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starswornoaths · 6 months ago

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A Fulcrum Dark and Radiant - Commission!

Commission for @sarenhale, who is a delight as always to work with and has been so patient and gracious with me! Featuring oc Arihel and Urianger!

Set during the events of 5.0, Urianger does everything he can to ease the suffering of Arihel as he absorbs more and more Light. When things finally boil over and the night sky is once again gone, it's all they can do to turn toward one another.

word count: 7,945

Commissions: Open!

To be an Astrologian was to study not only the stars, but also to find the gravid pull of one’s focus. The center of one’s universe was, as far as the greatest scholars of Sharlayan could deduce, the core of one’s power.

The more clinically minded attributed the core of their power to the heaven’s gates and the unlocking thereof. Those with a more romantic flair would often profess that the object of their desires was the source of their strength.

From what Urianger had been able to glean from his colleagues in school, teachers would insist that, from a purely academic perspective, only the former was absolutely required for the study of stars. The latter, if true at all, was a more volatile source of power and focus: namely, in that it can wither, change, or be lost.

Having the blessing and burden of both facets of study, Urianger understood that it was only a practice of both in equal harmony that would truly open one to the potential to tame the stars themselves. Would that he had understood such an important lesson sooner in life.

Alas, what study he had undergone was of a more practical sort, versus academic. By the time he was able to grasp starlight in the palm of his hand it had come from another sky entirely, on a world far from home.

For a blessing, Urianger had refused to let his focus be idle as they awaited their champion’s arrival to the First shard; a mastery of the stars meant that he could instead turn his focus to the study of aether itself, the properties by which it operated, and how those properties might be altered. That the man he had come to so dearly cherish was so far away from him had made of him another star to draw strength from when Urianger felt himself waning.

But the work was never finished. In its own way, that was a good thing: it helped keep his mind off the Crystal Exarch’s schemes—and his complicity to them. Working out charts of aetheric flow and how best to alter their currents felt at least like some sort of penance for a sin that he continued to choose to commit. It was the less amoral of the manipulations he was a part of now.

Nothing had brought that into focus more clearly than Arihel’s arrival in Norvrandt.

Pretending that they were overly familiar before that point would be insult to both of them; Urianger had always held a deep and abiding respect and admiration for Arihel. For how he continued to try, even in the face of almost certain failure. For who he was inherently as a person, enough that there was always a sort of warmth in his chest when they were near one another.

But that did not mean they were close. Their interactions had been naught but amiable, even friendly. To Urianger’s mind, Arihel had carried himself beyond reproach, but neither of them had approached one another for more than a few brief moments—and almost always for work related dealings.

So it was something of a surprise when Arihel approached him, of all the Scions, for help.

All the more that he came to Urianger’s room in the Crystarium, not long after night had returned to Il Mheg. Arihel came alone, and deep enough into night that Urianger had only barely settled in from their hasty retreat from the land of the fae.

Conversation between them had not started smoothly even after Urianger had ushered him in for tea but eventually, Arihel had broached the true reason for his unexpected arrival.

“Not going to pretend you didn’t see how I brought night back to Il Mheg,” said the Warrior of Light and Darkness both. “Wasn’t the first time I did it—you probably know that, too.”

For several long moments, Urianger dared not breathe. “Wherefore wouldst thou make such a claim?” he had found himself asking.

“‘Cause I feel like you know everything.” Arihel had answered as though it was obvious.

Ignorant of how the air left Urianger’s lungs at the statement, ignorant of how close to right he was for all the wrong reasons, he sheepishly added, ““and you talked a lot about the different aspects of aether before. Back in Il Mheg.”

There was little and less sense in pretending that he did not immediately see and feel the changes that had taken place in the time since they had last seen one another on the Source. It was one of the few things left that he did not have to lie about.

For he would know more than most what was happening—he was complicit in the scheme from the moment the Exarch had brought him into the fold. More than anyone, he understood the immense but exact cost of each patch of night sky…and who was meant to pay it.

“I do confess to no small amount of concern for thee—moreso than what hath become customary for thy heroic exploits, that is.” Urianger recalled measuring each word like a tentative step on ice. “Ere you had set foot on the First…much and more had already changed within thee, though I do not understand the depth of such changes. But the changes hath only become more striking since thy arrival here.”

“I…there’s so much goin’ on, so much at stake—Urianger, I can’t come to anyone else with this.” Arihel had said, words almost tripping on his Lominsan accent and mounting anxiety.

Despite being nearly half a head taller he seemed determined to make himself small in that moment, and it was well that he was pointedly looking at the kettle on the stove lest he might see the way Urianger flinched. The Warrior of Light was now the second person to tell him that, and of direct consequence to his first confidant in this world.

