Chapter Text
It was just around sunset when Stella Altair, the Warrior of Light, made her way through the doors of the Bookman's Shelves unannounced.
"Urianger, are you in?" she called, looking around the softly lit room. She hoped she'd not caught him at a bad time, it would be a shame to come all this way and find his library empty. But she heard a shuffle from behind a nearby door, and the Elezen soon walked through it, blinking down at her in surprise.
"Stella? 'Tis truly thee?" His golden eyes were wide upon hers at first, then broke away, his brow furrowing in remnants of anguish that pained her to see. "Would that I had known thou wouldst arrive... I would have taken greater effort to render my residence more... presentable," he apologized, gesturing vaguely to the room around them, with its piles of tomes and papers and astrological charts scattered everywhere.
Stella shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. "Surely I have spent enough time here by now that you know a little dust does not bother me," she offered, but despite showing her a brief hint of a friendly smile, his anguished look only seemed to deepen. "I came to see you, not the books, anyhow. I... thought perhaps we should properly catch up, now that all is calm for the moment. I've brought something to drink, too?"
She presented him with the bottle she'd been carrying; a small bottle of light-colored wine infused with colorful herbs and tea leaves which floated beautifully in the amber glass.
"I... see," he murmured, looking from the bottle to her tentatively. "Thou dost most certainly deserve to clear the air in full. Very well," he agreed with a bow of his head, and led her into his small kitchen.
The kitchen was clean and stocked with all manner of strange fae concoction, though it seemed he'd not used it regularly in some time — which made sense, considering their recent travails. 'Twas hard not to neglect your home when you had spent the past weeks climbing mountains and journeying to the bottom of the ocean to confront their erstwhile Ascian ally of sorts. When the survival of not just one or two worlds but all mankind suddenly fell upon on your shoulders. He plucked a couple of long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet and sat the two of them down at his dining table.
It was nice in here, Stella thought. Besides the recent disuse and the obvious architectural differences, it reminded her of kitchens back home. Cozy little things stocked with preserved food and medicine and herbal mixtures packed tightly in bottles and skins. Even the woodwork here was hand-carved with small, personalized details, as the Kha were also so fond of doing. Were they seated upon cushions on the floor and not on wooden chairs, she might have felt as though she were back on the Steppe. She didn't, though, not quite.
"Pray forgive the... lack of capaciousness," Urianger said, and once again she shook her head.
"No, it's really quite nice," she answered honestly, and the sadness in his grateful smile stung her again. She reached for the bottle, uncorking it. "This is a special infused mead I received from one of the herbalists at the Crystarium's Hortorium. They said there's tea in it, and that it does wonders for relieving tension... I thought we might share the gift? It has been some time since we last shared a cup."
"It surely hath been," he murmured, and then fixed her with a nod. "Verily this doth seem more of a luxury than I might deserve... but if thou dost wish it to be so, I shall gladly partake."
She took in a breath and carefully poured them both a glass, a few of the herbs and leaves falling into the bottoms of their glasses despite her meticulous efforts. It looked beautiful, though, and a light, inviting aroma wafted into the air.
She raised her glass, offering him a soft smile. "To the end of one journey, and the beginning of another," she said, and Urianger nodded, lifting his glass and tilting it towards her. They drank, though the air yet felt thick with silence.
It was delicious — the harsh astringency of the alcohol and the bitterness of the tea both cutting each other back somehow, with a light, complex floral taste mixed in to round out the honey's sweetness. Urianger looked at his glass in surprise and took another sip; she did the same.
"That is good," she murmured, inspecting her glass, and he nodded in agreement, his expression clearly showing he thought much the same. Yet he still furrowed his brow again, naught having changed between them.
"Urianger—"
"Prithee—"
"I—"
"Nay, pray go on—"
They both stammered awkwardly, starting over one another, until Stella heaved a sigh and offered an appeasing smile. "Please, Urianger, you go first."
The Elezen man shook his head, the golden stars upon his shoulder tinkling softly. "Pray, Stella, stay thy tongue no longer. I would hear thy misgivings, the pain thou hast suffered at my duplicity so that I might offer what little recourse I possess."
Stella breathed out through her nose, her lips tightening into a grimace of concern. "Urianger," she began, "while being kept in the dark on the Exarch's plans and only finding them out in such a state did bring me significant distress," he slumped, folding his hands together, looking possibly the most guilty she'd ever seen someone. "That distress crumbled away when it almost instantly became clear I was no longer going to be complicit in the Exarch's death. Instead, I just... feel so sorry, for you and for him. That you had to suffer this secret in silence for so many years. That you were willing to do all this and more, just so our worlds — and I — may live."
He looked up at her, his eyes wide, his lips parted, seemingly taking it all in. "...Verily?" he asked with a tone of near disbelief, and she nodded firmly. "Thou art truly not harmed by my secrecy? Though I had assured thee that thy trust was not misplaced mere hours before breaking it so?"
"You did no such thing," she insisted, reaching across the table and placing her hand gently atop his. He stilled, his golden eyes wavering. "I trusted you then, and I still trust you now. You made only the best judgment you knew how, had only our continued survival at heart. Gods only know how inconceivable an outcome it was that finally came to pass — that we all yet live is nothing short of a miracle."
"Stella," he breathed, his eyes meeting hers — she could see it was finally starting to sink in now, that she didn't begrudge him for his actions in the least, and she met him with a gaze of earnest sympathy. "Thou art truly too forgiving."
"Nonsense," she said with a smile, relieved her words had at last gotten through to the ever-ruminating man. He offered her a smile as well, then squeezed her hand in his, his fingertips pressing gently into her scales.
She realized then that she felt a bit flushed; maybe it was the wine? His hand was much larger than her own, as was he — though such things didn't ordinarily phase her, having been around Auri men since birth. With a shy nod he let go of her hand and lifted his glass, and she let out a held breath and did much the same.
"I want things between us to be well, Urianger," she told him after they'd both taken another sip. "What we have been through, it is... difficult to comprehend, but it would lighten my heart if we could bear the burden together."
