“I was going to be polite and refrain from pointing that out,” Thancred says, voice shifting into a teasing lilt as he watches G’raha smile, the Miqo’te visibly starting to relax just a little. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m inclined to agree. Between the robes and the cowl and the mysterious sage, I’m afraid you’ve gotten entirely too much like him. I shall be watching you very closely now that I’m aware of the danger, you know — should you begin to show inclinations toward bells-long lectures I will kidnap you and toss you into the lake, whatever Lyna and the others might have to say about it.” He won’t, actually, not in the least because all of that crystal would make doing so somewhat dangerous at best, but he needs to make the threat nonetheless. It’s a matter of course, at this point.
The teasing demeanor softens, however, then falls away entirely as he nods, smiling a little sadly at the man who is his little brother in all but blood. “I’m glad I was able to see you again, too,” he says, voice far quieter than before. “I hadn’t thought I would, you know— I’d no idea you were even in Eorzea, and then the Tower…” He trails off and shrugs, barely managing to brace himself as G’raha throws himself at him, no longer a wise and sagely leader of men, but a distressed boy all over again. It’s the most natural thing in the world to bring his arms up into a hug, tucking the smaller man securely under his chin and humming to him. “There, there, G’raha,” he murmurs softly, using his brother’s name properly since they are, in fact, in private. “It’s alright now. We’re here, and you’re still here, and we’re all together again. It’s alright. You’ve done very well— better than any of the rest of us could have managed— and now you can take some much-needed time to rest.” To rest, but not to die or to fade away. At least not yet. No-one wants to part with him any time soon.
A watery, wet laugh escapes him at the teasing, face buried in Thancred’s chest, curling as much as he can into the warm, familiar embrace of his older brother (though in a way, he’s the elder now; a funny thought). “Please don’t throw me in the lake,” he manages, voice muffled. “You know I’ve never been as good a swimmer as you...” Not that he’s a bad swimmer, but...with his robes and the crystal covering his arm and most of his chest it’s--- not a good idea. “Though Lyna might thank you for getting me out of the Crystarium...” It’s a bit of a tough balance...he knows they all want him to get out more, to do more besides hole up and read and study, to take care of himself, but to stray too far weakens him, makes him dizzy and tired. He misses the ability to travel, to explore...but that’s just something he’s come to accept.
Those are just idle thoughts, though, and he snuggles closer with a soft noise, not needing to be the Exarch right now, just G’raha, just the boy he’d nearly lost to time and his mission, the boy part of him can be again, now. “...things all happened so fast,” he murmurs. “I’d intended to drop in on you all, given the Find wasn’t so far from your new headquarters, but somehow I just never got the chance, and then...” And then he’d gone to sleep. He sniffles, tears still streaking his face as Thancred comforts him, tells him he’s done well--- it’s hard for him to think of or accept all he’s done as anything but...what he’d needed to do. He wasn’t the hero, it was them, the Warriors, all of the others--- not him. He was just what brought them to this place to let them do what they’d always done. But to hear praise...even if he doesn’t think he deserves it, entirely, it makes him sniffle again, a smile on his face hidden with how he’s tucked into his brother’s arms. That soft noise escapes him again as he sits there, letting his eyes drift close with the warmth and comfort, and this time it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it, either; almost like he’d quite forgotten purring was something he was capable of.
Khaida feels G’raha tense, and makes sure she loosens her grip a bit before he relaxes. She looks up at him and shifts onto the balls of her feet a bit to press her nose against his. “We helped take care of that trouble in the Tower. We found some of the datalogs from…from that Ironworks. G’raha, you were a hero to them. You’re a hero to us, too. We wouldn’t be here, if not for you. You are as much a part of this story as we are, good ser, and I will remind you of that as oft as need be.”
“O-Oh, right, that,” he says, blinking very fast and trying not to go pink as Khaida leans up and presses her nose against his. “I...hated to ask, I knew what was causing it, but I didn’t think it was safe to leave it...” So many people had worked on that, from the Cid and Nero he remembers from so long ago, all the way up to Biggs the Third...he hadn’t wanted it broken, but to leave it would have potentially been worse...and then he blinks, and he does go about as red as his hair, and he’s not tearing up. “Oh,” he says, flushing. “You...they....was I?” He manages. “Am I? I...” He sniffles, trying a tiny smile on, ears pressed against his head in...well, he’s not sure how he feels. A lot of things? A lot of things. “Thank you, Khaida...” He manages at last, shuffling his feet a bit. “That...does mean a lot to hear from--- from you.” From any of them.