“Thou hast no need to fear reproach from me, Arihel.” he said softly, hands occupied with cups and the filling thereof. “Aught I might do to lessen the burden on thy shoulders, thou needs but ask it of me, and I shall do all in my power to make it so.”

As if to seal the promise in the ways of the fae folk—a habit hard formed over the last three years—he pressed a steaming cup of tea into Arihel’s hands.

“...I believe you.” he whispered half into his tea. “I have to—wouldn’t be here in the first place if I didn’t, right?”

It was Urianger’s turn to lower his gaze. Given all that he withheld from all those he had held so very dear, he felt unworthy. In equal turns, he felt a churning sense of desperation to be worthy of it twist with the guilt, the uoroboros tangled itself around the corrupted fulcrum of his very being. His secrets had brought about this fear within his friend. His secrets would bear salvation to him. Both were sins born of virtue. He could not falter now when it would doom all he loved and cherished—Arihel included.

Choosing damnation over oblivion, as he always would, Urianger opted for silence to coax Arihel to speak.

Words strung together, halting for the rattling breath and pulls of drink told a tale of corrupted closure. A battle unfolding on the Azim Steppe between a father figure and the man who saw the monster within him.

Nergaal might have succumbed to his adopted son’s blows after a long and arduous battle, but Arihel was never the same again.

Both combatants had been granted the Echo—but Nergaal had something more wicked still to darken his shadow: voidsent. Devoured for their essence and grafted onto his soul in grim patchwork, the creatures had both strengthened and consumed the man from the inside out, his body sustained only by his Blessing outrunning the rot.

When Nergaal could no longer outpace Arihel, the voidsent he had devoured had congealed into a concentrated corruption. Fearful of what would happen should such malfeasance be left to do as it wanted, Arihel had taken it unto himself.

“In the middle of it all,” he whispered after the silence stretched at length. “I’ll never forget those eyes…looking at me. Always, always looking at me.”

Before that point, Urianger had known Arihel’s eyes to be a bright, almost luminescent colour. He had never managed to hold the man’s gaze long enough to tell whether the color of that radiance was a seafoam green or a cloudy sky blue, but only the faintest limbal ring of that hue remained in eyes that now glared a fierce garnet red color. Where Arihel’s eyes once resembled dappled sunlight streaming through the window, Urianger could only now equate their glow to smouldering coals in a dark furnace.

How much longer could Arihel continue to burn before he guttered out to the last embers, Urianger wondered grimly.

As if to shield his heart from the memory, Arihel gave a shudder so violent his torso folded in on itself.

“Everything already felt off after I took the voidsent into me.” he said in a tone that made it clear admitting it hurt almost as much as the corruption itself. “I thought—I dunno, I thought if I absorbed the Light here, it would balance it out somehow? I thought it might after hearing you talk about aether, at least—”

“Were it a simple matter of pure aether absorption, there might be some merit to the theory,” Urianger said slowly, searching for words to soften the blow, “but as thou hast doubtless discovered, the imbalance of such confluence, and the darkness within thee a direct result of not mere aether but voidsent, only further complicates thy perilous predicament.”

Even so much time later, after so many moments that reflected this first true meeting betwixt them, Urianger recalled the way Arihel had all but whispered, “Help me, Urianger. Is there anything that can help?”

Down to his marrow was Arihel a Warrior of Warriors, and rarely did he speak of his pain. He was not one to openly disclose his suffering, and tried to do aught in his power to hide what afflictions he was battling.

But Sharlayan Astrology had a peculiar way of drawing the focus to that which is in need of realignment. In finding the fulcrum of one’s desire to heal in the molten core of the patient’s agony, the weak points began to show like stars in the night sky.

“Aught in my power to try, I shall.” Urianger had promised him. “Thou needs but come to me, and I shall render mine all.”

Every time Arihel took back a part of the night sky, he and Urianger would secret themselves away in a private moment all their own, and the Warrior would give his battered aether over to the Wizard’s inspection.

Grimly, the march toward the Exarch’s gambit proceeded apace: a fulcrum dark and radiant all at once, neither cancelling out one another but burning differently at the same flesh. The more of the night sky returned, the more those voidsent were but flecks on a pearlescent core like the shadow of vultures against a blazing sun.

The first time Urianger had deeply examined Arihel’s aether, he had done so without touching him. It had been a request of Arihel’s—fear of what had happened with Nergaal had made him averse to physical contact even before they had been pulled to Norvrandt, and the absorption of Light during his time here had only rubbed that nerve raw.

Patience and pure necessity had won out in the end, and the night after freeing Amh Areng from perpetual day found Arihel in the worst pain he had ever been in.

“Harder to hold in now.” he had admitted, words forced through grit teeth stained iridescent from the aetherically charged bile he had begun to cough up. “Feels worse than before.”

