⟪ she must have, in the end, fallen into some shape of a doze, and when he jolts awake and sits, she's momentarily left without orientation – and reaches for her knife, which she can't find. it takes her half a moment to reorder her thoughts: kanan is in bed with her, she'd not taken her knife as she usually would because kanan is in bed with her, there is no immediate danger.
gently, she touches his face, brushes his own hand as she does. he's shivering – or shaking, 'tis hard to tell. ⟫
Dark dreams? ⟪ her voice is a murmur, warm and calm. she leans against him, her thin dressing gown against his skin and heat radiating from her as ever. ⟫
[ instictive and immediate, kanan's hand snaps up to grip her wrist when his face is touched. the grip is just as quickly loosened when the low burn touch reminds him that he fell asleep with melisandre. he breathes out heavy, eyes closing and face turning off to the side with apology. ]
Yeah.
[ vivid in the moment and now fading into the dark, he doesn't quite let go of her hand yet. it helps him stay grounded and remember where he is. he doesn't have it in him to face her in the moment, but he thinks he owes her some explanation. ]
I lost my sight a year ago. That illusion - it's the first time I've been able to see since.
[ it feels like one of many reasons why he keeps seeing it. the disturbance, the destruction of sacred land, and the sensation of burning alive. how is he the only one bothered by this between them? ]
⟪ she does not withdraw her hand, merely adjusts to hold his more comfortably. ⟫
A mere year?
⟪ true, the scar that she thinks must related to the incident does not look aged nor faded. yet he struck her as quite adjusted to the loss of sight, and certainly, he could use his force for orientation –– it seems like such a short timespan to gain such a handle over the loss of a sense. it is not something she expects an answer to, not really, but it slipped out nonetheless. ⟫
I wish the illusion had shown you a more peaceful sight. ⟪ with her free hand, she brushes back his hair. ⟫ Though it is only natural it would haunt you – what else are dreams for, but to curse you?
[ he isn't sure how to take the year comment, but in the moment he realizes he never explained the loss. much like the very visible scar that has faded off, the loss no longer pains him. it's just a matter of fact now, and any contradiction to it rattles him more.
her touch coaxes him away from those thoughts and he leans into them, a tired breath exhaling out as he leans back into the pillow again. he holds her hand and hopes she joins, or at the very least does not pull away. ]
My eyes were burned by a lightsaber. I let my guard down when I shouldn't have, and he took advantage of it.
[ the 'he' in question goes unnamed as he tries to relax his body, nerves still tangled and firing off when he thinks of sleep for a moment. his mind knows what will come and it does not want him to continue enduring it. ]
⟪ she does join him, sinking back into the bed and against him. for a talk, she reckons it might be smarter to stay seated, so she may look him in the face even as he attempts to relax back to sleep –– but he'd turned his face away, and she assumes it just might be easier for him to speak without facing her.
and, selfishly, so close to him, the night seems perhaps a shade less dark. she doesn't argue him on the matter of curses – she knows what she experiences, but she prefers an attempt to bringing peace to him over having to speak of it, or really, go further near it in her own thoughts. ⟫
He? ⟪ it's out before she catches herself. ⟫ You need not speak of it, of course, if you do not wish. ⟪ a pause, as she adjusts against his chest, so that she can trace patterns against his skin he'll grow familiar with in time. ⟫ All the more cruel to send you into a field of flame, when fire has taken from you already. You need not be guarded here, Kanan. In this world, fire will not touch you while I am here.
[ he smiles small at that and he wishes he could believe it. maybe he can, if only for tonight, as she delicately moves her finger against his chest and warms him from the cold grip of his sleep. ]
His name was Maul. He's dead now.
[ his apprentice told him he was gone now, but reports of maul's death have been numerous and untrue. kanan can only hope he will never cross paths with the mad man again. he thinks melisandre would go into a spin if she saw him, horns and skin a mix of red and black markings etched as his skin. that maul was the last thing he ever saw with his sight stays with him, and occasionally haunts his sleep.
but there was one thing he saw in the illusion that doesn't haunt him. the only part of it to be thankful for. ]
Well, if there's anything good... I at least got to see you.
