Work Text:
This soft pastel color,
It melts, spreads, seeps, from my heart to yours
The two mix and become one
As it slowly mingles throughout, our love deepens
What color should say I’m happy?
Any color
I really don’t mind
When we come together
Creating a new color
Beautiful, beautiful
What is the color of love?
Any color
I really don’t mind
--
Color of Love
2021
--
She glances at the Tower, her smile wistful.
“I suppose if the doors were open when you found it, his duty was fulfilled. He was free. I hope he spent the rest of his days happy, without such a thing to hold him back. He very much deserves that.”
The Exarch stiffens, his crystal hand gripping her arm tighter in sudden nervousness. She doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to sip her wine.
“And ... he is ...?”
“G’raha Tia. My incredibly delightful friend.”
She sighs then, setting down her cup, raising her eyes to his hooded face. The once pale grey limbal rings around her eyes were whiter these days. Troubling but not unexpected. And he would see that she suffered no lasting harm.
“Would you tell me about him?”
She grins.
“He was wild and carefree and mischievous, but gentle, dedicated, and so, so kind.” She glances briefly at him. “You remind me of him, had he been more reserved.”
“Ah.” He releases her arm, as if burned, his hooded head dipping.
She frowns and raises an eyebrow, confused.
“I meant that to be a compliment.”
“I ... yes ... well, I don’t think myself worthy of your compliments.”
She waved her hand dismissively, frown deepening.
“Of course you are. You have done extraordinary, admirable things for the people here because of your generosity and compassion. It’s very much worthy of compliments.”
“It was mostly for your benefit, ” he says quietly. “So perhaps it was a little selfish on my part.”
He is very thankful for the hood that hides the blush burning his cheeks.
She blinks at his comment, but her face relaxes into a small smile; his heart flips in his chest. She had such power over him.
“G’raha was kind. So are you.”
His mouth is dry, but he manages, “Ah. Well. Thank you.”
She grins again at him, tilting her head to one side before finishing the last of her wine. Tomorrow, they would be departing the Crystarium. Alphinaud and himself to Kholusia, Alisaie to Amh Araeng. The rest would reunite with Y’sholta after retrieving the gift the Exarch suggested the party find for her. He wanted to dull her anger, at least a bit, but he doesn’t hold much hope. It would, nonetheless, prove useful, of that he had little doubt.
Emet-Selch would also be joining the group, a fact that made the Exarch exceedingly nervous. The eccentric Ascian himself wasn’t what has the Exarch anxious.
It was the way he looks at her.
Predatory and possessive, his golden eyes following her every move, every gesture.
It is terrible, appalling, incredibly venal to not worry about her safety but to be unbelievably jealous of how another man looked at her. He had no claim on her. He never would, never could. It’s a bitter thought that tastes sour in his mouth, and he does his best to stamp down on it. Now is not the time for foul moods. They sit across from one another at a slightly secluded table in the Catenaries. He has her all to himself for the first time since the twins had returned from their respective regions; he will not waste this precious opportunity brooding.
She rests her chin in her hand, gazing up at the newly revealed night sky in wonder.
“It’s easy to forget how beautiful the stars are,” she smiles in contentment, no small amount of pride reflecting in her voice.
“They are nothing in comparison to your beauty,” he says, without thinking. Immediately, he freezes, horrified and angry with himself, willing himself to disappear into the air. Hells with the plan for Nordvrant and the Source; he wants to vanish forever and never look back.
Her lips slowly part as a blush blossoms over her cheeks.
“Th-thank you,” she stutters out, her eyes quickly darting to his face, his lips, before dropping to the table.
Her reaction does please him, however. She doesn’t seem annoyed. In fact, she looks like a schoolgirl who has been handed a pleasant gift from someone she admired.
She does admire him, he realizes with a start. The thought leaves him winded. That she, the star he had mapped his life by, could admire him was almost too much to accept.
With confidence, he, for the first time since she arrived, does not have to feign, picks up his mostly full wine cup. It was not often he drank. Too easy to slip up, give too much away.
Of course, he had almost given everything away all on his own anyway; almost revealed his heart, almost revealed himself. Even so, he feels emboldened by the bashful smile adorning her pretty lips, and he tips the cup toward her.
“There were a great many poems were written about your beauty. They do not hold up to the real thing, now that I have seen you myself.” He watches her from beneath his lashes, satisfied with himself as her blush deepens. She blinks several times, flustered, as she toys with her braid.
“Such pretty words, Exarch,” she murmurs, biting down on her bottom lip and determinedly not looking at him.
He is enjoying this, this soft teasing. She strode into battle so bravely, her back straight and as tall as she could make herself. She was fearless, frightening, charging down foes and defending what was good and right, protecting those she loved unflinchingly.
