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astrology-bf · 4 months

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Mise en Place

It is said that great nations write their autobiographies in three manuscripts: the book of their deeds, the book of their words, and the book of their art. Yet it is the opinion of this author that a very crucial type of manuscript has been omitted from this list, that being a nation’s cookbook.

How a culture takes its meals communicates a good deal of both its history and geography: what food is eaten, naturally, as any student at Rissai-juku in the Doman Enclave could tell you that the eastern cereal staple grain (being rice) is very different from Eorzea’s present tuberous staple of popotoes. But the method of consumption can also indicate a lot of things, particularly what cutlery is used - or lack thereof, as with many dishes in Thavnair wherein naan or other bread is used in lieu of silverware. In Eorzea, the classic staple of a spoon and knife was later joined by the specifically (and according to contemporary sermons in Ishgard’s Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral, sinfully) Ul’dahn contrivance of the fork. But in the east the knife is largely absent at the table as a sign of hospitality and security, the cutlery of choice being a pair of chopsticks fashioned out of metal or of wood.

G’raha Tia had always had a very adventurous palate - sometimes extending to some rather unusual things, much to his family’s constant frustration when dealing with an energetic odd-eyed kit with rather grabby hands. And while he now (mostly) restricted his culinary experiments to actual food, the novelty of some new dish and some new method of consuming it never failed to spark his interest, and he would always prove most willing to give new food at least a little try. That he had something of a prodigious appetite proved something of a boon in this regard, though his family’s equally constant frustration with this facet of their son would certainly strain the definition of a ‘boon’.

Sadly fate, cruel mistress that she was, had inflicted a most terrible, awful, unspeakable of fortunes on G’raha Tia in his youth: being sent to Sharlayan. Sharlayan, the capital of utterly wasted culinary potential where consumption of anything save the loftily named “food” of Archon Loaf is generally seen as a distraction from the much more important business of nourishing the mind - please do excuse the author’s barely-veiled contempt for such a practice.

Thankfully not all those in Thaliak’s city are quite so foolish as to fail to understand the very obvious fact that truth will not reveal itself to those who fail to see the value in the joy of life’s simplicities - hence, the Last Stand. So while it was unusual that G’raha might conduct “practical culinary experiments” with such regularity, he’d been afforded opportunities to indulge his curiosity for foreign foods insofar as what a student’s budget would permit, and later supplemented it by eating his merry way across Eorzea until fate dealt him a much crueler turn at Syrcus Tower. He had always wanted to try and eat with chopsticks, and sample the various foods from Othard’s eastern regions - Nagxia, Doma, and Hingashi - where such cutlery was used. But when he awoke… It was indeed the rare occasion in which there was a more important thing to do than eat.

Upon arriving on the First, the Mystel that would later be called “Crystal Exarch” had proved unable to completely repress his culinary curiosity, and had now and then indulged in Norvrandt’s offerings (what was left of them, anyway). And even though he lacked the faculty of hunger he was, for the most part, still physically capable of eating - at least until very near the end, where food had been the last thing on his mind. But happy circumstance had happened, and he’d wound up back upon the Source with his old body, old appetite intact, and been blessed with a brand new opportunity to resume trying every new cuisine he could lay his still-quite grabby hands upon.

That was especially the case given the man with whom the Miqo’te was deeply and mutually infatuated: the Warrior of Light, being a rather traveled mage and skilled with the use of aetherytes owing to his brief tutelage in the subject by Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn, had developed quite a habit of picking up new foods whilst he was on his travels to bring back for his beloved to try, being equally as delighted when G’raha found the offering delicious as he snickered when the Miqo’te found it quite disgusting. But most happily of all, he’d granted G’raha his near-forgotten boyhood (from his perspective) wish of actually trying to eat with chopsticks. Trying being the operative word, as despite his skill in spellcraft and all the other dextrous tasks a scholar must perform he found the blasted sticks confounding in their use, especially as they were eating noodles which were rather slippery. That he was a Miqo’te in Hingashi had already marked him as a foreigner, but his clumsy efforts with what he’d read to be a rather elegant method of consuming food would have made him feel an utter fool were it not for the teasing patience of his beloved champion.

