Chapter Text
Reidun, Warrior of Light and Darkness, arrives at the Bookman’s Shelves’ to find Urianger grumbling, hunched over his usual table with his head in his hands. In front of him there’s a generous spread of books and scrolls, stacked on top of each other and haphazardly gathered in little piles.
While the sight itself isn’t uncommon to her, the way he doesn’t acknowledge her entering is — even more unusual that he lets her pad around and make herself at home without so much as lift his head.
Reidun sets her pack aside, takes great care in setting down her weapon and then moves to fill the kettle, tidying up the space as she goes.
After the Exarch’s reveal and Urianger’s subsequent apology their friendship had only strengthened, even as he told her he would understand if she never wanted to talk to or see him again. In her eyes there had been nothing to apologize for , had tried to tell him as much with the Light roiling inside of her.
But it had been before they plunged into the depths of the Tempest and her grip on herself had been brittle and thin — and so Urianger assured her that should she change her mind after all was said and done he would not hold it against her.
Reidun didn’t change her mind and as far as she knew she never would; at least not because of this, and slowly, surely they started spending more time together. At first because she was trying to convince him she did not resent him, after a while simply because she enjoyed his company.
Once or twice a week she made habit of stopping by the Bookman’s Shelves’ with the latest gossip from the Crystarium and reports from the others, not to mention refills of whatever odds and ends Urianger never asked for but she knew needed replacing.
As he worked on the solution to transporting the Scions back over to the Source she wrote in her journal, carried out various requests in Il Mheg no one else could or simply napped on the large couch she insisted he drag down from the attic.
Once she has two cups of strong tea ready in hand she makes her way over to Urianger, precariously putting his cup down on a tiny island free of papers and holding hers close to her chest.
“Hello,” she starts and Urianger turns his head toward her, looking like a ruffled owl.
“Ah.” He looks at the tea in front of him. “Mine apologies and mine thanks — I trusted you knew thy way around.”
“I do,” Reidun muses, “and yet while I know you aren’t the greatest host, such a welcome is pretty far below even your standards.”
Urianger slides an old-looking parchment over to where she stands, completely ignoring what she just said. “Art thou able to ascertain the words of this scroll?” He asks gravely.
The tone of his voice sets her on edge and she gingerly picks it up, brows furrowed in concentration. Steeling herself for whatever it is she is about to read she looks it over — and finds nothing but a simple trade agreement.
Reidun hesitates, racking her brain over the places mentioned and whether they’re important or not.
“I can,” she settles for, still unsure what he’s getting at. “It is a trade agreement?”
“Knowest thou what I see?” With his lips set in a grim line, Urianger waits for her response.
“I… Do not, Urianger. What do you see?”
“Whilst I am intimately aware of the contents within this scroll — and the other books on this table, besides — all my minds eye deigns to show me art numerous images of crudely drawn leafmen.”
It all clicks into place.
“Pixies?” Reidun asks, already knowing the answer.
“Pixies.” Urianger confirms with a weary sigh, face again settling into his hands.
“I thought you had learned how to ensure their cooperation,” she says it carefully but even so Urianger’s shoulders slump forward even further as another sigh leaves him. She gingerly places a hand on his shoulder, giving it an awkward pat.
“So I had and yet mine careful ministrations to ensure it remained so hath been thwarted by the cruel hands of fate.”
“Awfully dramatic, that,” she tries very hard not to sound amused in the face of Uriangers’ distress but it is hard not to. He is sulking and it is, quite frankly, adorable.
“So what is it they are trying to do this time?” As soon as she asks a third sigh is heaved, heavier than any of the others.
“The pixies art striving to find me a… partner. Add to that, that they art not pleased with mine lack of cooperation.”
A sputtering outburst of laughter and two more cups of tea together on the couch later, Urianger has appraised Reidun of the situation so far. Ryne had been by for a visit and while Urianger was out running an errand she had taken it upon herself to entertain the pixies outside of his house.
Namely, with reading from the latest book that Reidun had brought over from the Source — she feels a small twinge of guilt at that — one that covered an epic tale of romance and adventure in the face of adversity.
Touched by the saga the pixies had turned their attentions to poor, lonely Urianger, who had no hero or heroine by his side. Ryne, unaware of the havoc she was about to wreck on Urianger’s careful routines had responded that it was a wonderful idea because everyone should have someone to rely on.