That time, Urianger had all but begged to be permitted close enough to touch—out of a tangled growth of affection and fear that had rooted itself in his heart. With baited breath, he admitted that the need to try and protect him outweighed any concern there might have ever for his own safety.

“I could hurt you,” Arihel warned when a hand was held out in offering to him again.

At that, Urianger smiled and reminded him, “As thou ever could.”

For all the fear Arihel had over anyone touching him, Urianger’s first brush with skin and scale was alarming for how soft they were against his hand. At first contact with the apple of his cheek Arihel’s skin flared in heat, a deep flush creeping over warm skin.

Both of them had held their breaths for long enough that the room had vaguely spun as their aether connected. In stark contrast to the almost tender caress of Arihel subtly leaning into Urianger’s palm, the first tendrils of Arihel’s aether tangling with Uriangers felt almost violent, as if to claw the relief out of him.

Almost immediately the sensation softened, and Urianger did not miss the way Arihel had frowned deeply as if in concentration.

“Thy control is highly commendable,” Urianger praised softly, trying in vain to balance his friend’s aether. “But I assure thee, thou art safe with me. ‘Tis alright to let go of thy facade. ‘Tis alright to bear thy pain unto me. I shall take as much from thee as I can. Thou art safe in my care.”

Before their arrival on the First, Urianger had known Arihel’s aether to be more fire aspected than anything, warm as a hearth and radiant as the sun. Astral, which might well suit to point to a perfect counterbalance to the Light whorling within him.

Thus was Urianger’s theory set in motion, attempting to channel enough water aether into Arihel that his aether could be tilted closer to its natural center. Waves woven with the care of a tailor crafting a gorgeous gown, Urianger wove a luminescent night sky of umbral water over Arihel’s heart in an effort to blanket him in calmer tides.

With each attempt, it became easier. With every touch, every whispered secret between them, Uriagner attuned himself to the ever-shifting sands of Arihel’s aether. Almost without effort, Arihel had become the radiant sun of Urianger’s universe: the fulcrum of his focus and the gravitational pull of his heart. The shores upon which his waters would return in rhythmic ebb and flow of need and understanding, given and taken in kind.

Of course Urianger was going to give his all to try and bring Arihel back from the brink. What else could he do? Whose shores could he find safe haven within save for Arihel’s? Who else could he love but him? What else could he do but continue to try?

If he reminded Arihel, in word and in soul, of the man he had once been before he had shouldered the burden of monsters— first, that of another man and then of another world wholly, if he could ensure that there would be enough of his friend left to save, then it would all be worth it. Urianger could sit with the guilt of betraying his trust, of hiding the truth of the Exarch’s plan, if it meant that Arihel and the rest of his Scion compatriots would be alive.

Such was the Exarch’s gamble. The die was cast. They had failed long before they had reached the heights of Mt. Gulg in an effort to chase away the last of the Light, but it wasn’t until they had reached its summit that they realized how far gone everything had been.

To the last, Urianger had hoped that G’raha Tia’s plan would come to fruition. To the last, selfishly, Urianger had hoped the Crystal Exarch would be the one to die. This process had been agony enough to Arihel but even if he never spoke to Urianger again, he would at least have lived.

Emet-Selch had done exactly as he had promised, and foiled their plans at the last. It was all that Ryne could do to keep Arihel from turning into the last of the Lightwardens that instant. The Oracle had given every onze of her aether just to stabilize him—and half of Urianger’s, when he offered more as they had ferried him back to the Crystarium.

No one looked at the sky outside the airship. No one dared breathe a word of the returned poisoning of Light in the sky. No one needed to.

It was only after Ryne had done all she could that Urianger left Arihel’s side, aiding her in finding her own rest once the mendicants had taken over his care. Absence from him itched at some newly deepened protectiveness in Urianger’s heart, dark and radiant and undefinable.

That yawning chasm that Arihel had occupied left room for Urianger to reflect, however, on how utterly out of balance his heart and mind were, where his dearest friend was concerned. Little wonder he had rarely known how to handle when they were together; he was in a constant state of dizziness, tumbling from the height of his love for Arihel and crashing into the lows of his knowledge of the man.

Urianger was the one Scion out of all of them that Arihel had chosen to go to when in need of succor. Even if other Scions might have known more of the man, they knew little and less of his aether and soul.

Not he. Not Urianger, who could sculpt a topographical map of Arihel’s pain and how it had changed with their travels across Norvrandt. Urianger, who was so privileged to know what it looked like when the most immediate of the pain was soothed away, how the sharp ridges and grooves between his brows softened into a tentative smile. Urianger, who could track the worsening of the Light’s poison in how long it took for his hands to stop trembling after a dose of healing magic—

Urianger, who only knew his tragedies. Who only knew of the horrors visited to him at the Steppe. Who only knew Arihel loved vegetable soup because the Scions were beginning to sound like the healers working the Inn at Journey’s End.