[ she wasn't an illusion, looking up to him with red eyes and an eerie calm that kept him from succumbing to the raging fires that never were. words cannot describe how thankful he is. ]
⟪ vengefulness should not be in her nature, of course. she may scorn a heretic, but to receive the news of a death with gladness – especially a death not leading to an ascension such as a burning – is perhaps not a sin, but it is certainly uncalled for.
but before she can dwell the whys and hows and what-ifs of that thing, when he says something all the more unexpected. ⟫
There are a number of Westerosi who would find that most troubling. ⟪ couldn't help that one, as she tries to describe what she felt in the heart of the illusion. ⟫ The fire did not trouble me, nor did the woods. But when I thought of death, it was yours I feared. To know that it was false, and that you would be safe as soon as the spell broke – it kept me calm.
[ revenge is not the jedi way, for vegenance is a dark trait, but kanan still breathes out the tiniest laugh at her response. he doesn't take pleasure in maul's death, but he certainly won't miss the dark sider who tried to claim his apprentice from him multiple times.
his thoughts are quickly pulled back to her though and he opens his eyes to try and spy her in the dim lit room. of course he can't see her and his eyes are unfocused even as he looks her way now, but he wants to pretend she's looking at him. ]
I feared dying, but I was afraid of what could happen to you just as much. Even when I knew it couldn't be real. [ he swallows a small lump in his throat and closes his eyes again. ] I'm glad we got out of there ok.
[ it could have been worse, as it always can be so much worse, but it wasn't. not this time at least. living another day is something he takes a lot of thanks in since the day he learned the jedi were not so immortal as they seemed. ]
⟪ she is watching him as closely as she ever does, and their eyes meet – or at least, she has the impression, even though she knows he cannot see, and even though she does not need to be seen by him to feel understood. only when he closes his eyes again does she shift a little closer, to brush a kiss against his cheek, all the while hoping she does not, by accident, cross the boundary he had set earlier. ⟫
So am I. ⟪ even if it means no death by fire, and no being raised to the hall of light before her time. easy trade if it meant he did not have to die then, not even in a false way. ⟫ I am... unused to being the subject of another's concern. ⟪ she says it, and even she hears the stilted awkwardness in it, for once. she breathes a half-laugh before she goes on – ⟫ Well, God's own, perhaps. I do not mean to burden you.
⟪ a pause, then: ⟫ There is something I will give you, tomorrow. A powder, with which flames can be killed, no further powers required. I did not bring much from my world, but perhaps I brought enough to ease your mind.
[ her kiss is not unwelcomed, but it's a kind gentle gesture that catches him off guard. he turns his head toward it when he feels her lips brush up to his cheek, regretting his skin is so cold compared to hers, and reaches for her hand to bring up to his lips in turn. if she lets him, an invitation without force in his pull, he would surely kiss the back of her hand without hesitation in response. ]
Thank you. [ he wants to reject the need for it in truth, but he doesn't want to fight her on a meaningful offering. to know no one shows her concern is a sad thing and one he's all too familiar with. ] I'll be concerned for you if you need it, and even if you don't. Everyone needs someone.
[ everyone needs comfort, friends, family. he thought how he could be that for her back in kyst, but he realizes he never really said it to her. now is a better time than no time at all. ]
⟪ she lets him, watching him quietly. he is terribly cold, and she makes sure to bring up the blanket again, in hopes of warming him after the cold, harsh awakening. ⟫
I have my faith. ⟪ she speaks of it often enough to make it the shape of a companion. she does not, distinctly, think of the lord's champion just now – too unsure is she of whether she is in the right or in the wrong, thanks to jon. ⟫ But that is different from having a friend.
⟪ much, much different. ⟫ I was near sleeping when you woke. ⟪ she realises what she says, and tries to step in before he can bring up his habit of apologies. ⟫ 'tis a rare thing for me, to be so at ease, and I thank you for it.
[ so much different, he understands. she comes from such a strange place, one that seems untouched by the technology he thoughtlessly takes as a granted given, but it's rare for him to be stumped when she speaks of her upbringing. it's something he has taken note of before, but has begun to appreciate. he has a lot of friends but none of them could ever understand growing up in a temple, apart from the rest of the galaxy, the way she can.
faith matters, but so do friends. he's glad she has accepted him with just a simple word. ]
I can't promise I won't wake up again. If that bothers you, I can always sleep on the floor.
