#they enter the manor and hanami Immediately suplexes raha through a couch

[windupnamazu]

unsteady hand

ffxivwrite2020 #21: foibles

⮞ lunya/g’raha. 900 words. ⮞ post 5.3, spoilers for the end of the patch! ⮞ old habits die hard or not at all.

“a quirk, idiosyncrasy, or mannerism; unusual habit or way that is slightly strange or silly.”

While he knew Ishgard was going to be cold—far colder than Sharlayan and her blanketing seas and gloomy, rainy winters because of the Holy See's frozen alpine landscape—G'raha honestly hadn't thought he would ever consider getting one of those legwarmer things for his tail. The chill of the Pillars as it was quietly blanketed beneath snow made a good cover for his nervous rubbing of his wrists, at least. Or it would have been if he was being accompanied to the Last Vigil by anyone other than his wife, who was eyeing him with the countenance of a Sharlayan librarian who knew his tomes were three weeks past overdue and was simply waiting for him to make a slip-up so she could pounce in with a late fee.

"Are you cold?" Lunya asked sweetly, peering up at him past the fleece trim of her hood, violet eyes bright and alert against the backdrop of snow. The boxes of fresh pastries she carried smelled tantalizing and were the only thing stopping him from taking her hand in his in an attempt to fight the urge to twitch—that and the scandalized looks they'd get from the nobles if he indulged himself too much in her affection. Even now they walked so close that it would only take a half-ilm reach to brush her hair behind a pointed ear. "Or is the trembling of your boots simply from your old age catching up?"

He rolled his eyes. "'Tis just pre-meeting nerves." When he sighed, his breath spread visible in the frostlight. "I'll be alright."

Edmont de Fortemps' memoir was an incredible, awe-inspiring read in the darkened midnights of the 8th Umbral Calamity, painting a map of the Warriors' deeds through Coerthas and beyond its frozen reach in the midst of the Dragonsong War. His own faded copy still sat in the Umbilicus of the First's Crystal Tower, well-worn and devotedly preserved. To meet the man who wrote it himself in the flesh—the very man who'd taken a band of exiled heroes into his home and hearth—stirred something in his old historian's heart and it was safe to say he'd been anticipating this meeting for weeks.

Except the real problem was that G'raha knew the former count considered almost all of the Warriors like they were his own flesh and blood, including the indomitable Lunya Lanya, G'raha's wife, who saved the life of the count's second son when it could have killed her to do so.

"You survived my mom." Lunya tossed her hair as he conceded that it was a good point—Lilina Lina was more scary than the inevitability of turning to crystal and being abducted by an Ascian combined and that was when she was in a good mood. "Lord Edmont's about as intimidating as a moogle in a sallet by comparison."

...Didn't she fight one of those during her travels in Dravania?

"I take it I shouldn't repeat that comparison to anyone else," G'raha muttered, nervously glancing at the tittering women standing around the Hoplon.

"Maybe. If you're lucky, Emmanellain could get a laugh out of it."

Between his many thoughts—most of them bad—about the sheer number of stairs around the city and watching Lunya visibly fight the urge to open one of her boxes and pilfer her own treats before they could get to the manor (and he did offer to carry them for her before they left, but she insisted he was just as weak to their sweet siren call as she was), he found they were no longer walking down the slope to the Vigil. Lunya set her parcels on the bench inside the gazebo she'd silently taken him to and turned with her hands on her hips.

"You're still doing it, Raha," she pointed out, amused instead of scolding.

G'raha glanced down in time to see himself unconsciously rubbing his wrist again and he winced. "Um. I, er—"

"Luckily for you—" she didn't hide the impish smile forming on her lips as she stepped towards him, a very endearing gleam in her eyes, "—you married one of the best healers on Hydaelyn. And I just so happen to have a cure for shaking hands."

Lunya was up to something, though he didn't really know what. A little apprehensive he said, "Is that so? I'll have to credit this windfall to my Lady Luck. Would you care to share?"

"Here." She raised her small hands to him, palms facing upward, and he placed his hand on top of her own. Instead of feeling her magic surge between their palms after a few seconds like he thought he would, Lunya simply threaded her fingers through his, looking up at him with a bright, expectant smile.

Oh.

OH.

"Oh," G'raha managed to squeak feebly, feeling a spark fizzle through his spine and make his tail and ears stand on end with surprise. His inspiration was a ray of vibrant summer sun in the midst of the endless Coerthan winter, spreading heat all through him as her smile became a huge grin.

If he had to retract one of his arms to hide his furiously blushing face in the crook of his elbow or sit down with his face in his hands for a few minutes more before they finally entered the Fortemps Manor, it'd be a secret between just the two of them in this private, warm corner of Ishgard.