[lighttheabyss] Khaida pokes her head into the Ocular cautiously, making sure G'raha has seen her before she closes the distance and flings her arms around him. "Don't you ever claim to not be a hero again, G'raha Tia."
He’s about halfway turned towards Khaida, mouth open to greet her, when she flings her arms around him in a hug. He freezes still as a statue, crimson eyes going very wide --- and visibly so, since he’s taken to wearing his hood down within the Ocular --- and a...a squeak escapes him as he very slowly unclenches his muscles and relaxes into the embrace. When was....he really has not been hugged much, he reflects in some embarrassed bemusement. It’s overwhelming, but...nice. Very nice. Especially from his one of his dear friends, his inspirations.
Then he kind of registers her words belatedly, and blinks a few times, puzzled. “May I...ask what brought that on?” He asks, genuinely confused and taken off guard, both by the words and the use of his name, something he’s still adjusting to. “I don’t think I’ve done anything especially heroic of late...” Truly, it was them who had saved the First; he had only a small part. Perhaps a vital part, in the end, but you don’t call the smallest gear a hero, even if they’re important to the running of the whole machina...
Khaida watches his expressions change, and can’t help but giggle. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her lips tug upwards in a smile. “Well, seems I’ll simply have to help you relearn how.” The way he says it reminds her that while it’s only been….gods, a couple of years since he sealed himself away in the Tower for her, it’s been centuries for him. And at least a century of it was spent in the kind of loneliness only a leader who was a figure of mystery could know.
“Come! First, you’re going to step away from whatever you’ve been busying yourself with and enjoying some fresh air! A nice little breather.” Small steps. One didn’t fall into self care in anything but small steps.
She was slowly learning that herself.
“Oh,” he says, blinking. Relearn how? Well--- that’s a thought he’d never thought to think. He’s been so busy, he doesn’t...he doesn’t need to sleep, and only needs to eat a little, this close to the tower, so it’s...never really occurred to him that he’s been living so far from what anyone would consider normal or healthy. He’s just been living day to day, caring for the Crystarium, waiting for the day when the Warriors came and it would all end. And...he’d end. So there’d been no need to--- ah, he’s a fool, but...still. He doesn’t regret. (This, anyway.)
And then, of course, she startles him further by all but pushing him towards the door, and he yelps, scrabbling for the hood of his robes to tug it over his head, ears pushed back in embarrassment. “Wait, wait, what?” He manages, eyes going a little wide. “I--- now? You mean right now? But--- Khaida, a moment---!” He didn’t think they were starting that whole relearning how thing now!
G’raha smiles at him, something shy and shaky in the expression, and Thancred finds himself smiling back at him. “I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t have the time,” he says, stepping further into the room and dropping to sit next to the Exarch, picking up a book and placing it back onto the stack in an effort to help ease the mess, if just by a little bit. “Urianger has Ryne with him, imparting the ‘wisdom of the ages into a willing mind’ he says, accompanying the phrase with deliberate and overly dramatic finger quotes. “Personally I think he’s just regaling her with embarrassing stories about all of us, but I’d rather not listen in on the off-chance it truly is one of his lectures. So, in lieu of that slow torture, I thought I’d check in with you.” They hadn’t spoken much after… everything, and he knows they need to. They are family, for all that’s transpired between them.
He watches him trace the book — a tome with a dragon on the cover, a title unfamiliar to him on it (unfamiliar, and yet he has a suspicion of what rests within those pages, knowing what he does about his brother’s past in that alternate future he’d woken into) — then sighs. “I suppose there are, but ‘tis a poor idea to keep to yourself when you’re having a crisis. I would have thought that our most recent experiences would have proven the danger in trying to stand alone.” Slowly, cautiously even, he reaches out and puts a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, sympathy in his eyes as he shakes his head. “I’ve made my peace with being Called here, you know. And if I hadn’t been, then this world would be the poorer for it, if it even existed. Gods know poor Ryne would have never had the chance to see the outside of her cell in Eulmore, let alone find herself the way she has. There’s nothing to forgive in that.”
