⟪ she watches his expression twist and expects fury at the intrusion, rage in the face of being touched by magic in so intimate, so personal a way. the disappointment which marks his features instead is... unexpected.
still, the dance she awaits now is one she has danced many times before with her champion. for all the ways he sees the use of her power, for all the ways he often lets her do all she considers necessary, the inherent powerlessness he feels in the face of whatever price there is to pay and whatever consequences there are never quite failed to incite the king's anger. only in the last months at the wall had he mellowed, though that may well be jon snow's doing – the young man's refusal to do as the king orders him make him the target of most frustrated threats.
and now she's here, kanan takes her hand, and stannis is alive and, perhaps, not alive at the same time, if snow had told her the truth. when she had previously been on the verge of some indiscretion, it had always been in the name of the use of her powers, when she could not draw on the king's strength without doing him harm. but it is not indiscretion to do as she pleases as a priestess. she knows, too, that if she lies with kanan tonight (and must it truly be an 'if'), it has nothing at all to do with any rites, any magic, and that she does not intend to violate his trust and spit in the face of his easy forgiveness. that she is seeking his company for pleasure, and comfort perhaps, but not for any measure of war and victory.
and she could dwell on that more, were it not he who asks forgiveness now. the breath she draws gives away her confusion, even though he goes on to explain.
guilt. it had been guilt and shame, this is the nature of the discomfort she had caused him. absurd by the standards of her own faith and culture, but common, she has found, in others – but still, it is far from what she had braced herself for when she'd revealed what must have happened. most of all, what startles her is that he blames himself for his reaction to her. not to say that stannis had been incapable of that, he'd blamed himself plenty if the queen selyse spoke the truth, but that had hardly stopped him from blaming her a good deal as well.
instead of dwelling on this, she straightens herself, their hands still intertwined. ⟫
I would lie if I claimed that I had not thought of you with this kind of longing. ⟪ her voice is warm, inviting as she draws closer, as she lifts his hand so that he may rest it against her hip, her waist. ⟫ I can forgive you to ease your heart, but there is nothing in your thoughts that I truly wish you would repent for.
[ his hands are moved up touch her sides and he permits it, fingers relaxing around the curve of her body and palm pressing in firm. she radiates the same heat as always, but it feels more intense as he knows she draws closer into him. her voice mesmerizes him more than ever, drowning out the heinous whisper in his head until it dies out completely. kanan is not blind to his physical appeal, using that and a silver tongue to charm many women before into getting in bed with him. he can't remember the last time he was on the receiving end of temptation, and it's frightening how eager he is to give in.
the jedi warned of attachments, for they distract from their oath to be peacekeepers for a galaxy in need. romantic relationships were frowned upon more than someone relieving themselves of a physical urge, as you cannot commit your mind, body and soul to a person and to a greater cause at once. or so they preached back when the jedi order existed. kanan questioned it as a child, and as an adult he doesn't believe it. the people you come to care for, to bring into your heart, your space, and life, give strength to what you fight for. it puts a face to the cause.
he holds her and draws her in, urging her to sit on his lap, and sees no reason why he can't let her in. she speaks of her life like she comes from a long gone lost era, and yet the path she walks is so much like his. darker and crueler, but that only means he can offer her the light that she clearly wants in her life. faith, alone, cannot feed a person. people need people. he wants to be her people. ]
I should have been stronger in the face of my dreams. I was pushing you away in my mind over nothing. [ he explains, because he needs to her to know this isn't her fault alone. she caused the dreams, but he chose how to react to them. ] If you can forgive me for that... I want to sleep with you tonight.
[ not to make those dreams real, but because he cares for her and wants to show it. ]
⟪ one of the reasons why attachments are considered so treacherous among her faith are the very visions that make a priest. to read the flames is difficult at best, it takes years to tell if one sees the past, present, or future, and years more to make sense of the lord's fiery language. attachments can blur the signs – after all, does not every one wishes only the best for those they care for? wouldn't many turn a blind eye to a warning, if the warning calls for a lover to die? not all of them are azor ahai, who was able to make so heartbreaking a choice for his god.
no, in melisandre's eyes, it is almost kinder to be discouraged away from such loves, platonic or romantic or otherwise. lonely, perhaps, yes, but loneliness leaves more time for god, and emptiness makes her more useful a tool to the cause.
then why, pray tell, is she feeling so relieved when it sinks in that he truly has forgiven her? she allows herself to be drawn into his lap, feels his touch through the thin fabric of her robes, which are held closed by little but a belt-of-cloth and a few tied ribbons. her own hands pause as he speaks, one at his chest, the other light against the back of his neck. he speaks with the same honest sincerity she has noted since they first met, asks once again to be forgiven for something she... has not seen as wrong. he has said not a single cruel word, has even been the one to ask her to meet him again – to say this is bewildering would be an understatement. ⟫
You are beyond forgiven. ⟪ though it feels false to forgive him for something that she had not held against him in the first place. ⟫ And I wish to lie with you tonight.