He nodded, looking into his drink, then taking another sip before gazing upon her with a conviction that had her sitting up straighter in her seat unconsciously. "Then bear it at thy side I shall endeavor to do," he said quietly. "Though 'tis ever a fearsome task to face, as I ne'er seem to know quite how to unburden myself of my troubles... I cannot but make the attempt, faced as I am with thine enduring trust and friendship."
She nodded knowingly, shrugging her shoulders and leaning her chin on her palm. "It is the same for me, you know. I am the Warrior of Light, I'm the one who does what must needs be done no matter the cost — who, somehow, people look to for hope, for salvation," she said with a sigh, taking another drink. "I'm expected to solve problems, not add my own to the pile."
"A most unenviable position, to be sure," Urianger said, looking at her with true concern and sympathy. Her lips fell open, her heart feeling somewhat lighter almost immediately. "Yet 'tis inarguable that thy remarkable resilience and thine actions have brought many people, myself included, no small amount of hope," he continued, and she felt she had to break her eyes away from his. "If thou art ever in need of unburdening thyself, Stella, I shall be at thy call."
How did he ever doubt that he was a good man? She'd seen nothing but good in him from the first — though he'd been so stiff and formal in the beginning, the more time they'd spent in each other's company, at first simply with their faces in separate tomes, then regularly meeting for tea and talk of magic and learning, the more of himself he'd slowly begun to reveal. He was unusual, eccentric even, and slow to open up to others, perhaps fearing their rejection... but he was kind, thoughtful, and brilliant in a way that fascinated Stella.
"Thank you," she answered.
"'Tis I who must thank thee."
Their eyes met — stars but he was handsome, pale golden eyes framed by thick dark lashes and flowing silver hair. She— what was she doing, being distracted by his looks at a time like this? She broke her eyes away, taking another drink.
"So... tell me, have you learned aught about how we might return your souls to your bodies on the Source?"
He told her what little he'd uncovered, disconnected principles that had proven compelling in theory but no true method that seemed clear. Then they simply chatted — about how the soul and memory were somehow separate things, a concept that seemed most curious to Stella; about the state of the Bookman's Shelves, about the shades of the half-remembered dead still shuffling around the ocean floor in the ruins of Amaurot. About the legacy they'd ended and agreed to remember. Before she'd realized it, their glasses sat empty.
"Shall I pour us another?" Urianger asked, his long fingers hovering around the stem of the bottle. She nodded, and he did so, tipping the liquid into their glasses with a practiced grace, despite the fact that she'd not seen him do such before. His arms appeared long and toned, yet he had such delicate, dexterous hands...
She shook herself mentally free of whatever train of thought that was, and took her glass from him gladly.
"Wouldst thou partakest of some bread, perhaps, with thy drink? I doth feel a mite lightheaded, as it were..."
She nodded gratefully, and watched as he got up and retrieved for them the remnants of a small loaf, slicing it carefully with a knife. His skirts swished as he walked, all the delicate ornaments glinting in the room's soft lamplight, and as he returned she noticed a soft flush at his cheeks — the wine's doing, no doubt. Perhaps this blend was stronger than she'd thought; she could hardly taste the alcohol. But one modest cup?
Surely eating something would help. She took the offered sustenance, finding the thick slice mildly sweet and freckled with pixieberries. It sat well in her stomach; she felt the warmth in her own face receding somewhat almost immediately.
"Did you make this yourself?" she asked, and he inclined his head modestly. "It is quite good," she complimented, and he offered her a smile.
"Full glad am I that thou thinkest so," he replied, shrugging his shoulders, ever self-effacing.
Urianger watched Stella enjoy the bread he'd offered her as he quietly ate his own. It was... well, it was good beyond imagining to see her here, hale and whole, after the utter hell she'd been put through once the Ascian had seen their plans were dashed.
Only faint scars remained to tell of what she'd been through, hard to see unless one looked closely — translucent patches on her dark scales that had once been streaked through with white. They did not bother her, she had said, and she was convinced they would likely shed and regrow as they once were, given time.
And she was a sight that soothed his heart and eyes to see — her easy, relaxed demeanor, her clear and continued trust. As she drank, the wine colored her cheeks just a little, he thought, though he found himself too drawn in by the smiling lavender rings of her eyes, giving off a faint glow, to find that held his attention for long.
She was beautiful, courageous, so incredibly strong — why she chose to spend so much of her time in private by his side, even now, he found to be rather beyond him. He surmised perhaps she found his presence calming, somehow — like she could shake off much pretense and simply discuss the arcane topics that interested them both at ease.
The crystals dangling from the base of her horns glinted beneath her hair as he divulged a recent mishap with the pixies — they'd snuck underneath the awning outside and pelted him with walnut shells when he'd been so absorbed in his research that he'd forgotten to leave them their regular offerings — and she laughed, her eyes narrowing with mirth.
How had he gone these three years in the First without her company?
What... what was he thinking exactly, he thought, flustered at his own mind. This was his friend, and he would not... not entertain such shameful weakness in her presence. He took another sip of the drink she'd so graciously offered him — it really was quite lovely, looking every bit like an extravagant fae concoction, though without the associated dangers, he was certain. The tea it was infused with seemed to sharpen his senses, and he found the experience most enjoyable.
They continued to speak, words flowing rather uncommonly freely from his mouth — she asked of astrological portents and he could not but oblige, watching with wonder as she hung on his every word though he spared no detail — and before they'd both realized it, their second glasses had been drained.
Was it his imagination or had her violet skin turned quite pink at her cheeks? And... and what was this strange, bubbling sensation within his chest?
"Urianger," she said calmly. The tone stirred him from his own worries and brought its own; it seemed to his ear most affected. "'Twas only the second glass we just shared, yes?"
He glanced at their empty glassware and then the bottle, which still held enough for maybe two more half-glasses of the elixir. "Aye, surely 'twas so."
Doth it truly matter? part of him protested, relaxing into the most soothing, wonderful feeling beginning to flow through him.
"Then... I am beginning to think mayhap more potent herbs lie within this concoction than simple tea leaves. Do you not feel... rather strange?" Stella asked, fingers to her dark lips, her brow furrowed with concern.