[ he won't apologize for the nightmares, but the least he can do is not ruin her sleep alongside his. it would be a pity to not have her, to hold onto someone and feel safe, but he's spent more nights unsafe than not. ]
I need but an hour's sleep every few days. ⟪ he has been honest with her, vulnerable even, he's offering her concern and safety and if that means she will, perhaps, now and again be honest on some matter, then that just might be fair.
she makes light of the confession by snaking an arm around him and returning to 'her' spot from before, with her cheek against his chest, curled up and content. ⟫ There is nothing about this that could bother me, so long as I can aim to aid you back to rest.
[ that's insane. how can she not sleep for that long? he assumes, the same as her unnaturally warm skin and fire magic, that it must be associated with her worship. a blessing from the god she serves.
he wants to question more, but the mix of exhaustion coupled with her resting so warmly on him again makes him pull back. why ruin the moment? they can always talk later. he doesn't want to make things complicated, even as his mind buzzes.
(it occurs to him now too that she might not have slept in kyst. it would explain how she got rid of that cat hair.)
kanan yawns heav, trying to get his brain to shut up, and wraps an arm around melisandre's back in turn to hold her closer. ]
Well, you're doing a good job already. [ his voice returns back to a mutter, his body's limit starting to come again after winding down with her soothing voice. ] Maybe you should sing for me.
[ it's a joke, mostly. he just wants to hear her voice. a warm guide to his rest, something to cling to as he tries again to plummet into sleep for the night. ]
⟪ she is glad that he does not question her on it immediately, grateful for the calmness of his nature in the face of some of the unknown she ever-casually brings into his life. wish she could say half of that about herself whenever he speaks of his world and all there is to it. ⟫
As you wish. ⟪ she adjusts her position ever so slightly, to make it easier for her to comply, though she doesn't shift far – far too comfortable it is to be held by him like this.
when she begins again, her voice comes out in soft valyrian, gentle rises and falls in a low, deep song. she makes use of a thing she's learned: with an effort of her consciousness, she bars the words from translating. the longest, calmest songs she knows are all prayer songs, and she does not wish to haunt him with images of fire when this very blessed thing robs him of his peace and quiet. it goes on for a very long time, in complicated cycles that had once taken her weeks to memorise in full, but that now came to her almost in rest. there's nothing else to be heard now but her voice (and his heart, for her, given how close she is to it), and the cat's deep, occasional purrs from below the bed. it's a song sung most often over the nightfires, meant to carry all the way to dawn. this seems to be her intent. ⟫
[ he mostly was kidding but says nothing when she agrees. kanan takes the opportunity to shift with her, turning onto his side to better hold her, but not so tight that she can't move or leave if need be. it makes it all the easier for her to get comfortable and sing a song he does not recognize and never will. the content doesn't matter so much as her voice, ancient and melodious and blanketing over the darkness as he empties out his mind.
slowly she may well feel that he falls into a meditative trance, only one where he empties out the hateful vision clouding his mind to make room for her to come in. he imagines them back in the woods, holding onto each other as the fire tries to burn them away. her voice is the only sound now and though the flames wrap around and do their best to consume them, it does nothing. it warms, intense and dangerous, without destroying. there is nothing to fear and so he does not. he lets go.
attachment is dangerous in its distraction and the want to cling to an object, a person, a life that may not exist tomorrow. he holds her hoping that tomorrow the fire will only warm and not destroy.
as simple as that, even as the woods burn around them in his mind, he is able to sleep under her voice and wrapped in her warmth. ]
⟪ the song lasts until the earliest grey of dawn. between the warmth of his embrace, the calm evenness of his breathing, the comfort of safety she feels around him, exhaustion eventually catches up on her, as it always does eventually. she shifts as close as she can, and then she, too, falls into a slumber.
his arms prevent her from tossing and turning as she usually would, and though her sleep remains short-lived, and even though her dreams are the same as they always are, when she wakes again she feels rested. the candles still burn their low light, and she enlists a small shadow (her skin rising by feverish degree or two) to draw a curtain across the window, so that the morning light does not wake him as it did in kyst. the night had been late, and if he has found rest, he should find as much of it as possible.
as for herself? she can remain like this for hours, easily. the only true movement after this is the cat, who will jump up at the foot of the bed, excited to find it occupied and eager to continue his night's sleep curled up atop the blanket at their feet. ⟫
[ even as the image of being engulfed by flames while holding melisandre took his mind as he slept, kanan does not dream. when he awakens it is not to eyes shot open with panic, no cold sweat, or a rush of fear that threatens to send him into a spiral of anxiety. he wakes up slow and still thoroughly exhausted, but with the sensation that there was sleep when he was sure there would be none. maybe he could sleep even longer?
