#if Square-Enix won't write Y'shtola as a disabled character i will

[koko-mochi]

scholar — for the single-word drive!

"Wait," the archon hummed a small sound of disbelief, "don't tell me the vaunted Warrior of Light doesn't know how to read!"

R'koko sucked on her bottom lip, her brow creased in concentration as she stared at the pages in front of her. Raw text--no pictures or diagrams--filled the paper. When her friend had invited her to spend an afternoon in the Noumenon together, R'koko had assumed that all Y'shtola wanted was some company--something to break up the monotony of reading book after book on opening voidgates and navigating the rift; perhaps some of R'koko's insight based on the times that she had spent traversing the rift. R'koko had not been expecting Y'shtola to put a book in her hands and ask her to read it aloud.

It was easy to forget the cloudy-eyed Scion was blind. For the most part, she moved through the world as well as anyone else, using aethersight to find her way. And while she was not forthcoming about the toll that aethersight took on her body, there was no denying the benefit that it provided her. Her limitations did, however, make themselves known when it came to books. In a tragic twist, the scholarly miqo'te could not see the words on a page unless they were written in enchanted ink or embossed into the paper. Stone tablets were easier, because letters were carved into their surface, but if they were worn and weathered Y'shtola struggled with them.

Regardless, Y'shtola was never one to let her struggles show, so R'koko didn't think twice about whether her friend would be able to read books on her own with aethersight.

In this case, however, it would seem not. R'koko's heart had hammered in her chest as Y'shtola put the book in her hands. The Warrior of Light had opened the cover and been disappointed and a bit panicked to find no pictures. At least pictures would have helped R'koko fake it, keep her best friend believing that she could read, staving off pity and disappointment and deep embarrassment.

Instead line after line of strange characters stretched out across the page. And about a minute into her halting and labored attempt to read the book aloud, Y'shtola had stopped her, her face a mix of surprise and amusement. The Warrior of Light couldn't read.

"I never had reason to learn back home," R'koko murmured. And it was true. She had shown tremendous talent and skill as a hunter from a young age, and the leaders of her village cultivated those skills in her, rather than literacy or other more traditional elements of classroom education.

Y'shtola smiled gently. R'koko didn't want to look, didn't want to see the pity on her friend's face. But when the archon spoke there was no pity there, only kindness and intimacy. "I wish I could teach you. I wish I had known when we had first met in La Noscea." She stifled a chuckle. "Maybe I did know, could tell, by the way you stared at that memorial stone in Seasong Grotto, with such a perplexed look on your face."

R'koko's shoulders sagged. "Your memory is too good, you know."

Y'shtola leaned forward, whispering into R'koko's ear, "Maybe you're just too memorable."

R'koko blushed, but the comment disarmed her. "Just," she stammered, "don't let the twins know I can't read, okay?"

"My lips are sealed," Y'shtola said, the corner of a smile creeping into her words. "Can you imagine though? You would never hear the end of it from Alphinaud."

R'koko rolled her eyes. "I know." They both laughed, and R'koko relaxed. Y'shtola really was her dearest, most important friend, and as the two miqo'te laughed together R'koko wondered why she had ever hidden this from her, because of course Y'shtola wouldn't judge her for her illiteracy.

"As for the matter at hand," Y'shtola nodded towards the book R'koko was holding, "shall we fetch G'raha? He'll be able to read that. And I have a feeling your secret will be safe with him."

"Right," said R'koko, "G'raha it is."