Episode 193 I Need a Hug
I Need a Hug
After lunch, Arisanna follows Cerian back to his chamber.
They should probably pack for tomorrow.
Cerian seems quiet, though. Even more subdued than usual.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she says softly once they’re alone.
His forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Sorry. It’s a human phrase. I was wondering what you’re thinking.”
He sighs as he lowers himself to the edge of the bed. He still looks fierce with his warrior braids and painted eyes.
“I just wish I could help Tharios more. He does everything. Carries every burden. He shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“He isn’t alone. You helped him today. You helped him be strong.”
“Nothing happened, though. Viala was fine. Valethan isn’t even dangerous. My presence was hardly necessary.”
“Necessary for what? It meant something to Tharios to have you there. I saw it in his eyes. And I think we’re all glad no one needed protecting today.
That doesn’t mean your presence wasn’t necessary.
Perhaps Tharios will be able to face tomorrow and the next day more easily because he knows you’ll be there when he needs you. ”
Cerian stares up at her for a few moments before lunging for her and pulling her onto his lap.
“Cerian!”
“I need a hug.”
Arisanna struggles not to laugh as he holds her against his chest.
“You need a hug?” she asks.
“I do. Promise not to tell?”
“Your secrets are safe with me, my elven prince.”
“Thank you.” He relaxes his hold on her and scoots back on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard with her in his arms.
She snuggles against his chest and lets him hold her as he plays with her hair. Neither of them says anything. Words aren’t always necessary, especially not with her elven prince, who speaks the loudest with no words at all.
When a vine slithers onto the bed near Arisanna’s feet, she almost jumps.
She may never grow used to that.
“Forgive me,” Cerian says sheepishly as the vine retreats. “My plant magic is restless. It wants to be out in the woods.”
“You know,” she says as she traces the lines on his palm, “Rominy and Elowyn commandeered the practice arena last night. Perhaps we should take it tonight. Use your magic. Get some of this restless energy out.”
“That...is a good idea. Let’s do that.”
She nearly laughs at his eagerness.
“We should probably pack first, though,” she says. “Do you think Grandmera has time to help me choose what to bring?”
“I believe Grandmera always has time for you.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Why don’t you get started while I find her?”
Arisanna nods, and he helps her off the bed.
As he leaves, Arisanna wanders to her own wardrobe through the connecting door and takes in the new elven fashions hanging there.
She loves them all. It’s such a foreign feeling to look at her wardrobe and want to wear everything.
Her eyes stray to the leathers as thoughts of the practice arena fill her.
It would be an appropriate fashion choice for such a setting.
And Cerian wouldn’t complain.
Biting her lip, she reaches for the hanger and hurries into the water closet before she has a chance to change her mind.
Cerian wanders aimlessly looking for Grandmera for a few minutes before sighing.
Life magic would be useful in moments like this.
“Hey, Cerian. Is something wrong?”
Cerian looks up as Rafelis strides down the corridor on his way to do something important, most likely.
At least it’s someone who can help him.
Not that Cerian enjoys asking for help, but the sooner he finds Grandmera, the sooner he and Arisanna can visit the arena.
Swallowing his inner protests, he turns to Rafelis. “I can’t find Grandmera. I don’t know where Mother is, either, and I don’t wish to bother Tharios. I don’t suppose—”
“Of course. Just give me a moment. I’m not Tharios.
” Rafelis winks, and a smile teases at the corners of Cerian’s mouth.
Closing his eyes, Rafelis concentrates. “Well, your parents are in your father’s study, which is where I’m headed.
Tharios must be with Viala in their room.
Digging past them. And you. Let’s see. Fire magic.
Fire magic. No, that’s Elowyn. Let’s try soil magic.
Ah. There she is.” Rafelis opens his eyes.
“Your grandmother seems to be near the central storage room.”
She must be collecting a travel case.
“Thank you,” Cerian says, and Rafelis claps him on the shoulder before continuing on his way.
Cerian strides toward the storage room. Hopefully, Grandmera isn’t busy.
As he approaches the open door, an unpleasant sound rises from somewhere within.
Is that supposed to be a musical instrument? Are there instruments here? No one in his family plays anything, other than Rominy, of course.
No one else is musically inclined.
Cerian steps through the door, bracing himself for whatever he’ll discover.
Grandmera lit the wall lamps, but it’s still dim. She’s a strong fire wielder, but she’s never been able to create light the way Father can. The way Cerian and Elowyn do.