Mere hours had passed until Arihel awoke but they passed like days. Urianger scarce kept himself sufficiently distracted with fretting over his compatriots. For a blessing, everyone else seemed otherwise no worse for wear, if keeping their head down in various aspects.

Bereft of purpose otherwise, Urianger returned to Arihel’s room, wherein he found the suites empty of occupants. Thus, he found his purpose, and began to search for where his guiding star had drifted off to.

There was little and less surprise when he was found wandering with Feo Ul about the Crystarium—but that his stride became purposeful as he caught sight of Urianger most certainly was.

“I was looking for you.” Arihel admitted.

Urianger’s initial reaction was to panic—habit dictated that he was sought out for comfort when the pain became too much.

“Hath thy pain begun to flare anew? Shall I send for young Ryne to attend you, or Y’Shtola—”

“No!” Arihel cut him off, voice just a touch rougher and louder than intended.

Wincing, he softened and tried again, the mumbled words smudged warmly in his accent. “No. Just—wanted to see you. Talk to you, but—”

Used to Arihel searching for words, Urianger fell into step beside him and waited.

“This is his garden. The Exarch’s.” Arihel finally said, and lowered his gaze to lock with Urianger’s as he said, “I want to walk in yours.”

And thus they found themselves in Il Mheg, approaching the Bookman’s Shelves. Their journey had been a quiet but companionable one, the silence not unlike that which encompassed the bulk of their encounters on the Source.

It wasn’t until they were making their way uphill from the Bookman’s Shelves that the silence was broken—and even then, in a voice interrupting the quiet as gently as a skipping stone on the surface of a lake.

“I wish we had talked more. Before, I mean.” Arihel spoke up suddenly.

“Before—?” Urianger prompted.

“Before—before everyone started going to sleep.”

There was an almost boyish charm to describing the theft of their souls in such a way. Like a fairytale. Like Urianger was just waiting to wake up and discover this was all a horrible, wonderful dream.

That, not for the first time, he would wake before he gave in to folly and bore his heart to his Warrior.

Whilst in the grips of this dream-turned-nightmare, Urianger sought to soothe the wincing frown that marred Arihel’s face, countering, “amateur though I mayst be in casual conversation, I floundered all the more ere we began to dream on the Source. Doubt not that though the want was there, the courage had not found me. Blame thyself not, I prithee.”

“I could have tried talking to you.” argued Arihel. “Or at least…tried harder. But you’re so smart, and it’s hard to keep up with you sometimes. Figured you wouldn’t want much to do with me.”

“Thy humility prevents thee from admitting to thy own wit.” countered the Bookman as he ushered Arihel unto his Shelves and latched the door behind them. “That thy light shines differently than mine own dims not its brilliance.”

Words chosen poorly, he realized a second too late when Arihel flinched as he brushed past him.

Another wound he had inflicted. Another sin to be forgiven lest it be devoured.

“Mine metaphor got away from me, I beg thy forgiveness—” he stammered, hands glittering with starlight reaching to soothe out of habit.

“S’alright. I get what you mean.” Arihel answered, waving a hand dismissively without looking back as he continued to move further into the room.

It was Urianger’s turn to flinch.

Such was the same reaction Arihel had given to the knowledge that not only did the Exarch—G’raha Tia—withold critical information about their mission, but had also brought in Urianger as his conspirator. This had always been Arihel’s way, though he now understood the differences—before, such had been in his carefree nature, always banking fires before they outgrew containment. Always letting everyone around him be warm without burning.

These days, he let them go for fear of becoming the fire. With how reserved he had become, the few waspish barks of frustration and anger had seemed as warning sparks in search of kindling. He had never said as much in so many words, but all that Urianger had been privy to—in both memory and deed—spoke for the Warrior of Light in much the same way it always had.

A string of sneezes from Arihel snapped Urianger out of his thoughts, watching with mild amusement as the man sneezed with such intensity that the leg not supporting his weight lifted and bent at the knee, his tail flailing on its own from pure reflex and knocking over several precariously stacked tomes.

After saying a string of words in Limsan that Urianger presumed to be curses, Arihel knelt down in front of the books splayed out on the floor.

“I’m so sorry! Wasn’t paying any bloody attention—” he said over his shoulder, scrabbling to try and gather them all in a hurry.

Crossing the room to where he knelt in a few long strides, Urianger knelt before Arihel to assist in the gathering of papers and books.

“Thou hast no need for apologies, my dear friend. ‘Twas the natural consequence of mine own indolence, leaving these tomes strewn about—”

As they both reached for the same book, their hands brushed. Arihel nearly reeled onto his backside for how he flinched and recoiled but Urianger caught his hand before thinking better of it.