Urianger blinked, taking in a breath. Yes... yes he found he did. He nodded slowly. "I am, admittedly, possessed of a most weakened constitution when it cometh to imbibing liquors," he explained with a small bit of shame, and she inclined her head, listening without apparent judgment. "However thou speakest true; this... sensation of giddiness, 'tis not like to be that of drunkenness alone," he murmured, bringing a hand to his chest.
Her eyes widened and her brow furrowed further with focus; she grabbed the bottle off the tabletop, peering inside. Her limbal rings illuminated the bottle slightly, making the plants easier to see — Urianger found himself marveling at how useful a trick that must be.
"Damn these Norvrandtian plants," she hissed, "I can't make heads nor tails of these. And I..." she trailed off, giggling slightly, "I am finding it hard to care, all of a sudden."
He reached out, taking the bottle from her hand — oh, something about the action proved rather amusing, and he found himself chuckling as he inspected the bottle. "A botanist I verily am not, yet perhaps my local knowledge shall suffice... yes, Lakeland tea leaves, Norvrandtian varieties of basil and sage... pixie apple, mayhap... I... I fear I cannot make sense from the rest of these," he groaned, then huffed a laugh. "All ordinary culinary ingredients, I fear. This... this surely explaineth not our current state of... rather pleasant mirth," he uttered slowly, feeling a wave of it build within him.
She met his wide eyes with her own, and then let out a rather adorable giggle with a look of conspiratorial delight — he could not help but return the same, and soon the two of them were both laughing like guilty children across the table from each other.
He should be worried — this was a rather serious predicament, he knew at the back of his mind, but the quality of whatever they'd just imbibed, and the look on her face made worrying nigh on impossible — surely there were far worse things than riding this out in the company of a dear friend?
"Oh... oh dear," Stella said among fading laughter, wiping a tear from her eye. The bubbling feeling in her chest slowly continued to rise, until she nearly felt she was floating in her seat. "I'm so sorry Urianger... what have I done? I didn't — I didn't mean to..."
She'd received the bottle as one of many gifts of thanks from the people of the Crystarium, with a note attached with a vague description of its contents, its quality of relieving tension, and adding the suggestion to share it with a close companion in celebration — it had merely said it was an herbal mead with an infusion of tea leaves, crafted by botanist artisans of the Hortorium.
Yet she felt giddy and light, in ways that did not speak of the effects of alcohol at all. Her mind recalled the time she'd snuck out of her tribe's settlement alone as a young warrior-in-training, ran into trouble, and, in an attempt to hide her injury upon her return, had snuck into the healer's yurt and mixed up her remedies. At least when they'd found her there in the early morning, utterly delirious and clutching her stomach, the khan had decided her experience itself punishment enough.
Although at the very least this time she didn't feel sick — far from it. Oh, she hoped she didn't get sick.
Yet despite her nervousness and worry over their predicament, she could also not help but feel a certain sense of delight even beyond the bubbling high — she'd never seen Urianger laugh like that before, his long, graceful scholar's hands demurely hiding a wide smile that turned his golden eyes into gleaming half-moons. The image lingered behind her eyes.
"Prithee, Stella, be at ease... surely if thou hadst intended to addle me so, thou wouldst not have partaken thyself?"
His expression, often nearly inscrutable, had visibly relaxed — he was giving her a sidelong look as if to say 'tis merely the inevitable state of things, from whence should such worry come?
...Perhaps he was feeling the effects a bit more strongly than even she was, she thought, looking at him.
Still. "A fair point," she sighed, laying her head in her arms, which had begun to tingle.
"...If it may unburden thee of some worry, I have partaken of many fae elixirs that, to my dismay, had effects upon my person most deleterious," he explained, and she blinked, lifting her head and staring at him in surprise. "This... giddiness doth not feel akin to those eventually unpleasant experiences. Whatever herb or plant may be causing this, surely 'tis intended for mortal consumption and hence should be safe — 'twas gifted unto thee as a gesture of gratitude, thou didst say?"
Stella nodded, eyeing him most curiously. "You... drank mind-altering fae concoctions? That put you in an unpleasant state? Many of them?"
"A... aye," he mumbled, squirming a little like he'd been put on the spot, and had not realized quite what he'd admitted to. "Not with the intention to alter my state of mind, verily not — I had merely been seeking to replicate certain favored teas not readily obtainable on the First, and some most pernicious pixies had altered my stores of herbs without my knowing..."
Stella nodded rather soberly at this, in complete understanding. Yes... if she'd spent three years without access to her regular shipments of Thavnairian chai and Hingan houjicha and the like, she, too, would repeatedly risk life and limb for a chance at getting it. Tea was serious business.
"Did you ever safely replicate them, then? Which teas, I wonder?" she said, leaning in with her hand upon her chin.
"Ah... nay, not precisely," Urianger sighed, a tinge of disappointment to his voice. "Whilst I did manage to banish the pixies from further interfering with my stores, the composition of the blends I'd become most fond of proved beyond mine ability to replicate," he admitted. "A singular, barely passable approximation of chai remaineth mine only achievement from such endeavors. Yet 'twas a boon and a solace more than I can say."
Oh — he had become rather fond of the Thavnairian chai she'd bring to some of their gatherings. The thought of Urianger persisting despite legitimate dangers to himself to craft a semblance of a tea blend she'd introduced him to... she couldn't help but flush a little, the bubbling warmth of whatever they'd drank seeping up towards her face.
"I'd like to try it," she said rather sincerely, fixing him with her gaze.
Stella's eyes looked upon Urianger with such earnestness, a small smile upon her lips, her brows furrowed as if she was sincerely touched for some reason, and the Elezen felt his heartbeat skip.
Calm thyself, he told himself, 'tis undoubtedly but the drink that interests her. Surely she knoweth not...
How sorely he'd missed her company these three years in the First. How he'd persisted in his tea-crafting efforts because he'd longed for their meetings, their heated discussions of magic and myth over a hot pot of chai she'd brewed; their time simply reading in silence, nursing cups of tsai tou vounou he'd had sent over from Sharlayan to ease the fatigue of their studies. How he'd gotten used to her periodic presence amongst the shelves, finding it a challenge to focus nearly as well without the small reprieves and bursts of inspiration her presence and her beverages granted.
