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minarcana · 11 months

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Thancred smoothed a thumb side to side along the sheets of the bed in thought… it was more interesting that staring a hole into the wall waiting until his brain would let him sleep. He could hear Urianger reading behind him.

They’ve shared beds and makeshift sleeping places before in their youth… this felt different in so many ways.

He’d been pretending to sleep already when the Astrologian had come into the room, hoping that would ease the tension that had come with the offer of sharing the larger bed. Minfillia was given the “guest room” as her own, which was really just a space Urianger had been so thoughtful in putting together to give the girl privacy she has long been denied.

There was a couch in the main section of the cottage, but frankly the floor was more comfortable and Thancred would have continued to sleep on it until Urianger had caught him doing it the morning previous when the elezen had woken first by some curse of the twelve.

Now they were here.

Urianger attempting to read with the limited light of the room and Thancred pretending to sleep.

The Gunbreaker took a long inhale, and he could hear a page mid turn stall out behind him before Thancred rolled over and stared up at Urianger, already shaking his head as the other man opened his mouth to apologize for waking him.

“You didn’t—“ Thancred placated fingers streaming over the invisible line drawn down the bed, crossing the threshold to gently wrap a few fingers around Urianger’s wrist. He adjusted carefully, afraid if he moved too fast the man might just bolt, and moved both himself and Urianger a little so he could see the book too. “Light a candle… if you are to read, you may do so out loud.” Thancred reassured, a thumb smoothed against the soft inside of Urianger’s wrist as if he might still be able to feel the cool bands that rested there.

There was a long lull before Thancred spoke again with some shuffling for the Elezen to speak fire to the wick with care to read by.

“I adore your voice as I adore many things about you… surely you know this?” Thancred intoned, wondering what more he could do to share that swell of love and adoration that had sat in his chest for years for the other. “I wish you would not think yourself to blame so often,” Thancred wanted to reach out and smooth some of Urianger’s bangs back into their proper place, but he was feeling that urge to run he thought might be present in Urianger, wondering if it had been his own heart this time beating so fast in fear

Urianger had meant to set up sleeping arrangements for more than just Minfilia, but she had taken priority and then he had simply… been distracted by more important happenings. Making a bedroom for her that was welcoming and comfortable took precedence, and visiting the Crystarium to purchase supplies to do so takes some small amount of preparation. And if he were pressed about it, Urianger could not truthfully say he minded the fact there was only one other bed suited for occupancy.

He doesn't analyze the thought, or choose to acknowledge it at all, but the fact of the matter is that he would prefer if Thancred slept somewhere Urianger could keep an eye on him. There's a lasting anxiety that keeps prodding Urianger with imagining the future the Exarch told him of, where his friends lie dead, on top of acknowledging Thancred specifically has thrown himself into the most dangerous and tiresome path of them all, and hearing Thancred breathing eases Urianger's late-night worries.

There is also something he's well aware of that makes him extremely cognizant of the fact that sharing a bed would make Thancred physically closer to him than he's been in a while, and he could be forgiven for an accidental brush of skin. Even if that is rather selfish of him. That, he's come to terms with more than he has voicing his unnecessary worries about safety, as the former would probably sound like a dig at Thancred's capabilities and the latter merely an inconvenience.

As it is, Urianger sits on his bed, half reading a book and half absentmindedly listening to Thancred's breathing, in the dim light filtering from a muted table lamp that's barely enough to differentiate letters by. He doesn't want to wake Thancred, the other needs what sleep he can get. Urianger has heard the stories of his and Minfilia's journeying and sincerely doubts Thancred gets an even remotely acceptable amount of rest. So he stops mid-motion when Thancred inhales deeply, worried that movement from him or the bioluminescense of his nu mou-made night lantern was what roused him. Instead, Thancred shifts and grabs Urianger's wrist, stilling Urianger's worried attempt at adjustment immediately. “Ah?“ Thancred moves himself closely enough that he's leaning just a slight bit against Urianger, ostensibly looking down at the book in Urianger's lap.

