Episode 66 When My Light Wanes
When My Light Wanes
Cerian hovers nearby, unsure how to help. Seeing Elowyn like that almost upended his stomach.
She’s the strong one. For her to be so pale and sunken...it’s jarring.
But Arisanna gripped his hands and looked into his eyes and somehow gave him a morsel of her own strength before being strong for Rominy as well.
And she was right. Rominy loves Elowyn. He looks as broken in real life as he did in that vision.
He must feel as helpless as Cerian does.
Cerian listens as Tharios and Rominy discuss Elowyn’s condition. Not that Cerian didn’t understand every word Tharios said as he fought to save them. All the words Arisanna translated as well as the ones she didn’t.
Rominy has no idea how close Tharios came to losing them both.
Even now, darkness gnaws at the edges of Cerian’s vision, clawing at the exhaustion from the day and the terror of those moments when Arisanna kept Rominy distracted and Cerian did his best to pretend along with her that Elowyn wasn’t dying.
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.
“Will you lie down with me?” His tongue loosens, the walls holding him back crumbling in his exhaustion. “I’m terrified that if I close my eyes, you’ll fade away. That I’ll wake, and you’ll be a dream. A figment of my imagination.”
“I’m real, Cerian. My heart beats within your chest. Do you feel it?”
Closing his eyes, he nods. “I feel it. But...I need you tonight.”
“Then I’ll be here.” She grazes his lips with her own. His upper lip. His lower one. Her breath mingles with his, and their foreheads touch. “We should lie down,” she says breathlessly.
Too tired to move or argue, he lies back, drawing her with him. Can he just sleep here, like this? With the weight of her body on him numbing his fears and making him forget everything but her?
“This wasn’t quite what I meant,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t move. “You’d be more comfortable if you lay down the right way.”
He rolls his head from side to side. “I like this.”
A soft laugh escapes her. “You’re delirious, Cerian. You need to sleep.”
“Can’t...move.”
“Come on. Do you want your trousers on or off?”
His eyes snap open at that.
“Well. That got your attention.” Mirth glimmers on her face as she smiles down at him, and he’s suddenly very cognizant of every part of her that touches him. “You’re getting warmer, my fire wielder. Shall I move?” she asks.
What are they doing? Elowyn is a few doors away possibly dying, and they’re here doing this? What’s wrong with him?
Arisanna’s forehead wrinkles as she gazes down at him. “What is it?”
He closes his eyes again and sighs.
“She’ll be all right, Cerian. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I...”
Her voice trails off, and she buries her face against his neck. Is she crying? She doesn’t seem to be crying. Just...hiding herself in him.
My light will fill your darkness, and when my light wanes, yours will guide me.
The words of the heartbinding fill him. They’re living this part now, aren’t they? Taking turns being strong?
He pushes past his exhaustion to tentatively rub her back. To run his hand over her hair. It’s still braided, but twining his fingers in it earlier didn’t do her any favors.
Without speaking, he unties the leather strap and combs his fingers through her reddish-brown tresses. She seems to like him playing with it, as if it’s soothing to her.
He can do that.
As he fights to stay awake, he strokes her hair and rubs her back. Her heart rate steadies, and he whispers near her ear, “We should sleep.”
But she doesn’t respond.
Mustering the last of his strength, he lifts her fully onto the mattress before crawling into bed beside her and drawing the blankets over them both. In her dreamy state, she nestles against him, and he wraps his arm around her before succumbing to his own exhaustion.
When Elowyn said Grandmera was young, Rominy wasn’t prepared for what that would mean. Two hundred looks much different on an elf than it would on a human.
Which is one of the most bizarre thoughts he’s had today. He must be halfway to losing his mind.
When he lowers himself to the floor outside Elowyn’s room, Grandmera joins him. He only has the vaguest memories of his own grandmother, and none of them involved her sitting on the floor.
“You remind me of your father, Rominy. I met him when he was your age. It was shortly after my Restoval took the throne.” She speaks carefully, with a strong accent, but her Nunian is better than his Elvish.
“You met my father when he was my age?” Rominy asks.
“Indeed. Arisanna favors him in appearance, but I see him in your manner. The heaviness you carry in your eyes.”
Rominy frowns. “My father is unflappable. Like Arisanna. I’m not like him at all.”
“I believe you are. You just don’t know it yet. He wasn’t born a king, Rominy. No man is. He grew into his role the same way Lorial had to. The same way my Restoval did. The same way you will someday.”
For a moment, Rominy just stares at her. “How...”
“How do I know your fears? You’re not the first future king I’ve met, Rominy.”
Rominy sighs and stretches out his legs in front of him.
He might as well talk to her. It will keep him distracted from Elowyn.
“I sometimes think Nunia would be better off with Arisanna than with me.” He glances at Grandmera, expecting to read shock in her eyes, but her expression hasn’t changed.
Then he looks down at his hands and huffs a wry half-laugh. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“Should I be?”
“My parents would be horrified.”
“And why is that, my youngling?”
Leaning his head back, he stares at the wall across the hallway. “Because I was a gift for Nunia. Arisanna is for Lostariel. The hopes and dreams of an entire kingdom rest on my shoulders, and I can’t even take my wife on a honeymoon without almost killing her.”
He rubs his eyes and breathes out slowly, grasping at Elowyn’s heartbeat. His tether.
“That’s not the story I heard.”
Rominy drops his hands and turns to Grandmera. “What do you mean?”
“I heard that you alone chased the man who attacked her, and like a true king, you showed him mercy.”
“Because Elowyn—”
Grandmera holds up a hand, and the look on her face silences him. She’s a formidable elf, that’s for sure.
“And you got her to us in time. You kept her heart beating, Rominy. You did that.”
He shakes his head. “The heartbinding did that.”
“And who bound his heart to a stranger because it was what his kingdom needed?” Grandmera lifts her brows as she looks at him.
“You make it sound as if I’m some kind of hero. I’m not. I just...”
“Offer yourself every day to whoever needs you? I spoke to your guard. He said you are the hardest of the human royals to protect because you give little heed to your own well-being when others are in danger. My granddaughter is a brave woman, Rominy. To a fault at times. But I believe in you she has met her match.”
“I’m not brave. Not like Elowyn. I panic. I—”
“You are brave in ways she is not. Your strength isn’t in who you are alone but in who you are together.
That was the gift my Nestraya gave to Nunia.
And if you were having this conversation with her instead of me, she would say you are precisely who you were always meant to be. You are who you are, Rominy—”
“And who you are is enough.”
Rominy turns to see Elowyn’s mother standing in the open doorway to Elowyn’s room. As she steps toward him, he finds his feet, and she frames his face with her hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Let no one make you believe you need to be anything other than who you are, my youngling.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know my elfling loves you desperately, Rominy of Nunia. A mother knows these things.”
Rominy shudders as he tries to breathe. Slowly. In and out. The way Elowyn taught him. It’s all too much to think about right now. Too much to process.
“Keep breathing, Rominy. Be strong for her,” Queen Nestraya says.
He nods, slowing his breathing and imagining Elowyn’s face. Her voice. Her heart is there with him, steady and true.
“May I see her?” he asks hoarsely.
Queen Nestraya nods. “She still slumbers, but she may sense your presence, and Tharios believes seeing you in the heartlanding will keep her fighting. When you’re ready, I’ll help you sleep.”
Breathing out slowly, he nods and wipes at the dampness filling his eyes before following Queen Nestraya into Elowyn’s room.