with lag in his body, his head tilts slightly up from the pillow to take note of the room. he feels something has curled up between his and her's ankles and sure enough it's only the cat. he sighs, the alertness fading, and his head drops back to the pillow without so much as a fuss from his willpower. there is none in the warmth of melisandre resting against him, their arms still loose around each other, and there is little doubt in him he could fall asleep again. not a morning person indeed, and there is no reason to rush that comes to mind.
he yawns small and breathes in, not ready to get out of the grasp of sleep but not quite falling asleep again even as his body starts to wind down into rest once more. ]
He will begin his calling for the breaking of his fast in a few hours' time.
⟪ the cat, she means, her voice still low and warm and, dare one say it, sleepy. she's caught his movement and read it for what it was, but she... is in no rush to move, or force wakefulness upon him. ⟫
It will still be morning then.
⟪ she only shifts to burrow her face against his chest properly. the prayer song serves well for one morning, there are no other duties for her to attend to, and if she can rest a little longer, she will happily do so. ⟫
[ he yawns, voice full of sleep- ] Just call it breakfast.
[ her way of speaking is so odd, but it reminds him a little of twi'leks and their native accent. he likes that about her, as he does many other things. he's not especially tempted to let her go and when she presses into her chest it's all the more reason to stay as still as he can. ]
How do you stay so warm... do you ever feel cold?
[ a tired thought as he tries to shake himself awake, but the warmth she exudes makes that a true trial. ]
⟪ it sounds odd to her ears, but then, so had all of the common tongue once sounded strange to her, and asshai'i, at some much earlier point. ⟫
Never. ⟪ she suppresses a yawn – that would hardly be priestly – and goes on, voice still low. ⟫ The Wall I have mentioned before is a hundred feet tall, and made of ice, and the winter there does not just last years, 'tis always cold. Even there I do not feel anything but warmth, and the snow which falls melts in my path.
⟪ as casual as if she is talking about the weather. well, in a way, she is. ⟫
It is not my doing, not any more than your own warmth is. ⟪ he feels warm to her now, half under the blanket and half covered by her. ⟫ Does the Force not touch you in such a manner?
[ he sniffs, drifting a hand up to rest at her hair. his fingers lazily thread in, remembering the striking red it was and how it fell past her shoulders and down her back. without realizing, he smiles. ]
It alerts me to danger. A cold air out of nowhere, a bad feeling - visions do the same, sometimes.
[ it isn't perfect and comes too late to do anything about it, but he can't complain to anyone about it. the force works as it wants and he merely calls to it, as it calls to him. he learned not to use it as a crutch after many years of forcibly living without it, and he doesn't regret instilling the habit. ]
⟪ she gives a soft hum at his touch, for a moment perfectly content with the world, and not yet awake enough to consider her wars, nor the troubling situation at the theatre. it's quite enough to just enjoy his touch, listen to his warm voice describe the workings of the force, to rest a hand against his chest and feel his heart beat slow and steady.
only when he mentions visions does she become truly alert. ⟫
More in common then. ⟪ she lifts her head, enough to see his face, though not enough to truly move away from him. ⟫
The ability to see visions in the flames is what is needed to be brought to priesthood. I did not know the ability was spread beyond Essos.
⟪ not among a living people, that is, though the jedi have suffered so much of the same fate other seers oft went. ⟫
[ kanan gives a soft hum in response, appreciating another aspect they have in common. it makes it all the easier to speak of these matters with her, when for anyone else he has to give long rambles of context to make it "easier" to get. ]
It isn't common in the galaxy, I know that much.
[ uncommon, maybe rare. the galaxy is so vast after all, but if it were more common it would certainly be exploited by now. sith abuse their visions and jedi learn from them, or so was the instruction. ]
I don't will them though. They just... sort of happen. Usually in sleep, or meditation. I try not to seek them out.
Seeking visions is how I spent most my nights, in my own world, at least.