⟪ there are other things she wishes, too, but those are difficult to articulate – she cannot explain the way she is drawn to him as if he, too, were made of flame, or put into words how strange, yet good it is to even as much as speak to him, or to find that he can once again face her. nor can she admit that she has weighed his companionship against the power their joining could hold, and chosen his companionship easily and with little hesitation over the alternative.
what comes easier is to lift her eyes, draw closer still, and lean in to kiss him. ⟫
[ her kiss pressed to his mouth does not surprise, but he's taken in quick by how warm even her lips out. his eyes close and he is lost to the moment, focus only maintaining to return it. he breaks off the kiss, breathes out, then continues with another as he inhales through his nose. in and then out, a certain form of meditation to keep him calm even as heat starts to burn low throughout his body. he'll follow her lead on it though, so that he can focus on other matters.
now that she's resting on him he can move one of his hands up, fingers carefully grazing down from the base of her neck down the curve of her spine, searching and tracing. he wants to learn her body because it's how he can see her and how he can know her. he envisions the memory of their skin tones contrasting, brushes past her long red hair, and makes a gentle hum when his finger finds a tied ribbon. he smiles and blindly tugs at it with his index and thumb, the thread starting to loosen little by little until it finally comes loose.
his hand goes on to her belt next, which he felt when she guided his hands. however it's not as easy to feel for where the buckle is while keeping up with the pace of her mouth on his. pity that. ]
⟪ she feels him smile into the kiss just before the tie in the back is loosened, and it draws out a smile of her own to find their wants matched like this. there is another kind of intensity to his touch, as though he is reading her. like this, his hands are neither claiming nor tearing for his goals, and there's a fire in the pit of her stomach at the sensation that demands nothing short of more.
their kiss deepens, and she allows herself to get lost in it until she feels him seek about the belt. it's a tricky beast, that one, and while one hand remains at the back of his neck, tracing a light pattern, the other guides his to her side, where the buckle is half-hidden. it's a simple, circular thing, golden as her choker, a pin running through it from top to bottom, keeping it in place. it is good that she needs to break away for air, anyway – ⟫
You need to pull the pin out entirely. ⟪ she places a kiss to his throat, right by his pulse point, lips burning as ever as she barely pulls back to speak. ⟫ It's quite sharp.
⟪ it's a last means of self-defence, essentially, and she doesn't want him to accidentally pierce himself on it. ⟫
Mhm. [ his throat rumbles with her kiss, a breath smoothly exhaling with a gentle gravel. ] Right.
[ with her guidance he gets his fingers on the top of the pin, and tugs it cautiously to loosen it before giving it a full pull. her belt loosens for him to undo and pull off completely, letting it drop from his hand with a clapping clank to the hardwood ground. his hands waste no time reaching to her shoulders, slowly pulling off her robe and glad when it comes apart.
he pulls her in for a quick kiss, to her lips, then under her jawline, then trailing down her neck, humming low. ]
Mind helping with my shirt?
[ with the poncho off he wears a navy blue dress shirt with a collar that covers up the end of his neck right before his adams apple. his hand goes to undo the large button up by the collar, modified to make it easier by a tailor he tipped well, and leans his body and arms away from her. ]
⟪ she shrugs out off the long sleeves, casting the robe aside as much as she can in her position. most of all, she wants it out of the way so none of the hidden compartments can open. it is not an accident she herself has had, but as most of the alchemical powders she carries are common among priests of her station –– there have been incidents, and few of them pretty. under his attentive kisses, she stifles a moan, and her heartbeat quickens, and truth be told, the robe is half forgotten already.
so far, she has made no move at all to undo any of his clothing, and it had not struck her as odd – some preferences were easier to accept than they were to argue, and stannis had much preferred to stay as dressed as possible. it must have almost become a habit. ⟫
Nothing I would rather do. ⟪ and she means it, her voice a low hum. it's been... a while since she had the chance to truly discover a partner like this, and her fingers are swift and skilled, the buttons coming undone one by one as she touches her lips to his skin with every newly revealed inch of it. the contrast to her fingers is sharp, the lack of sun in the many years she's spent in asshai have left her bone-pale, while his skin has the warm tone so often found across essos. ⟫ You are very handsome.
⟪ her breath half-caught in her throat marks her words true, even if they feel like the contrived, silly words of someone much younger than she. truth is, most her nights have been spent with men and women of the faith, and thus, most compliments she paid, while genuine, were layered with praise to her god. after all he has suffered through his own order, the horrors he has witnessed, it would feel... inappropriate, though, to use such words with him.
strange things fellden does to her, when she would normally be so willing to end any other worship. ⟫
[ a heavy breath, caught up in her touch- ] I try.