But his remarks seem to have wholly undone her, and he thrills in it.
The weight of all those long years feels as though it has been lifted ever so slightly, the burden of all he must accomplish a little easier to carry. She very lightly moves her hand to the leather bands wrapped around his crystallized arm; his lungs utterly fail him at her touch, his heart stutters in his chest as her fingers drift from leather to crystal. Underneath his robes, his tail flicks back and forth at the sensation.
“It’s warm,” she says wonderingly.
“The Tower is alive,” he smiles gently at her, regaining a bit of composure. “And so am I.”
She finally looks up at him, brow furrowing as she tries to study his face.
“So charming. Oh, but I do hate to interrupt.”
The Exarch threads his fingers through hers, steadying her, as they both look up at Emet-Selch. The Ascian looks cocky, though his gaze briefly flickers down to their hands, where the Exarch is touching her. Hana looks up at Emet-Selch, wary and annoyed.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” The Exarch, carefully disentangling his hand from hers, asks as Emet-Selch settles himself into a chair between them, reclining with his ankles crossed and his hands in his lap.
“I’m bored,” Emet-Selch sniffs. “You and yours certainly do waste time shuffling your feet. And here I thought you all were so concerned with the fate of this star.” He gestures elegantly as he speaks.
“You’d have us set out in the dark, in a land with which we are wholly unfamiliar,” their Warrior shook her head, her earrings lightly swaying and thumping against her blue-black horns. “Not all of us can simply slip into the shadows and appear somewhere we’ve never been.”
Emet-Selch leans forward, his sharp golden gaze shrewd as he considers her.
That possessive look gleams in the Ascian’s eyes again, smug, as though she already belongs to him.
The Exarch shifts uncomfortably. The bitterness he feels is not jealousy, but only concern, he tries to tell himself. He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he wants nothing more than to seize her wrist, pull her onto the table and declare her as his, leave his mark on her in front of everyone, everyone including Emet-Selch.
But he buries this, as he has for so many years, crams it into a corner of his mind that he wishes was inaccessible.
“Ah, that is true,” Emet-Selch was saying silkily, his hand drifting close to hers. “But were I to take you with me, well, then you could get your task done all the quicker, hero.”
Something flashes in the depths of her eyes. She seems to be trying to reach for something she cannot quite remember, something there on the edge of memory that is frustratingly out of reach.
It confuses the Exarch but seems to startle Emet-Selch, who leans back quickly, folding his arms over his chest.
Curious.
“No,” she says firmly. “We will stand together. Now and always.”
“Well said.”
Emet-Selch rolls his eyes at the arrival of the twins. Alphinaud is smiling with a fondness he only reserves for his twin sister and his adoptive sister. The Exarch respects the relationship the three have; siblings of blood and bond. Since the beginning of Hana’s adventures, they had stood together and would until they could stand no more.
When the Exarch first met her, many long years ago, as a boy he can scarcely remember being, he asked her if she had any siblings.
“Two,” she said in answer. “Twins. The only similarity is their determination, their spirit. They love with their whole hearts and are never dissuaded from hope.”
At the time, he very much wanted to meet them.
He smiles, thankful the wish had been granted, even under the unfortunate circumstance.
“Oh, she would be safe,” Emet-Selch says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Alisaie eyes him, her annoyance readily apparent. “I promise you.”
“Promises,” Hana says calmly, turning her attention to him. She is smiling brightly again, her earlier discomfort long vanished. “Easy to make, difficult to keep.”
“A very dear friend of mine was fond of that saying,” Emet-Selch rose, his words lofty, but his expression was sad, mournful, the deep grief of a man who had lost much and was adrift without it.
What a curious man indeed, the Exarch notes, wondering what it was that the Ascian had lost to affect him so.
Stooping, Emet-Selch bends close to their Warrior, letting a finger run lightly down her arm. She blinks at him; she does not move away, too surprised by the tenderness in his gesture. Wildly, the Exarch thinks of leaping over the table, of smacking Emet-Selch’s hand away. He thinks of asserting that she is his and only his and that Emet-Selch should cease his ministrations or never touch anything else again. Perhaps his thoughts showed on his face; Alisaie gives him an amused look that meant she will undeniably find time to tease him before they depart tomorrow morning. The Exarch sighs inwardly. It had been much simpler to stamp down on his emotions before Hana had come to the First.
“Until tomorrow then, hero,” Emet-Selch hisses gruffly, still dangerously close.
He whirls around, slipping into the shadows, and is gone.
The Exarch and the twins glance at each other; Hana looks down at her hands, refusing to look any of them in the eye.