⟪ so the fact that he downright avoids them is strange, but then – it's a complex craft, the mastery of which takes years and years, and many a priest or priestess has fallen victim to foolishness over them. she'd shown stannis a few, and it had always left his sleep more disturbed, his mind filled with dark thoughts. when it can be a choice, she is most keen on respecting it. ⟫
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gently, she touches his face, brushes his own hand as she does. he's shivering – or shaking, 'tis hard to tell. ⟫
Dark dreams? ⟪ her voice is a murmur, warm and calm. she leans against him, her thin dressing gown against his skin and heat radiating from her as ever. ⟫
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Yeah.
[ vivid in the moment and now fading into the dark, he doesn't quite let go of her hand yet. it helps him stay grounded and remember where he is. he doesn't have it in him to face her in the moment, but he thinks he owes her some explanation. ]
I lost my sight a year ago. That illusion - it's the first time I've been able to see since.
[ it feels like one of many reasons why he keeps seeing it. the disturbance, the destruction of sacred land, and the sensation of burning alive. how is he the only one bothered by this between them? ]
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A mere year?
⟪ true, the scar that she thinks must related to the incident does not look aged nor faded. yet he struck her as quite adjusted to the loss of sight, and certainly, he could use his force for orientation –– it seems like such a short timespan to gain such a handle over the loss of a sense. it is not something she expects an answer to, not really, but it slipped out nonetheless. ⟫
I wish the illusion had shown you a more peaceful sight. ⟪ with her free hand, she brushes back his hair. ⟫ Though it is only natural it would haunt you – what else are dreams for, but to curse you?
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[ he isn't sure how to take the year comment, but in the moment he realizes he never explained the loss. much like the very visible scar that has faded off, the loss no longer pains him. it's just a matter of fact now, and any contradiction to it rattles him more.
her touch coaxes him away from those thoughts and he leans into them, a tired breath exhaling out as he leans back into the pillow again. he holds her hand and hopes she joins, or at the very least does not pull away. ]
My eyes were burned by a lightsaber. I let my guard down when I shouldn't have, and he took advantage of it.
[ the 'he' in question goes unnamed as he tries to relax his body, nerves still tangled and firing off when he thinks of sleep for a moment. his mind knows what will come and it does not want him to continue enduring it. ]
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and, selfishly, so close to him, the night seems perhaps a shade less dark. she doesn't argue him on the matter of curses – she knows what she experiences, but she prefers an attempt to bringing peace to him over having to speak of it, or really, go further near it in her own thoughts. ⟫
He? ⟪ it's out before she catches herself. ⟫ You need not speak of it, of course, if you do not wish. ⟪ a pause, as she adjusts against his chest, so that she can trace patterns against his skin he'll grow familiar with in time. ⟫ All the more cruel to send you into a field of flame, when fire has taken from you already. You need not be guarded here, Kanan. In this world, fire will not touch you while I am here.
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His name was Maul. He's dead now.
[ his apprentice told him he was gone now, but reports of maul's death have been numerous and untrue. kanan can only hope he will never cross paths with the mad man again. he thinks melisandre would go into a spin if she saw him, horns and skin a mix of red and black markings etched as his skin. that maul was the last thing he ever saw with his sight stays with him, and occasionally haunts his sleep.
but there was one thing he saw in the illusion that doesn't haunt him. the only part of it to be thankful for. ]
Well, if there's anything good... I at least got to see you.
[ she wasn't an illusion, looking up to him with red eyes and an eerie calm that kept him from succumbing to the raging fires that never were. words cannot describe how thankful he is. ]
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⟪ vengefulness should not be in her nature, of course. she may scorn a heretic, but to receive the news of a death with gladness – especially a death not leading to an ascension such as a burning – is perhaps not a sin, but it is certainly uncalled for.
but before she can dwell the whys and hows and what-ifs of that thing, when he says something all the more unexpected. ⟫
There are a number of Westerosi who would find that most troubling. ⟪ couldn't help that one, as she tries to describe what she felt in the heart of the illusion. ⟫ The fire did not trouble me, nor did the woods. But when I thought of death, it was yours I feared. To know that it was false, and that you would be safe as soon as the spell broke – it kept me calm.
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his thoughts are quickly pulled back to her though and he opens his eyes to try and spy her in the dim lit room. of course he can't see her and his eyes are unfocused even as he looks her way now, but he wants to pretend she's looking at him. ]
I feared dying, but I was afraid of what could happen to you just as much. Even when I knew it couldn't be real. [ he swallows a small lump in his throat and closes his eyes again. ] I'm glad we got out of there ok.