He pauses, looking out across the room for a long moment, then adds in a softer voice, “As for the deception, for the plan that you and Urianger worked out, for… frightening us all as you did? Well, that I haven’t quite forgiven you for — but I’ve pulled similarly foolish things far too recently to judge you for it. So instead, I shall give you fair warning: I shall take my revenge, and you will find it most discomfiting and embarrassing, and then we’ll have done with it. Sound fair?” Perhaps embarrass him to Lyna— no, no that would be too cruel. That woman holds her adoptive grandfather in far too high esteem to involve her in any pranks meant to bring out the bits of the playful, ridiculous boy that still reside within the noble Crystal Exarch.
Thancred’s casual mocking of Urianger gets a startled laugh out of him, amused and entertained--- he’s not heard that in years, decades, centuries...and even when he was reunited these past years Thancred was too drawn into himself to tease their adopted father. But here it is like it had never gone away, and it makes G’raha smile. “...I fear I’ve become a little too much like Urianger these past years,” he admits, smile shy but genuine and something like good humor creeping back into his voice. “But even so, I do hope I never end up going on like he does! That’s a habit I’d rather imagine I never did pick up.” He knows he’s ended up quite a bit like his adoptive father, but...oh, he remembers those lectures. He remembers dozing off during them, half the time. Thancred had, too. It’s...a fond memory, a happy one, and it warms him a little even through the regret and guilt.
He stiffens a little when Thancred puts his hand on his shoulder--- it’s the crystalline one, so he can’t feel the warmth of it, but he feels its weight and he bites his lip again as he listens. “....I am...selfishly, I am glad I brought you here, too,” he murmurs. “All of you, and not just the Warriors of Light. You were--- just as important as they, and I...” He looks away, staring intently at a fixture on the wall so his eyes don’t well up and betray him. “...I am glad I got to see you all again. I never thought I would.” He thought, even without truly remembering them, that he would have lived and died after his awakening without ever seeing family again. But here they are, here they have been, at his side this past half decade even when he didn’t realize it. And he is so, so glad for it.
He blinks, processing the fond threat, remembering so many pranks from their childhood, battles of them--- the frog in his bed, he thinks distantly, and something about that is so silly, so mundane, so familiar that it finally snaps what’s been tight and knotted up in his chest, and with a noise that’s half a sob and half an intrinsically Miqo’te sound of distress he throws himself at Thancred and buries his face in his chest, dignity and age tossed aside for the moment. Right now he is just G’raha Tia, who has slept for a very long time and carried far too much for almost as long, and who has missed his family so, so very much. He has borne such a burden--- right now, he just wants his brother.
Thancred has been particularly busy, of late— after all, looking after and teaching Ryne is a full-time job, to say nothing of helping her carry out what she’s set as her goal. So it’s something of a surprise that he has any time to himself at all, but here he is, enjoying exactly that while Ryne listens to another one of Urianger’s particularly dull lectures. How that girl has the patience to sit through the man’s monologuing, he’ll never understand. But he’ll not deny her the lessons— not when they cannot linger once their route home has been secured. If that’s how she chooses to spend her time, for now, then that’s her decision. (Even if it is a frightfully boring one.) In the meantime, he’s decided to drop in on someone else: the Crystal Exarch, the long-lost and far older G’raha Tia.
And all things considered, it’s not hard to find him. Were he out and about minding the Crystarium, its inhabitants would easily have pointed him out (and possibly made a fuss, they worry for him so). Therefore, he’s not out and about, which means he’s taking time to himself, too. Fortunately he’s waved into the tower without incident, and given the permissions granted to close friends and family now that the worst of the danger has passed, to enter the most private rooms of the tower, as well. It’s there that he sees the Exarch—sees G’raha— lying on his back, a sort of stunned and tired shock on his features that is all too familiar to Thancred, having gone through something nearly as overwhelming only a few years ago.
“There are more comfortable places for contemplation, you know,” he calls out, tone gentle. Gods know he was a right arse to this man those first two years he was here, not that he thinks G’raha has mentioned it to the others. Between the unexpected Call and finding out what had happened to Minfilia, Thancred had been… particularly unkind to the man who had turned out to be a member of his own family. That he’s fortunate enough to have the opportunity to make up for it at all is a gift he has no intention of wasting— for who knows how long they’ll still have this chance? Who knows how long the Exarch will continue to exist? There are no certainties in this world, and in this least of all. “Would you like some company whilst you overthink yourself, or would you prefer to be alone?”
