He attempts to maintain his composure, willing his ever emotive features to settle, if only just for these moments. However, ‘tis plain to see G’raha Tia is brimming with excitement— and nervousness. To him, it's not quite real yet, that he could be considered an equal among them. His ever anxious nature is quick to distance his achievements from himself, laying the mantle of success upon the heroes he deems superior. I should not be here, he thinks, but Alphinaud seems to counter him aloud.

“A more dependable comrade one would be hard-pressed to find.”

Their light is stronger than the darkness that had wriggled its way in, and so his mind settles, though the same cannot be said for his heart. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his staunch allies, it is all he can do to avoid staring.  Their heroic visages, so verily described in historical records, now existing beyond the pages, right before him... The meeting goes on, and he continues to try and stand firm and proud, his swishing tail and red cheeks be damned.

On the First, no matter how many allies he gained, no matter how he might try to avoid the power imbalances so pervasive on the Source, the Crystal Exarch labored in solitude. His gentle and kind Lyna, try as she might, could not assuage his loneliness. His centuries-long plight was his alone. Even in the matters of governance, his people, so exhausted and lost as they were,  relied on him for the decisions they could not take on their own. Always the last one to speak, always left to debate and ponder in the tower... But, here in the Rising Stones, they speak as equals, their tones warm yet firm. The confidence in their bonds becoming the foundation upon which they can chart their course swiftly and decisively.

Though these thoughts warm his heart, G’raha Tia is more unprepared for it than he could have imagined. Before he can chance to speak, the meeting is nearly over. Wait, not before I can speak to Eithne—

“I was hoping you might join me.”, he hears Alisae say, his ears flicking towards the sound.

“I’ll come too!” He almost shouts, before immediately regretting it “... If you don’t mind, that is.”

As the embarrassment sets in, he immediately learns of Y’shtola’s true nature. Sensing blood in the water, she couldn’t help but tease him. “Mind? I’m sure they would be glad of your company. Pray enjoy your time together with your hero.”

“M-My...? N-No that’s not—”

Y’shtola’s words would ring in his ears, long past that conversation. Even when they boarded the airship, in those few moments alone, he pondered...

My hero— Truly, he would never dare be so presumptuous, so self-centered in his description of her. As if she had ventured to the First for him, as if her selflessness, her suffering... He sees Eithne, wary and restless, accepting his words, he sees her corrupted by light, he sees her extending her hand to him... No, the love and friendship she had extended to him was not borne from something within him, but from her own benevolent heart. However innocuous Y’shtola’s phrasing may be, it was something he would not, could not say himself.

In G’raha’s mind, to be Hydaelyn’s champion meant more than the duties it entailed. She was more than him, more than the First, more than Eitherys. It made her the human embodiment of light, giving Hydaelyn’s virtues the ability to touch those here on the star. She was all he could aspire to be, a source of unparalleled strength, not just physical, but mentally and emotionally. The power to be kind, to give her all and more in service of another, to remain a bastion of peace, even when it was in defiance of her human nature— That was why he wanted to be more than just someone who frivolously called her his hero!

On the stern of the Bonanza, he shakes his head, feeling his emotions bubbling, his heartbeat accelerating. Calm down, he thinks, this youthful body of mine is wont to get ahead of itself...

Still, if there was anything he had learned in his studies of the Warrior of Light’s deeds, it was that her steadfast allies were instrumental in her endeavors. Even through his own experiences in the wake of the Eight Umbral Calamity, and as the Crystal Exarch, he knew that without the guiding light of steadfast allies, hope can easily slip from your grasp. This fire within him, burned so brightly because he wanted to become that selfsame ally for her. To be there at her side, not only in joy but in despair, to reach his hand out, and feel her grasp it, comforted in the strength of its grip.

Soon after this, they would find themselves in Azys Lla and, later on on, Limsa Lominsa, as well as many places in between, in the pursuit of a cure for the tempered. An adventure uncovering Allagan secrets, collaborating to create hitherto unknown magicks, reuniting with allies, conversing with dragons, and more— it is something he would only have only allowed himself to dream of on the darkest of nights back on First. She would walk ever forward, gaze unflinching, and G’raha Tia’s heart would swell with love and pride... And yet, sometimes, he would be caught unawares by how much he had yet to learn about Eithne.

It was understandable. Despite poring over any and all writings even alluding to the Warrior of Light after being awakened by Garlond Ironworks, words penned by man were wont to misunderstandings. An author's interpretations, their culture, life experience, or even just the limitations of their vocabulary, could serve to obfuscate the truth. There was no way for any one person to capture those small, critical moments, those which often reveal the most about ourselves. How many revelations must she have had, staring out into the expanse, how many secrets divulged in conversations illuminated only by starlight. How could anyone capture the exact likeness with which she stood triumphant, or in a moment of weakness... During their reunion, he recalls thinking that she had been much changed from their brief excursion into the Crystal Tower, and more different still from the hero he had envisioned during his studies— though, he had been much changed himself.

Her gaze, at times filled with fury, at other times with kindness, would sometimes cloud over with feelings he had yet to understand. Their journey had bade them return to Azys Lla, and as she gazed up at Tiamat, hearing stories of ages past, who and what did she see? His thoughts drift to Heavensward, the account of the Dragonsong war penned by Count Edmont de Fortemps, as he listens to Tiamat’s tales. It was one of his favorites, as Count Fortemps description of the Warrior of Light and her struggles felt more human than most retellings, doubtlessly because of the fact that they had had some sort of relationship to one another, his own son being one of the first to offer succor to the Scions after their escape from Ul’dah, and later House Fortemps itself becoming their temporary abode...

What did Eithne think, about the war, about man and dragonkind’s struggle? Though thorough in its recounting of historical events, ultimately the tome was of Count Fortemps personal experience, it was his view of the historically important period he lived through. Eithne’s thoughts remained shrouded in mystery, never to be written down by her own hand, only speculated upon by those inspired to do so. It was in these moments, that he most keenly felt the vastness of time between them, and her light appeared as but a beacon in the distance. Would that he could know what she thought during these times, that they had the privacy to discuss freely, that he held the confidence to ask— But, as he’s come to learn quickly, the scions move swiftly, and any hesitation will cost him any opportunity he might chance upon.

No sooner does he think that does the situation progress and Tiamat is thus freed, with Eithne keen to return to the fray. It is all he can muster to keep her from danger long enough to summon the Scions to her aid. The flight out of Azys Lla is less pleasant than the flight from which they had first arrived, in that initial excursion, and this time, there are no moments of solitude to collect his thoughts. Instead, he observes his friend’s countenance, darkened by the shadow of war, and likely the fear of losing more lives to the machinations of the Telophoroi. Would that he could offer some words of confidence, of comfort, anything beyond the tired platitudes between acquaintances.

In his heart, he would carve a promise: to know Eithne as the person she is, who she would when unencumbered by the shackles of duty. He would see her clearly, past the warping of fame’s mirage. Perhaps then, she would allow him to carry her burdens, in the same way she had done for him and countless others.