[ it could have been worse, as it always can be so much worse, but it wasn't. not this time at least. living another day is something he takes a lot of thanks in since the day he learned the jedi were not so immortal as they seemed. ]
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So am I. ⟪ even if it means no death by fire, and no being raised to the hall of light before her time. easy trade if it meant he did not have to die then, not even in a false way. ⟫ I am... unused to being the subject of another's concern. ⟪ she says it, and even she hears the stilted awkwardness in it, for once. she breathes a half-laugh before she goes on – ⟫ Well, God's own, perhaps. I do not mean to burden you.
⟪ a pause, then: ⟫ There is something I will give you, tomorrow. A powder, with which flames can be killed, no further powers required. I did not bring much from my world, but perhaps I brought enough to ease your mind.
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Thank you. [ he wants to reject the need for it in truth, but he doesn't want to fight her on a meaningful offering. to know no one shows her concern is a sad thing and one he's all too familiar with. ] I'll be concerned for you if you need it, and even if you don't. Everyone needs someone.
[ everyone needs comfort, friends, family. he thought how he could be that for her back in kyst, but he realizes he never really said it to her. now is a better time than no time at all. ]
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I have my faith. ⟪ she speaks of it often enough to make it the shape of a companion. she does not, distinctly, think of the lord's champion just now – too unsure is she of whether she is in the right or in the wrong, thanks to jon. ⟫ But that is different from having a friend.
⟪ much, much different. ⟫ I was near sleeping when you woke. ⟪ she realises what she says, and tries to step in before he can bring up his habit of apologies. ⟫ 'tis a rare thing for me, to be so at ease, and I thank you for it.
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faith matters, but so do friends. he's glad she has accepted him with just a simple word. ]
I can't promise I won't wake up again. If that bothers you, I can always sleep on the floor.
[ he won't apologize for the nightmares, but the least he can do is not ruin her sleep alongside his. it would be a pity to not have her, to hold onto someone and feel safe, but he's spent more nights unsafe than not. ]
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she makes light of the confession by snaking an arm around him and returning to 'her' spot from before, with her cheek against his chest, curled up and content. ⟫ There is nothing about this that could bother me, so long as I can aim to aid you back to rest.
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[ that's insane. how can she not sleep for that long? he assumes, the same as her unnaturally warm skin and fire magic, that it must be associated with her worship. a blessing from the god she serves.
he wants to question more, but the mix of exhaustion coupled with her resting so warmly on him again makes him pull back. why ruin the moment? they can always talk later. he doesn't want to make things complicated, even as his mind buzzes.
(it occurs to him now too that she might not have slept in kyst. it would explain how she got rid of that cat hair.)
kanan yawns heav, trying to get his brain to shut up, and wraps an arm around melisandre's back in turn to hold her closer. ]
Well, you're doing a good job already. [ his voice returns back to a mutter, his body's limit starting to come again after winding down with her soothing voice. ] Maybe you should sing for me.
[ it's a joke, mostly. he just wants to hear her voice. a warm guide to his rest, something to cling to as he tries again to plummet into sleep for the night. ]
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As you wish. ⟪ she adjusts her position ever so slightly, to make it easier for her to comply, though she doesn't shift far – far too comfortable it is to be held by him like this.
when she begins again, her voice comes out in soft valyrian, gentle rises and falls in a low, deep song. she makes use of a thing she's learned: with an effort of her consciousness, she bars the words from translating. the longest, calmest songs she knows are all prayer songs, and she does not wish to haunt him with images of fire when this very blessed thing robs him of his peace and quiet. it goes on for a very long time, in complicated cycles that had once taken her weeks to memorise in full, but that now came to her almost in rest. there's nothing else to be heard now but her voice (and his heart, for her, given how close she is to it), and the cat's deep, occasional purrs from below the bed. it's a song sung most often over the nightfires, meant to carry all the way to dawn. this seems to be her intent. ⟫
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slowly she may well feel that he falls into a meditative trance, only one where he empties out the hateful vision clouding his mind to make room for her to come in. he imagines them back in the woods, holding onto each other as the fire tries to burn them away. her voice is the only sound now and though the flames wrap around and do their best to consume them, it does nothing. it warms, intense and dangerous, without destroying. there is nothing to fear and so he does not. he lets go.
attachment is dangerous in its distraction and the want to cling to an object, a person, a life that may not exist tomorrow. he holds her hoping that tomorrow the fire will only warm and not destroy.