Ifan was himself quite practiced with the tools, though not because he was a native. Much as he liked to say he didn’t care what others thought, G’raha had come to learn the man had something of a sense of pride and disliked looking like a fool (unless that was his purpose) and thus he’d spent nearly the entirety of his free time on the Scions' voyage to Hingashi practicing in secret till he simply magically revealed that he could use them easily and well, much to Hancock’s delight. His own experience of frustration meant that he was very sympathetic - again, if teasing - regarding G’raha’s plight and had walked him through the process until he was, while not proficient, on par with the average child in Etheirys’ east which was still a marked improvement for an ijin. And though it had been difficult at points, G’raha would not have traded the memory of that lunch for anything in the star: the mess he’d made, how Ifan had had to feed him at points, his lover smirking but soothing his embarrassment with kisses and recounting his own struggles so that the archon didn’t feel quite so alone in foolish company. A difficult process, but one worth doing for its outcome and ultimately made enjoyable despite the struggle, as it was done together.

He’d had a few more chances to improve his use of chopsticks since that time, particularly as the period immediately after his return saw Ifan often needed in the east, and he’d either brought back food (ingeniously preserved with magic, as was Ifan’s wont) or on a few occasions taken the Miqo'te somewhere for a date. But G’raha would never quite forget that first and special lunch, because Ifan had done it simply to make his beloved lord feel better after having been away from him a little while. G’raha had been so anxious at his lover's absence that he’d missed a meal before he’d had a nightmare of his past, and Ifan had just bundled the Miqo’te off and zipped over to Kugane for an authentic Hingan lunch, with chopsticks.

It was that meal which came to mind as G’raha made consideration of how he wished to celebrate the latest milestone in his beloved’s recovery after their return from Ultima Thule. A difficult, unbearably miserable process at times, where Ifan had at points almost lost his temper in frustration at himself before G’raha calmed him down with reassurances that he was making exceptional progress - which he was, partly due to the quality of care he was receiving, and partly through Ifan’s own determination to start living his own life. So he bit back his frustration and fought through it; regaining his mobility, rebalancing his aether, gradually easing his way back into the use of magic - the last, particularly frustrating for Ifan given how accustomed he was to using it for almost every menial task, but made easier with G’raha’s patient help. The archon still remembered his own struggles as his body on the First had slowly necrotized to crystal, the points where he too had nearly lost his temper at himself for being unable to do something he felt should be very basic, such as intimacy with his lover. But Ifan had been kind and patient, and they’d worked around it right up until the end. So however much the magician had insisted that he didn’t want to burden his beloved while he recovered, G’raha simply told him that was what they did for one another and attended to him anyway. And gradually, despite the struggle, Ifan had relearned to do what was needful for himself with G’raha’s help and needed his help less and less, until they’d reached the present point where his aether was deemed functionally back in balance and he could begin easing back into more serious forms of sorcery.

He was now absent from the Andron, having gone to meet Y’shtola for a light afternoon tea before heading to the Studium to attend a lecture on a mutually interesting subject. It was something of a habit of theirs by now, as Y’shtola had helped Ifan during his recovery in a typically Y’shtola way - by keeping his mind active and quite adamantly reminding him that he’d earned every right to call himself a mage, regardless of how difficult it was to actually cast a spell at present. While G’raha felt some loneliness at Ifan’s absence after having been at the magician’s side near constantly, it was far outweighed by how relieved and happy that it made him seeing his beloved out and walking, smiling, laughing, easing back into a sense of normalcy however arduous a path that was. That it also gave him a rather perfect opportunity to enact his cunning plan in Ifan’s absence was also quite convenient.