Accidental contact was one thing. It was an easy enough thing to dismiss and pretend at coincidence. Urianger would not have his intentions mistaken: he gave Arihel’s hand a squeeze.

“Just as thou hast naught to apologize for, so too, do you have naught to fear in this place. With me.”

Silence hung heavy in the space between them, even as Arihel had yet to take his hand back. Instead, he stared at Urianger at length, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

Time caught up with them when Arihel caught up with himself, realizing their hands were still entwined. Eyes widening even further—this time out of fear, Urianger realized—he snatched his hand back with such speed that his scales scraped Urianger’s palm.

Before he could hold it back Urianger yelped, more from surprise than any sense of pain. All the same, it was enough for Arihel to bodily flinch and attempt to tuck the offending hand into his own chest, as if to hide as much of himself away as he could.

“I’m sorry—fuck, I’m so sorry!” he wheezed, eyes wide as saucers. “Don’t know what I was thinking, I could have hurt you—”

“As thou hast always been capable of.” Urianger reminded him gently, and showed his unharmed palm for inspection. “And yet, thou has never. Not once.”

“But the Light could have—” Arihel tried to argue.

Urianger cut him off with a shake of his head. “Thou has never.” he repeated in a voice that was all at once quiet but firm. “Regrettably, I cannot claim a similar truth. To mine immense shame, I hath inflicted more pain unto thee than thou hast to me. By an immeasurable magnitude.”

“What?” Arihel balked, his brow furrowing deeply. “But you haven’t—”

Urianger shook his head again and argued, “‘Tis writ plain on thy features, Arihel: I see it in the streaks of starlight in thy hair, in the shift of thy aether. I see it in the way thou hast carried thyself through our most recent trials. Pain is all I have given thee—”

“Okay, that’s not true.” Arihel cut him off firmly, his frown deepening. “Wouldn’t have come to you so many times for help if it hurt.”

Looking down to the hand he had curled into his chest he seemed to wrestle with himself for a long moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, his hand shot out to grab Urianger’s again, as if to do it before he could talk himself out of it.

Urianger was startled less by the suddenness of the action and more that it had happened at all but he managed to repress a flinch of surprise, fearful that it would be misconstrued. All the same, he couldn’t help but gawk at their joined hands, suddenly timid with the shift in conversation and the warmth of the contact.

“I…I went to you first because you try to make things better.” Arihel said, words slow and deliberate. “And…and all of this—”

When Urianger looked up at the motion of Arihel’s hand waving at his own face, he was surprised to see how deeply flushed the man had become.

“All of this,” he tried again, “isn’t your fault either. Not even all of this is the Light.”

“How canst thou be so certain—”

“Nergaal had white hair and red eyes.” Arihel cut him off sharply. “This was starting before I came here, and you know it.”

He seemed to realize that he was starting to get upset, and took a deep breath before speaking again, “Quit trying to find things to beat yourself up with, y’hear? I don’t blame you for it. So don’t blame yourself for me.”

Urianger hid his flinch by tipping his head to look again at their joined hands. Shame had flooded his veins long before Arihel had come to the First, and it now resisted being flushed from him at the reassurance. Unworthy was a chant in his head as steady as his heartbeat, and it would not be silenced by simple words.

“Oi!” Arihel huffed when he attempted to take his hand back in turn.

Lunging forward to take Urianger’s hand back, Arihel insisted, “If I don’t get to pull away, then you don’t either!”

Which left them knelt among a splayed out pile of books, holding hands and gaping at one another’s flushed faces. For several long moments, neither of them moved for fear of breaking themselves out of this trance.

Belatedly, Urianger realized that this was the longest they had gone with physical contact that served no purpose: for the first time, their touch was intentional without any further goal than to be held by one another.

Was this not a sort of healing in its own right?

Heart in his throat and blood roaring in his ears, Urianger swallowed and croaked, “Thou hast me at a disadvantage, as thou always has.”

With an intensity normally reserved for the battlefield, Arihel leveled a glare at Urianger as he insisted, “If you’re not running, I’m not running. If you’re running, I’m running with you.”

Meeting Arihel’s gaze as evenly as he could, he promised, “As thou sayest.”

Almost immediately, he had to lower his gaze from those piercing eyes, burning like coals in a fire. He felt the heat of that stare as it remained on him, even as Arihel let go of his hand and picked up the stack of books they had collected.

“We should actually put these on shelves, y’know.” he said.

When Urianger grabbed the other stack of tomes they had rearranged, Arihel stood and offered him an outstretched hand. In accepting the offer and letting himself be helped up, Urianger felt the deliberate nature of both the offer and the way their hands stayed linked for several seconds after he was upright.