[ cocky, yes, but what can he say? he hasn't seen himself in a while of course, but still grooms to the best of his ability. he rather ditch his beard all together if he's honest, but the constant shaving he would need to endure makes it a chore. instead he carefully grew it into a good shape that's easy to maintain. his hair has always been in a ponytail since he was young, after someone he has forgotten pointed out to him he would run his hand through it when nervous.
speaking of his hair, his fingers wind back behind his head to pull the band off. the rubber coils around his wrist, a good way to avoid losing it, and he takes a moment to shake his hair to let it down. it flows down straight with only a light wave, curling at the ends to just past his shoulders. ]
⟪ she gives a soft laugh at his tones, not vain, per se, but self-aware.
it is almost by reflex that she reaches out to touch his hair when he opens it, though, running her fingers through it with no little admiration. he is well-groomed, common across most essosi cultures, but a struggle with some of the westerosi if life among the soldiers had taught her anything. ⟫
It suits you well. ⟪ and if she were to kiss him again at that, would anyone blame her? at least with her hands buried in it, she can draw him ever closer. ⟫
[ he mutters a quiet 'thanks' right as she dips into him again, and his arms stretch to wrap around her waist, one hand settling on the small of her back while the other flattens on the curve of her spine. a quiet yet more than appreciative moan is breathed as she threads through his hair, his bare chest flushed against hers, enjoying the intensity of her heat even if its near scalding. he keeps up with her pace, matching her mouth to his with the low burn of passion coursing through, parting ways only to come up for air. ]
Can - Can you lie down on the bed? [ his breath is ragged as he asks, words spilling out even as he tries not to rush. ] I need to get my pants off.
[ he swallows tight and if she thought to glance down she would see the obvious tightness in his form-fitting pants. ]
⟪ she draws back, and does cast her gaze down, before resting her face against his throat in such a way that he can feel her lips twist into an appreciative smirk. ⟫
Please do. ⟪ next time – why she assumes that there is a next time, she does not know for certain, but all there is to say that she relishes his company –
so perhaps there won't necessarily be a next time. that's a thing to consider. she shifts against his hardness. ⟫ Unless you wish me to aid you there in the same way I did with your shirt?
⟪ should he choose to decline, she will abandon his lap to wait by his side on the bed. ⟫
[ he stifles a grunt when she shifts, suspecting it was intentional if that smirk pressed to him is any hint. he's starting to guess that she's deceptively devious and he likes it.
as for that- ]
Yeah, that works too.
[ he'll at least undo the two buttons with one hand, but along with his pants are his high boots going up to an inch under his knees. he's both glad and regrets that he attempted to dress for a good impression because he was meeting her. ]
Do you mind if I ask - [ he hopes she doesn't mind, he's always been too curious for his own good ] - your skin is really warm. Is that how it always is?
[ it seems like any time they have ever come into contact her skin has had the warmth of a small fire. he brushed it off as an oddity, but being in full body contact makes it much more apparent and hard to ignore. ]
⟪ she is out of his lap, for it would be best to be before him to do what she wishes to do next
unfortunately, she then does pause at the question – and his clothes will have to wait a moment as she tries to evaluate how to keep her unspoken promise regarding her magic without revealing things she keeps so close to her chest. which, considering that she sits almost entirely naked safe for a slip of an underskirt, is a bit of an ironic thought. ⟫
It is. ⟪ she takes a deep breath, as if to try and clear her mind from the daze. ⟫ Life within the Red Temple can bring many changes, if one is so blessed.
[ kanan knew he wouldn't get a good night of sleep, but he didn't plan on getting no sleep.
each time he sets his head down and closes his eyes and is about to plummet into the darkness of his mind, the sensation of burning alive ripples through his skin again. he wakes up in a cold sweat, expecting to see -- anything, but no. still blind and still in his room. there are no lights for him to turn on and nothing for him to focus on but the illusion that has ingrained into his head. gods wood burning down, the destruction of sacred land, and the moments he thought he was about to die.
he loses track how many times he repeats this cycle, body and mind exhausted, without any comfort or respite from the horrors he faced.
he stands to wash his face, body heat spiked and adrenaline rushing, and splashes on cold water as frustration consumes his mood. it wasn't real, he knows, he knows, and still it haunts him. he wonders if melisandre is haunted the same, remembering how collected she was after they returned to reality. she said she felt it before and he doesn't know why that vague recollection sticks with him, or why he didn't question what she meant.
he tries to sleep again right after, only this time he doesn't even manage to fall to slumber.
the temple is quiet at this time of late night, the only sign of life being patrols conducted by the guard. he walks past one stationed in the dormitory wing, worn out from the way his eyes droop, and continues toward melisandre's room. once there, sensing her presence from within, he sets a hand on the door to penetrate behind it. to his surprise she's awake. maybe it did effect her after all, going over his head in the moment, far too caught up in his own pains.
he breathes in, mustering up his courage and shoving down his ego, and gives her door a gentle knock with the back of his knuckles. if she doesn't answer he won't pry, as he feels bad for even doing so in the first place. ]
⟪ there was, frankly, a lot for her to think about after the illusion – it had not kept her from asking him if he would wish to spend the night, though she had not pushed the matter when he had declined. he'd looked worn, and she suspected a good night of sleep, and sleep only, would do him good. still, she'd left him with the reminder that her offer was an open ended one, should he wish company later that night.