G’raha had been planning this for quite some time. That old rivalry stemming from the archon’s theft of aethersand was still quite present but now loving in its tone, so of course he absolutely needed to pay Ifan back for such a lovely celebration for his homecoming not long ago. So that same keen mind that wove a plan to save two worlds had put itself to task not only finishing the process of achieving full proficiency with chopsticks, but putting all his culinary skills to use in learning how to make the food itself. As with the sticks, he had difficulty with the food; many eastern dishes proved awfully deceptive in how simple their ingredients appeared, making up for it with hellishness in the technique of preparation. But he’d been through hell before through Ifan, and a mere bowl of noodles wouldn’t faze the former Crystal Exarch. Thus with a similar dogged patience as he’d spent a century perfecting the technique to summon Ifan to the First, he’d endeavored to acquire the skills so that he could himself prepare his own interpretation of the lunch they had enjoyed, to celebrate his beloved champion’s next phase of his recovery.

To say that he was nervous was an understatement. Though everything had gone technically well, he was rather fussed about how it didn’t quite look as he felt it was supposed to, or worrying that he’d overseasoned it - or not enough, which was far worse. The fact Ifan liked his food spiced to levels many others found unbearable didn’t help, as G’raha was still far from able to even handle that much heat let alone assess its proper level. But he’d done his best: it was far too late for second guesses, and if he didn’t like it… He’d already set aside some gil for the Last Stand, just in case. So now he stood with his fingers tightly threaded as the tableside orchestrion piped a low and soothing ambience into the room, chewing on his lower lip as his ears flicked this way and that, eyes wandering every now and then to the chronometer upon the wall to check the hour. He’d laid the meal out on the table in the eastern fashion, having bribed Tataru into “convincing” Hancock into parting with a set of dinnerware for the occasion - and rather nice dinnerware, at that, the blue and white ceramic even having little molded niches for small fire crystals that would keep its contents warm. The only cause for worry, really, was simply the result of fearing that it wouldn’t be quite special enough for as special a man as G’raha felt his mighty champion was.

He was snapped from his worried thinking by a gentle rap upon the door before it opened. “I’m back, ‘Rah-” Ifan paused mid-stride as he caught sight of his beloved and the carefully laid-out meal right behind him, his eyebrows shooting up in shock. He blinked, speechless.

G’raha mustered up his courage and grinned brightly - fairly easy, as he was indeed delighted to see Ifan return home. “Welcome home, dear heart. I had thought we might celebrate your latest milestone.” He gave a smile and a wiggle of his ears as he stepped forward to greet the mage, his nervousness still showing in a slight bristling of his tail.

Ifan let out a breath and gave an open grin, blinking a few times as he closed the door behind him before meeting his lover in a loving, thankful kiss. The magician's face was set in sheer delight as their lips parted, a boyish flush darkening his cheeks. “‘Raha… You didn’t need to do all this…” His fingers threaded between G’raha’s, toes curling in his sandals and a bashful smile upon his lips.

G’raha found his nervousness abated temporarily as his grin widened till his cheeks began to hurt, his tail curling up in happiness to match the constant twitching of his ears. “Seeing you smile so makes any length worth the effort, dear heart.” he beamed with a soft shaking of his head, giving Ifan’s hands a squeeze.

“ Raha… ” The magician’s faced turned very red, his usual coyness rather quashed by the sweetness of the archon’s gesture. He leaned down to kiss G’raha again; a long and equally as thankful kiss to say with feel what words were insufficient to express, followed by a gentle bunting of their heads. Ifan smiled as he stood up, still holding G’raha’s hands. “I didn’t know they served Hingan food at the Last Stand.” he hummed.

G’raha was immediately reminded of why he had been nervous, and he gave a little blush in turn. “They do not, actually. This was of… uh…” He pursed his lips, ears pressing flat against his skull for just a moment as he mustered up his courage. “‘Twas my hand that prepared it.” he stated with a smile of confidence.

Ifan blinked again, looking over at the meal. “...You made this?” A small, stunned huff escaped his lips, expression shifting to one of joyous and appreciative disbelief.

G’raha nodded as he did his best to hide his misgivings, a thing made rather easy considering the swell of pride within his chest at Ifan’s face. “Indeed. My hope is that you will enjoy it, but if it should not be to your tastes then I shall be more than happy to fetch something else.” he offered, giving Ifan’s hands a squeeze.