“You need something stronger than tea,” Reidun says once she stops laughing and Urianger gives a helpless little chuckle. She counts that as a small victory, something softening in her chest when he looks at her with those golden eyes.
“Indeed,” Urianger says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hath begged, I hath pleaded — mine research into our condition needs to proceed apace and yet I hath naught to show for mine efforts. The pixies art a headstrong folk and Ryne an all too compelling storyteller.”
“At this point the easiest thing is probably to just find a partner.”
Urianger huffs at her words and she smiles innocently in response.
As if on cue the doors to his house slam open and two pixies dance inside, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. A leafman reluctantly shuffles in behind them, decorated liberally with white and yellow flowers larger than dinner plates.
“[Beloved bookman], we have come with a suitable [life-friend]!”
“Ah,” is all Urianger manages when he turns around to look and the leafman seems to wilt under his scrutiny. Reidun bites back yet another laugh — this whole situation is unprecedented and so, so dumb.
While Urianger tries to eviscerate the strange offering through glare alone, one of the pixies flutter over to Reidun, tilting their head with open curiosity. They’re made up of earthy, green colors and seem unusually small for their kind.
“You are Titania’s [sapling], are you not? I am Sul Oul.”
“Kenn Ann!” The other pixie, draped in lilac flower petals, sing-songs as they make a lazy lap around the leafman, the flowers growing even larger in their wake.
“Are you also here to worry over the [bookman]?” Sul Oul flies in close enough that they almost collide with the tip of Reidun’s nose and she goes a little cross-eyes trying to keep eye contact. “We cannot get him to find a [life-friend] no matter how hard we try! We’re almost thinking of asking Tyr Beq to weave him a [forever dream]!”
“He won’t listen to us! It’s no fun!” Kenn Ann whines, completing another slow lap.
Urianger stirs from his silent battle with the leafman and opens his mouth to protest — but an idea so brilliantly, unequivocally bad strikes Reidun and she holds her hand up to silence him.
“Actually, I am Urianger’s partner.”
Urianger stills next to her and it feels as though her heart is about to escape her chest — but there is no going back now, with the interest sparkling in the pixies' eyes. Never let it be said that the Warrior of Light half-asses something, she thinks, shifting closer to the astrologian.
“You?” Sul Oul has decided to perch on her finger and kicks their feet in obvious delight. “Why would the [bookman] not tell us?”
Reidun wets her lips. It is all up to Urianger now; she’s not sure what he’ll think of it, if he’ll play along or hang her out to dry. But then a warm hand slips around her waist and Urianger tugs her a little closer.
“My lady asked me not to divulge the details unnecessarily or without her company,” Urianger says smoothly, as if he was in on it all along, voice steady and sure. “This is why I hath rejected all of thy suggestions; not to offend, but for the way my heart already belongs to another.”
“Hmm…” Kenn Ann flies closer, tilting their head. “Hm hm hm…”
Urianger tightens his hold on her and an unbidden thrill winds its way down her spine and curls in her belly; she tells herself it is due to how long ago it was she was touched by another in such a way and has nothing to do with how his large palm seems to fit perfectly around her hip.
The silence stretches on until Sul Oul starts to clap their hands, giggling with delight.
“So wonderful! This will be a lot more fun! Please tell me you are staying for a long, long time,” Sul Oul leaves Reidun’s finger with an elegant twirl and takes Kenn Ann by the hand. “We simply must celebrate this!”
“Might I humbly ask if thou wouldst consider dispelling the glamors placed on my books now?” Urianger asks it mildly but she can pick up on the subtle strain in his voice, the way he holds his breath as the two pixies deliberate.
Kenn Ann leans in and whispers something in Sul Oul’s ear and then they don twin grins, Kenn Ann snapping their fingers.
“Done!
“I thank thee,” Urianger bows his head at them and if the pleased sound they make is anything to go off, it was the right thing to do.
“We will be back,” Sul Oul promises before they fly out of the door, the leafman shimmering before it disappears into thin air. The flowers that adorned it fall down on the ground, spreading a sweet scent into the room.
Once they are absolutely certain the pixies aren’t coming back Urianger drops his hand from her waist and Reidun shuffles back, swiveling around to face him.
“I’m sorry —“
“Mine apologies —“
They look at each other and then Urianger makes a soft noise, motioning for Reidun to go first.