How he'd made his makeshift chai on the First, thinking of her all the while, sometimes even speaking his thoughts aloud to her as if she were there, finding this secret ritual one of the few things that bolstered him through his difficult years of secrecy and relative solitude.
It had been mere weeks for her that he'd been gone, before her arrival on the First; surely such sentiment would seem cloying to her, wholly unwarranted.
Yet she looked at him so earnestly it overwhelmed him; made him feel as though his feelings were not misplaced.
"I fear it may not be equal to thine exacting standards," he answered, thinking of how particular she was with her teas, how much study and passion she poured into learning of local tea customs in each new land she visited, cataloguing them all in hand-bound tomes.
Stella laughed, a light, easy sound that fell upon his ears like a soothing summer rain.
"Of course it must be," she said rather simply, without any doubts. "How would I not enjoy tasting a blend crafted by your own hands?"
Urianger held his breath, his fingers bracing themselves upon his lap. How... how could she say such things, with such effortless ease? Earnest words such as hers often would not flow from his own lips even when he felt them most keenly...
Mayhap it was the drink, he thought — but, nay, despite her own tendency to be rather reserved at times, she did often speak like this among those with whom she was close... Those she trusted. A trait common among many peoples of the Steppe, she'd told him once, many among her own tribe preferring to speak their thoughts quite plainly, sometimes bluntly, to those they valued, saving diplomacy and restraint for mere acquaintances.
"...Then I shall prepare it for thee at our soonest opportunity," he answered softly, and — and the way she smiled at this, her face giddy and a bit flushed, as the drink they'd shared began to make a most pleasant tingling sensation run over his forehead and limbs... His head rushed, overwhelmed at it all.
"Oh dear," Urianger breathed, bracing himself against the table. "Stella, wouldst thou accompany me to more comfortable surrounds? I... I fear this substance may soon render my limbs of little coordinated use, and thine as well shouldst thou be in a similar state," he explained.
She nodded knowingly, then pushed out her chair and rose on unsteady feet, but to his relief she found her balance quickly, stepping closer to him. "You too?" she said, reaching out a hand towards his waist to help steady him as he rose. Despite her small stature compared to him he found her arm sturdy and strong, and with a spoken assent Urianger led them from the small kitchen and out into the spacious main room, the Warrior's arm around his waist and his hand at her shoulder. All the while a hazy warmth worked through him, a sense akin to a stirring within his breast, though for what he dared not admit, even to himself.
Urianger guided them down a hallway she had not traveled through before despite her many previous visits — these were his personal chambers, were they not? Certainly that wasn't strange, for friends to visit other friends' residences; she'd hosted other Scions for tea or meals in her apartment many times. Yet pulling Urianger from the shelves at the Waking Sands or Rising Stones had always felt like she might be interrupting some great work, so she never had. Not to mention she feared making him uncomfortable — he was most shy to open up about himself, and had always pursued activities independent from the rest of the group.
But during their travels here on the First, she'd seen a very different Urianger. Bare-faced, elegant, determined to assist firsthand on the battlefield. Seeking friends and acquaintances out to offer kind advice or reassurance. Still thoughtful, still prone to anguished ruminating, still holding his cards close to his chest 'til the very end — but in some ways far more open a man.
So it was with a sense of appreciative fondness that Stella regarded him as he guided her down the hall of his private rooms, their arms steadying one another's unsteady yet light footsteps as they walked, giggling softly.
He brought them to a little alcove — really naught more than a corner of the hallway littered with cushions and stacks of books — and she sat down beside him, feeling a little hazy as she situated herself on the pile of cushions and pillows. Oh, there were so many, in different shapes and sizes, some firm and some soft...
"In—in truth, I had thought to beg pardon for my lack of comfortable furniture, yet thou—" he chuckled, bringing a hand to his mouth as he watched her settle down, three pillows curved around her back in a luxurious formation, a wondrously firm yet fluffy cushion beneath her, and yet another under her legs, which were bent and tucked gently to the side as she wore her usual mid-length skirt. "Thou doth seem to mine eye most comfortable indeed," he observed, clearly highly amused.
She waved him away, looking him over instead — he was simply sitting on a single large cushion, his knees bent up slightly and his legs out in front of him. She frowned at how... how properly he was sitting.
"Urianger, you... you have this entire mountain of cushions yet you use only the one?" she asked with a frown, then felt herself wobble a bit and melt back into the pillows she'd propped around her back. Oh, whatever she'd imbibed, it was now making her limbs feel like jelly, the tension rapidly draining from them as her mind continued to pleasantly fog.
"Thou... thou dost make a point most salient," he conceded, looking over her with rapidly flickering eyes. "Then... prithee pass me yon cushion, if thine arms still retain their strength?"
Stella nodded, reaching out and grabbing the cushion in question with much more effort than she felt it should take — her body wanted to lie limp, to sink into the pillows, to seek nothing but comfort. She passed it to him and they both fumbled with it awkwardly, sharing breathy laughter.
"Gods," she swore, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "They were certainly not lying about this relieving tension... my limbs are starting to feel like mashed popotoes," she laughed with a sigh. "Oh... oh dear."
"Aye," the Elezen responded with a tone of grave seriousness, even as he sunk down into his own cocoon of pillows beside her. She turned to look at him — he met her with a fond smile, his hair strewn haphazardly as he laid on his side, his golden eyes glimmering dark in the comfortably lamplit alcove... she clutched a cushion to her chest to calm her rapidly beating heart, not knowing whether it was the drink or this handsome man a mere couple fulms away that was the cause. He was clearly feeling the effects of their drink as well... why else would he gaze at her so?
"Urianger," she said, and his eyes flicked up to hers, from where they'd apparently been looking at her hands clutching the pillow.
"Mm?" he asked, as inarticulate of a response as she'd ever heard from him.
"It suits you well," she said, looking down over the gorget at his long neck, eyes tracing across the ornamental stars pinned at his shoulder. "Your new outfit. I realize I never really said."