as ever, her night begins with her evening prayers – safety was now at the forefront, as ever, a request to be granted visions once more, and... yes, sleep, and calm, and protection for kanan as well. it is not rare for her to mention others in their prayers, she does it now and again, though rarely after so short a time. rarely for someone she has never seen in her flames. it does not worry her. if anything, the illusion they had shared cemented her trust. a man who, in the face of a death he feared, still sought her safety and protection – it remains an absurd thought. it remains one of the strangest blessings she had never asked for.
truly, it is that which keeps her awake, in spite of the ways the vision of the burning woods had soothed her: what should have been a pure blessing had been... affected by the fear she'd felt for him, by the dread she'd felt at knowing that, were this truly the end, she'd not had the chance to even bid him farewell the way she will one day have to do here. that he'd fought a monster of growing strength and asked her to run, regardless of what it meant for him. it is impossible to safe anyone from the call of god, but it's a rare thing for her to feel as though there is little that she would not give to be able to do so, for him.
by the time there is a knock at her door, melisandre has brushed out her hair, is dressed in the loosely tied red robe she favours on nights she dares think she may find an hour's rest. evidently, she'd soothed her soul with a bath, as she is prone to doing, soaking in hot water for as long as it remains so, and now faintly smelling of the oils she'd used to scent the water.
as ever, she opens the door herself , tense from shoulder to toe until she recognises him – and slips the small sachet of black powder back into the pocket of her robe. no threat, no danger. ⟫
Kanan.
⟪ her voice is warm and welcoming as she steps aside. ⟫
Come in.
⟪ her room is kept simple – aside from the fire pit, which the high priestess had blessed her with. her bed is neat and untouched, she keeps her chairs by the window, and some candles as well. she loathes the darkness, fears it, so there is always light.⟫
I am glad you came. ⟪ this seems, for one, a reassuring thing to say, as most sleep this time of night. it is the truth, too: her friend had been the source of much turmoil, and so it is calming to be in his presence. ⟫
[ he mutters his quiet appreciation and enters with the vigor of the undead. a simple dark brown tunic that falls past his hips and comfortable cotton pants of the same color are all he wears. normally he sleeps without a shirt but even in his stupor he has the sense to know that wouldn't be appropriate here. he's surprised she's awake right now but not so much as to comment on it. mostly he just hopes she isn't awake for the same reasons he is.
as soon as he enters his eyes shut close, and his face flinches away from the fire pit's bright light. his eyes sting with a pain both present in the now and illusory from the evening, and he sucks in a tense breath. don't be an asshole about it - she worships a god of fire, it makes sense. ]
Sorry to bother you. If you're in the middle of... something, I can go.
[ he means the fire pit, but his voice is earnest even in how skeptical he is of it. ]
⟪ she appreciates the earnestness in his voice, but she is difficult to shake on the matter. many in westeros were not so kind. the lady selyse had downright warned her of her husband, who had lost every last shred of faith when he'd watched the sea claim his father's ship.
so she notes the flinch, and... draws some conclusion. hasty they may be, but they had just been ravaged by illusionary fire.⟫
You must not apologise. You could not be a bother to me if you tried. ⟪ a truth. ⟫ I can snuff out the fire, if it pleases you. Only the candles must remain.
⟪ truth is, she rarely is without the fire in the pit, and if she did not trust him quite so wholly, she would pretend she had not seen his reaction. she opens the window, lets cool night air in, and there's a mechanism to the fire pit that allows her to kill the flames quickly enough. ⟫
Please, seat yourself.
⟪ there are chairs by the window, there's the bed, which she rarely uses, and there are cushions by the snuffed out fire pit, where she'd been sitting until he'd arrived. ⟫
[ a small guilt creeps in when she snuffs out the flames, even if he is more relieved that she would be willing to do it. he remembers now how she reacted in the rainstorm in kyst, firm in her decision to not brave any darkness. ]
Is it enough light for you?
[ he walks further in, sluggish as he senses out his surroundings, and takes a seat on one of the cushions by the pit. his legs tuck underneath him, easy and practiced, and his eyes open again half-lid to the dimly lit room. ]
If it's not, you can turn it back on.
[ it's her room, she can keep a fire pit lit up if she wants... he can keep his judgy comments to himself in peace. ]
⟪ she shuts the window, though, unwilling to risk the candles' flames by too much. ⟫
Asshai, the city I hail from, is cast in near permanent shadow. The sun is rarely seen, only around noon if at all on those scarce days. As long as there is some light, it is not so bad, for me.
⟪ before she seats herself, though, she steps on over to a cabinet, tilting her head. ⟫
Do men of your faith drink, Kanan? ⟪ tonight he looks, she reckons, as though he may benefit from a strong sip of liquor – or five. to kindle his spirits, and soothe his mind. ⟫
[ raised in near darkness would explain why she's so pale. he just assumed she didn't get out of her temple much, as her descriptions of it always made him think of a religious prison than a place of worship. the offer gets the tiniest smirk from him. ]
There's nothing saying alcohol's forbidden.