”If… if thou shalt still commit thyself to rest for the evening.“ It's not the first time someone has implied to him that his voice is relaxing, though Thancred has not been one of those people afore this. It is incredibly distracting to work out that simple reply while Thancred's fingers shift against Urianger's unguarded inner wrist. Sir, please. He is doing his best to resist the urge to lean over, curl around Thancred and hold him to the constant feeling of affection for him that Urianger has realized since his settling in Il Mheg is just a part of himself now.

But that is an urge to resist. Urianger isn't sad over his certainty that Thancred is simply his friend, he's acknowledged that, too. A candle is procured, lit with the simplest of spells, and set on the table. Urianger debates if his urge to thread his fingers through Thancred's hair could be passed off as a generally amicable impulse. He's close, his head just barely a pressing weight against Urianger's side, and said urge is incredibly difficult to tamp back down. Just to touch him, a little bit, it would be fine if-- well, largely if Urianger were any other person, where a freedom of touch and gesture were less remarkable.

Thancred's voice coming back nearly startles him, Urianger lost enough in his own thoughts that he forgot Thancred was ostensibly waiting for him to do something. The choice of word Thancred makes is a jolt. Both times, 'adore' is a tugging feeling there towards his companion, Urianger's wide-eyed look of surprise and the beginning of an embarrassed flush about his ears just barely visible in the candle's glow. ”That which I know is….“ Not that?

That Thancred is his dear friend and companion and coworker, and they are not meant to have in other intentions toward one another, for they are coworkers and atop that Thancred's taste runs different from whatever category Urianger occupies. Urianger inhales deeply, holds his breath for a second, to marshal his thoughts. He has to choose his words, make exacting statements while his impulses are in turmoil. (With this undertones, is it not an invitation to reach out and touch Thancred as he wishes to? But invitations must be stated, less he misinterpret, and surely he misinterprets.) ”I knoweth only that which I am told.“

What are the many things, how does Thancred define 'adore'? One can adore a friend, a pet, one can adore a partner, too. If he misinterprets-- a series of words-for and aspects-of adoration (love) skims under his thoughts, almost voiced. (Would you like a list, Thancred, definition and example, for he could offer this whispered against the side of your neck, too embarrassed to look up but too fervent to stop?) ”And 'tis my fear that I may lose what I hold dear and hath tried my utmost to protect, should I overact.“

He does want to protect, both Thancred in general and his friendship in particular, his nearness and his ability to feel like he and Minfilia can rest in Urianger's care. This trust, he must keep above all else. There is a pause. Urianger leans down, close but not touching the other. “Thancred, if I asked thy permission to be close to thee, in touch or in emotion, what would thou grant me?” He doesn't quite know how he even would express himself in words, for all he's thought about and come to a simple acceptance of his thoughts he's never really needed to quantify them.

He has nothing more concrete to delineate with words other than that statement that he will take and perform whatever he is granted. He doesn't have exact words cut out and delineated, strung in neat sentences to express the tugging feeling that makes him want to hold Thancred against him, to become someone 'safe' and 'reliable' and to have attention he doesn't know how to ask for, either. Just tell him where the line is, so he can toe it, know his limits as to what would make Thancred step back and lose Urianger the trust required to have Thancred accept his protection.

#long post #the LONGEST post #THIS IS ONE THOUSAND WORDS LONG BECAUSE I AM NORMAL about URITHAN #jokes on thancred shb urianger actually knows what hes about #shb urianger was in il mheg for like 30 minutes alone with his thoughts and went 'oooohhhhh i love thaaancred that makes sense actually'#'time to never bring that up again outside of going ^u^ when he shows up'#urianger being on the offensive for once....#ic : urianger #asks #THANCRED & URIANGER | i touched your hand which has never slept #i could have put this behind a readmore. i could have. but i didnt.

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alvaar-aldaviir · 4 years

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Wondrous Tails: "There’s only one bed.”

Time Frame: Early ShadowBringers

Notes: I wrote too much crap before ‘Academician’ was finalized for English. For now I’m just going to take calling Alphi a Scholar to my grave cause it’s faster.

Got a bit long so it’s under the cut.

“Are you certain you don’t wish to carry on to Eulmore? Alternatively I’ve a contact in Wight as well and that would put us closer,“ Alphinaud suggested, though even with his own apparent reservations he wasn’t about to argue with the Warrior of Light.