The magician gave G’raha a rather pointed look. “Don’t you even dare, I’m certain that it’s going to be amazing.” he insisted with an utterly radiant smile. Then he leaned down for another kiss, pulling G’raha close and humming joyfully into his mouth. Ifan gave his head a little shake as their lips parted, a little laugh escaping him. “Gods… What did I do to deserve you?”

G’raha’s cheeks were rather flushed in turn, but his delight proved simply irrepressible. He squeezed his arms around his champion’s waist. “I find myself asking that same question, my mighty champion.” he responded with a wink.

Ifan grinned boyishly at that and laughed again, leaning down for one more kiss before squeezing G’raha’s hands again. “Well, I’m starving. Shall we, my lord?” he said brightly as he released his lover’s hands and made to sit.

“Allow me, dear heart.” G’raha quickly darted around Ifan towards the chair at the table’s head, courteously pulling it out so that Ifan could sit down.

Ifan gave a little snicker, never ceasing to find his beloved’s commitment to propriety amusing. “Ever the gentleman.” he teased as he took a seat.

G’raha stuck his tongue out at the Hyur, then he smirked. “Incorrigible. And after I went to the trouble of smuggling a bottle of sake past Krile, no less.” he said, rather off-handedly.

Ifan froze for just a moment before he turned to stare at G’raha in incredulous excitement. “You didn’t…” he began, wine-dark eyes afire in delight.

The archon gave a cheshire grin before he made to retrieve the contraband from where he’d stashed it. “Indeed I did, my beloved champion. A fitting reward for your exemplary conduct during convalescence.” said G’raha with a dashing wiggle of his ears and chin.

Ifan couldn’t help but chortle in excitement at the prospect of enjoying some actual drink. “You’re going to spoil me at this rate.” said the mage with an equally as wicked grin.

G’raha gave his champion another wink, grin growing rather roguish as his beloved’s pleased reaction to the meal shored up his confidence. “Perhaps that is my intention.” he answered with a teasing lilt.

“Then you’d best give me another kiss before you sit down, my most handsome and magnanimous Lord Exarch.” teased Ifan in return, though his appreciation was extremely obvious in both his face and tone.

G’raha wasted not a moment in obliging him, leaning down to kiss his lover before giving him a tender smile. “Enjoy, dear heart.” he bade, before he moved to take his seat at Ifan’s left. Ifan was his right hand, after all.

Ifan gave another grin. “Thank you. This looks wonderful .” he chirped excitedly as he removed the lid, eyes sparkling as he took in the sight of G’raha’s efforts at a meticulous preparation. Not perfect, but that was how he knew that G’raha made it just for him. A pleased hum escaped him before he picked up the chopsticks deftly, fingers back to form after his long struggle, and dug into the dish of spicy noodles that G’raha had prepared.

G’raha felt his heart rise up into his throat as he watched Ifan slurp down that critical first mouthful. His ears splayed nervously. “Is it to your liking? Was I too liberal with the spices?” he couldn’t hide the note of hesitation in his voice. Every fraction of a second Ifan didn’t answer simply worsened it.

Though not trying to torment G’raha, Ifan was simply too involved with savoring just how delicious it truly was. Not perfect, not by Hingan standards, but G’raha had quite clearly been listening when Ifan had idly made some comments about how he liked his noodles - firmer, less soupy, and of course much spicier than most could tolerate. And this was just… “‘Raha. Gods… Amazing. Perfect.” he answered, looking over at his lover in appreciative disbelief, eyes shining and face flushed from both the spices and how in love he was. “You made it just how I like it.”

G’raha couldn’t stop the way his ears fluttered as a happy little laugh escaped him, carrying every trace of nervousness along with it. “I am overjoyed to hear that, dear heart. Truly.” He gave the Hyur a smile before he poured them both a drink, and joined Ifan as he dug into his own - much milder - meal.

They ate in contented quiet for a short while, Ifan humming on occasion from his enjoyment of the food, G’raha only standing once to change over the orchestrion’s roll. When he returned to his seat, he gave Ifan a smile and spoke. “Dear heart.” he said.

“Hm?” hummed Ifan as he glanced at G’raha, noodles hanging from his lips.

