the partially assembled boots to sit on the lid, so that he could set the tray with her tea and the spare herbs on the table instead. Tataru had also added a basket with cheese and more of the rye bread, along with a few yellow apples.
G’raha sat in her chair and looked at her.
She was special. He needed to know more about her. He had so many questions. Who was this odd, quiet woman who had a smile more often than not? What had she meant about finding somewhere to belong, and where had she come from that no one claimed her?
When G’raha found himself in her room, years later, it hadn’t changed in any way that mattered.
The spinning wheel was still under the window, but the yarn she was spinning was a fine gray wool, for socks, she said. The chest was gone, replaced with a shelf full of tinctures and spare herbs, jars of particular kinds of water and sap. The furniture had been replaced with new constructions she must have managed in her free time, varnished and waxed to a shine. The bed was bigger, with a down mattress instead of the old rushes, there was a woolen rug on the floor, curtains over the bubbly glass, and the door was replaced and whole, carvings of rabbits and doves danced around the panels, bottom to top.
He was returning back to his world, back to the Source with no belongings to speak of--even his lute had been lost over the years he had been gone--but somehow he felt at home, seeing how her space had changed, but was still true of everything he knew about her. Small, detailed, giving. Always trying to make something for those she loved.
Sure, none of the stories he’d obsessed over had mentioned how she’d spent every free moment trying to build something. To create, replace as much of what she’d been forced to destroy as she could. That was something he’d seen when he’d first met her, and learned even more about when he brought her to the First.
“So,” She said, sweeping into the room behind him. He grinned. She took up so much space now. Her long green dress swirled around her legs as she jolted to a stop and stared at him. Her eyes sparkled again. He felt alive here. Having his young body back seemed to have changed many things.
He felt like he needed to pick her up and spin her. She yelped, her ears flattening out on top of her head as he did it, but she simply wrapped her arms around his neck and let him. When he sat her back on her feet, she grinned and kissed him, and he felt his mind simply stop for a moment. Every thing she’d ever said about friendship, and caring for those around you circled back into his mind.
“Sorry, you were going to say something.”
“I was.”
“I remember.” He grinned. “So?”
“So.” He could feel her tail swishing against his & realized she’d had something in her hands the entire time. “You remember how Tataru said she was making new gear for everyone?”
“I do. She was… incredibly thorough in her measurements.”
Dian fixed him with a glance.
“A craftsperson is a professional, Raha.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Anyways, I’ve made you something too.” And she held out her hands to him.
The bundle was dark and folded into a neat and tidy bundle, as he took it, it billowed out into a gray and gold scarf with tassels and embroidery on the ends.
“It’s dwarven cotton. It’s the only one in Eorzea.”
“Thank you.”
“I know the First was your home for a very long time, and I could only imagine it would be nice to have something of the place you worked so hard to save.”
“Thank you.” He repeated. “It’s perfect.” He slipped his arms back around her, and buried his face in her neck. She smelled the same here on the Source as she did on the First. He’d gotten so used to that scent, of ginger, lemongrass and aether.
He pressed his mouth against her skin, and delighted in her shiver against him.
“I want to bathe before I put it on, though.”
“As you should!” She laughed, pushing him away. “You smell like you’ve been passed out on the floor of a library for four years.”
“Is it really only four years now?”
She nodded.
“Well, where can I scrub the library smell off, then?”
She laughed and led him through the halls of the Rising Stones.