“My head is pounding, it’s been daylight since I got here, and I’ve no idea when the right time to sleep is. So, before I end up in a place that will probably try to kill me statistically speaking, yes. I’d like to sleep. This your temporary place?” Alvaar asked, gesturing flippantly at the small but sturdy shack ahead of them.

“We’re here for diplomatic reasons Alvaar,” Alphinaud chided before perking up. “Ah, yes it is,” he replied cautiously.

“Looks good enough to me. Anywhere not in the open is fine. I don’t fancy waking up to teeth.”

Glancing at Alvaar again, the Scholar silenced his reflexive protest. More than anything he wanted to carry on to Eulmore. Where the last few months had seen his efforts to parlay stonewalled, seeing the Warrior of Light had been like a shot in the arm. Wherever Alvaar went, progress was never far behind so he didn’t doubt his plans would find fruition one way or another. Securing an alliance with Eulmore for the Crystarium would gain them malms in their crusade to free the First from its Calamity and help to secure the Source as well.

It would also avert the dark future Urianger had foretold and save Alvaar’s life in the process.

But another glance confirmed what he’d already noted a few times on their walk, and he had not seen Alvaar looking quite so haggard since his clash with Zenos. It would be foolish to deny him a moment of respite when it was available, but as he unlocked and shoved the door in, he couldn’t help the twitch of anxiety in his stomach at the humble abode. Little more than a single room with a bed, fireplace, small cooking stove, and a table he’d littered with various notes and papers.

Alvaar paced ahead as Alphinaud gestured him through, pausing with a squint as his eyes adjusted to the gloom after being in the perpetual rays of day. Looking about with a faint sniff he un-shouldered his bow and set about removing his gear with a tidy efficiency.

“Could use a good dusting,” he commented placidly, and despite everything it made Alphinaud chuckle.

“I’ve been a bit too busy in my efforts helping the poor and downtrodden to fetch a duster,” he replied wryly.

“Tsk. Rich boys seldom change in matters of cleaning,” Alvaar teased, and if not for the grin that followed it, he might almost have been offended.

Sinking to a seat on the edge of the bed, Alvaar began unlacing his boots with a faint sigh as the Scholar found himself a seat at the table.

Studying the floor a moment, Alvaar glanced up briefly. “There’s paw prints in the dust.”

Blinking a moment, Alphinaud looked away abruptly as he found a few of his old scribbled out notes suddenly extremely interesting. “I’ve found a few spare moments to study,” he deflected cooly.

“A lot of paw prints.”

“Carbuncles pace Alvaar, you know this.”

“They stop here and there’s no sign of bedding down on the floor but plenty that suggest they’ve jumped.”

The Scholar pointedly kept looking away as his ears started to burn, shuffling a few papers about. “Yes, well, it gets cold some days and smoke attract sin eaters or unwanted attention. Furthermore, I’m lead to believe many a hunter keeps a hound for protection.”

A soft amused sound left the Bard as he pulled his bow into his lap to inspect. “Sure,” he answered noncommittally a moment, testing the string with an audible twang. “... so when do I get to borrow one for a cuddle companion?”

Scoffing and tossing a hand at him just made Alvaar laugh good-naturedly.

“Ah don’t get upset. If I was any good at magic I’d absolutely keep a carbuncle around. They’re precious.”

The answering grumble preceded a brief silence Alvaar used to wax the bowstring. It was a familiar sound, the low scrape humming faintly in the room. A place that had so often been filled with silence...

“It’s been... solitary,” Alphinaud states offhandedly, still leafing through his papers.

There’s a pause before Alvaar goes back to work. “Yea. I can relate...” he replies softly.

It’s enough to have him meeting pale lavender eyes after a moment, and though it’s been over a year he understands it in an instant all the same. In that same nameless and wordless way they could exchange a look in Doma and be on the same page. The unspoken understanding he’d long only shared with his twin.

Loneliness hadn’t been his burden alone it seemed...

They resume their own work without a word but the quiet isn’t uncomfortable; instead it ranges between them with an air of easy familiarity.