G’raha couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the sight, finding it endearing. Then he smiled again. “I simply wished to thank you.”

Ifan swallowed, then reached for his napkin so he could wipe his lips. “What for, ‘Raha?” he hummed.

“Your patience.” answered G’raha. He’d spent the past few minutes quietly reminiscing of the last time they’d enjoyed a similar meal, and how simple he now found it to use chopsticks thanks to Ifan being there whilst he struggled to begin with. “Especially when it comes to my fumbling gestures. I would not wish to be overbearing.”

“You’re never overbearing, ‘Raha. Just attentive.” returned Ifan with a gentle smile, reaching over to give G’raha’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he resumed eating while they spoke. “And I know I’ve needed a lot of attention lately.” he added with a hum.

G’raha’s smile took on a faintly sadder cast at Ifan’s words. The hardest part of the recovery had been Ifan needing help: he hated bothering people with his problems, even fairly trivial ones like reaching for a shelf. But near the point of immobility when he’d returned to Sharlayan, he’d simply had no choice and limited himself to keeping silent about how frustrated the entire situation made him rather than trouble others with his complaints. The archon gave a reassuring hum. “You are no burden to me, dear heart. I know how you despise leaning on others, yet I am simply grateful for the opportunity to make things easier for for you. You have never done anything less for myself.” he said, earnestly.

Ifan looked over at his lover and returned another smile. “I appreciate you, truly.” Then he gave a sigh as his expression fell a little. “At least I can cast spells again. For a little while, I…” he trailed off, then shook his head and returned to eating.

G’raha’s expression settled, as did his ears. “You feared you had lost your ability to do so?” he supplied, gently.

Ifan nodded. “Aye. Sorry, I don’t mean to bring the mood down.” he muttered.

G’raha reached for Ifan’s fingers and threaded them between his own “Not at all, my love. That you trust me with your mind is in part why I so enjoy our time alone. And I understand the need to voice a fear in order to release it, as you’ve listened to more of mine than I can count.” He gave the Hyur’s hand a squeeze, and smiled reassuringly.

The magician raised his eyes to meet his lover’s. He was reminded of another archon, long ago, who’d helped him voice his fears. And so, thinking of Moenbryda, he gave a sigh and smiled as he returned the squeeze, accepting G’raha’s help. “And I always will, ‘Raha. Thank you.” he gave a nod and released his lover’s fingers so that the two could resume eating.

A few moments passed in thoughtful quiet before G’raha spoke again. “May I ask something?” he asked, softly.

Ifan nodded. “Of course.” he answered.

G’raha pursed his lips a moment at the delicacy of the subject, but had no wish for Ifan’s trust in him to seem one sided. “Do you fear you will not be able to recover your former strength?” His tone was gentle, but not hesitant.

A breath left Ifan’s lips. Then he nodded. “A little. I know what the healers say, about how good it looks, but…” The Hyur’s gaze drifted to the side, a faintly pained expression on his face that G’raha didn’t like.

Nonetheless he gave a gentle smile. “Take your time, dear heart.” he coaxed, then simply resumed eating to give Ifan space to speak.

Ifan swallowed, then took sip of sake to wet his palate. “‘I don’t like knowing all these spells and not being able to use them to help myself let alone other people. Just a little too close to how it felt being in that poor Garlean’s body for my liking.” he admitted.

G’raha paused for just a moment out of reflex, as was his way whenever he was given cause to remember an event that absolutely pissed him off . They’d spoken of what had happened at Camp Broken Glass, when Fandaniel had ripped Ifan’s spirit from his body and stuck it in a corpse, but G’raha doubted that there’d ever come a day where the mere mention of that night didn’t make him want to grind his teeth so hard they cracked. That the Ascian had violated his beloved’s body in that manner boiled his blood, and that he’d done it to a person who took such pride in self-reliance made it worse.