“I didn’t think,” she admits sheepishly, “Urianger, I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Nay,” a half-smile graces his lips, tinged with guilt. “’Tis I who ought to apologize. In truth I felt a heavy weight leave mine shoulders once I understood thy goal and the pixies acquiesced with mine request. Still so, ‘tis not fair to involve thee in a mess not of your making.”
Technically I brought the book, rests at the tip of her tongue as Urianger continues.
“Once the thought took root that this may be a way for me to get back to mine research, I was fully prepared to play along.”
“I could threaten with Titania…” Reidun suggests but Urianger shakes his head.
“Nay. ‘Twould be little more than an added challenge to them; the moment thou tooketh thy leave the torment wouldst increase tenfold.”
“So,” she breathes, a flutter in her stomach she refuses to acknowledge. “We’re doing this?”
“If thou art amenable to it,” Urianger smiles, soft and gentle as he touches her elbow, a quick gesture before his hand falls away. “In five days we art expected to appear at the Crystarium and summarize our findings. If thou can see thyself putting up with me until then? After that… I pray that the pixies hath found other entertainment once I come back.”
Reidun spends the night in the room she usually takes when visiting, watching the light that spills in underneath the door. Urianger had been in high spirits when he came to bid her goodnight, tension gone from the lines of his body. He’d draped a heavy quilt over her and blown out the candles; it is only a good while after he left that she realizes that he effectively tucked her in.
The joy he feels at being able to get back to work is plain to see. The moment they agreed to follow through with their deception he had thrown himself into his books, quietly muttering to himself, paying no heed to her presence as he did.
Even so he had taken the time to see her to bed, inquiring quietly if she required more blankets, if he should set the lights lower or perhaps quiet down.
Such a sweetheart, she thinks fondly.
Five days. If she could play the role of Alphinaud’s artist assistant with their lives on the line, then she ought to be able to play at being Urianger’s ‘life-friend’ for a couple of days. There is a nagging thought in the back of her mind that she is stubbornly ignoring, one that whispers that this could be far more dangerous to her heart than she’d like to admit.
Nonsense. This will be fine.
As Reidun drifts off she has no idea of how not-fine she is about to be, rocked to sleep by blissful ignorance.
Outside of her assigned room Feo Ul is staring Urianger down — had she been awake she might have heard faint conversation through the door, might even have caught Urianger’s embarrassed cough or Feo Ul’s twinkling laughter.
Naturally it goes wrong right away.
When the sun rises Urianger is still hunched over and writing furiously so Reidun opts for leaving him be, picking her weapon up and setting out. There’s a hit out on a creature called Vulpangue — the reason she had come to Il Mheg in the first place — and given that she is one of few in the hunt clan who can reach it she figures she might as well.
It isn’t until the sun stands high in the sky that she returns to the Bookman’s Shelves’, a sinking feeling in her stomach the closer she gets to the house. Someone is making an awful racket and she has a feeling she knows who, hurrying up the last few steps.
“No good, no good, no good! ” Sul Oul cries, beating their thighs with their fists. “A [life-friend] is supposed to make you happy! That’s what the [blessed child] taught us! We wanted to have fun and see romance !”
Urianger is standing helplessly by the road, bound by flowering vines from his knees and down.
Kenn Ann is lazily making the flowers open and close, tapping Sul Oul on the shoulder when they see Reidun approach.
“What is… Going on?” She squints at Urianger and then at the pixies, dropping the sack of Vulpangue parts she had planned on bringing back for verification on the ground.
Sul Oul’s eyes narrow in suspicion when they see her and Urianger makes for speaking before closing his mouth again, shaking his head in a way that can only be described as exasperated.
“The [blessed child] read the book for us and we were delighted ,” Kenn Ann sniffs, “but you two are no fun. Sleeping apart, eating apart! This one couldn’t even say where you were when we came to visit.”
“I might hast missed thy departure,” Urianger admits sheepishly, scratching at his beard. “Our honored guests came around when I was in the midst of a nap.”
It takes tremendous effort not to hide her face in her hands.
“You didn’t fool us, did you? Trick us about true love?” And as big, pearl-like tears start to fall from Sul Oul’s eyes Reidun curses herself for bringing the twelves-damned book and Ryne for reading it out loud in Il Mheg of all places.
“I didn’t.“ Reidun hastens to reassure Sul Oul, crouching down in front of the sniffling pixie and gently wiping their tears with the pad of their finger.