“Enlightening,” Alisaie says, still eyeing the Exarch. He frantically wishes he had spent the last 100 years researching spells that would sink him through the floor and out of very awkward situations.
Alphinaud, for his part, has not caught on yet. He tilts his head at his sister, opening his mouth to question her; she preempts him by speaking briskly, holding an arm out in front of him.
“Right, then. We were sent looking for you by Urianger, actually. It is a good bit of traveling tomorrow, and he asked us to make sure you rested well enough,” she says, wagging a finger with her free hand as she speaks. Alphinaud nods his agreement, his questions forgotten for the moment.
“Lyna too asked that we find you and bid you retreat to your quarters at least for some supper. She says you’ve not eaten all day,” he adds to the Exarch.
Hana finally glances up, her expression alarmed, as she studies the Exarch. He squirms uneasily under her scrutiny, her ice-blue eyes disapproving.
“Exarch,” she says softly. “You are always so careful to make sure I’m attended to. Pray, give yourself the same consideration you’ve shown me.”
“O-of course,” he smiles in earnest; anything to please her.
“Excellent,” Alisaie takes her brother by the arm. “Exarch, please escort our fine Warrior of Darkness to her room and see that she gets some proper rest.”
She gives the Warrior in question a mischievous grin; Hana wrinkles her nose, watching the twins make their exit. Alphinaud stops to waves cheerfully; Alisaie tugs him hard, and he nearly stumbles down the stairs.
The Exarch watches as she smiles fondly after them, remembering how she had spoken of them the day before they first explored the Crystal Tower. He is glad to see that time had only fueled her love for the twins.
“’ Tis plain you are family, through and through,” he says as he stands, leaning heavily on his staff. She looks at him sideways, her expression unreadable, before she too pushes away from the table and rises.
“You needn’t walk me back, Exarch,” she tells him, “The Pendants are … right there.”
“Yes, but I dare not disobey Alisaie and risk her ire,” he replies, extending his crystal arm. A lovely laugh escapes her as her small hand envelops his arm. He delights in her touch, the smoothness of her skin, the nearness of her, the smell of cinnamon and lavender. She stands perhaps closer than is necessary as they make their way down the steps.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” he asks softly after a moment. Hana tilts her head; she often bites her lip when she thinks. It was a habit he had nearly forgotten, a habit that had endeared her to him at once.
“Yes,” she admits slowly, “But I’m more anxious about Ran’jit. I am very excited to see the Greatwood and Y’shtola. I’ve so much to tell her.”
“Ah, yes. She gave me quite the scolding when she arrived.” He glances at her. “Something about my timing.”
Hana laughs again; his heart skids to a stop for several terrifying moments, the purity and joy of the sound sparking a fire deep inside him.
How he adores her.
“Not to mention your aim!” she adds; her face is bright with warmth and serenity. The stress over the state of Norvrandt and the impending Eight Umbral Calamity seems far from her mind; she is happier than he has ever seen her.
It was his doing, he reflects. He allows himself a moment of satisfaction; he justifies it by telling himself it was necessary to keep their Warrior’s spirits up, to be there for her to lift her out of the darkness.
In truth, he relishes it because the cheerfulness adds a dazzling shine to her eyes, a lovely flush colors her dark skin, illuminating the freckles adorning her cheeks and nose.
Gods, she is beautiful.
“As I mentioned,” he clears his throat, struggling to keep his voice steady, “I meant to summon you to my private quarters. As it turns out, summoning a person across time and space is more difficult in practice. As I proved with your Scions.”
“I should like to see your private quarters,” she says idly. She stops at once; her eyes are impossibly large, and she slowly stiffens as she realizes what she has said. Her blush intensifying, she begins to pull her hand away from the Exarch’s arm. He won’t stop her; he cannot bear the thought of her being uncomfortable, but he will miss the thrill of the contact.
“I-I didn’t mean anything untoward. I realize how it sounded,” she whispers. She disentangles her arm from his; he starts to despair at losing her when she instead threads her fingers through his. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, almost as though she wants to ask for permission. She needn’t ask; he would give her any part of himself she wanted, his fingers, his limbs, his heart, his very soul. It all belongs to her. It had from the moment he met her and would until his last breath left his body.
“I never thought otherwise,” he reassures her quietly; his voice is dangerously shaky. He has not spent an extended amount of time with her so close, and it quickly erodes his resolve. Gone is the boldness he enjoyed earlier; it has abandoned him and left him to drown in his awkwardness.
He casts about for a topic to distract himself and finally lands on the new skill she has taken up.
“Your dancing is coming along quite nicely,” he says, immediately regretting himself; this topic is the worst he could have thought of. The outfits she wore while practicing left very little to imagination.