So lost in his own thoughts is he that he doesn’t even notice someone entering the room--- until Thancred speaks, that is, and he jolts upright fast enough that he bounces his head off one of his interminable stacks of books, and he yelps and winces, looking rather put upon as the stack tumbles. Even so, it at least didn’t fall on him, so he sighs and shifts to look up at--- at his brother, in all but blood, and manages a shy sort of awkward smile. He radiates an embarrassed sort of sheepishness, something anxious and uncertain that comes upon him sometimes--- it’s new, he thinks, but he’s so used to its occasional presence that it feels like he’s always been like this--- and he curls into a better sitting position, shifting so he isn’t sitting on the tail that’s tucked beneath his robes. He supposes if he means to go about unhooded more often, he’ll need to adjust them to let the poor thing breathe, but...maybe. One step at a time.
“...I wouldn’t mind company,” he admits, twisting his hands together for lack of anything else to do with them. “If you’re...free to stay a while?” He doesn’t want to impose, if there’s other things he needs do; he knows he’s quite busy with Ryne all the time, and in and out on whatever adventure they’re up to in Amh Araeng and the Empty, so if he’s only here a little while, he’s certain there are better things to do than just sit with him...and anyway, he recalls how angry Thancred had been at the first, when he had been first Called accidentally. Oh, how they had all been angry, of course --- he still smarts from Y’shtola’s tongue lashing and Alisaie’s impassioned shouting --- but...Thancred, poor Thancred, with the news of Minfilia and two years alone...oh, he can’t hold it against him. How could he? He had never met the original Minfilia, but he had heard about her from letters, and now he remembers those letters. He looks away at the thoughts that catch up to him, and he bites his lip awkwardly. A sad day it is that he doesn’t know what to say to the man who’s all but his blood brother, who’s family and has been since he was a scruffy boy of thirteen summers charging headfirst into the city of learning, eyes wide and curiosity insatiable.
Ah, he really is overthinking things, isn’t he? A soft, self-deprecating laugh escapes him and he shifts to give Thancred room to sit beside him if he chooses to stay. He quiets again, and absently moves to start stacking the books that had fallen, placing them one atop the other haphazardly, and stopping when his hand catches hold of a battered old copy of Count Fortemps’ memoirs, drawing into his lap and letting a crystalline finger trace the embossed cover. “...there are more comfortable places to have a minor crisis, I’m sure,” he admits, voice light even if it trembles slightly. “But...none quite so private. And I’m used to this room, anyway. It’s...comforting.” Red eyes slide over to look at Thancred, still uncertain. “...I am sorry,” he says, for the thousandth time, but this time he’s able to say it and feel the full weight of it, the context and the memories of how he’s accidentally wounded all of his family without realizing.
With the Light banished from the skies and the Lightwardens finally, soundly defeated, it was far easier to tell the passage of time. One needed only to look up at the sky --- sunrise and sunset, the pale light of morning and the dim glow of dusk, the night sky and even the gentle blues of daytime, they were all now returned to the First. And it was a miracle, truly. One the Crystal Exarch had always believed would come to pass --- he had faith in the Warriors of Light, in his guiding stars, trusted them to prevent the terrible history he had set forth from. But even so, it was still hard to believe it was over, it had been over for days now. Maybe because he was still here, when he had never intended to be? It was a strange, strange thing, to be alive when you had never planned on living to this point, to see the end of this chapter. Only a bit part in their story, here and gone. But...then he had remembered, and now he’s--- almost glad, grateful, that he’s here now.
They had always remembered him, always known him as far more than a bit part of their tale, known him as a dear lost friend. He had quite forgotten that fact, forgotten so much over his long vigil, the years and his bond to the tower eating at his memories. He doesn’t think it was an active thing the tower did, doesn’t think it will happen again --- simply the amount of power he’s bonded to is a lot to deal with, and...for so long, it was--- well. An inevitable side effect. But he remembered now, their presence restoring what was lost (some of what was lost, he’s not sure if there are still things he’s missing, small things), and...G’raha Tia was home again. G’raha Tia...the name they’d spoken almost as soon as they’d arrived, unfamiliar then and even now it still rang oddly. But it was his name. Proof he was more than just this background figure, more than the Exarch. That he had lived a life before his long sleep. That he...he was someone. G’raha Tia, Archon, Scholar of Baldesion, founding member of NOAH...he had friends. And he had family.