[ and if there is, then who cares? the jedi order needed to lighten up and live a little more.
(not the best phrasing in his head, he realizes, but eh? who'll stop him? ]
Give me a cup of the strongest bottle you have. I can handle it.
⟪ she picks out a bottle, evidently with some hesitance, not that she owns a wide variety to begin with. that and two cups, all gently balanced over as she seats herself on a cushion close-by. truth is, even the act of pouring him a drink – not having it poured – is so deviant from custom, politeness, and all shapes of station and class divergence – it's almost funny, but it is most certainly also relaxing. ⟫
There. ⟪ his is poured first, hers second. ⟫ I make no promises. 'tis not forbidden to drink to those of my faith, but like all poison, it holds no effect on me. The fire burns it all away.
⟪ a pause, she she picks up her cup. ⟫
Not anymore, of course, not since I came here. It was strange to be... affected again.
[ kanan cringes only the slightest at how she phrases it - the fires burning - and takes the cup once poured. he carefully turns it, the liquid stirring gently to blend, but doesn't feel inclined to drink right away. ]
So what you're saying is you can get drunk? [ he hums pleasantly. ] Good. What's the point otherwise?
[ no one drinks for any reason other than to dull their senses. he certainly never met anyone who did because they want to be healthy. ]
I used to drink a lot when I was younger. It was fun to do with company, and made sleeping a lot easier when you passed out on the floor along with the guys you worked with.
[ a beat, then- ] Well, that was a different time.
[ a much rougher one. nights like tonight weren't just once in a while - they were his nights, every single time. ]
⟪ to drink has never been a habit of hers – already a dangerous thing to be a woman and a slave, there must not be more weaknesses. of course, there is a width between 'not a habit' and 'none at all', and there had been days when she had appreciated the oblivion. ⟫
Rest does not seem to have found you tonight, either.
[ he frowns into his drink and brings it up to his lips for a tepid sip. it burns down his throat and lingers on his tongue, making him grunt gently as the heat shivers his skin. ]
The fire. [ he answers gruffly, lowering the cup to rest between his hands. ] I can't stop seeing it.
[ it feels silly to even bring it up when she was there with him, but he's still baffled in wondering how it didn't even rattle her. meanwhile he's here shaken up and it's dumb to keep thinking about something not real, but here he is anyway. ]
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no subject
still, the dance she awaits now is one she has danced many times before with her champion. for all the ways he sees the use of her power, for all the ways he often lets her do all she considers necessary, the inherent powerlessness he feels in the face of whatever price there is to pay and whatever consequences there are never quite failed to incite the king's anger. only in the last months at the wall had he mellowed, though that may well be jon snow's doing – the young man's refusal to do as the king orders him make him the target of most frustrated threats.
and now she's here, kanan takes her hand, and stannis is alive and, perhaps, not alive at the same time, if snow had told her the truth. when she had previously been on the verge of some indiscretion, it had always been in the name of the use of her powers, when she could not draw on the king's strength without doing him harm. but it is not indiscretion to do as she pleases as a priestess. she knows, too, that if she lies with kanan tonight (and must it truly be an 'if'), it has nothing at all to do with any rites, any magic, and that she does not intend to violate his trust and spit in the face of his easy forgiveness. that she is seeking his company for pleasure, and comfort perhaps, but not for any measure of war and victory.
and she could dwell on that more, were it not he who asks forgiveness now. the breath she draws gives away her confusion, even though he goes on to explain.
guilt. it had been guilt and shame, this is the nature of the discomfort she had caused him. absurd by the standards of her own faith and culture, but common, she has found, in others – but still, it is far from what she had braced herself for when she'd revealed what must have happened. most of all, what startles her is that he blames himself for his reaction to her. not to say that stannis had been incapable of that, he'd blamed himself plenty if the queen selyse spoke the truth, but that had hardly stopped him from blaming her a good deal as well.
instead of dwelling on this, she straightens herself, their hands still intertwined. ⟫
I would lie if I claimed that I had not thought of you with this kind of longing. ⟪ her voice is warm, inviting as she draws closer, as she lifts his hand so that he may rest it against her hip, her waist. ⟫ I can forgive you to ease your heart, but there is nothing in your thoughts that I truly wish you would repent for.
no subject
the jedi warned of attachments, for they distract from their oath to be peacekeepers for a galaxy in need. romantic relationships were frowned upon more than someone relieving themselves of a physical urge, as you cannot commit your mind, body and soul to a person and to a greater cause at once. or so they preached back when the jedi order existed. kanan questioned it as a child, and as an adult he doesn't believe it. the people you come to care for, to bring into your heart, your space, and life, give strength to what you fight for. it puts a face to the cause.
he holds her and draws her in, urging her to sit on his lap, and sees no reason why he can't let her in. she speaks of her life like she comes from a long gone lost era, and yet the path she walks is so much like his. darker and crueler, but that only means he can offer her the light that she clearly wants in her life. faith, alone, cannot feed a person. people need people. he wants to be her people. ]
I should have been stronger in the face of my dreams. I was pushing you away in my mind over nothing. [ he explains, because he needs to her to know this isn't her fault alone. she caused the dreams, but he chose how to react to them. ] If you can forgive me for that... I want to sleep with you tonight.