It’s the soft repeated pops of his spine as Alvaar stretches that signal the Bards finished his maintenance routine.

“Finally ready for bed?” Alphinaud asks, flipping through one of the tomes he’d since borrowed from the locals, hardly surprised when the only reply he gets is a grunt of affirmation. “Rest as long as you need. I’ll keep myself busy in the meantime,” Alphinaud finished, offering a quiet smile over the book in his lap.

He’s unsurprised to find Alvaar fixing him with an unreadable stare, but it doesn’t stop the nervousness from bubbling in his stomach anyway.

“You’re not going to rest?” Alvaar asks.

“I’m fine. I got plenty of sleep earlier.” It’s the continued scrutinizing stare that has him waving it off with a hasty, “Really! You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I always worry about you,” Alvaar replies bluntly, and it’s only the brief surprised blink that says he hadn’t meant to say it. Shaking his head with a sigh, he thumps onto his back on the cheap mattress and stares at the ceiling. “... It’s that there’s only one bed isn’t it?”

Even without Alvaar staring at him, the Scholar feels the flush burning on his face. “H-hardly. I would simply rather you sleep well and if I need to rest myself I’ll make do.”

“Oh please,” Alvaar huffs sarcastically. “It’s not even the first time we’ve shared sleeping space you baby.” The automatic affronted huff it earns has him meeting brilliant blue eyes as the Scholar glowers faintly.

Alphinaud had expected some retort. Perhaps even a bit of teasing at his sensibilities. He had not been expecting the Bard to rise to his feet and tromp over before hefting him up over a shoulder like a a bag of popotos. Curse it all did he really weigh that little?!

In the least he’d managed not to squeak, even if he still scrabbled for purchase like a surprised house coeurl with similarly ineffectual noises of protest. But even as he tenses in expectation of being tossed to the bed, he instead finds himself set down with surprising care. There’s a brief moment where Alvaar’s face is close to his and even as his stomach flips with something suspiciously more than vertigo at the abrupt movement, the dark shadows under Alvaar’s eyes are more striking still.

Everything about him is exhausted and that bothers him more than the embarrassment. He almost reaches for him on instinct until Alvaar thumps down beside him heavily, resting on his side and laying with his back to him.

“Sleep, or read, or... whatever,” Alvaar murmurs, words quiet and weighed with guilt. “Just please don’t go.”

It’s far from the first time Alphinaud has found himself sharing the same bed space with the Bard, though the majority of them Alvaar didn’t seem to remember given he’d been hopelessly drunk and lonely. Perhaps that’s what tips him off to what the Bard is looking for, as it was only ever when he’d drank himself into a stupor mired in the heartbreak of his deceased lover that Alvaar would ever admit he needed contact. That the stalwart and stoic Hero of Eorzea needed the reassurance of another’s touch. But usually when he did he was wrapped around the Scholar protectively, warding off threat and cold alike...

Seeing his back like this was honestly rather disconcerting. Like the many times he’d watched the Warrior of Light march into danger only he could face and left him behind to fret and hope and wait.

But this time there was no Primal threat or great danger. This time there wasn’t anything to stop him and no excuse to keep his distance.

So he pushed back his anxiety and reached out anyway. Just as he had before in a myriad of other places. The same as the Bard has done for him repeatedly, be it a steadying hand or the familiar ruffle to his hair.

Alvaar doesn’t jolt when a palm presses to his back, but he does go very still.

“Give me a moment? You’ll want the shades drawn to help you sleep,” Alphinaud murmurs, only moving after Alvaar gives a faint nod. Slipping to his feet he draws the wood slated shades and curtains, casting the room into a dim shade it takes him a moment to reorient to. Removing his poncho, he drapes it over the back of the chair and quickly hangs up the black leather jacket and cape Alvaar had stripped off earlier. All the while he can feel the Bards stare at his back.

Again steeling his nerve, he makes a shooing gesture at the Bard while he steps out of his boots, giving Alvaar a faint push when he doesn’t move. The low huff of annoyance is at least amusing before Alvaar shifts back to make room for him and stilling again as the Scholar pulls the covers up before slipping in beside him.

