#fun fact S'ria actually gives him permission to use Ria after this. which G'raha does NOT know how to interpret.

[snow-system-wol]

(A few weeks or longer after the prior little fishing story, though he didn't cut his hair yet here.)

S'ria has been holed up in the kitchen trying to resurrect a faint childhood memory through willpower alone, and G'raha joins him to keep vigil while he works (an act that is surprisingly more intimate than he'd expected).

Ao3

(cw for themes of grief. H/c fluff territory.)

S'ria had been in the kitchen for around four bells now. G'raha didn't know whether it'd be a bit impolite to ask the other Scions what was going on, but they looked as confused as anyone else, so this didn't seem to be normal behavior for him.

He'd snuck in there once everyone had finished eating dinner for the night and had been in there since. G'raha tried to think back (to a lifetime ago) to when he'd first made camp with S'ria at the base of the Crystal Tower. Had he cooked then, or even helped with food preparation? It was somewhat uncomfortable that he couldn't actually recall those details very well.

G'raha watched most of the others filter off to bed, still not having seen S'ria return. He sighed and made his way to the kitchen. It wasn't exactly as if he had any sort of leg to stand on, should he try to convince S'ria to rest and sleep for his own well-being (ugh, he was never going to hear the end of that).

G'raha was good at being quiet, and the many carpeted areas of The Rising Stones made that even easier – but that wasn't the goal right now. He dropped his heels heavily as he walked, lightly nudging a chair or two as he moved past.

If there was one thing he remembered from his first time meeting S'ria, it was that the man does not like to be startled. Amazingly, G'raha's noisy approach didn't seem to have broken S'ria's attention away from whatever he was doing. He knocked on the inside of the door frame before coming any closer, S'ria finally looking up at him.

He looked… exhausted. At some point he'd clearly tied his hair into a bun and tried to pin his bangs back, but most of it had escaped by now. He also looked like he may have been recently crying.

"Let me… let me keep trying, please?"

Gods, it wasn't as though he needed G'raha's permission for that. "Well, 'tis your kitchen, is it not? Far be it from me to stop you." He paused with a tilt of his head. "Do you want me to leave?"

It was a cautiously worded question. Should S'ria want to be alone, he would most likely answer honestly. However, if he'd asked instead whether he wanted company, he worried S'ria would refuse on principle. It was hard to discern the flickers of emotions that passed over S'ria's face, and G'raha didn't even feel he had the level of understanding needed to try.

He eventually shook his head with no further answer – well, if S'ria didn't want him gone, he may as well stay. G'raha retreated to a chair a respectable distance away from him, settling in for what may be a while.

S'ria was muttering to himself at various intervals, but G'raha politely ignored that and focused instead on what he was doing. There were a large amount of containers and components spread across nearly all of the open counter space, carefully labeled. S'ria would heat something up in a tiny pot, add carefully considered bits of things from the counter, taste it, and then immediately dump and rinse the pot. He'd then mark something on a piece of parchment with an awkwardly held quill and immediately restart the process.

At least twice during the time he was there, S'ria sat down on the floor for a few minutes, angrily wiping tears out of his eyes. G'raha had opened his mouth to say something at least, and S'ria had quickly shaken his head, which he took to mean that he wasn't supposed to acknowledge it.

It was nearly three in the morning when S'ria next took a break, this time crossing the kitchen and dropping onto the floor to awkwardly lean against G'raha's shins.

"I'm so close, I know it, it's just… missing something. I hope I bought whatever it is, I just – it's almost right."

G'raha took a deep breath before speaking. "Pray forgive me if this is prying, but what is it that you're attempting?"

"Mm, it's not prying if I dragged you into it." S'ria shifted, letting the back of his head thunk gently against G'raha's knee. "I remembered something today. Just for a moment, just the taste of an all-purpose stew base for making dinner and the faintest memory of helping with it, and… I have to figure it out, because I'm the only one alive who could possibly know." S'ria's voice took on a strange gentle lilt, mimicking a voice half-remembered. "You'll be making this for me someday, pay attention, Ria." He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his knees. "Ma, I wasn't paying enough attention."

"I–". G'raha cursed his voice for cracking just a little bit. "I do not think that you weren't paying attention. I think that that was just a very long time ago. It's wonderful that you've remembered this much and that you're trying to make it, truly."

"Do you actually think so, or are you just trying to be nice?"

"Yes, I wholeheartedly believe what I said. Wicked White, I barely remember most of my life now, and I supposedly should have access to all of my memories. You're swimming upstream, and I dare say you're getting somewhere despite it."

It was quiet for a few minutes after that. G'raha hoped it was the good kind of rumination, and that he had not said something bad while tired.

S'ria wordlessly hopped back up and returned to his cooking. G'raha returned to his vigil. Well, more like he fell mostly asleep in his chair, but close enough.

G'raha awoke an unknown period of time later to a series of loud clatters. He, upon figuring out where he even was, cracked open one tired eye to see S'ria manically sorting the ingredients on the counters into two groups, scribbling onto the parchment with the speed of a man who worried he may lose his train of thought any second. Eventually he turned around, bright-eyed despite the (unknown) time in the morning, waving G'raha over to join him by the stovetop. There was something in the pot that smelled rich and savory.

"I figured it out, I actually got it right! Would you–". S'ria cut off, suddenly looking very unsure. "...Would you like to try it?"

"Of course, my friend."

S'ria passed him a ladle with a small amount of soup in it and G'raha tried not to be intimidated by how big of a deal this all was. He took a sip. It was fine, it was soup.

Okay, he had to do better than that.

Gods, he'd never been the type to be extremely picky or notice the little things (he used to make do with Archon Loaf, for gods' sake), but he tried to focus on the details. It was rich, the mix of spices was doing something… good?

It wasn't anything earth-shattering or without comparison. Really, it wasn't unlike any other regional recipe, but it was also the most important thing that could possibly exist. There were now two people currently alive in this world that could share this.

S'ria had managed to resurrect something lost to history, handed him a piece of a family recipe. That had to be worth something, worth everything even, right? Certainly worth a night of missing sleep.

It struck G'raha that he should say something, but what was he possibly supposed to say? It's good? That would be woefully insufficient. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, aware that S'ria was looking at him intently as he tried to figure out how to convey his thoughts.

I understand how important this is.

I'm honored that you'd share this with me.

I think it's good, but it would be good even if it was BAD because it's yours and you're letting me try this.

He eventually settled on something. "Could you teach me? If that's alright with you, of course."

S'ria smiled in a way that G'raha wasn't sure he'd ever seen from him and it made his heart kind of skip a beat, and yes, it seemed like he managed to convey what he'd meant in a way that was understood.