To keep Rominy calm and his heart beating for both of them.
Arisanna leads Rominy off the train as men from Feressa offer a cloth bed on poles to carry Elowyn to a room the humans prepared for her.
“Be gentle,” Tharios says as Cerian bends down along with Father to lift Elowyn from the mattress to the carrying contraption.
She’s so fiery Cerian almost recoils at her heat.
“Ready?” Father asks, and Cerian nods as he grips Elowyn’s legs.
As carefully as possible, they move her to the cloth between the poles. She moans and murmurs Rominy’s name before falling as still as death again, but the simple reaction from her comforts Cerian’s heart.
She’s alive. And she’s fighting.
Together, he and Father lift the contraption, and Cerian follows numbly as Father leads the way to wherever they’re taking her. From the corner of his eye, Cerian spots Grandmera outside the station, pressing her forehead to Rominy’s.
“You are not alone, my youngling,” Grandmera says in careful Nunian, and Rominy shudders, overcome with emotion. “We are family now.”
“This way.” Father draws Cerian back to the task at hand as they carry Elowyn through a doorway into a hotel. A human woman leads them down a corridor and into a simple but clean and tidy room, and Cerian helps move Elowyn to the bed, with its turned-down covers.
This time, she doesn’t stir, and Cerian tries not to let her stillness unnerve him.
Then Mother is beside him. “You will sleep now, my elfling. A room awaits you down the hall.”
“What about you? And Tharios?”
“Tharios has his own bed awaiting him as soon as he gets Elowyn settled. You did well, my littlest love. Elowyn lives because of you. And now you must rest.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods, and Mother soon returns to Elowyn and Tharios.
Cerian’s heart aches to find Arisanna, but she’s probably busy with Rominy now. As he trudges toward the door Mother indicated, he rubs at the grit in his eyes and stifles a yawn.
Stepping into the room, he closes the door and lowers himself to the edge of the large bed. He needs to remove his boots, but he can’t seem to move.
His eyelids grow heavy as he tries to summon the will to do more than stare at the wall.
Someone tugs at his boot, and his eyes flash open.
Arisanna. He didn’t even hear her come in.
They don’t speak as she removes his boots and sets them aside.
Then she reaches for his shirt.
Whistling wind. Is she planning to undress him?
He doesn’t stop her, though, lifting his arms so she can tug his shirt off over his head.
“I thought you’d be with Rominy,” Cerian finally murmurs in Elvish, too weary to find the words in Nunian.
“Rominy is in good hands. Your well-being is my priority now.”
Her words wash over him, and he buries his fingers in her hair, drawing her closer until her lips meet his in a gentle, tender kiss.
“You need to sleep, my elven prince,” she says, but she crawls onto his lap and doesn’t pull away.
This may be unwise. His control is tenuous. He’s too exhausted to hold his fire in check for long.
But it’s not fire that burns within him now. It’s a yearning for her strength. For her comfort. To feel as though his world is a brighter place because she’s in it.