That last bit was...kind of the sticking point for him right now. Family. How he had forgotten, he’s not sure. That the Scions he’d Called, the Archons--- were more than just the brave souls that stood against the Darkness, were more than just the starring heroes in the tales that sent him to this time and space. They were his family. Adoptive, yes, but he had grown up with them. With Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger. (Lyse and Papalymo, too, but he read those stories, knew where they ended and why they weren’t here, and though he mourned the mage, he didn’t hold it against her. Her destiny led elsewhere, that was all.) But that he had forgotten--- he had stood there and asked his own adoptive father to aid in an openly suicidal plan to save the Warriors...gods, no apology could ever be enough. The turmoil and chaos that set about as soon as they’d returned, the celebration that lasted a good long while, and his injuries had all conspired to prevent him from properly dealing with his restored memories, but now he’s nothing to do but deal with them --- his duties are much reduced now that there’s nothing so pressing as the impending apocalypse to worry about and the sin eaters are gone --- and as such he’s found himself lying on his back in the Umbilicus, staring at the ceiling and valiantly attempting to process it all. Which, so far, isn’t going well. Gods, what a fool he is!
(Demi) "G'raha," she says, and she looks so pained, more pained than at any point during their trials, "why a dress? Why a bleedin' dress? G'raha, it was heavy. Why."
That— is not a question he expected to be asked. He blinks a little, startled both by the use of his name and the question itself, unable to quite process it for a moment; it’s so…out of the blue. And random. And…silly. Or, well, judging from the look on her face it’s serious to her, but at the same time it’s—
He laughs, and immediately covers his mouth with his hand because oh no, he shouldn’t do that, she really is unhappy about it. And gods know he doesn’t want to deal with a repeat of any of Y’shtola or Alisaie’s particular, ah. Brand of scolding, and he’s pretty sure Demi is capable of that. “I didn’t really mean for it to be so uncomfortable,” he says apologetically. “It was just…there, and I thought it suitable for one of the Warriors of Light.” He pauses, and the vaguely amused sheepishness falters into something a little more genuinely sad, even if he’s still smiling slightly. “Had I recalled you and the others properly at the time, I certainly wouldn’t have burdened you with that particular outfit, Demi.”
[From lighttheabyss] "every once in a while, you must do something for yourself."
The Exarch — even recalling his true name, more than just…knowing it’s a name he used to go by, really knowing that he is G’raha Tia, it’s hard to stop from referring to himself by that name in his head; he’s gone by it for decades longer than he ever went by G’raha, after all — startles a moment; he’d been so lost in thought poring over this book he hadn’t even heard Khaida come in, but he blinks at her owlishly, vivid red eyes finding hers as he lets her words sink in.
“…objectively, you do have a point,” he admits, closing the book and turning his chair around so he can look at her properly, an almost shy and sheepish smile settling on his lips. “But that, I’m afraid, is a piece of advice far more easy to say than it is to follow. I know I’ve told plenty of people the selfsame thing. But…” He sighs, chewing on his lip, and his ears pull back in chastised embarrassment even though his dear Warrior friend, dear friend, is being nothing but kind as she’s always been. “I don’t know that I know how.” There’s a lot of things he’s forgotten over the years, and that…is certainly one of them. He’s done so much for the Crystarium, for his people, for her and for those he left behind in that now-impossible, terrible future…that’s he’s not even sure what he would want to do for himself. Besides…something he no longer can do, no matter how deeply and fervently he longs for it.
He cannot cook very well, not at all --- something Lyna gives him hell over because she gives him hell over his lack of self-care in general --- but he can make sandwiches! He likes sandwiches. They’re very low effort and can be made out of a lot of things. His favorite type of sandwich is dodo prepared basically any style (though juicy deep-fried dodo is the best) or the fattiest and most tender red meat he can possibly get his hands on, with lettuce and tomato and mushrooms and pepper and garlic and, if he’s feeling especially fancy, a fried egg.