“Spying on me, Exarch?” she teases softly, a chuckle rising from her. He stumbles and nearly chokes at the implication that he would use the mirror for anything inappropriate, eliciting louder, carefree laughter out of her.
“Practice with Alisaie does add a certain amount of competition,” she adds, maintaining her smile. “Although, I never would have thought of dancing as a way to combat enemies.”
How desperately he wants to push her against the wall, to pin her against him, to drive himself up and into her, her cries ringing out through the Crystarium as his fingers work over the most sensitive parts of her.
He clears his throat again; he certainly needs to get away from her. As much as it grieves him, the effect she has is impossible to ignore any longer, and he fears he will give in to his own selfish desires. He has been patient all these many years; it is agony to nearly be undone by this tiny, wonderful creature and not be able to do a godsdamn thing about it. She opens the sizable doors to her room and then pauses, biting her bottom lip again, her too-white eyes glittering in the dim light.
“Exarch,” she says, not quite looking at him. She still holds his hand, he notes distractedly. He does not trust himself to speak, so he nods at her to continue. She looks reluctant, almost pained, as though wrestling with herself.
“I can’t …” she sighs, closing her eyes. She looks small, vulnerable in a way she would never let anyone else see. “Stay with me. Until I fall asleep. Please, I have the most awful dreams.”
She blanches at her own words, perhaps thinking less of herself for relying on someone for something so inane. Nightmares were the worry of children, not Warriors in the midst of saving two worlds.
The Exarch smiles his understanding, gently stroking her cheek with his crystal hand. The things she has endured, the loss she has suffered, it was natural to be haunted. It was a foregone conclusion that he would stay. For her, for his Warrior, anything.
“Of course, my friend.”
Her shoulders sag at his reassurance, as though a great weight has been lifted. The Exarch allows himself to be pulled inside. He is pleased to see his instructions regarding her well-being so carefully followed by the Pendant’s staff. She releases his hand before retrieving a small shift from beside the bath, holding it in her arms, her gaze expectant. He stares for a moment before he finally understands.
Oh.
“My apologizes,” he says awkwardly, turning to give her her privacy. He hears her giggle, but there is no mockery or malice in it, just a playful shyness. It occurs to him that perhaps she has not had many men in her bedroom.
Other than a ghost named Ardbert, who visited her often.
A ghost is hardly worth being envious of, however.
The Exarch swallows hard. This shouldn’t be happening; he shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t worth this; he didn’t deserve any of her kindness or her friendship. Didn’t deserve her attention, or her laughter, or the light touch on his arm, prompting him to face her. She is standing right behind him, her slender body nearly flush with his as she peers up at him as though trying to see into the depths of his cowl. He can see the ice-blue of her eyes also giving way to stark white, and the remorse nearly overwhelms him. This was his doing. He had asked this of her, knowing she would agree, knowing she could never forsake an entirely other world, even at the cost of her own welfare.
She must see some of these thoughts reflecting on his face; she smiles reassuringly at him, even though she cannot yet tell the toll the Light has already taken on her.
It is a toll he will willingly pay for her, in the end.
Impulsively, foolishly, he gently places a kiss at her temple. He hears her draw in a breath, but she makes no move to pull back. Instead, she closes her eyes, leaning into him, reassured by the delicate touch. He thinks guiltily of the pedestal upon which he had placed her, how he had imagined her so far and above the ordinary. She had been untouchable, a dream.
But here, now, she is simply a young woman. A young woman capable of remarkable feats but also a young woman with flaws and insecurities. A young woman who is only human.
When she has settled into the bed, he sits beside her, reaching out a slightly trembling hand to brush the hair from her face. Her eyes slip shut; the relief is evident on her face, her body relaxing under the blankets.
He tells her a story he heard many times as a child, about a wild fairie who lived inside a tulip. She made friends with a solemn Elezen boy whose sister had been stolen away by a wicked black mage. Together, they journeyed far and wide to find his sister. In the end, they saved the little girl, of course, and the boy grew into a fine warrior. He and the faerie traveled many lands, helping many unfortunate souls. She pled with the king of the fairies when at last his time came. The boy was turned into a faerie himself, so he might remain with her forever and ever.
Hana looks peaceful and content, free from the worries of the day. The Exarch watches her sleep for a moment.
Quietly, he gives voice to the thoughts plaguing his mind, thankful she will not hear them.
“Know that I have loved you from our first meeting and will love you until the end of my days.”
Carefully, he rises, letting out a long sigh. And then he departs for his own fitful nights’ sleep.
When the door closes, she sits up slowly and stares after him, touching a hand to her heart.