“Verily, thou hast the right of it.” he said when their hands at last disentangled. “‘Tis only right to put away that which I stacked unto the floor in mine academic fervor.”

Arihel’s bark of laughter startled Urianger, who jumped just a little at the burst of noise before they both looked at one another for a moment and dissolved into fits of giggles. With the stuffy, warm stillness of this sanctuary, it felt like they were two young academics trying not to get caught by the Librarian being loud between bookshelves.

Like they could have always been friends.

Like Urianger was always going to love Arihel.

It was less that the tension had left them entirely and more that it waited politely at the door while the two of them put away stacks and stacks of books. They could have stopped at just the two stacks that had been knocked over but time passed more pleasantly when they passed it together, and the decision to keep tidying up had been silently agreed upon between the two of them.

Everlasting Light burned outside but through the wide, dusty windows of the Bookman’s Shelves it almost passed for beams of afternoon sun, honeyed through the faint tint of the thick glass windows. Time mattered both less and more when the night was not coming.

Long had it been that Urianger was helpless to the gravitational pull of Arihel. Voidsent and Light and a doomed future could not change the way he was drawn closer.

Filing books on the shelves was just as good an excuse as any to be near—never mind that Urianger was putting them in the wrong places and that future Urianger will have to redo this entire section of the wall to his typical exacting standard, it was worth being able to be close enough that he felt Arihel’s warmth radiating against his side.

Arihel was not a star that he needed to wield nor master, to claim nor even to touch. That Urianger was warmed by him, in his orbit, was more than enough.

And as they worked, conversation inevitably began to bubble up. Slowly at first, with a few murmured questions about placement and equally soft replies. But with time, Arihel began to ask about some of the titles—what is this one about? Can you tell me about it?

Ever weak to the opportunity to teach, Urianger gladly answered any questions until eventually it turned retelling Arihel stories he had collected over the years. Some of them weren’t even among the books that he had here but were on shelves a world away, doubtless collecting dust without his custodianship. Stories that had helped him learn how to socialize with others— “Always was I a timid and meek child, terrified of the prospect of conversation,” he explained with a chortle to himself. “I didst rely heavily upon fairytales and ancient myths to shape my words when I had none myself. Thus did I speak this way.”

“So it’s like a cover?” Arihel asked without judgement. “Like pretending you’re a character in a book makes it easier for you to talk?”

Urianger nodded. “Donning the mask of a character in a hero’s tale permitted I couldst speak at all. Were it not for Moenbryda’s outgoing radiance, I fear I may not have made a single friend during my younger years. My peers thought me ‘weird,’ though I suppose they were not incorrect in the assumption.”

“I would have been your friend.” Arihel replied with immediate surety. “We would’ve been weird together.”

A smile bloomed unbidden on Urianger’s face at that. “Of that, I do not doubt. Not for a singular beat of my heart.”

When the last books were shelved, their hands brushed. A glancing sunbeam of warmth in this stillness. The two of them froze again, hands hovering in the space between them and only just connecting.

Arihel’s expression suddenly crumpled. “We’ve wasted so much time.” he rasped. “Why did we wait so long to just sit and talk?”

Because I knew I wouldst love thee from the first moment we met, should I seek to befriend thee. Because I was right. Because I am a coward.

“For mine own part, ‘twas a fear that I wouldst have naught to say of interest to thee—nor aught of enough to interrupt thy work.”

When Urianger made to take his hand back, Arihel caught it with his own and tangled their fingers together.

“I wanted to talk, you know.” he huffed. “I even tried to, a few times! But it was like my tongue went stupid when I was around you and I couldn’t say much.”

Urianger squeezed to keep his grip as he lowered their twinned hands. He studied the tangle of their fingers in favor of yet more reflection on all they could have been before.

“Though the prospect of lamenting what we did not speak of in the past be a tempting chalice to drink from, we shall not find satisfaction in the act, I think.” he pondered aloud.

Daring to be bolder yet, knowing what they were about to face, he held Arihel’s gaze steady with his own, unguarded and afraid, as he murmured, “I would instead consider sharing what we wish to, in this moment, in this place. I would propose that we choose to make of the present what we will.”

Arihel nods slowly, eyes drifting away in thought. It was enchanting, watching the way he bit the inside of his cheek when mulling something over.

When he looked back to Urianger, he seemed just a bit less guarded than before. “I don’t…think I’m ready to walk away from this yet.” he admitted quietly, lashes fluttering as he visibly fought with the urge to look away. “This feels nice, being here. With you.”

Heat bloomed on both of their faces, and though they trembled with the want to distance themselves, they both remained right where they were. Together—for no other reason than they wanted to be.

