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‘Twas good to be awake.
Awakening as a pleasure might seem, to most, a strange idea. But to one who’d had their fill of sleep, as G’raha Tia had, the simple joy of opening his eyes would be forever a delight. Even his long years in sleepless vigil as the Exarch hadn’t spoiled his taste for such a thing. To simply… Wake. Little else compared.
Sleep had been a rarity, then, and so had awakening too. Yet another simple joy that he’d surrendered up in sacrifice to duty. Joys like hunger, thirst, and lust. The things which made a man, a man… There was no need, no time, no point, for Allag’s blood was all the task required, little more. The Tower mattered, the Exarch less. G’raha Tia, not at all. His duty was to lead, to guide… to die. Less a life, and more a doom.
That he hadn’t… That he lived? That he hungered, thirsted, lusted for the lover in his arms when he awoke? Miraculous, in the exact sense.
G’raha’s fingers felt through the sheets as he stirred, a faint smile cresting on his lips at the feel of the soft linen against his palm. Failing to find the object of his search by touch, G’raha’s eyes cracked open as he stirred to fuller wakefulness.
The room he shared with the Warrior of Light was lacking its other occupant at present. Not long gone; G’raha’s fingers felt the lingering warmth within the covers, and he’d long since committed Ifan’s scent to memory. And his gear remained where he had lain it down the previous night; likely, he was simply gone in brief. No cause for alarm.
G’raha yawned, then smiled. 'Twas good to be awake.
He took his time doing what was needful; Revenant’s Toll had yet to fully wake herself, and he liked savoring his recently-resumed routine of daily life, besides. Standing, stretching, washing, and then proceeding on to fix his hair - though the last was interrupted as the shutting spell upon the door was disengaged.
Ifan opened the door slowly in clear effort not to make a sound, slipping in with a gingham-covered basket tucked under his left arm - though he quickly noticed G’raha was awake. “Oh! I figured you’d be asleep for a while, yet.” he chuckled, closing the door. The shutting spell re-locked behind him, and he smiled as he set the basket down. “A fine morning to you, ‘Raha.”
“And to you, Ifan.” G’raha grinned, turning upon the stool on which he sat so he could meet his lover in a kiss. The hyur’s hands cupped G’raha’s neck, fingers tracing the dark violet marks that showed the latter’s mastery, and a hum roiled in his chest. A little laugh left G’raha’s mouth as Ifan’s lips left his, and his fingers traced up Ifan’s arm in pure tactile delight. “Breakfast?” he said, adding a flick of an ear towards the basket as his indication.
“Mhm. Nothing fancy, but I did charm F’lhaminn out of a jar of rolanberry jam.” answered Ifan with a grin before he stole another kiss.
“Heh. Ever the gentleman, my mighty champion. I will be ready shortly.” said G'raha as he turned about atop the stool, facing the mirror and reaching for his comb - only to find the ivory gently coaxed from between his grasp.
“Allow me, my lord.” Ifan teased before he silenced G’raha’s protest with a nuzzle to one ear. The miqo’te huffed, but smiled, and nodded his consent.
Ifan’s hand was light, as ever. Starting at the ends, working to the roots, pulling not a single knot or tangle as he went. A faint smile was on his lips, his eyes fond but focused on his task. That he took such care with G’raha’s crimson locks made the latter’s tail curl lazily and sway, that he knew to be gentle around a miqo’te’s ears made his fingers flex against the wood upon which he sat.
G’raha’s eyes caught sight of Ifan’s wrist in the mirror as he worked. A single ax hafted with four stars was freshly inked into the flesh - a permanent reminder of the heroes of the First. Four sparking stars, one each for for Branden, Renda-Rae, Nyelbert, Lamitt, and finally the ax itself for–
“Ifan?” G’raha’s voice was quiet.
“Hm?” hummed Ifan.
“Might I ask a favor of you?” G’raha lowered his head slightly as he spoke to hide the shift in his expression.
“After last night? You can ask a favor of me any time.” chuckled Ifan.
G’raha paused, then steeled himself. “If you would be so kind as to tell me when you are of a mind to discuss… a delicate matter... I would appreciate it.” he stated. He felt the combing pause.
Ifan gave a pointed hum. “You can’t just say that and expect me not to be curious, you know.”
The miqo’te bit his lower lip as he looked a little off to the side. “I simply do not wish to trouble you needlessly, so soon after we-” His protest was interrupted by a pair of lips upon his neck. “Mrm.”
Ifan chuckled, standing again and resuming his combing of G’raha’s hair. “What’s on your mind, hm?” he asked gently.
G’raha swallowed. Then he sighed. “...We have not discussed what happened with Elidibus. Not the events which concern him as a whole, rather…” He paused again. Once more, his eyes drifted to the tattoo on Ifan’s wrist. “His choice of vessel.”
“Ah. Ardbert.” Ifan answered. The inscrutability in his tone made Graha’s ears flatten, at least until they were coaxed from their seats with a gentle nuzzling of Ifan’s thumbs.
“When you told us of your journeys with his spirit, you spoke of him with such fondness. I cannot imagine how it must have been for you seeing his…” G’raha halted himself, taking his time to choose his words. “I am not certain if you have already voiced your feelings about what happened, but If you feel the need to unburden yourself to someone… I should be glad to help shoulder the weight. It would be my honor.” With that, he glanced up and back at Ifan with determination in his eyes.