[ not to make those dreams real, but because he cares for her and wants to show it. ]
no subject
no, in melisandre's eyes, it is almost kinder to be discouraged away from such loves, platonic or romantic or otherwise. lonely, perhaps, yes, but loneliness leaves more time for god, and emptiness makes her more useful a tool to the cause.
then why, pray tell, is she feeling so relieved when it sinks in that he truly has forgiven her? she allows herself to be drawn into his lap, feels his touch through the thin fabric of her robes, which are held closed by little but a belt-of-cloth and a few tied ribbons. her own hands pause as he speaks, one at his chest, the other light against the back of his neck. he speaks with the same honest sincerity she has noted since they first met, asks once again to be forgiven for something she... has not seen as wrong. he has said not a single cruel word, has even been the one to ask her to meet him again – to say this is bewildering would be an understatement. ⟫
You are beyond forgiven. ⟪ though it feels false to forgive him for something that she had not held against him in the first place. ⟫ And I wish to lie with you tonight.
⟪ there are other things she wishes, too, but those are difficult to articulate – she cannot explain the way she is drawn to him as if he, too, were made of flame, or put into words how strange, yet good it is to even as much as speak to him, or to find that he can once again face her. nor can she admit that she has weighed his companionship against the power their joining could hold, and chosen his companionship easily and with little hesitation over the alternative.
what comes easier is to lift her eyes, draw closer still, and lean in to kiss him. ⟫
no subject
now that she's resting on him he can move one of his hands up, fingers carefully grazing down from the base of her neck down the curve of her spine, searching and tracing. he wants to learn her body because it's how he can see her and how he can know her. he envisions the memory of their skin tones contrasting, brushes past her long red hair, and makes a gentle hum when his finger finds a tied ribbon. he smiles and blindly tugs at it with his index and thumb, the thread starting to loosen little by little until it finally comes loose.
his hand goes on to her belt next, which he felt when she guided his hands. however it's not as easy to feel for where the buckle is while keeping up with the pace of her mouth on his. pity that. ]
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their kiss deepens, and she allows herself to get lost in it until she feels him seek about the belt. it's a tricky beast, that one, and while one hand remains at the back of his neck, tracing a light pattern, the other guides his to her side, where the buckle is half-hidden. it's a simple, circular thing, golden as her choker, a pin running through it from top to bottom, keeping it in place. it is good that she needs to break away for air, anyway – ⟫
You need to pull the pin out entirely. ⟪ she places a kiss to his throat, right by his pulse point, lips burning as ever as she barely pulls back to speak. ⟫ It's quite sharp.
⟪ it's a last means of self-defence, essentially, and she doesn't want him to accidentally pierce himself on it. ⟫
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[ with her guidance he gets his fingers on the top of the pin, and tugs it cautiously to loosen it before giving it a full pull. her belt loosens for him to undo and pull off completely, letting it drop from his hand with a clapping clank to the hardwood ground. his hands waste no time reaching to her shoulders, slowly pulling off her robe and glad when it comes apart.
he pulls her in for a quick kiss, to her lips, then under her jawline, then trailing down her neck, humming low. ]
Mind helping with my shirt?
[ with the poncho off he wears a navy blue dress shirt with a collar that covers up the end of his neck right before his adams apple. his hand goes to undo the large button up by the collar, modified to make it easier by a tailor he tipped well, and leans his body and arms away from her. ]
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so far, she has made no move at all to undo any of his clothing, and it had not struck her as odd – some preferences were easier to accept than they were to argue, and stannis had much preferred to stay as dressed as possible. it must have almost become a habit. ⟫
Nothing I would rather do. ⟪ and she means it, her voice a low hum. it's been... a while since she had the chance to truly discover a partner like this, and her fingers are swift and skilled, the buttons coming undone one by one as she touches her lips to his skin with every newly revealed inch of it. the contrast to her fingers is sharp, the lack of sun in the many years she's spent in asshai have left her bone-pale, while his skin has the warm tone so often found across essos. ⟫ You are very handsome.
⟪ her breath half-caught in her throat marks her words true, even if they feel like the contrived, silly words of someone much younger than she. truth is, most her nights have been spent with men and women of the faith, and thus, most compliments she paid, while genuine, were layered with praise to her god. after all he has suffered through his own order, the horrors he has witnessed, it would feel... inappropriate, though, to use such words with him.
strange things fellden does to her, when she would normally be so willing to end any other worship. ⟫
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[ cocky, yes, but what can he say? he hasn't seen himself in a while of course, but still grooms to the best of his ability. he rather ditch his beard all together if he's honest, but the constant shaving he would need to endure makes it a chore. instead he carefully grew it into a good shape that's easy to maintain. his hair has always been in a ponytail since he was young, after someone he has forgotten pointed out to him he would run his hand through it when nervous.
speaking of his hair, his fingers wind back behind his head to pull the band off. the rubber coils around his wrist, a good way to avoid losing it, and he takes a moment to shake his hair to let it down. it flows down straight with only a light wave, curling at the ends to just past his shoulders. ]
Better?