“Come, then. Let us wander our own path a while longer.” Urianger offered with a gentle voice and an extension of his hand. “Together this time, if thou wouldst have me.”

There was no hesitation in the way that Arihel took his offered hand. Even when Urianger led him out the door and into the everlasting glow of the Light, Arihel did not so much as flinch when emerging from their sanctuary. As if he trusted that Urianger would never lead him astray. Trusted even now, even after everything that had happened.

Unworthy and deeply aware of it, his heart fluttered all the same.

As they approached the nearby bank of Longmirror Lake, he could feel Arihel’s curiosity rolling off him in waves, steps beginning to turn syrupy and slow but never truly stopping. Ponderous, but not doubting. Never doubting.

“All will be well.” Urianger promised him. “Thou needs but have faith.”

“I have faith in you.” Arihel affirmed as their boots began to sink, gently, into to sodden earth of the lakeshore.

Urianger did not break his stride, his grip on Arihel’s hand sure and firm as steel as he murmured an incantation and held his focus on the water that rose to meet their footfalls.

Not once did Arihel hesitate. Not once did he stop walking beside him, nor let go of his hand. At first, Urianger had put it down to blind faith, until Arihel looked down a few steps in and realized what was happening.

“Don’t look away.” Urianger rasped, still keeping his focus on the spell.

Stunned by the lack of formality, Arihel remained transfixed on him as they continued to walk across the surface of the lake. It afforded Urianger the space to weave his spell protectively around them. The lake only just rippled with the brush of Urianger’s robes, the light splash of their feet tapping against it in the most shallow of invasions, steps wrapped in starlight, the surface of the lake stretching and warping to keep them aloft.

It is enough for them to make it to the roof of a submerged house that stood above the surface of the lake, the two of them sitting on it with all the fanfare of resting on a log at the side of the road.

“I like your light more.” Arihel said softly.

A canopy of deep, shifting umber whorled sluggishly over them, dense enough to devour the ever-burning Light, softening it into something like moonbeams and accented with the glittering of the stars themselves. It remained even after they had no need for the water walking spell, Urianger’s focus pulled to Arihel so naturally as to forget to release it.

A blessing, so it seemed. The effort made it harder for him to be anything but his truest, most honest self.

“My light?” he asked softly, almost fearing the answer.

Arihel nodded, reaching out after a moment of debate with himself to tuck a stray hair behind Urianger’s pointed ear. “This—it’s like starlight. Like you know just enough to show me who you are without blinding me.”

His hand lingered on the apple of Urianger’s cheek as he whispered, “So I can see you.”

“I will admit, I maintained it to keep thee shielded from the Light.” Urianger confessed, almost timid but grateful for his little piece of the night sky, grateful that he could stand in a softer light. “But the night sky has always held a greater comfort to me than that of the day. Little wonder that I took to Astrology so readily, when in need of healing magic.”

“I like seeing you like that, when you’re enjoying the stars.” Arihel said as though agreeing with him. “S’part of why I wanted to bring back the night sky so badly. Because you love it so much.”

It was a rare thing for Urianger to be well and truly stunned to silence. When fumbling for something to say, many a poetic turn of phrase from the books he so dearly cherished was enough to fill the silence until someone else deigned to fill the void. Moenbryda often made a game of trying to fluster him into being nonverbal.

Little could have robbed him of words more thoroughly than the focus of his affection, the center of his gravity, telling him with all the weight of discussing a favorite book that Arihel brought the night sky back for no other reason than because Urianger loved it.

“I heard you describe it to Y’Shtola, and it felt. I dunno. I could tell how much you missed it. So I wanted you to have it back, even if it’s different from home.”

“Betimes, I would struggle to remember what the night sky looked like—or the day’s sky, for that matter. Everything was bathed in shimmering gold and opalescence from the moment of mine arrival.” Urianger admitted. “In a way, I believe I studied Astrology due in no small part to mine own homesickness. It all felt less out of my grasp, when I wrapped the stars ‘round my fingers.”

“I’d think about what you were doing here all the time, before I came.” Arihel nodded. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until that first time I absorbed the Light—oh!”

He startled at that, as though something had only just occurred to him. “You weren’t there for that yet—that was in Lakeland, before we went to Il Mheg.”

A peculiar but darling flush spread across Arihel’s face, a deep red that almost turned scarlet nearly matching the red on his scales and in his pupils. As if caught, he admitted, “I lose track of when you were here, I think about you often enough that I sometimes picture you in places I know you weren’t at. Like you were in the corner of my eye in all of them.”

For several long moments, Urianger did not move. Even his breathing was shallow in that moment, as if scared to disturb the steadily shrinking space between them.

“Thou thinkest of me that often?” he asked in a rasp, the air leaving his lungs on the question. “Truly?”