He used to like napping a lot, but since he became the Exarch, he’s been too busy to sleep. Much to his detriment and the Crystarium’s communal fussing. Please make Chessamile stop giving him that gross tonic :C
He loves to read and loves faerie tales, something he shares with his adoptive father, and in times long past (for him, anyway), they would curl up together and read a lot. He loves heroes, and it had always been his dream to adventure, or travel with one.
He sings very very well, and has a beautiful singing voice. His voice claim is Reeve Carney. (x x x x x)
He has quite forgotten how to purr, and Lyna was never much of a physically affectionate child, so he is deeply and desperately touch starved.
His playful streak had faded a great deal over the years, but after the Warrior’s arrival, they managed to get it back. He is a massive little shit and he relishes it with the glee only a very old man who loves making mischief can. He might have ended up a little too much like his adoptive father in some respects.
He is physically still only 24 years old, but sometimes --- especially when he’s out of the Tower for a while --- his body decides it belongs to someone decades older and doesn’t cooperate with him. This sucks, and while he would like to lie face down and emit a low whine until it stops doing that, he doesn’t. He has a reputation to uphold.
While he’s an archer at heart, he had much time to learn other combat skills over the years --- curiosity and a desire to better protect his people were good motivators --- and though he can handle a sword well, he’s come to vastly prefer magic, since his connection with the Tower makes him very magically gifted. He hasn’t touched a bow in a long time, and he’d forgotten, but...he kind of misses it now.
And with that chapter of the story written down, on he goes to the next chapter of his life, the Crystal Exarch.
Two hundred years after G’raha Tia goes to sleep, he is woken up by the survivors of the horrors of the Eighth Umbral Calamity. He is woken up to a world in ruins, a world at war with itself, and discovers the tragedy that he slept through. The Scions dead, the Warrior of Light dead, the Garlean Empire unleashing a weapon that killed thousands and ruined the world.
Heartbroken and horrified, he spends many years working to help them with their plan --- to throw the Tower back into the past, into the First, using the plans and designs left by Cid Garlond and Nero Scaeva, designs using their travails with Alexander and Omega both --- to save the world. To go back, to find the Warrior before they fall, and to save the First and save the Source in so doing. They had lit his path, inspired him, meant so much to him, and...even more so, as he traveled the ruined world, finding what was left behind by those whose lives they’d touched, reading their story in books and records, the stories of Ishgard, of Ala Mhigo, of Doma.
Finally, finally, it was ready, and with the hopes, dreams, and prayers of the people of this apocalyptic wasteland in his heart and on his shoulders, he set forth back in time and across space, hoping to get there in time to save them all.
However, the Tycoon module within the Tower --- Cid and Nero and Garlond Ironworks’ legacy --- overshot a little in its enthusiasm, and he ended up on the First...90 years early, give or take. Ten years after the Flood was stopped and the Oracle and Ardbert and his group died (or rather, ‘died’, in Ardbert himself’s case).
Not knowing for sure at the time how long ahead he’d overshot, and finding himself the custodian of a bedraggled group of survivors in Lakeland where the Tower had landed, G’raha Tia fused himself with the Crystal Tower --- the Archon marks did stop his aging, yes, but he didn’t know how long he’d need to wait, and he needed this power to protect the people now in his care. He needed the power to hold on until the Warrior was come. So he became one with the Tower, and became the Crystal Exarch.
Over the years of helping build and guard and run the Crystarium, his memories began to fade and blur, both from time and from his link with the Tower. By the time things drew close, and he was readying to call the Warrior to his side, he had quite forgotten he had ever been part of their story personally. Oh, he remembered fragments, things he’d spoken to old friends of, his going to sleep, but he had forgotten he knew them, and even if he had remembered --- a little voice told him why would they ever remember him? It was a foolish little hope. All he could ask was that he was part of their story now, at his own’s end. To make sure it wasn’t their end, to keep their story going.
Eventually, he picked up a little orphan Viis named Lyna, and despite himself --- something poking memories he couldn’t name, the forgotten echoes of another child taken in by a wise caretaker --- he took her in, and raised her as best he could. She was a serious, brave, blunt sort, but he loves her dearly, and even if she still treats him more like a leader than a grandfather at times, she does fuss over him quite a bit, and for a while she was the only one he could let his guard down a little around.