When she'd found him on the First that day weeks past and he'd asked what she'd thought of his appearance, she'd been too dumbfounded to reply properly — and when her mind had caught up to speed, she'd merely talked excitedly about his new study of astrology, asking him to tell her how he'd properly charted the stars under this eternal light. And it had never really felt like the right time to tell him; the moment had passed and it had been too late. But her eyes had been yet ever drawn to him, because now that she saw what lay under the hood and goggles she'd found he was so beautiful, and...
Oh stars, she was rather intoxicated, wasn't she? Yet she couldn't bring herself to care, especially as Urianger's lips softly parted, his eyes searching hers. Those eyes, like molten gold shaded in long, dark lashes, nearly impossible to look away from...
"It... we've known each other so long now and yet I'd never really been able to meet you in the eye when we spoke. It's... It's nice. You look nice."
Oh, gods, what was she mumbling on about? She felt her cheeks warm, hoping Urianger would think it was just the drink — she didn't want to embarrass him, or... or give him the wrong idea, it wasn't as if she'd come here with the intent to ply him with drink and make a move on him, if she'd wanted to do such a thing she'd approach the issue with much more tact and decency, and... did... did she want to make a move on him? Her mind spun into a panic, despite the fuzziness of the drink encroaching upon it, and she found herself meeting his eyes again, desperately hoping he would speak —
"I—I thank thee," Urianger answered softly, his cheeks also flushed — was it... was it the drink? Had she embarrassed him? She didn't know — and he ran his long fingers absentmindedly through his hair. "I... verily I know not what hath caused thee to utter such praise, yet... if mine appearance pleaseth thee then I am most glad," he concluded, his eyes looking into hers with... some sort of pensive curiosity.
Stella smiled encouragingly, though her mind still ran a hundred malms a minute — what was she doing? Yet she couldn't help but answer that look of his.
"It does," she replied, breaking her eyes from his demurely, trying to gather her senses, taking in a slow, deep breath through her nose —
A large, soft hand suddenly covering her bare wrist in a gentle touch then stole her breath away entirely.
Urianger's mind had gone blank, like he'd stepped into a room with a blazing fire and found himself unable to sense more than the sheer heat in the air.
He'd noticed Stella looking at him many a time on their recent adventures, but with her often unreadable expression in public, he'd thought perhaps it a look of doubt... of attempting to puzzle out the secrets she knew he was keeping from her. It was an expression he'd seen on her in the days after his dealings with the Warriors of Darkness on the Source, as well; another time he'd kept his counsel for what he'd wrongly determined to be the better good.
These—these words did not mean anything, surely... yet her face was flushed, her softly glowing eyes downcast as she admitted that, yes, his appearance does please her —
His heart leapt in his chest, urging him forward by instinct he ordinarily had the sense not to heed, yet in his current state he could not help but reach out to her, wrapping his fingers around her powerful yet delicate wrist. Her skin and scales were both so warm, still a shock to his senses, years having passed before this day without the touch of another —
"Urianger?" she asked softly, her eyes wide and searching his. As he met them he gasped and let go of her, immediately ashamed.
"F-forgive me," he stammered, sitting up, nearly dizzy. "I—I know not what came over me, I—"
A hand came to lay on his knee, and Urianger drew in a breath and looked, only to see Stella half-propped up and meeting him with a look of earnest concern.
Twelve preserve him, that he'd weakened so much as to reach out and touch her uninvited, even were it only her wrist...
He was truly hopeless. He — he knew his feelings for her extended past friendship but he'd refused to acknowledge it in any real capacity. What his duties had required, what the world had required of him to ensure her preservation was meant to also come at the cost of severing any good will she had towards him, perhaps even finding himself at the end of her blade —
And now she was here, in his home. They were both here, both high as a kite on some otherworldly intoxicant, and she had met him with nothing but kindness, understanding, and fond praise. How was his lonely heart supposed to take it?
"'Tis alright," Stella reassured him, her fingers pressing gently onto his knee through the fabric of his skirt. "I... well, we're both in quite a state, aren't we," she said with a laugh, running a hand through her short purple hair. "Really, I am sorry, if I've made you uncomfortable then that's the last thing I—"
"No," he answered immediately, his eyes fixing upon hers. "No," he repeated quietly, gathering his wits as best as he could. "I simply do not wish to burden thee with the selfish actions of a drunken fool," he murmured, burying his head in his splayed fingers. Her hand lifted from his knee, her weight shifting beside him.
"...I don't believe I have ever once seen you act selfishly," came the reply. "Altruistic to a fault... a point on which I can relate," she sighed, and he heard her crystal earrings tinkle against her scales, the unmistakable sound of her shaking her head. "Yet... yet if there is aught you wish for... I would hear it," she added quietly.
Urianger's hand dropped to his lap, his head swiveling to look at her. She wasn't looking at him; instead she looked rather nervous and bashful, gripping her own wrist in her lap as she sat beside him.
When it came to reading these sorts of signs he would not claim to have reliable knowledge in the slightest — his beloved Moenbryda had been the one to pursue him, after all, and she had often teased him for being rather dense in these matters.
Yet something in his chest yearned and lit up at the sight of her like this. It... it was not like Stella to seem so nervous. For her to make such a vulnerable face. For her hands to fiddle with her bracelets so.
If he... if he allowed himself such a wish... would she be willing to grant it? Would she — his chest trembled to imagine — would she want the very same?
Yet... yet they were not in their right minds. He rightly was not sure how long they'd even been sat here — a few minutes? A couple of bells? No, he would not do anything he could not take back — that she could not take back, when they next faced each other fully sober.
But — he found he longed for her just the same, and if... if she truly wished him to speak aught of his desire, then...
Gathering up his courage, Urianger reached out and placed his hand upon her shoulder, touching gold warmed by her skin that lay beneath it.
"Stella," he breathed, his chest pounding, "May I embrace thee?"
The face that met him was unmistakably flushed, her eyes searching his own visage as if taking him in for the first time. He watched, feeling as though he was dangling off a precipice, not knowing whether he'd be pulled up from the brink or lost in the freefall.
She nodded slowly, her eyes blinking shut, and he forgot to breathe — only remembering when they opened and met his, and her hand came to rest atop his at her shoulder, her fingertips brushing over his knuckles.