as simple as that, even as the woods burn around them in his mind, he is able to sleep under her voice and wrapped in her warmth. ]
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his arms prevent her from tossing and turning as she usually would, and though her sleep remains short-lived, and even though her dreams are the same as they always are, when she wakes again she feels rested. the candles still burn their low light, and she enlists a small shadow (her skin rising by feverish degree or two) to draw a curtain across the window, so that the morning light does not wake him as it did in kyst. the night had been late, and if he has found rest, he should find as much of it as possible.
as for herself? she can remain like this for hours, easily. the only true movement after this is the cat, who will jump up at the foot of the bed, excited to find it occupied and eager to continue his night's sleep curled up atop the blanket at their feet. ⟫
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with lag in his body, his head tilts slightly up from the pillow to take note of the room. he feels something has curled up between his and her's ankles and sure enough it's only the cat. he sighs, the alertness fading, and his head drops back to the pillow without so much as a fuss from his willpower. there is none in the warmth of melisandre resting against him, their arms still loose around each other, and there is little doubt in him he could fall asleep again. not a morning person indeed, and there is no reason to rush that comes to mind.
he yawns small and breathes in, not ready to get out of the grasp of sleep but not quite falling asleep again even as his body starts to wind down into rest once more. ]
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⟪ the cat, she means, her voice still low and warm and, dare one say it, sleepy. she's caught his movement and read it for what it was, but she... is in no rush to move, or force wakefulness upon him. ⟫
It will still be morning then.
⟪ she only shifts to burrow her face against his chest properly. the prayer song serves well for one morning, there are no other duties for her to attend to, and if she can rest a little longer, she will happily do so. ⟫
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[ her way of speaking is so odd, but it reminds him a little of twi'leks and their native accent. he likes that about her, as he does many other things. he's not especially tempted to let her go and when she presses into her chest it's all the more reason to stay as still as he can. ]
How do you stay so warm... do you ever feel cold?
[ a tired thought as he tries to shake himself awake, but the warmth she exudes makes that a true trial. ]
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⟪ it sounds odd to her ears, but then, so had all of the common tongue once sounded strange to her, and asshai'i, at some much earlier point. ⟫
Never. ⟪ she suppresses a yawn – that would hardly be priestly – and goes on, voice still low. ⟫ The Wall I have mentioned before is a hundred feet tall, and made of ice, and the winter there does not just last years, 'tis always cold. Even there I do not feel anything but warmth, and the snow which falls melts in my path.
⟪ as casual as if she is talking about the weather. well, in a way, she is. ⟫
It is not my doing, not any more than your own warmth is. ⟪ he feels warm to her now, half under the blanket and half covered by her. ⟫ Does the Force not touch you in such a manner?
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[ he sniffs, drifting a hand up to rest at her hair. his fingers lazily thread in, remembering the striking red it was and how it fell past her shoulders and down her back. without realizing, he smiles. ]
It alerts me to danger. A cold air out of nowhere, a bad feeling - visions do the same, sometimes.
[ it isn't perfect and comes too late to do anything about it, but he can't complain to anyone about it. the force works as it wants and he merely calls to it, as it calls to him. he learned not to use it as a crutch after many years of forcibly living without it, and he doesn't regret instilling the habit. ]
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only when he mentions visions does she become truly alert. ⟫
More in common then. ⟪ she lifts her head, enough to see his face, though not enough to truly move away from him. ⟫
The ability to see visions in the flames is what is needed to be brought to priesthood. I did not know the ability was spread beyond Essos.
⟪ not among a living people, that is, though the jedi have suffered so much of the same fate other seers oft went. ⟫
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It isn't common in the galaxy, I know that much.
[ uncommon, maybe rare. the galaxy is so vast after all, but if it were more common it would certainly be exploited by now. sith abuse their visions and jedi learn from them, or so was the instruction. ]
I don't will them though. They just... sort of happen. Usually in sleep, or meditation. I try not to seek them out.
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⟪ so the fact that he downright avoids them is strange, but then – it's a complex craft, the mastery of which takes years and years, and many a priest or priestess has fallen victim to foolishness over them. she'd shown stannis a few, and it had always left his sleep more disturbed, his mind filled with dark thoughts. when it can be a choice, she is most keen on respecting it. ⟫
Why is it that you avoid them?
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