“I feel safer with you around. Even in my own head.” Arihel answered immediately. “‘Specially in my own head.”

And through it all, Arihel did not look away from Urianger once. Not even when his archaic speech patterns fell away from his focus, when he chose to choose to be just that little bit more vulnerable, just that little bit that was more than he had been with anyone since his days in Sharlayan. Like he didn’t have to draw on a hero he looked up to as a child just to have the bravery to speak. Like he was free.

He must have been quiet for just long enough to worry Arihel, who frowned up at the suspended cloud of illusory night sky.

“Is it hard to keep up, though? You shouldn’t tax yourself—”

“The concentration of this spell would be far more daunting, were it not for thee.” Urianger said before he could stop himself. “Astrology, and the practice thereof, requireth a foci—an anchor to which all the magic of its wielder centers its casting. It is the gravity of that magic user’s very star.”

Arihel gawked at him, lips parted as though to say something. A moment passed, and he closed his mouth with a heavy swallow.

Despite this, his voice sounded dry when he asked, “Do you mean—?”

“Thou art the sun of mine own sky. The center of mine universe. The focus of my devotion, my study, and my cause.” Urianger confessed, words soft and touch softer, as he reached up to press Arihel’s hovering hand flush to his own face. “I wouldst wrap the stars around your center of gravity. Thou needs but ask it of me.”

“I…I want…” Arihel breathed. “...I want so many things, in this moment.”

“Tell me,” his astrologian begged.

“I want…I want to be better. I want it to be night, so you don’t have to do that. I want to be your focus.” Arihel began with tentative words, but the longer he looked at Urianger, silently urging him on, the more the words tumbled out of him with reckless abandon, “I want to know you better. I want you to know the happier parts of me—the better parts of me than what I ask to heal. I want—”

At that, his flush returned tenfold. Were it physiologically possible, Arihel might be glowing, Urianger thought. He might be glowing regardless—he was beginning to resemble an aetherically charged rolanberry.

“You want…?”

“I want to kiss you very badly.” Arihel admitted in the quietest voice Urianger had ever heard. “I have for a while now.”

If he did not fear Arihel taking it the wrong way, Urianger might have laughed at how utterly darling that he was being in that moment, how utterly dear he was to him always. He wanted to laugh in joy, to weep in sorrow at what had been done to his beloved. To howl in indignation at the situation that had put them here to begin with, that this was what it had taken for them to bear their hearts to one another.

In lieu of all that, Urianger prayed, “Please—”

Was there a pull from the hand on his face, or did he fall into Arihel with no prompting at all? Had they both come together in the middle, stars colliding in the scant space between them? The hum that reverberated from Arihel in to Urianger at the first tender caress of their lips certainly made that seem likely.

“I want all of that and more with thee.” Urianger murmured as he rubbed their noses together.

Foreheads pressed together to catch their breaths, Arihel’s eyes slipped shut as a pleased, rumbling click rose in his throat. The subtle tip of his head into Urianger’s palms when they cupped his face told him that he still had his Warrior’s attention.

Knowing this, he persisted, “I want us to win the day in that way that those heroes in tales so oft do. I want to win back all our tomorrows. I want to know thee in the shade of the moon, in the light of the sun. In light and darkness, I wouldst know every piece of thee, and bear mine all to thee in turn.”

Clinging to boldness, he kissed Arihel again and whispered against his mouth, “I love thee. I want thee to live.”

At that, Arihel opened his eyes and looked at Urianger—really looked. His hand had remained on his face, thumb softly stroking the apple of his cheek. He grew just still enough to worry Urianger but moved to kiss him more deeply before he could open his mouth to voice it.

“Let’s be alive here for a little longer.” he all but begged when he took his lips back momentarily before diving back to plunger Urianger’s mouth for his every coherent thought. “Just a little longer. Let me love you here for a few seconds more. Then, I give you back the night sky wrapped up in a pretty sash, we save G’raha Tia, and get to the business of living. Sound good?”

They would make their way back to Lakeland in a few more minutes—by way of teleport, at the insistence of Urianger to conserve Arihel’s strength. They would return to their fellow Scions, solidify a plan to save the day, and then…and then…

And then…tomorrow would come. A tomorrow that would let them all live to see it, to know themselves and one another.

But that was tomorrow. In this moment, on this sunken in roof on a fully sunken house, peeking just over a lake on a star far away from home, Urianger held a piece of the night sky overhead just for them, just for Arihel to kiss him under. A taste of the life they would fight for in the next few hours, sampled now, to remind them of just what they were fighting for.

#ffxiv #sarenhale #urianger augurelt #ffxiv urianger #wol x urianger #other people's oc #writing commissions #thank you again for the comm Sarenhale!#always a pleasure to work with you and your blorbos :D

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