“Next time, you should join me,” she says softly, another tentative look in her eyes, and he presses a soft kiss to her lips before resting his forehead against hers.
“I would like that.”
A lot.
She dresses, and he gathers all their used dishes, including his bowl with the leftover caramel apples in it, since he’s unsure what else to do with the sticky mess.
“Perhaps we should hang this on the door so the new decor doesn’t make some poor maid faint.” Arisanna holds out a small hooked placard with something written on it in Nunian.
“What does it say?”
“Do not disturb.”
He nods. That would be wise, at least until he can figure out how to get rid of all the vines. Perhaps he should burn them in the hearth.
That’s a problem for later, though.
They stand together at the door as he carries their tray to return to the kitchens, and he breathes out slowly.
“I won’t leave your side,” she says, and he nods as she opens the door, and they return to everyone and everything awaiting them in the rooms below.
Rominyglancesupwhenthe door opens to admit Arisanna and Cerian. They disappeared at some point, but he’s been too focused on Elowyn to ask if they’re all right.
They look all right.
And stars above, Sanna’s hair is elaborately tied up with vines. Cerian really does like playing with her hair.
Rominy tries not to think about that too much. Or where they’ve been for the past few hours.
“How is she?” Cerian sets down what must be their dinner tray, retrieving a mass of candy wrappings before approaching the bed with Arisanna at his side.
Mother went to lie down earlier, and Father joined her. Tharios dozes in a chair nearby. The rest of Elowyn’s family went for a walk after dinner, except for Viala, who apparently can’t wander more than a few rooms away from Tharios for reasons Rominy didn’t understand nor have the energy to ask about.
They’re not heartbound. He knows that much. But she stayed, and she’s been checking on Rominy occasionally as they attempt to communicate in Elvish. She speaks little Nunian, and his Lothlesian begins and ends with the word Lothlesian.
It’s been interesting, to say the least.
Viala sits near the window, creating some kind of magic light in her palm. Over and over. Off. On. Off. On.
And it’s blue. Not golden-white like Elowyn’s lights.
He didn’t bother trying to find the Elvish words to ask Viala what she’s doing.
At least Cerian and Arisanna are here to translate now.
“She’s been in and out of consciousness all evening,” Rominy says as he looks down at Elowyn’s sleeping form beside him on the bed, where he sits holding her hand. “Tharios is worried she’s trying to wake before she’s ready because she’s attempting to reach me, but he wants to wait a little longer before sending me back to the heartlanding with her.”
“I’m sorry,” Arisanna says softly, and she doesn’t have to explain.
She understands how much it’s killing him to be here while Elowyn’s there, struggling to find him.
Suddenly, a flame erupts from Viala’s hand, far larger than any indoor flame should be.
She mutters what sounds like a curse in Lothlesian as she struggles to extinguish the flame lapping at the curtains. Tharios bolts awake and rushes toward her, Elvish words flying from his lips.
But it’s Cerian who hurries to wrap her blue flame in his own orange one before stifling it between his hands, leaving only the charred curtain behind.
For a few moments, they all silently stare at each other.