Cerian throws out a handful of orb lights to illuminate the space better, and Grandmera looks up from the far corner of the room.
“Cerian. Thank you. That’s much better.”
“What are you doing in here?” he asks as he wanders closer.
“I came for a travel chest for Arisanna, but I seem to have allowed myself to grow distracted. I discovered this device left in a small compartment in this chest. It appears to be Nunian in origin—a gift or souvenir from long ago, most likely. The etchings indicate it’s some sort of musical instrument, but I am not the one who will unlock its secrets.
” Grandmera laughs lightly as she hands the rectangular metal device to Cerian.
It’s heavier than it looks, with holes in the side.
“How did you get it to make that sound?” he asks.
“I blew air through it. I will not do so again. You may keep it if you like. Now, are you here to find me or something else?”
Perhaps Rominy will know what to do with it. Cerian pockets the instrument before looking up at Grandmera again. “I was searching for you. Arisanna needs help knowing what to pack.”
“Perfect timing. I was preparing to deliver this chest to her, but since you’re here, I’ll allow you to carry it.”
Cerian nods, and after gathering the small trunk and snuffing out the lights and lamps, he follows Grandmera from the room.
Only after Arisanna has the leathers on does it occur to her that Grandmera will see her in them, too.
As she studies herself in the mirror, she bites her lip.
This is fine. She’s a Princess of Lostariel. This is how elven women dress.
Well, some of them, at any rate. She’s never seen Grandmera in leathers. But everyone else wears them.
It’s fine.
Maybe if she keeps saying it, she’ll believe it.
Or she could just change back into what she was wearing before.
She’s about to unfasten the tunic when Cerian’s door opens, and she groans.
Leather it is.
It’s fine. This is fine.
“Sanna?” Cerian calls.
“I’m in here!”
He soon appears in the open doorway to her water closet and stops short as his eyes sweep over her.
“I thought if we were going to the arena—”
“Yes.”
His quick response draws out her smile. Perhaps it really is fine.
Breathing out slowly, she steps toward him, expecting him to move, but he doesn’t.
He just stands in the doorway wearing those warrior braids that have been making her heart beat a little faster every time she looks at him.
When he slides a hand to her lower back and pulls her against him, she almost laughs.
“You like the leathers?” she teases, and he answers with a kiss like she guessed he would. It’s an eager kiss. A hungry one.
He really does like the leathers.
This time, she’s expecting the vine that slithers around her ankle, and she doesn’t flinch. Sooner than she anticipated, though, he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers as his vine recedes.
“You’re going to be mortified in about two seconds,” he whispers, and Arisanna frowns.
“What?”
“Grandmera—”
Arisanna pulls away. “Stars above, Cerian. I thought you couldn’t find her.”
She glances over Cerian’s shoulder to see Grandmera calmly thumbing through Arisanna’s new clothes.
Well. Mortified is right.
Her face flames as Cerian lets her go, but Grandmera merely smiles and pulls one of Arisanna’s new ensembles from the wardrobe as if nothing noteworthy just happened.
It’s probably best to act the same.
“Thank you,” Arisanna says a little hoarsely to Grandmera as Cerian lets her pass. “I wasn’t sure what to bring.”
“You have a keen eye for fashion,” Grandmera says. “Any of these would be appropriate for Celesta. I particularly like this green one.”
“That’s my favorite, too.” Arisanna does her best to put that kiss from her mind.
“And the leathers for traveling,” Grandmera adds, and Arisanna almost chokes.
Leather does seem to be the clothing option of choice for travel among elves, though.
Perhaps if she thinks of it as supporting her new kingdom by dressing the part, that would help.
“I’ll go pack for myself while you do this,” Cerian says, and Arisanna watches him go.
It shouldn’t be too hard for him to choose between his leather, leather, and more leather.
Surely he’ll need formal wear in Celesta, too.
He can probably manage for himself.
Arisanna turns her attention back to her own packing efforts. Grandmera is quick and efficient, and soon Arisanna’s tiny chest is full.
“Thank you,” Arisanna says, and Grandmera tucks a wisp of hair behind Arisanna’s ear.
“You are most welcome, my youngling. Enjoy your evening.” Grandmera lets herself out, and Cerian soon returns.
“The practice arena?” he says with an eagerness in his voice, and Arisanna hurries to take his hand while trying not to think about what she’s wearing.
And whose path they might cross on the way to the arena.