Work Text:
The Warrior of Light slammed the door of her room closed behind her a bit harder than she'd intended. The sound was shockingly loud, and seemed to hang in the silence that followed. She sighed gustily, and planted her back against the solid door, slowly sinking down to sit on the cool stone floor. She rubbed hard at her eyes, unsure whether it was emotion or sweat and grit that made them sting. It had been a long…. day? Week? It had been long. Just long. Every ilm of her body ached, A bone deep ache that even healing magics could not relieve. She had lost count of the injuries, bruises, scrapes, breaks, and burns that had been lifted from her skin by that healing magic, but the wounds still took their toll, on her mind and her soul, if not on her body.
The Warrior sighed, letting her head fall into her hands for a moment. The war efforts were moving steadily forward, but every victory came with a cost. Every step was a hard won battle, and she was just so tired. She blinked. Then blinked again. Had that been there before? On the floor next to her sat a slip of paper. How had she missed seeing it when she came in?
Turning the folded paper over in her hands, she could feel the fine texture of its surface. There was no seal affixed, but she closed her eyes and pressed the paper to her face, inhaling slowly. The scent of beeswax and strong tea filled her senses, momentarily drowning out the ache in a glow of comforting warmth. She knew who had slipped the page under her door even before seeing the elegantly spidering handwriting inside.
Beloved,
Well do I know that the hour is like to be quite late upon thy arrival and reading of this missive, but it would be my great honor to assist thee to thy rest, shouldst thou require. Thou art likely knitting thy brow at the very thought of rousing me from my chamber, but fret not. I insist.
Also, kindly refrain from slamming thy door. Thou knowest how much it irks Tataru, and I would hate for thee to catch a lecture so soon upon thy return.
Faithfully,
U.
The Warrior sighed. He wasn’t wrong, she really could use the help getting cleaned up and out of her armor. How did that man always manage to anticipate her needs? With a pained grimace, the Warrior levered herself back to her feet. She let her eyes wander once again over each line of the ink on the page in her hand, the remnants of her foul mood dissipating like the last ragged shreds of clouds in the wake of a storm. The Warrior carefully folded the paper, and tucked it into a small hidden pocket inside her satchel. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pulled open the heavy door, and stepped out into the empty hall, careful not to slam the door a second time.
The hall was deserted, but the sconces high on the walls still glowed softly, ensuring that she would not fall over her own feet in the dark. The Warrior reached out a hand, lightly brushing the familiar roughness of the sandstone wall as she passed. The stone was still comfortingly warm from the day's heat, even though the sun had long since dipped below the horizon.
Even moving at her present stiff and exhaustion mired pace, it only took the Warrior a few moments to reach the door she sought. She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung softy open before she could. The warrior frowned, tilting her head back to regard the tall Elezen man filling the doorway before her.
“How did you know?” she asked simply.
“Truly, it taketh no great skill to discern the rhythm of thy tread from that of the many armored folk who wander these halls at such an hour.”
Though his words were light, the Warrior couldn’t help but notice that even in jest, he never let slip the cool impassivity that had marked nearly all of the conversations they’d ever shared. Her musing was cut short though, as he stepped aside to usher her into his chamber. While in many ways the same as her own, a sizeable stone room, fitted with simple but serviceable furniture, Urianger's room felt much more home-like than hers. Cushions, papers, and books littered nearly every horizontal surface lit by the warm glow of the lamp on the table. It wasn’t that the place was untidy, necessarily, but rather that it was busily and comfortably occupied.
Gently taking the Warrior’s hand, he steered her tired steps through to the private lavatory hidden in a screened alcove. There was already a wooden stool waiting for her, and Urianger motioned for her to be seated. The Warrior sank gratefully onto the sturdy seat, as the razor sharp edges of fatigue came creeping back. She closed her eyes, allowing her companion to set about his ministrations.
He began by loosening and removing her boots, still stiff and heavy with caked grime. The Warrior winced, as her feet were pulled free. She hadn't realized just how sore her feet were, until they became a focal point for her attention. Undeterred, Urianger peeled away her stockings next, letting her feet rest on his knees as he sat on the floor before her. As each stocking was removed, he took a moment to gently massage the soles of her battered feet. The warrior couldn't be entirely certain, but she suspected that he was also infusing the slightest whisper of aether into his touch, to smooth away the bruises and blisters that she'd earned.
The Warrior opened her eyes, to find her gaze met by Urianger's solemn honey-colored stare. His hands had stilled, resting lightly on the tops of her feet, which still rested in his lap.
"If thou wouldst permit me?" The question trailed off, as he shifted slightly to indicate her armor.
"Oh. Of course." The Warrior stammered, momentarily overtaken by a wave of bashful embarrassment. She had never been one for shyness or particular modesty when it came to her skin, but she found herself blushing furiously all the same. What made this feel different? It wasn't as though it would be the first time that one of her friends had helped her out of her armor.
When the Warrior risked another glance at Urianger, the coolness had all but vanished from his face. His hands still moved at a gentle and unhurried pace, but his eyes seemed somehow softer than before. He moved her feet to the floor, and shifted to kneel at her side. With the difference in their height, his eyes were nearly level with hers in this position.
With deft fingers, Urianger untied laces, and loosened buckles, until he was able to lift the heavy cuirass over her head, stripping away the layers of padded garments in the same motion. The Warrior let out an involuntary hiss of pain, as the movement pulled at the jagged wound over her ribs, and the myriad bruises sustained where her armor had taken the bite out of the blows shed received. Having grown accustomed to the level of beating her body could take, she was well aware that the wounds weren't anything particularly life threatening. That knowledge, however, did not prevent the pain that lanced through her senses like hot knives.