He’s fit up against Alvaar’s chest in a moment, hesitating just a second before looping an arm around his waist. There’s a long pause that he spends hoping and maybe even praying he hasn’t overstepped some new boundary in the year and a half they’d been apart. Surely he hadn’t? Alvaar had pulled him close like this many times before in the past so he couldn’t be-

The feel of a strong arm settling around his back and a warm sigh ruffling his hair quiets the fears and an abrupt sense of relief surges through him.

“Thank you.” It’s soft, barely a whisper, but the Scholar hears it all the same.

“Anytime. Get some rest Alvaar. There’s much work to be done,” he murmurs, unable to stop the faint grin as the Bard gives a soft snort.

“There’s always much work to be done,” Alvaar grumbles good-naturedly and just a little sleepily. Another slow sigh leaves him, muscles steadily easing and unwinding as another comfortable silence spans between them as the Bard drifts off to sleep.

It’s quiet here, Alphinaud thinks to himself. Quiet and warm and familiar listening to the steady soft breaths of the Bard. Same as it had been in Gridania. Same as it had been in Gyr Abania and Ishgard. A gentle sort of reassurance and protection found him when Alvaar was nearby. A feeling that made even the most frightening of enemies and worries fall away.

Gods but he’d missed this. The calm air of resolve and skill that made impossibilities seem perfectly in reach. That served as the solid base for him to continue striving ever forward to reach his dream.

And perhaps even to be worthy of the Bards unwavering faith and diligent protection...

Fingers clutching against the back of Alvaar’s shirt he pressed the faintest bit closer now that the Bard was asleep. Selfishly soaked in that warmth and comfort. A heat that kept even the bitterest chill at bay, even partially summoned as he was, almost more aether than flesh and blood. Where food, drink, and even sleep were little more than a passing nuisance and temperature no longer bothered him as it once did.

A great many things bothered him less on the First, as if leaving his body behind had left many of the instinctive desires as well.

But wrapped up in Alvaar’s arms, hearing the soft and steady beat of his heart against his ear... it eases something in him that he’d almost forgotten. Quiets the doubts and settles that feeling of loneliness that had been gradually growing in him as the days had passed by in the First.

Traveling to a foreign land wasn’t a new experience for him, the most difficult part had been learning the new terminologies and getting by without a reputation to work with. But as the days turned to weeks, turned to months...

His work was an important distraction, but even in Kholusia, worlds away from the Source, he’d still looked up on occasion half expecting to see the Bard on the horizon.

And then one day, there he was. And while he’s made many acquaintances and friends on the First, it wasn’t quite the same as the kinship he felt with the Scions and even less the unbreakable bond he’d forged with the Warrior of Light. Inducted at the same time and having endured trials across the Source side by side.

It was rather like the relief he felt seeing Alisaie again after her many solo adventures. A heartfelt happiness that they were alive and well. An easing of the walls he’d had to put up as a visitor from the Source.

Alvaar feels more like home than anywhere else and the sudden guilty realization of it doesn’t keep him from tightening his grip. It doesn’t stop the low humming dread that had lingered in his stomach since they’d first heard Urianger’s vision and the death that it foretold.

It doesn’t stop him from thinking how eerily close Alvaar’s life teeters on the edge if they fail to save the First. The haunting memory of the Bard staring sightlessly into a snow swirled abyss and leaned so far over wrought iron rails it had made his heart freeze in his chest.

The steady pulse that beats back against his fingers where he’d unknowingly placed his palm to Alvaar’s chest is a comfort he couldn’t explain. A slow and gentle tempo that soothes his sudden worried thoughts.

No, he’d been there once before to drag Alvaar back from the brink of death. This time, he mouths the words to himself like a silent oath, this time would be no different. This time he would keep up. He would be there with his magic to offer aide and protection. They would save the First and then the Source and live to see peaceful days again.

And with Alvaar once more standing resolute at his side, it felt more a matter of time than happenstance.

#alphinaud #alphinaud leveilleur #wol #warrior of light #Alvaar Aldaviir #ff14 #ffxiv #MyWriting #writing #wondrous tails #wondrous tails of ffxiv #sfw #oc

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