When that moment passed, his mind shifted from his own anger to the fear of his beloved. The healers had insisted on disclaiming that there was always the remote chance of Ifan failing to regain his former strength, that it was a miracle that he even lived at all. And as much as the magician told himself that they were trained professionals, that Krile herself had guaranteed its likelihood, he was afraid to hope lest impossibility crush it. G’raha then thought of his own experience of being in Ascian hands. He’d been convinced, then, that all hope had been lost. Except it hadn’t: if it had, he wouldn’t have been sitting here. He wouldn’t have had the opportunity to have nightmares that needed comforting, much less with a Hingan lunch where he’d begun to learn to use chopsticks as he was doing nearly effortlessly now. Ifan had faced down what seemed like an impossible task and seen it through, for him.

G’raha nodded and hummed quietly, then he smiled. “Ifan.” he said.

Ifan glanced up at his beloved once again. “Hm?” he asked.

G’raha gave another nod. “You have my word that I will work for as long and as hard as is necessary for you to regain your strength, and to continue exceeding it. Regardless of what others deem a possibility.” he stated, quietly yet firmly.

Ifan blinked at this. His face fell slightly. “‘Raha.” he said, clearly still reluctant to place such a manifestly insurmountable expectation on his mate.

G’raha’s expression didn’t change, but the firmness in his gaze intensified. “You have my word, Ifan. I will not accept otherwise, any more than I accepted the Eighth Calamity. You are my champion, dear heart, and should your sword be broken then I will do whatever I must to place another in your hand.” That same steely tone he’d used in Radz-at-Han when everything had gone to hells, utterly bare in his conviction to do whatever it took.

Ifan set his chopsticks down and exhaled. He reached for G’raha’s hand again, leaning over towards him to look into his eyes. “I love you, ‘Raha.” said the Hyur gratefully.

G’raha’s smile both warmed and widened. “You have my love as well, Ifan. Always.” returned the archon with a squeeze of Ifan’s fingers. Then he leaned over, meeting Ifan for a kiss; thankful on the latter’s part, protective on the former’s.

Ifan let out a faintly disbelieving but still contented hum as they leaned back, then gave his head a little shake. “I worry I’m going to get too used to having you around like this. Domestically.” he chuckled.

G’raha returned a breathy chuckle of his own. “I confess some fear of that as well, yet I also know we share the sort of mindset that makes such a thing unlikely. We are partners, not one person.” he answered with a nod.

Ifan smiled before he gave a nod in turn. ‘That is true.” he hummed.

The Miqo’te gave his lover’s hand a squeeze before releasing it so they could resume their meal once more. “I confess also that it was a difficult adjustment at times, after our return from the First. The necessity of learning how to be a man again, taking regular meals and rest. And yet the hardest lesson was the one I believed I had already learned; being parted from you. More than a hundred years in your absence and merely a brief while in your company was enough to make even temporary loneliness intolerable. Yet we overcame that trial together, as you will overcome this.” said G’raha with a reassuring nod.

Ifan smiled, then gave G’raha a rather pointed look. “ We will, ‘Raha.” he insisted. “You haven’t had it easy either during this whole mess, and I want you to have time to recover as well. Get yourself in a good place, ready to pursue a new interest.” he finished with a happy little nod.

G’raha returned a wiggle of his ears and a contented smile. “I am. My present interest is in building our life, so that we might enjoy it together even when we are not physically so.” said the archon with a sunny grin.

Ifan chuckled at his lover’s humor. He tilted his head and gave G’raha an appreciative and loving smile, savoring the fact that they’d done far more impossible things together than what G’raha had proposed. Teaching a Sharlayan academic how to use a set of chopsticks, just to start. He snickered, then reached for his cup and raised it in a toast. “To a new adventure then, my lord?” he hummed with a pleased look.

G’raha reached for his own cup and raised it to his lover’s with a gentle clink of porcelain, looking equally as pleased. “To a new adventure, my beloved champion.”

#writing #ffxiv writing #ffxiv #ffxiv oc #warrior of light #g'raha tia #g'raha x wol #endwalker spoilers #ifan kaleid #ffxiv wol #ffxiv fanfiction #i am required by the state of california to inform you that domestic fluff is a carcinogen #this dialogue has narrative utility not sure why it leaped out in the form of a food fic #reminder to be easy on yourself when learning something new oh best beloved

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