The process was much the same for removing her trousers, down to her smallclothes. However, as she stood, balanced on a single aching foot, trying to wrest the other free of the stiffly armored tangle of clothing, her balance wavered. The Warrior’s hands flew out in search of something to anchor her against what would surely be a painful landing when her already sore bones met the unforgiving stone of the floor. In her panic to grab onto whatever she could, the Warrior’s outstretched and grasping hand met Urianger’s shaggy grey-white hair. Even through the haze of her panic, she felt his sudden shocked stillness as she clasped a fistful of his hair, and heard his sharp intake of breath.
Steadying herself, the Warrior put her freed foot back on the floor, and loosened her grip on her companion's locks. She could feel the hot blush that rose again to her cheeks, and was fleetingly grateful that he'd not turned to meet her eyes. Urianger knelt, still as a stone statue, holding her discarded armor. The Warrior ran her fingers lightly through his hair, in a mostly futile attempt to settle the strands back into place. His eyes were closed, lips pressed into a thin line.
"I'm so sorry!" The Warrior apologized. "I just… I didn't want to fall, and… I'm sorry."
"Nay," he said, a slight catch in his voice, "tis no fault of thine." As the shocked tension ebbed from his posture, he reached up to catch the wrist of the hand still fumbling to fix his mussed hair. He drew her hand down the side of his face, in a slow caress, and pressed a kiss into the palm, before settling it gently on his broad shoulder. "Permit me to be thine anchor."
Urianger carefully set her dirty armor aside, before turning his attention back to the battered Warrior of Light. The Warrior watched as those kind golden eyes appraised every ilm of her form, taking in the bruises and scrapes, assessing which were most in need of his healing touch. Her heart sank in her chest as she watched the ghost of a playful smile leave his face, brow knitting with concern, as he took in the wound in her side.
As the Warrior watched, a softly golden glow began to flit around her companion’s finger tips. For a brief moment, the thought occurred to her to wonder whether the magic matched his eyes because he chose to coordinate, or whether his eyes had come to match the color of his magic, because it was such an intrinsic part of his being. Had they ever been any other color? Her musing was interrupted as he began skimming his fingers lightly over her injuries, fingers deftly seeking out each of her hurts, and repairing the damage they found.
When he reached the larger wound, she felt his hands shift. Where before his touch had been feather light, now he placed the palm of the glowing hand against the injury, pressing firmly, as if to staunch the flow of blood. His free hand braced against her opposite hip, holding her gently but firmly in place. She sucked in a breath, as the pressure on her wounded side increased. She could feel the warmth of the magic, knitting her flesh back together under Urianger’s practiced touch.
“There now, that should see thee in better stead.” His hands still rested lightly on her hips, having at least momentarily finished traversing her battered form. “Shall we see thee into the bath?”
The Warrior noted the playful glint in his eye as he mentioned the bath. She was already mostly undressed, but somehow the thought of removing the remaining garments in his presence made her blush once more. The deep tub with its lazily steaming water did look awfully appealing though. Damn that man. She nodded once. “Yes, please.”
Though she was already feeling much better, she was grateful for Urianger’s steadying hand, as she stood, and stripped out of her smallclothes. Whether by magic, or by careful mundane contrivance, the water was the perfect temperature, as she sank in up to her chin.
Ever the thoughtful companion, Urianger moved the stool she had recently been occupying over to rest near the tub’s edge, and sat upon it himself. From a nearby shelf, he retrieved a sponge and a bar of soap that smelled of orange blossoms and honey. The Warrior arched an eyebrow at this, but he said not a word, as he wet the sponge, and began to lather soap over her skin. She could see that the small smile had returned though, and she let herself be lulled by the warm water and gentle touch.
When the last of the dirt and bruises had been washed from her skin and hair, Urianger stood, towel held out to receive her as she stepped from the bath. The cool night air pricked at her damp skin, but he was quick with the towel, wrapping her in a warm embrace of soft cloth. The warrior pressed her face against the chest of the man whose arms encircled her. For a moment, it was easy to forget why she was here, that they were fighting a war, and that tomorrow, she would walk back out onto the same battlefield all over again, the scars of the land mirrored on her body once again.
Urianger held her close for a long moment, before briskly toweling away as much of the damp as possible, and slipping a soft and shapeless silk shift over her head, settling it comfortably around her form. It was far too large for her, and the Warrior briefly wondered whether it was something he had procured with her in mind, or if it was from his own wardrobe. She was not left to ponder for more than a moment though, before she found herself once again being gently maneuvered through the small apartment.
“Come, thou shouldst rest while there is yet time.” His voice came from much nearer than she’d anticipated. She could feel the whisper of his breath on her neck as he spoke, and he ended the directive with a feather-light kiss planted in the hollow where her neck and shoulder met. An involuntary shiver slid over her frame, but she let herself be steered toward the only bed in the chamber.
Her companion turned back the covers, and all but lifted her onto the bed, drawing the blankets over her, as she settled in. The Warrior let her eyes drift closed, listening to the sounds of her dearest friend moving around his room, tidying a few things away, and eventually turning out the lamp.
A moment later, she felt the blankets shift again, as her companion joined her in the bed, careful not to disturb her. His much larger frame cradled hers, and she smiled in the darkness as he let one arm fall protectively over her, hugging her just a bit closer. She was sure that tomorrow would come too soon, but for now, she could rest safely, wrapped in the arms of the one she loved best.