He did not mean to Call the other Scions, and was very apologetic about it, but in the end, they proved valuable allies, especially Urianger, who was willing to help him with his plan --- the Exarch (his name was a blurry faded thing, too) was glad, because the stories had shown the man to be quite pragmatic and clever when it was necessary, but he was...unsure of why the man seemed so upset when he brought it up. He had forgotten his own family, only knew the Scions as those in the stories and tales, only knew them as distant heroes. He could not recall his own place in their narrative.
And then the Warrior came, and called him G’raha Tia. And then the story went on, and he watched his inspiration and his lodestar fight on, fight for the First and their own world, and he felt guilty for his part in the plan and their own pain, worried and fussed for them, wanted for them nothing but peace and happiness and to have a small part in their story before his came to a close.
But then they--- his story didn’t. Certainly the Ascian shooting him in the bloody back wasn’t very fun, but he didn’t die. He was terrified for the Warrior, of course, having been unable to take the Light inside of them, and overwhelmed and vaguely traumatized by the sudden return of the rest of his memories --- they and his old playfulness had been slowly returning along the way, especially that time they spent with the Warrior dealing with Tomra, and that quiet talk on the hill before Mt. Gulg, but in that final confrontation after Innocence it all came rushing back, the Warrior and the Scions and his role in all of their stories --- but at the same time, to be in Amaurot, and to learn of all of the stories here...it was fascinating.
Emet-Selch stuck him in the upper floors of the Capitol and left him there while he went to deal with the Warrior and Scions, and he spent that time wandering the building --- well, limping around it --- and trying to read and learn everything he could. He was very impressed with the thoroughness of the illusion, and very sad to see all of what was lost. He didn’t learn anything important of Zodiark or their plans, no, but he found a great many things of personal interest in the Convocants’ offices. The offices of leaders, of normal men and women who led a city, who had day to day work and the like. It was the remains of a tragedy, like walking into an empty building after all its inhabitants had died and seeing the things they left behind. To discover Emet-Selch was a historian like him, a chronicler of people and their stories was...fascinating, and he tried to speak with the man when he returned briefly before the final confrontation, but got knocked around a bit for his troubles.
He did briefly meet an aware shade while he was licking his wounds, a man named Hythlodaeus, and they spoke briefly. It was an interesting and sad little conversation, one he intends to keep to himself.
He was still able to, despite his injuries, join the fray at the end, summon the Warrior some allies across time and space to fight Hades, and in the end...he got to go home, too. With his dear friend, his family. Who knew him and remembered him, remembered G’raha Tia. Those who had--- those whose story he had always been part of, even if he had forgotten it. And that was the greatest gift, if he were to be selfish: that the First and Source were safe was wonderful, and he was blessed to know that the people of the Crystarium were safe, but...to have that knowledge, to know that he was a part of a hero’s story at long last, and had ever been...it meant the world to him.
As of now he’s working on a way to help get the other Scions home, or maybe open a permanent way between the worlds, and trying to write down all he’d learned in Amaurot, as well as this tale, and wondering if he couldn’t ask one of the Warriors to go back and bring him more records from the illusory city. And maybe trying to get used to wearing his hood down? He has much to do, still! Not that he minds doing it.
Since we might as well get the most spoilerific things out of the way, first, we’ll talk about G’raha Tia.
G’raha was born into a small clan of Miqo’te, the G tribe (or a subset of the G tribe, really, a small pocket of them), who made their home in a section of the Twelveswood. As mentioned, the eye he was born with --- by the time he came around only one in every generation had it --- made him shunned by his fellows in his age group and those above, save for his father; his father had the Eye as well; once shunned, he was now the Nunh like his father before him, and he knew all the stories passed down from father to son in the tribe, and passed them on to G’raha himself, knowing he would need them.
Unlike his father and so on, G’raha wasn’t content to simply keep the history of his tribe and the Allagan Eye safe, to become Nunh and pass it on to whichever of his kids had the Eye. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how, and why, and who, and all the answers the stories never gave. He broke his fast on all the books he could get his little hands on, learning as much as he could of Allag, and reading stories of heroes and faerie tales in the hopes that maybe one of them would tie back to his bloodline and his legacy.
Obsessed with legends and heroes and history, the 13 year old boy set off on his own to try and learn what he could, try and discover his past and his legacy. Even if this was a terrible idea, beacuse he didn’t even know how to fight, since his father only taught him his tribe’s histories and stories, too busy and not thinking he’d need anything else, and his mother was distant at best --- all he had was a pack of sandwiches and storybooks and not much else.
