#forgot to add those two until several hours later whoopsie

[crystal-verse]

Day 14 - Telling

[pre-mt gulg time feat. more rambling than i'd expected. this was supposed to be short but oops]

The last Lightwarden has been revealed as Vauthry, and the part of you that knows these things is both smug and dismayed. Yet more work to be done -- the man flying off above the clouds, the displaced top of Mt. Gulg. Plans are made and discarded and remade, until it's decided that a giant Talos will be built, to grasp onto the top of the mountain.

That's not what you're focused on, though. No, you knew that would happen. (The same way you knew that Vauthry would be the Lightwarden -- dreams or memories or simply knowledge, slotting into place, little gaps filling up with things that are not "yours" but are "yours" nonetheless.)

What you're focused on instead -- the breath in your lungs. The way the Light burns, ever present, beneath your sternum. Breathing hurts all the time, now. You'll bear it. You're used to this.

Instead of lingering with the Scions, the people of Kholusia and those from elsewhere coming to assist, you simply. . . slip away. You're tired, and your focus is scattered, and you would so dearly like a break. You can't get anything done, like this, so best for you to be somewhere where no one will look for you. Dulia-Chai makes some mention of the Exarch, and -- your focus narrows on that, for these brief moments. If you find the Exarch, you surely will find somewhere hidden, out of the way, where the two of you can perhaps rest in silence. (He has never made you speak if you did not feel the desire to, after all. The Exarch is a kind man, like that.)

You find them asleep, leaning against a rock at the edge of a cliff. Oh, how peaceful the Exarch looks, in slumber. (You feel guilt welling -- you know how exhausted they get, so far from the Tower. To drag him all the way out here. . . you know what it's like to be exhausted and still try to preserve your strength, try to have more left to do the things everyone expects of you.) You let him dream, and instead settle by his side. You're not as quiet as you'd wanted to be, though -- the Exarch startles, wakes, and speaks. And what he says -- you had had your suspicions before, but the way he speaks now is telling.

(You had known, that the Tower drained him, but now you know. The guilt rises, as it does further when he elaborates on the Tower and his connection to it. That Crystal Tower is you, some part of you knows -- it knows, though you have no idea how.)

He invites you to sit with him, and you can do nothing other than accept. He smiles at you, with that soft look, round cheeks and plush bottom lip, only the lower half of his face on display. Yes -- this is G'raha Tia. It can be no one else. You'd suspected, before, but know you know, for certain. You have memorized the shape of G'raha's face, the curve of his lips and the point of his chin, the gentle slop of his cheekbones, the upward tilt of his eyes. The cadance of his voice, even -- oh, the accent is different, but only slightly, and you know this voice. (It is the voice that Fray had tried to use, once, before they learned better. It is the voice that you had mourned, thought you'd never hear again.)

"Tell me," they say, as they look at you (as you try so hard not to lean into their side, though you've done so before), "when all of this is over, what will you do?"

The question leaves you off-footed -- you. . . don't know. You know what he might like to hear, perhaps, but. . . you don't know. In lieu of answer, you simply shrug, and shuffle yourself closer to his side. The Exarch -- G'raha, you are sure -- merely chuckles, and gently (checking, all the while, for any resistance on your part) moves you to be leaning upon him, and then arranges you so that your head is resting in his lap. 'Tis not the first time you have done this (no, in the many meetings between battles, when you rested at the Crystarium and chanced upon him in the quiet hours, the two of you would simply rest like this), but somehow this seems more. . . intimate. Perhaps by your knowing, truly knowing, who they are, now.

"Well," they begin, as if you had answered, "you needn't hurry to decide. I was merely curious to know what sort of future lay in store for a hero with his life ahead of him."

(You would have laughed, had you the energy, had the Light not burned. A life ahead of you -- ha, what a joke. Even without the Light, your aether eats away at you. You've only so many years left. Perhaps you've used the most of them, already.)

The Exarch continues on his speech, and you let his words wash over you. Their voice is so very soothing. So very soporific. You could fall asleep like this, you think. Perhaps they, too, would fall asleep, and 'twould be the two of you resting together, asleep, at this little hidden away spot.

You cannot help but ask, in a lull in his speech, to know more of them. Ah, but of course they twist it, just a bit -- of their plans after this, of course. (He is always good at hiding his face, metaphorical or otherwise. The mask of a kind, wise leader is no less a mask than that of a boisterious archer, adventurer and scholar both.)

And oh, the longing in his voice, the love -- if you had not known that this was G'raha Tia then that would surely have given it away. The way the Exarch speaks of it -- of loving but not wanting to burden -- is far, far too similar to how G'raha had spoken to you, in the last few days that you had known him.

(He had confessed to you, and then disappeared upon that expedition that had called them to Eorzea to begin with. You had not the time to settle your feelings on the matter, before you had been called upon for your own primal-slaying duties. How you wish you could have given them an answer, then. How you wish you could give him an answer now, as the Exarch. You think-- you think the answer may be "yes". You might want to try.

But the Exarch speaks the same way that G'raha does -- so utterly in love, but not wanting to press that against you, not wanting to pressure you. All-too-aware of how you do not experience love the same way, all too aware of your happiness, of not wanting to discomfort you with the fact of his love -- yes, 'tis G'raha Tia who is the only one to be so kind and understanding of you, in this matter.)

You will have to leave, soon, you know. The Exarch will be needed below, for some reason or other, and you will be needed to slay the Eaters and Lightwarden both. But for now -- you sigh, and settle further in your place, and close your eyes. Gently, the Exarch unties your braid, cards his fingers through your hair -- the Spoken hand, you think, rather than the crystal. Purring helps ease the burn of the Light, and the Exarch makes a soft noise at that, but does not stop the gentle motions.

(Things will be fine. You will kill Vaurthy, feast on the Light, bring the night sky back to all of Norvrandt. You will return to the Crystarium, and ask the Exarch about his true self, and you will sit with them and talk. And -- a foolish dream, perhaps -- but you hope to rest in the Crystarium for some while, and not have to be a hero but simply be. It would be nice to rest like this with the Exarch more, you think. To sit by their side, and perhaps play songs together, his voice and your lute, or their harp and your own violin. But all will go well. Just this last Lightwarden to slay -- and then you will deal with whatever comes after.

Gods, but you are so tired. You wish your dear G'raha could save you from that.)