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it is almost by reflex that she reaches out to touch his hair when he opens it, though, running her fingers through it with no little admiration. he is well-groomed, common across most essosi cultures, but a struggle with some of the westerosi if life among the soldiers had taught her anything. ⟫
It suits you well. ⟪ and if she were to kiss him again at that, would anyone blame her? at least with her hands buried in it, she can draw him ever closer. ⟫
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Can - Can you lie down on the bed? [ his breath is ragged as he asks, words spilling out even as he tries not to rush. ] I need to get my pants off.
[ he swallows tight and if she thought to glance down she would see the obvious tightness in his form-fitting pants. ]
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Please do. ⟪ next time – why she assumes that there is a next time, she does not know for certain, but all there is to say that she relishes his company –
so perhaps there won't necessarily be a next time. that's a thing to consider. she shifts against his hardness. ⟫ Unless you wish me to aid you there in the same way I did with your shirt?
⟪ should he choose to decline, she will abandon his lap to wait by his side on the bed. ⟫
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as for that- ]
Yeah, that works too.
[ he'll at least undo the two buttons with one hand, but along with his pants are his high boots going up to an inch under his knees. he's both glad and regrets that he attempted to dress for a good impression because he was meeting her. ]
Do you mind if I ask - [ he hopes she doesn't mind, he's always been too curious for his own good ] - your skin is really warm. Is that how it always is?
[ it seems like any time they have ever come into contact her skin has had the warmth of a small fire. he brushed it off as an oddity, but being in full body contact makes it much more apparent and hard to ignore. ]
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unfortunately, she then does pause at the question – and his clothes will have to wait a moment as she tries to evaluate how to keep her unspoken promise regarding her magic without revealing things she keeps so close to her chest. which, considering that she sits almost entirely naked safe for a slip of an underskirt, is a bit of an ironic thought. ⟫
It is. ⟪ she takes a deep breath, as if to try and clear her mind from the daze. ⟫ Life within the Red Temple can bring many changes, if one is so blessed.
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after the play
each time he sets his head down and closes his eyes and is about to plummet into the darkness of his mind, the sensation of burning alive ripples through his skin again. he wakes up in a cold sweat, expecting to see -- anything, but no. still blind and still in his room. there are no lights for him to turn on and nothing for him to focus on but the illusion that has ingrained into his head. gods wood burning down, the destruction of sacred land, and the moments he thought he was about to die.
he loses track how many times he repeats this cycle, body and mind exhausted, without any comfort or respite from the horrors he faced.
he stands to wash his face, body heat spiked and adrenaline rushing, and splashes on cold water as frustration consumes his mood. it wasn't real, he knows, he knows, and still it haunts him. he wonders if melisandre is haunted the same, remembering how collected she was after they returned to reality. she said she felt it before and he doesn't know why that vague recollection sticks with him, or why he didn't question what she meant.
he tries to sleep again right after, only this time he doesn't even manage to fall to slumber.
the temple is quiet at this time of late night, the only sign of life being patrols conducted by the guard. he walks past one stationed in the dormitory wing, worn out from the way his eyes droop, and continues toward melisandre's room. once there, sensing her presence from within, he sets a hand on the door to penetrate behind it. to his surprise she's awake. maybe it did effect her after all, going over his head in the moment, far too caught up in his own pains.
he breathes in, mustering up his courage and shoving down his ego, and gives her door a gentle knock with the back of his knuckles. if she doesn't answer he won't pry, as he feels bad for even doing so in the first place. ]
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as ever, her night begins with her evening prayers – safety was now at the forefront, as ever, a request to be granted visions once more, and... yes, sleep, and calm, and protection for kanan as well. it is not rare for her to mention others in their prayers, she does it now and again, though rarely after so short a time. rarely for someone she has never seen in her flames. it does not worry her. if anything, the illusion they had shared cemented her trust. a man who, in the face of a death he feared, still sought her safety and protection – it remains an absurd thought. it remains one of the strangest blessings she had never asked for.
truly, it is that which keeps her awake, in spite of the ways the vision of the burning woods had soothed her: what should have been a pure blessing had been... affected by the fear she'd felt for him, by the dread she'd felt at knowing that, were this truly the end, she'd not had the chance to even bid him farewell the way she will one day have to do here. that he'd fought a monster of growing strength and asked her to run, regardless of what it meant for him. it is impossible to safe anyone from the call of god, but it's a rare thing for her to feel as though there is little that she would not give to be able to do so, for him.
by the time there is a knock at her door, melisandre has brushed out her hair, is dressed in the loosely tied red robe she favours on nights she dares think she may find an hour's rest. evidently, she'd soothed her soul with a bath, as she is prone to doing, soaking in hot water for as long as it remains so, and now faintly smelling of the oils she'd used to scent the water.
as ever, she opens the door herself , tense from shoulder to toe until she recognises him – and slips the small sachet of black powder back into the pocket of her robe. no threat, no danger. ⟫
Kanan.