"Yes," she answered in almost a whisper. "You may."
If perhaps he'd been in full command of his faculties, he would have wrapped his arms around her more slowly, easing her in, the better for her to find her comfort in his arms, if there were aught to be had — but he was not, his chest aching and his head in a soaring haze, and so her response brought him to act immediately.
Urianger bent over her, placing his palm at her cheek, meeting her eyes with overwhelmed yearning, doing his best to commit that look of flushed wondering upon her face to memory; then he took her into his arms, letting himself give in to this one simple wish.
Urianger embraced Stella with a sudden fervor that took the wind out of her, her head spinning. Yet his touch was delicate and gentle; a long arm wrapping around the small of her back, his fingers gently perched at her waist, another around her shoulders, fingers pressed softly into the bare skin of her forearm.
It was so sudden that for a brief gasping moment she feared she might poke him with her horns — but he did not draw her overly close, and she breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed into him, pressing her forehead to his shoulder as she brought her arms around him in turn, wrapping around his broad back. One of her palms found bare skin and they both tensed briefly, but he let out a sigh so plainly pleased that she did not retract her touch.
He was warm, his skin incredibly soft underneath her hand, and her heart beat fast in her chest, holding him like this. Being held like this. She... she could hardly remember the last time anyone had held her like this. Like something delicate, with near-reverence... had anyone ever? She'd not had poor partners, yet they had been far bolder and less gentle, and so had she.
But aside from a few scattered nights with faces mostly forgotten she'd not been touched in any way since her first arrival in Eorzea so many moons ago — years, at this point. It hadn't seemed something worth pursuing, not when wars needed ending and worlds required saving. But his gentle touch seemed to reawaken a part of her she'd nearly forgotten — a craving for the most simple intimacy. The warmth of skin, of skin-warmed clothing, of someone dear to her who wished to hold her close.
And Urianger — he was dear to her, this she could not deny. Long before they'd been forcibly summoned to the First, way back at the Waking Sands she'd been drawn to him, to this mysterious man who spoke softly and eloquently in a dialect not spoken in centuries about things that fascinated her. Even when she'd not yet known his face in full, he'd become dear to her — the soft smile under his cowl as they shared cups of tea amongst the Scions' bookshelves, the space and often silent comfort they'd held for one another when grieving for those they'd lost.
The... the attraction was not wholly new, but it was not until now that it stared her down so blatantly she could not ignore that it was there. Yet as she breathed in the scent of his clothed chest — he smelled like the dusty vanilla of aged parchment and the mead they'd shared, and another familiar scent beneath which was undeniably him, and that made her heart beat even faster — she found that she did not want to ignore it any longer.
"Closer," she breathed, and heard his breath hitch in turn — he pulled his arms more tightly around her, drawing her in further to his embrace, their chests pressing flush against one another. She tilted her head so her cheek and the side of her horn pressed against the fabric next to his bared collarbones, so... so warm there, her hands both touching the bare skin at the open back of his top now, her breath shuddering a moment at the sheer relief of their contact, at the way his chin brushed against the top of her head and his large hands held her firmly now, at the way she heard his pulse pounding much like her own underneath her horn and fingertips.
How long had he... had he wanted to...? How long had she, for that matter? It was a wondering ultimately of little consequence in the present moment, as they both leaned into each other, relaxing into their embrace even as she could feel both of their hearts still racing. He nuzzled into her hair now, and she could feel his nose and cheek rub against her scalp, in a way that felt like both the soothing reassurance of a dear friend and the incredibly intimate longing of a would-be lover.
"Stella..." came Urianger's whispering voice, of which she could now hear and feel every tone and note, reverberating directly into her horn, his breath warm across her forehead. "That thou wouldst... wouldst wish to..."
His words made her chest ache, something big and overwhelming moving there, and she could not help but lift her head, tilting her chin up to look him in the eye.
When she'd drawn this close to others before it had never been with such vulnerability and hesitance — the simmering tension of familiar rivals in constant conflict reaching its boiling point, the heated curiosity she'd felt when a handsome near-stranger had told her she wouldn't leave his mind, these things were known to her. Yet the way Urianger's golden eyes met hers, with tentative restraint unable to fully disguise his clear want for... for mere contact with another person after so many years of solitude? No, not just that — for her, she dared to realize, his heart's desire plainly written upon his face.
Stella slipped a hand back towards herself, Urianger watching her all the while, shifting slightly to let her do so. Then, as she slowly reached up to touch his face, his lips fell open. Her fingertips brushed through the hairs at his jawline — so that's what they felt like, she'd always wondered, thick and wiry yet somehow still soft, not rough like some Auri men's facial scales — and her thumb came to caress his unmarked cheek, gently, hesitantly, a nervous longing thrumming through her veins. His eyes swam with emotion, his hand coming to cup hers as it stroked his face, and for a long, timeless moment she thought he might dare to kiss her, to cross the negligible distance between them and press those parted lips to hers — but he did not. Instead he threaded his fingers up through the back of her hair and pulled her cheek and horn against his bare collarbones, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She felt a wave of warmth work through her, a surge of comfort, and squeezed him close with the arm that still wrapped around his back.
"Urianger," she murmured, her face so warm, her unsteady body feeling so secure in his engulfing embrace, the heat of his bare skin and the sound of his pounding pulse beneath it against her sensitive horn stirring feelings of intimacy she had long forgotten. And — and being held and touched like this, by him... it felt like something she had wanted for a very long time, somehow without fully realizing until now.
What did this mean, for the both of them? She didn't know... the drink had fuzzed all her senses at the edges, and she assumed Urianger was in very much the same sort of state. He'd been right not to kiss her like this; he was such a good man, unfailingly so. But what she did know, wrapped up in his long, encircling arms, breathing in the scent of his skin, listening to his heart beat firmly as he gently stroked at her hair and scalp, coaxing soft sighs from her lips — what she knew for certain was that she did not want him to let her go.
"Thou... thou art my guiding star," Urianger confessed in a near-whisper, causing her fingers to tighten their grip on him just slightly. "These past years, in secluded study within these walls... oh, how I have missed thee."