He ended up making his winding, wandering way all the way through Coerthas, before ending up running afoul of a few nasty beasties in the Forelands. The hunters there picked him up, and found a bright and excited child, eager to learn and with a font of knowledge of all sort of odd things, wanting to know as much as he could of the world. They taught him to use a bow and he stayed with them for a few months, but as soon as he learned of Sharlayan, he took right off to the city of learning, knowing that it was there his destiny lay, there he’d learn what he wanted.
He found his way into the care of Louisoix Leveilleur after that, and then into the care of Urianger Augurelt, who along with his childhood friend Moenbryda was in charge of the young pack of Archons-to-be that included Thancred Waters, Y’shtola Rhul, Papalymo Totolymo, and ‘Yda’ Hext. He arrived not long after Thancred himself had, and though the two young boys --- the orphan wharf rat from Limsa and the scruffy bookworm from the Shroud --- didn’t get on at first (there were a great many biting snarling scuffles), they became close as brothers. The Archons were his family, and he loved them, and loved his new home--- the first place he ever felt like he belonged, like people cared about him. He had ever felt his father had only cared about his son for the Eye, as the inheritor of his legacy, and not as a son, but here he felt like he was loved for G’raha.
He studied intensively, learning all he could and more of the Allagan empire, and though he was never able to uncover the secrets of the Eye, he learned all there was to know and then some of the empire from which it came. He too was granted the Archon marks when he earned them and came of age, and therefore along with the others his aging was halted forever; he was thrilled by this, as it would afford him the chance to have all the time in the world to find out his truth, his story, and record history as he had realized was his passion: to be the one to write the faerie tales and histories of heroes like those he so adored reading. Oh, his true dream was to be one of those heroes, or at least a part of their story, but failing that he would watch and observe and record it all in memory and on paper, for those who walked after to use to light their way, like the stories he’d read lit his.
When the Exodus happened, G’raha did not stay in Eorzea with the other Archons; instead, he traveled to join Galuf and Krile and the other Scholars of Baldesion to continue his own studies, though he kept in touch with Thancred via letters at times. He remained with them for fifteen years, studying and traveling.
When the Sons of Saint Coinach contacted the Scholars about the just unearthed Crystal Tower, G’raha nearly knocked several people over rushing to demand they send him, excited beyond measure. Of course they did, and he went out to meet Rammbroes, a senior Archon who led the Sons in Mor Dhona. He went to work studying the tower and helping with finding a way in....and then they met the Warrior of Light, sent along to help, and the rest --- to put it ironically --- is history.
And then the young man, his blood awoken, of the Royal line of Allag thanks to his ancestor, Desch, and the blood of Salina, the last princess, takes to the tower to sleep, and guard it until the future, where it will again become a beacon of hope. He hopes, anyway; and he hopes the Warrior’s deeds will be there in legend to greet him, a new star to join those that light his way forward.
the following prompts were taken from the novel deathless by catherynne m. valente, an american novelist & poet. the novel was loosely based on the tale of koschei the deathless, incorporating other elements of russian mythology, & setting it against the backdrop of the russian revolution. feel free to change the pronouns / prompts as you see fit, but be warned – below the cut, it’s quite long !
❛ the service of your body is not yours to give as you please. ❜
❛ you probably won’t survive. ❜
❛ go. run. don’t look behind you. ❜
❛ i have come for the girl in the window. ❜
❛ i will never be without information. ❜
❛ i will see him with his skin off before i fall in love. ❜
❛ if the world is divided into seeing & not seeing, i will always choose to see. ❜
❛ secrets are jealous things, permitting no fraternization. ❜
❛ no, it’s not like that, when magic comes. ❜
❛ magic does that. it wastes you away. once it grips you by the ear, the world gets quieter & quieter until you can hardly hear it at all. ❜
❛ the sight of it bruised my heart so that i cannot think about anything else. ❜
❛ i’ll be so quiet, i’ll never talk again. ❜
❛ keep me & obey me, for i am your husband, & i can destroy you. ❜
❛ i shall be clever, & i shall not let him go. ❜
❛ it is a new world, & we do not wish to be left behind. ❜
izzy806
dailybridgerton