“Better not have,” Kenn Ann flies over to tug at a lock of her hair. “It would have grave consequences.”
The way they emphasize grave makes the headache that has been lurking around the corner come out in full force and with a helpless look at Urianger she thinks: wonderful. Just what we needed.
“We didn’t,” Reidun insists again and Sul Oul grabs onto her finger, nuzzling it. Their moods seem not unlike summer weather, fickle and ever-changing. Then again she supposed most pixies were like that; the task that seemed so incredibly easy to them last night is now shaping up to be a real challenge.
“There has been no deception on our end — I assure thee, we are [life-partners].” Uriangers deep voice cuts in and she prays the pixies can’t decipher the pleading note of it.
“You’re boring. Nothing like the stories the [blessed child] read for us.” Kenn Ann frowns and Urianger hisses when the vines around his legs tighten.
“Please —“ Reidun reaches for him and Kenn Ann tilts their head curiously; suddenly he is stumbling towards her, free from his restraints.
Sul Oul flutters away just in time for her to catch him and he murmurs a quiet thanks into her hair before righting himself. Muscle memory sees her step a healthy amount away from him and she thinks she hears the disapproving click of a tongue behind her.
“Bo—oring”, both pixies sing-song in unison before disappearing in a cloud of sparkles.
Urianger rushes inside and swears, full of frustration. Peeking around him she sees that the leafmen on the pages are all sneering.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call for Feo Ul?” Reidun asks for the umpteenth time and Urianger shakes his head, eyes flashing with an emotion she can’t quite place. Not a single book is legible for either of them this time around and their former triumph has been thoroughly deflated.
“I know I joked about it but I really thought you had a better relationship to the pixies. How come they are this — insistent?” Urianger ponders the question and then he exhales.
“First, I will admit that I hath been neglectful in my obligations towards the land. Knowing what fate awaits us unless we findeth a solution soon — I hath, ah, slacked off as Thancred would put it. They art much less inclined to be amenable when they feel as though I do not spend enough time on them. ‘Tis a hard balance to keep.”
She hums. “I can imagine. And yet you chose to settle here?”
Urianger’s lips quirk up.
“’Tis a beautiful land, is it not? Whilst mine thirst for knowledge doth not run as deep as Y’shtolas might, I could not pass up the chance to explore this place, to drink deep of it’s culture and knowledge, to commit to memory whatever I could to bring back with me to the Source.”
“Surprisingly romantic,” she muses and Urianger laughs.
“Aye, perhaps. The far more practical reason is the fact that one of the Lightwardens resides here and I was the best candidate for monitoring it.”
Companionable silence falls over them. Reidun wonders if she would have had the strength to admire the world as he did, had she been the one plucked from her body to labor in uncertainty for three years. His house is clearly well-loved and has been well taken care of during this time, not at all the dark and single room she thinks she might have created for herself.
She studies his hands, watches the shadows flicker and dance over them as the fire burns in the hearth. He’s tapping a quiet beat along his leg and more than once she catches his gaze stray to the pile of documents he had pulled out last night in his eagerness to get back to studying.
“Would you tell me about it? Il Mheg, I mean.”
If he’s aware that she’s trying to distract him he doesn’t let it show, folding his long legs up on the couch before speaking and she settles in to let his deep voice wash over her. Urianger tells her of Voeburt, of the pixie customs he loves and the ones he would rather avoid, weaves a rich tapestry of a land so clearly loved by him.
Night falls and his voice follows the sun down until it is little more than a rumble in his chest and she nearly falls asleep more than once, one arm slung over the top of the couch in a desperate bid to keep herself upright.
“— want to take thy rest?”
“Hm?” Reidun jerks upright only to find Urianger peering at her face, far closer than she remembers him being.
“I simply asked where thou wouldst prefer to take thy rest,” he murmurs and something catches in her throat at the way he says it, quiet and intimate.
Her heart sinks when she realizes they didn’t talk about their game plan going forward at all — she had planned to! But once Urianger got started she was loathe to interrupt and his voice had been so nice, as ever a soothing balm to her constantly overworked mind.
“I suppose we ought to sleep together now that we know that Sul Oul and Kenn Ann are somewhat keeping tabs on us. I still want to help…”
He hums in affirmation and looks at her, golden eyes glowing in the low light.