⟪ her voice is warm and welcoming as she steps aside. ⟫
Come in.
⟪ her room is kept simple – aside from the fire pit, which the high priestess had blessed her with. her bed is neat and untouched, she keeps her chairs by the window, and some candles as well. she loathes the darkness, fears it, so there is always light.⟫
I am glad you came. ⟪ this seems, for one, a reassuring thing to say, as most sleep this time of night. it is the truth, too: her friend had been the source of much turmoil, and so it is calming to be in his presence. ⟫
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[ he mutters his quiet appreciation and enters with the vigor of the undead. a simple dark brown tunic that falls past his hips and comfortable cotton pants of the same color are all he wears. normally he sleeps without a shirt but even in his stupor he has the sense to know that wouldn't be appropriate here. he's surprised she's awake right now but not so much as to comment on it. mostly he just hopes she isn't awake for the same reasons he is.
as soon as he enters his eyes shut close, and his face flinches away from the fire pit's bright light. his eyes sting with a pain both present in the now and illusory from the evening, and he sucks in a tense breath. don't be an asshole about it - she worships a god of fire, it makes sense. ]
Sorry to bother you. If you're in the middle of... something, I can go.
[ he means the fire pit, but his voice is earnest even in how skeptical he is of it. ]
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⟪ she appreciates the earnestness in his voice, but she is difficult to shake on the matter. many in westeros were not so kind. the lady selyse had downright warned her of her husband, who had lost every last shred of faith when he'd watched the sea claim his father's ship.
so she notes the flinch, and... draws some conclusion. hasty they may be, but they had just been ravaged by illusionary fire.⟫
You must not apologise. You could not be a bother to me if you tried. ⟪ a truth. ⟫ I can snuff out the fire, if it pleases you. Only the candles must remain.
⟪ truth is, she rarely is without the fire in the pit, and if she did not trust him quite so wholly, she would pretend she had not seen his reaction. she opens the window, lets cool night air in, and there's a mechanism to the fire pit that allows her to kill the flames quickly enough. ⟫
Please, seat yourself.
⟪ there are chairs by the window, there's the bed, which she rarely uses, and there are cushions by the snuffed out fire pit, where she'd been sitting until he'd arrived. ⟫
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Is it enough light for you?
[ he walks further in, sluggish as he senses out his surroundings, and takes a seat on one of the cushions by the pit. his legs tuck underneath him, easy and practiced, and his eyes open again half-lid to the dimly lit room. ]
If it's not, you can turn it back on.
[ it's her room, she can keep a fire pit lit up if she wants... he can keep his judgy comments to himself in peace. ]
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⟪ she shuts the window, though, unwilling to risk the candles' flames by too much. ⟫
Asshai, the city I hail from, is cast in near permanent shadow. The sun is rarely seen, only around noon if at all on those scarce days. As long as there is some light, it is not so bad, for me.
⟪ before she seats herself, though, she steps on over to a cabinet, tilting her head. ⟫
Do men of your faith drink, Kanan? ⟪ tonight he looks, she reckons, as though he may benefit from a strong sip of liquor – or five. to kindle his spirits, and soothe his mind. ⟫
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There's nothing saying alcohol's forbidden.
[ and if there is, then who cares? the jedi order needed to lighten up and live a little more.
(not the best phrasing in his head, he realizes, but eh? who'll stop him? ]
Give me a cup of the strongest bottle you have. I can handle it.
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There. ⟪ his is poured first, hers second. ⟫ I make no promises. 'tis not forbidden to drink to those of my faith, but like all poison, it holds no effect on me. The fire burns it all away.
⟪ a pause, she she picks up her cup. ⟫
Not anymore, of course, not since I came here. It was strange to be... affected again.
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So what you're saying is you can get drunk? [ he hums pleasantly. ] Good. What's the point otherwise?
[ no one drinks for any reason other than to dull their senses. he certainly never met anyone who did because they want to be healthy. ]
I used to drink a lot when I was younger. It was fun to do with company, and made sleeping a lot easier when you passed out on the floor along with the guys you worked with.
[ a beat, then- ] Well, that was a different time.
[ a much rougher one. nights like tonight weren't just once in a while - they were his nights, every single time. ]
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Rest does not seem to have found you tonight, either.
⟪ no matter how different the times. ⟫
What keeps you awake?
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The fire. [ he answers gruffly, lowering the cup to rest between his hands. ] I can't stop seeing it.
[ it feels silly to even bring it up when she was there with him, but he's still baffled in wondering how it didn't even rattle her. meanwhile he's here shaken up and it's dumb to keep thinking about something not real, but here he is anyway. ]
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It was so vivid, I wholly believed it until I listened to you.
⟪ she looks into her cup, spies her own reflection, frowns. ⟫
Are there visions, in your world?
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