The sheer amount of heady yearning the tone of his voice carried sent an aching shiver down Stella's spine, her tail swaying. His hand slipped down beneath her horn, tracing the scales of her jaw, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to look at him once more, and she could not help but let him, staring up into those soft golden eyes, wavering with intense emotion.
"That thou art yet whole and well... that thou doth resent me not, willingly sinking into mine embrace, addled though we both may be... 'tis surely a dream beyond mine own imagination," Urianger said, his fingertips stroking her cheek so gently as he spoke, as if she, the Warrior of Light and Darkness, a warrior of the Steppe from a young age and the current ruling khagan, was somehow something so fragile and impossibly precious to him.
A wave of emotion swept over Stella, drowning out any doubts she may have once had. She'd known this man long enough to have realized the nature of his self-imposed solitude — this was a man who thought so deeply, felt so deeply that it had alienated him from others, so much so that he'd found it easier to simply keep a certain distance from most, lest he harm another or himself with his unpracticed social fumbling and intensity.
That the depth of Urianger's well-concealed feeling was now being gradually bared before her, that said feeling was for her, had her head spinning from far more than just the drink, her strong body feeling weak in his arms. She wobbled in his grip, and she felt his body waver too as he tried to steady her — oh, gods, they were quite intoxicated, weren't they?
Taking in a breath and finding her balance, Stella reached up and took his head in both her hands, searching his eyes.
The way he looked at her now — earnest, aching, flushed, yet clearly holding back due to the state they were in — it made her heart flutter, made her feel how badly she'd been missed. How she'd missed him, if only for moons rather than years. Were they not in such a state, she wondered what words they would say — she feared she'd be swept away entirely, were this beautiful, poetic man to utter words or offer touches even a bare brush beyond this semblance of platonic chastity. But they were quite drunk, or whatever this was, and she would not press past this border.
"I do not think we are dreaming," she murmured in reply, watching his eyes softly lid and fall to gaze upon her lips. "But... in case we are, and this moment is lost to fading memory... would you tell me this again, when next we wake?"
"Aye," Urianger answered, voice thick with feeling, meeting her eyes once more. "If it be thy wish, I shall utter these words and more, this I promise thee." He paused, bringing his hand to one of hers, his eyes narrowing with vulnerable concern. "...Thou art not discomfited? Knowing that betwixt us, despite mine oath to do so never again, I yet harbor secrets?"
Stella smiled, watching his eyes flicker as they widened in the glow of her own, and she then drew his head down, pressing a kiss to his brow — he gasped a small intake of breath, his hand tightening in the fabric of her robe — and then another to the darkened skin of his Archon's mark, before dropping her hands to his collarbones and meeting his startled gaze with earnest eyes.
"No," she said, softly shaking her head. "On the contrary it fills me with... with anticipation," she admitted, watching the plain emotion in his expression with a pounding heart, "for I suspect it is a secret I too share."
Her words came out quiet and hung heavily in the air, knocking the breath from Urianger's lungs entirely.
He could do naught but pull her to him once again, squeezing her tightly in his grip, the smooth scale of her horn brushing against the side of his neck.
This truly was beyond his wildest dreaming — that she, the Warrior of Light, his dear friend, was... that she thought that, perhaps, she too...
He forced himself to breathe, his breath hitching in his throat as he did.
Such thoughts and revelations would come on the morrow, if in truth they did both awaken harboring no regrets. Urianger could not but hope, especially as the smaller form cradled in his arms nuzzled her head against his neck, breathing deeply. Twelve preserve him, that such a moment as this lay at the end of a road so solitary and treacherous... it was nearly too much for his aching, sentimental heart to bear.
The warmth of her body pressed to his, her arms now wrapping around his back once again... The way she had laid soft, chaste kisses upon his face, with eyes dilated from their drink, yes, but appearing most earnest... the way she relaxed further into his arms the longer he held her here, nearly as if she were melting into his touch. It had... it had been so long since he'd last felt the touch of another, let alone the touch of one who clearly cared for him so sincerely, seemingly finding his own embrace just as much of a comfort as he found theirs. After the loss of Moenbryda, he'd believed such comforts beyond his reach, beyond what he had deserved — yet here he was, holding someone he'd long yearned for within his embrace. Were the drink not making his strength to remain upright waver and his eyelids droop with the telltale signs of encroaching drowsiness, he felt he could hold her here in his arms for hours. He did not want to let go.
"Then I shall await the morrow with hope upon my breast," Urianger whispered, his lips near to her horn. She nodded, seemingly trembling slightly in his embrace — was she cold? But no, she relaxed almost immediately, her small hand once again caressing the bare skin of his back.
Knowing unfortunately that he could not hold her here like this forever, he gently loosened his grip upon Stella and she did in turn, both of them helping to steady one another as they parted. He wobbled backwards for a startling moment and she caught him by the waist with surprising strength — the Warrior of Light, yes, he found himself suddenly reminded, with a momentary thrill. They both sat back down, eyeing each other rather shyly. A wave of sleepiness washed over him, his pounding heart slowing somewhat at the feeling.
"Speaking of which... somehow I am feeling rather sleepy," she confessed almost sheepishly, rubbing at her eye.
He nodded. "Aye, I am rather much the same. Mayhap 'tis time to retire?"
He did not wish to leave her side, but it was inevitable. Stella nodded, and he rose unsteadily to his feet — she followed, taking his hand when he offered it to her, helping pull her up.
Urianger guided Stella further down the hallway, pushing open a door that lay at the very end. He flicked on a lamp, revealing the room — his bedroom, a simple double bed layered with silken coverings, surrounded by stacks of books much like the rest of his makeshift home.
"Urianger, is this—" he heard the Auri woman breathe, her eyes flicking upwards to his with concern, her face yet rather flushed.
"'Tis my bedchamber, aye," he said quickly, immediately adding, "lest thou misunderstand, this is the only bed within these walls. I would relinquish it to thee gladly; the pillows in yonder hall shall be more than comfort enough for mine own slumber, I assure thee."
Stella simply stood there and fixed him with a stare, her brow furrowing with consideration. She then turned away, taking a step towards the bed.