Ifan paused once more. The comb was set down, and the magician’s arms slid around Graha’s torso to draw him into an appreciative embrace. Another kiss was left upon his neck, and then a second on his cheek. Then Ifan stood again and ran his fingers through his lover’s locks to part them in preparation for a braid. “‘Tis less weight and more… A longing for things that could have been.” he said. Again, that same inscrutability in his tone.
“How do you mean?” asked G’raha. His eyes were fixed upon the mirror, but not himself.
The magician’s fingers paused for but a moment as he hesitated. “...Ardbert and I… We met before that whole business at Loth-ast-Gnath. I didn’t know who he was, and he was simply taking my measure from a distance. Then… Happenstance. One thing led to another. And even after I learned who he was, we still kept meeting in secret. Right up until that last fight at the Bowl of Embers.” The quietude of his tone belied the weight of his confession.
G’raha had read and heard of such events, but this detail was new. And, in all likelihood, a thing not known to any but him. The weight of added context caused G’raha’s ears to fall. “Were you in love with him?”
“...I think so, even if I told myself that I wasn’t.” answered Ifan. His fingers slowly threaded the gatherings of G’raha’s hair into their needful place.
“And… What about now?” asked G’raha quietly.
Ifan paused again. His fingers were stilled in the middle of the half-spun braid.
G’raha reached up and placed his hand over Ifan’s wrist, the one that he’d had marked upon their return from the First. “You needn’t fear my jealousy, Ifan. I wish you to be open with your feelings.” he said softly with a smile.
A breath left Ifan’s lips. “...Aye. We did… say the words. Right before…” Then he swallowed, and his eyes found G’raha’s in the mirror. “‘Raha, please, don’t think that I would rather be with him than you.”
G’raha’s grasp tightened on Ifan’s wrist in a gentle squeeze. “You needn’t fear my thinking that, either. I merely grieve for you, dear heart, knowing what you’ve lost.” he said, smiling, voice lowering as he finished.
Ifan closed his eyes and lowered his head. His lips twisted briefly before he slowly resumed what was important: weaving his lover’s hair into the style that G’raha liked.
The miqo’te’s ears fell slightly, and his tail drooped. “Ifan. If you wish for time to mourn…”
Ifan shook his head. “He was already dead when we met, ‘Raha. I fell in love with a memory. A wonderful, wonderful memory… You would have loved him too, I think. And I wish very deeply that you could have met him. I wish I could have met him while he was at his best. Met his friends, too, at theirs. Seen the world with him…” The hyur’s lips twisted up once more before a sigh like rolling thunder left his chest. “By all rights we should never have had the time we got, in the first place. It really was a miracle in the exact sense. I can’t mourn that. Besides… As wonderful as my little adventure with him was, right now I think I’m much more keen to see what ours has in store.” With that, he opened his eyes, and smiled.
G’raha rubbed his fingers over Ifan’s wrist, the digits never having left his lover’s flesh. “I should have liked to meet him, also. If only to thank him on my hands and knees for saving you.”
Ifan gave a fond little hum. Then he smirked. “It still surprises me how forward you’ve gotten in your dotage.”
G’raha blinked as both his ears shot up. His cheeks turned pink, and his tail curled. “You know that is not– Incorrigible.” Though he grumbled, he couldn’t hide a little smile. Moments passed in silence, and Ifan’s fingers reached the end of G’raha’s braid. “Do you feel better having had spoken of it, at the least?” he asked.
Ifan gave it a little thought, then nodded. “A little. Thank you, ‘Raha.” he answered. The magician finished by tying off G’raha’s braid before pressing one more kiss against his neck.
“Thank you.” hummed G’raha with a soft laugh at the feel of Ifan’s stubble on his skin. Then he gave a contended hum. “...To be at your side on an adventure. Gods. It still feels hardly real, so long have I dreamt of it.”
“Another miracle, in the exact sense.” suggested Ifan. A teasing smirk was on his face as he coaxed G’raha back to full good humor.
G’raha grinned at that. He stood, unclothed, and turned towards Ifan before threading his arms about the latter’s waist to draw him in. “I daresay you may be right.” He hummed again and rested his head against Ifan’s chest, ear flush against it to listen to the beating of his heart. A steady pulse of life.
Minutes passed in tender silence as the pair reveled in their embrace, broken by another kiss and a mutual grazing of their heads. “Mm.” hummed Ifan, glancing at the window. “The weather is lovely today. Perhaps we should revisit a little place above the lake while we break fast. Make a picnic of it, hm?” he suggested with a wink.
The miqo'te felt his ears flutter at the notion, and his tail crested in delight. “I should like that very much. I merely need a moment to dress.”
He made to do so, releasing Ifan from his grasp and turning to where his clothes sat folded on a chair; but found himself wrapped once more in Ifan’s arms, his back pressed flush against Ifan’s chest and the hyur’s lips buried ‘twixt his ears.
“I love you, by the way.” Another quiet admission that belied its weight.
G’raha stood, a little shocked. The words hardly needed saying, of course, but that didn’t make the sound less savory in its sweetness. Another simple joy he’d thought long gone. “You have my love, as well.” he returned with a breathy chuckle, his face affixed in joyous disbelief.
‘Twas good to be awake, indeed.