How shameful he felt, his chest heavy with yearning, her touch leaving a trail of embers on his skin. She was so close, enough that he could distinctly smell her usually light perfume, all incense and metal and dry lilies. He could see iridescent sunlight rays in her eyes, when the candles flickered just so— He felt her surprisingly rough fingers on his chin, her thumb running across his cheek, before she brought it back to her own lips. He could only pray that the low light could disguise their redness. Perhaps it would have been easier, better even, if he had never realized the opportunity presented to him. If his promise was as platonic as he had told himself it had been meant to be, if she had remained ever distant, the walls built by time and grief keeping them as nothing more than friends.
He had been satisfied, content beyond his wildest dreams, to remain so. Truly, he had, but...
It had quickly become news amongst their confidants that after their return from Ultima Thule, the Warrior of Light had made of the Baldesion Annex something of a home. Those within the Annex however, knew better, and saw that instead of her own comfortable and well furnished room, it was at G’raha Tia’s side where she could consistently be found. She would be there, working on some craft, until G’raha Tia dismissed himself to his chambers, however reluctant he might have felt to do so, and she would be at breakfast once he awakened.
Indeed, no one had realized what was happening faster than G’raha Tia himself. Eithne had always been guarded, as necessitated by her innumerable burdens, and her unannounced company was a precious gift the Scions all treasured. Yet, he found himself with the honor of her company at every conceivable moment. It was uncommon, and there were precious few things that could drive someone so reticent to seek out another’s company. Even aside from that, G’raha Tia was no schoolboy, regardless of how young he physically found himself to be at the moment. Eithne treated G’raha differently now, and in her eyes he could see nothing but his own reflection, a newfound spark he had never seen in her before, towards him or anyone else. It was enough to make his heart burst, and the first few days, or perhaps weeks, he had been a wreck. Unable to complete his work, distracted to a fault, especially once Krile began taking her work elsewhere... They talked about anything and everything until the candles burned out, the gentle bell of her voice a herald of sweet dreams each night.
It was bliss, seeing as he had never allowed himself to hope for something like this, that she could feel this way about him. So large was his joy that he had failed to realize the magnitude of its significance, until suddenly his heart weighed heavy with the responsibility. For so long he chased after her, dedicated his very life to her success and prosperity. While it may have been a handful of years for Eithne, to him it had been many lifetimes of reverence. The Warrior of Light, his beacon of hope... To receive her feelings was as if Hydaelyn’s blessings were being poured over him. Who was he but a man who, ever clumsily, followed in her footsteps, seeking salvation. A simple Miqot’e who foolishly dreamed of destiny and fate, now allowed to walk beside heroism incarnate?
It was the extent of this joy, the preciousness of her feelings, that weighed so heavily. While he may have felt such grandiose emotions towards her, he knew the truth— That Eithne was not a god to be revered, but a woman of flesh and blood, one who needed true friends by her side. To live and love, to enjoy the simple pleasures of life; she needed an equal, not a follower. Indeed, it was one of the first things he learned of her, once his life started anew on the Source, and he had come to learn his lesson, he had. But, when faced with her gallant figure, it was all he could do to not avert his eyes at times. For centuries, he had chased after her legend, the myth of the warrior she had been... ‘twas not so easy to change old habits.
He glanced up at her, her elegant form now returned to sitting opposite of him, her attention trained on the snacks before them. They had been, and still are, in the middle of their “breaks”; those times when G’raha Tia realized they had been sitting in the offices of the Annex without food or drink for hours, and would break their fast with tea and treats of some kind. This time he had not noticed until past midnight, and he had insisted they not go to bed with parched throats. As they ate and drank, they had been talking, even though Eithne somehow always ended up simply listening to him, but this time her eyes had remained fixed intently on some corner of his face, before suddenly—
With a jolt, he realized the awkward silence that had enveloped them by now, his unfinished sentence hanging in the air, though Eithne seemed none too bothered by it. After nibbling on a biscuit for a few moments more, she tilted her head at him,
“You were saying...?”
He smiled sheepishly, willing his heart to slow, reminding himself of who she was and what they were. Nothing more than friends, for now, he explained to himself, and it’s not as if I haven’t seen a similar sight before, when she’s fussed over Alphinaud and Alisaie... The debate continued internally, but he could not keep her waiting much longer.
“R-Right, w-what was it now...?” he said, managing a sheepish smile, “I s-seem to have lost my train of thought...”
“You were about to ask something about The Studium.”
“R-Right...” he cleared his throat, “I had heard about your various contributions recently to the myriad departments there, and I realized I didn’t know much about your career as an artisan. What led you to take up crafting?”
She split a biscuit in half, staring at the two pieces for a few moments before answering.
“Some time ago, Alphinaud recommended that I take up a hobby, as I had nothing else to do.”
His ears flicker at the answer, before an incredulous laugh lets him forget his embarrassment for a moment.
“I would have thought you would be the busiest woman on this side of the star, with your long list of accomplishments!”
She smiled bitterly for a moment, making him almost regret his words, but her answer came too quickly for him to dwell on it. “It was... hard for me. After Ul’dah.”
“Ah...” The Bloody Banquet, he thinks, realizing the question was tied to some rather painful events. He decided to prod her carefully, “But, it could’ve been anything, right? Yet you became an artisan, one of no small renown.”
She finally begins to eat one of the biscuit halves, taking her time to think her answer though. “I suppose I never gave it much thought. I was alone, with nothing but a loom, a hoop, and some needles... With enough repetition, you can master any skill.”