"...I won't have you sleeping on the floor on my account," she declared, and he let out a sigh, touched by her concern but deeply insistent.
"Nor will I thee, and lest thee forget this is my home, if merely borrowed. I cannot abide sleeping soundly in my bed whilst thou, my guest, art—"
"No," she said, a bit more loudly this time, silencing him. She turned to face him, her cheeks still flushed, but a hesitant smile upon her face. "I think there is plenty of room right here for both of us."
Urianger stopped dead in his tracks.
"...Prithee, explain thyself," he answered in a thin breath, his face growing rather hot. That... that she would suggest sharing a bed with him...
"I don't want you to sleep out in the hall. This is... more than an adequate bed for two people, especially when 'twas clearly built for multiple someones your own size," she explained, her thumb rubbing against her own closed fist. "Please, won't you stay?"
If his heartbeat had calmed with his drowsiness it certainly did no longer, and he knew for propriety's sake he should refuse her, but... She looked up at him with such an earnest plea, lifting her arm towards him as if to beckon him, and he found he lacked the will to make himself leave.
"...If thou art full certain," Urianger said tentatively, and she gave him a firm nod in reply. "Then I shall oblige thee," he answered, shutting the door behind him.
They were unsteady on their feet and she had no bedclothes, so they both made do by simply removing all their decorative accoutrements — the jewelry and metal bits they both wore many of over their robes and skirts — and their shoes and socks, before slipping under the covers beside one another, the light flicked off.
Only a faintly glowing crystal at the other end of the room, and her own limbal rings, cast any light, allowing Stella to just barely make out Urianger's features as he laid facing her, his head on his own pillow.
"Art thou comfortable?" he asked softly, and she nodded.
"Are you?" she asked, and a light, nervous chuckle escaped his lips.
"Aye... 'tis my bed, after all."
Had she made too bold a suggestion and made him uncomfortable? But... the things he had said, the way he had held her... she found that she now, selfishly, wished he might hold her once again as sleep claimed them both.
"Urianger," she said hesitantly, reaching out to brush her fingers against his bare arm beneath the covers. He started, tensing.
"...Yes?" he replied, his eyes roaming across her face, softly illuminated by the faint light her own eyes gave off. "Is aught amiss?"
She shook her head slowly, and she heard him let out a soft breath of relief in the silence of the room. Gathering her drink-bolstered courage, she laid her hand atop his forearm, sidling up closer to him. She could feel him tense, hear his breath quicken.
"If... if it is no trouble... I had hoped you would hold me again as we slept," she admitted, her hushed tone ringing incredibly loud to her horns.
That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed — he brought his hand to her bared shoulder, looking her in the eyes most earnestly, then began to scoot towards her.
"Ah... one thing... so I don't poke you with my horns in my sleep," she added with a slight laugh, then rolled over to face away from him, scooting backwards.
"Stella," he breathed, moving close enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders, his chest against her back. She sighed as she pressed back against his warmth, draping her arm over his, her hand curled loosely around his wrist. "I am but a man, and in truth a most lonesome one at that," he said softly, and she felt a heat flicker within her chest. "Yet knowing this, thou dost still trust me so?"
"I do," she said, relaxing against him further as if to prove her point. "No woman with any sense brings a bottle to share alone with a man she does not trust," she mumbled sleepily. His arms felt so good around her, another coming to snake its way under her waist... how long had it been since she'd laid like this with another? Certainly never a man... Auri men's horns were too large to lay like this, yet Urianger curled against her most comfortably, his body so warm beneath the covers, like perhaps he was made perfectly for this purpose. Her face flushed at the shockingly indulgent thought, and she suppressed a smile though certainly he could not see it.
Urianger made a faint hum at her words that sounded rather touched, the sound only making her heart ache further.
She let out a breath as Urianger's face came to nuzzle up against the back of her head, his warm breath puffing against her horn. He pressed a kiss there, at its base, and her eyes widened, a soft sound escaping her lips, her tail lashing against his legs. Oh... oh.
Certainly he did not know quite how sensitive an Au Ra's horns were, for the rest of his touches had been gentle and chaste... His hands did not wander, and their contact ended at her waist. Yet as her tail hit his knee reflexively, she heard him gasp in a breath, loosening his grip upon her.
"Pray... pray forgive me," he said quickly, apparently realizing he'd crossed some sort of line. "I had not known that thy horns..."
"No," Stella answered, holding his arm still as he had begun to withdraw it. "'Tis alright. Please stay," she told him, and after a moment's pause he wrapped back around her, though his head laid back upon his own pillow now.
Her face was hot and her pulse had quickened, but she breathed deeply, relaxing into his gentle embrace and the fuzziness of sleep that edged ever closer, willing herself back to normalcy. The kiss at her horn had... it had felt very good, but now was not the time. Yet even as she calmed herself, the warmth it had stoked within her heart yet remained.
"Thank you," she murmured, stroking the back of his hand where it cupped her arm, slipping her fingertips in between his knuckles. He let her, gripping her fingers tightly once they laced in with his, as if to ensure she wouldn't let go.
"...'Tis I who verily should be thanking thee," Urianger said quietly, his heart beating firmly at her back. "On the morrow, I have much and more to say to thee, yet... for now... I know not how to convey how great a comfort thy presence in mine arms doth bring."
"Urianger," she whispered, bringing their linked hands to her neck... then up to her lips. She laid a kiss at the meat of his palm, her mind rather hazy now, but a great warmth wavering comfortably within her chest. She heard him drag in a breath, then felt him slip his fingers from her grip, only to press their palms together, intertwining their fingers once more. Somehow this felt even more intimate; perhaps it was how slow and deliberate his motions were, or the warm sleepy breath puffing across the back of her horns from a small distance, or simply how open and vulnerable she felt now, intoxicated and on the cusp of sleep.
He rubbed his thumb against the smooth scales at the back of her hand and she let out a heavy sigh, melting into his embrace, sinking into the soft mattress below, thinking to herself that she had never before felt so relaxed.
"I pray thou hast only pleasant dreams," she heard him murmur, and in response, Stella let out something between a hum and a sigh before drifting off, safe and secure within her dear friend's comforting embrace.