“Art thou alright with that arrangement then?” At her nod he stands up and in the blink of an eye her entire world shifts and she yelps, finding herself encased in a set of strong arms. Urianger starts to walk towards the stairs leading to his bedroom, annoyingly unfazed by the bridal carry as if it is no big deal and he does it every day.
When he sets her down on the bed it is so gentle she almost has to cover her face with her hands and when he says he’ll go fetch her blanket and pillow she turns her face into the mattress, swallowing down a very undignified scream.
Reidun doesn’t lift her head, not when Urianger drapes the blanket over her nor when the bed dips down to show that he has laid down in it, at a respectable distance away. Urianger must think she has fallen back asleep when he whispers goodnight but she most certainly hasn’t; she’s mostly wrestling with the knowledge that the timbre of his voice will haunt her for the rest of her life.
Only four days to go.
“My dear [sapling].”
Everything is hazy but if she squints she can make out the shock of orange that makes up Feo Ul. Reidun is pretty sure she’s dreaming, her body feeling like it’s floating as the pixie’s voice seems to come from all around her.
“You forgot to call for us, but that’s alright.” A sigh. A very benevolent one, as if she’s being forgiven. The landscape shifts around them and she’s so pleasantly warm, feeling like all of her is a big, dopey smile. “You will have good dreams and a lot of fun. Trust your lovely [branch] to know what you need even when you yourself don’t. You’re in our domain now.”
When she moves to reply she finds she has no mouth to reply with — but it doesn’t bother her. Nothing in this dream could bother her.
“[Sweetest wonders].” A giggle. “I will bestow them upon my dearest [sapling]!”
Reidun wakes up with her face pressed into Urianger’s collarbone. The sun has barely started to rise — her usual time to wake — and she has the distinct feeling that there is something she should remember.
With her nose scrunched up in concentration she reaches for the last lingering traces of her dream, only to have her eyes snap wide open in mortification when she registers just where she is. This instantly dispels whatever she might have recalled, all her attention drawn to the man half underneath her.
Her only saving grace is that Urianger is still soundly asleep, chest rising and falling with even breaths. With rising horror she notices the rolled up blankets he has put between them as a barrier and the way she has climbed over it in her sleep to attach herself to him like some sort of nightmarish barnacle.
We are supposed to pretend at being a couple, but I’m pretty sure this is taking it too far for him. Even as she thinks that she can’t help but notice how right it feels to slot against him like this, how solid and firm Urianger is underneath her. His sleeping robes are slipping off his one shoulder and she stares at the exposed skin, carefully pulling the fabric back up with a dry swallow.
The sweep of his lashes against his cheek and the bow of his thin mouth — she drinks it in for a moment longer than she should before she regretfully crawls back over to her side and finally out of bed, shuddering as her feet hit the cold floor.
He won’t mind, she tells herself as she steals a pair of over-sized slippers and makes her escape down to the kitchen, tossing a fire crystal into the hearth.
Reidun doesn’t want to admit how well rested she feels, especially doesn’t want to consider it might have anything to do with co-sleeping with someone she trusts so fully the way she does Urianger.
By the time he wakes up and shuffles down the stairs she has effectively banned any thoughts of the sort as well as managed quite a luxurious spread with the meager pickings of Urianger’s cabinets.
The astrologian yawns before greeting her with a raspy good morning.
“Not a morning person?”
“Nay,” he grumbles but he lights up at seeing the table set with dark bread, butter and jams, the scent of freshly brewed tea enveloping the room. Reidun plundered his cabinets for matching plates even — and while dried meat from her satchel hardly was anything exciting, slicing it nicely and plating it made a world of difference.
“Such a wondrous sight that doth greet mine eyes on this dewy morn’! A breakfast more befitting royalty than a knave such as I,” Urianger bows as he says it and she flusters so bad she nearly drops the mugs she’s holding.
“Don’t be silly,” she mutters and shoves one at him — a mistake, as it was, because their fingers brush and she is reminded of how she had woken up pressed against him all over again. “Just eat!”
He grins, slow and mischievous. It is the same grin he sometimes wore in the Waking Sands when he felt particularly clever, the one that even under his heavy hood and goggles made clear just how handsome he is.
Urianger takes a seat at the table; she pours him tea without thinking while he butters bread for the both of them.
It clicks into place with such ease that she almost feels as though they have been taking their breakfast this way together forever and when they sit side by side like this — her scribbling down notes for the day, him blinking awake little by little — she can almost believe they are a couple for real.