“Still,” she continues, “I ended up enjoying the distraction. Despite what you may hear, I am... nothing special. Tataru’s the one who can conceive of and execute her own original designs...”
Despite her words, he smiled to himself, it must be quite special to her. G’raha Tia brought a teacup to his lips, thinking over the answer. Yet, to his surprise, Eithne continued to speak of her own volition.
“It was truly after the Dragonsong war, where I... found the need to do it...” She trails off, as if the words were stuck in her throat, too difficult to say. He watched her closely, as she grappled with her distant memories, seemingly desperate to win over them, “I-It was... It was the only thing...”
G’raha Tia set his cup down ever so gently, as if she could shatter at the sound, and the silence of the room quickly filled the space between them. His heart ached for her, and the yearning returned. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to offer a comforting touch, anything to ease the pain. He looks up at her with as gentle a smile as he can muster, letting the timbre of his voice convey the feelings he could not say aloud, just yet. “I understand. Sometimes it is all we can do to keep our hands busy, during those times.”
Slowly, he stands to refill her teacup, his smile brighter now, eager to lift her spirits. “However, ‘tis heartening to hear that you did not succumb to despair, as much because of the allies by your side, as well as your craft.”
He sees her eyes widen, before she turns away, her quiet laughter as light as a windchime. Furrowing his brow, “Did I say something strange...?”
She looks up at him after a moment, her downturned eyes relaxed and gentle and radiant. The darkness from moments ago faded quickly, banished like a fog in the morning sun. “No, no... You just, always seem to know what to say.”
For a moment, G’raha Tia finds himself lost in her eyes, the candlelight catching her irises in just the right way again, her long lashes giving her a look far too innocent for a warrior of her standing. He feels the yearning return, the now-familiar ache in his chest resurfacing, as it always did in these moments. Eithne, he laments to himself, if only you knew what those words meant to me. Suddenly, he notices some crumbs on her cheek, likely from when she covered her mouth when she laughed... He places the teapot down, only to lean over and cup her cheek, their roles reversed. Quickly, he brings his thumb back to his lips. Sweet revenge, he thinks, smiling at her with a false sense of bravado, desperate to ignore the erratic sway of his tail, the thundering heartbeat, the burning fingers.
With that, he returns back to his seat, now feeling so far apart from her it could be half-way across the star for all he knew. Despite feeling as if he had lost critical motor functions, he manages to sit down without much issue; a victory in his eyes. He does not know what expression she could be making, as his eyes suddenly find the half-eaten pastry on his plate the most fascinating object in existence.
“W-Well...” “I...”
The silence is broken in unison, but G’raha quickly motions to her, “Please...”
“I want... to tell you more. About my adventures.” She speaks slowly, as if afraid, though for what reason he could not yet discern. “Like we promised. Truly. But, there are so many places we can no longer visit, and so many...”
She brings a hand to her chest, her eyes pained. “I’ve never really spoken about it, I suppose. I fear that I won’t be able to find the words, and that even if I were to... the stories themselves wouldn’t be to your liking. I am not so gifted a speaker, as our friends are.”
Looking up in surprise, he feels a comforting warmth spread in his chest at her confession. That Eithne would tell him things she has said to no other, that she would think upon his wish, their promise, so deeply... He smiles, closing his eyes briefly, before looking directly into her own.
“To hear of your feelings and experiences, in your own words, is more than enough, Eithne.” he speaks from the heart, feeling that it will guide him to the words she needed to hear most right now, “Although tomorrow is never promised, I would dare hope that we have plenty of days ahead of us to look forward to... together.”
In these moments, it was funny to G’raha Tia how easily he could maintain his composure, but were he to think upon these moments in retrospect, perhaps it was simply his love, sincere and honest as it could be, winning out over his usual nervousness.
“Your words are always precious to me, my friend, and I would wait however long it takes to be able to hear them.”
Eithne nods, falling silent, though he knows her well enough to take it as a positive, and the rest of their teatime continues in much of the same way. Once they are finished, with their utensils put away for later use, G’raha is about to excuse himself, until—
“Thank you, G’raha.” she says quietly, their footsteps slowing down once they reach the door. He tilts his head, the twitch of his ears giving form to his unspoken question. “It has been a very long time since I felt this way.”
Clearly, she could see his emotions written plainly across his face, for she attempts to elaborate. “Since I last felt I had a home to return to.”
Opening the door for her, he lets out a quiet chuckle. “Had I known you’d be so partial to the Baldesion Annex, I would have endeavored to bring you sooner.”
Eithne smiles, but the way she knitted her eyebrows tells him he had missed something. He walked her to her room, a habit they had now formed. Since she stayed by his side until his work finished on most days, he often found himself unable to stop talking until their very last moments together, to his chagrin.
“What is a home without its hearth.” she says, before she stretched out her arms, a yawn escaping. “I’m sure this feeling will stay with me even outside the Annex, wherever it is we go next.”
It is only until much later, when he’s waiting for sleep’s gentle embrace, that he feels the pangs of embarrassment. Burying his head in a pillow, it is all he can do to not groan in anguish. Of course she wasn’t talking about the Annex, he chastises himself, you old fool. The regret prickling his heart had suddenly made him feel as if sleep would never come, and the longing— Again, so shameful it could break him, his banal wish to brush her hair away, say all the things he’s withheld, feelings too heavy for more than a whisper to carry them. He thinks of the softness of her cheek, the roughness of her hands, and those golden eyes of pure sunlight, piercing through the dark of night... The smell of dry lilies, of metal, of incense...