Episode 97
This Was a Trap
There’s so much fog. Darkness with only the faintest blurred light to guide her. But a heart not her own beats in Elowyn’s chest and her ears as she follows the glow.
“Rominy?” Her voice is gravelly. Weak. Difficult to push past her lips. And no other words come to her as she grasps at the tether drawing her toward the light.
A hand. She’s holding someone’s hand. Or he’s holding hers. It pulls her forward into the light, which grows stronger every moment.
“Elowyn. Come back to me. Please.”
Rominy. He’s here. He’s drawing her from the darkness. And she clings to his hand.
The light becomes brighter and brighter until it’s almost blinding, a glow dampened only by her closed eyes. She forces them open, though they feel like lead weights.
Everything is unfocused as the light makes her squint.
“Rominy?”
“I’m here, love.” He speaks in Elvish as he hovers over her.
“Where...?” Her lips can’t seem to form the rest of her question.
“Feressa. The real world.” His voice is full of emotion, and his accent is strong as he continues in imperfect Elvish, but translating Nunian feels beyond her capabilities at the moment.
“Not...heartlanding?”
“No,” Rominy whispers.
“Welcome back, my elfling,” another familiar voice says, and Elowyn blinks, trying to focus.
“Pera?”
“I’m here.”
“Cer—”
“Yes.” Cerian’s voice comes from some distant place in the room.
“We’re all here, my darling.” A soft hand brushes aside the hair on her forehead in a familiar and comforting touch. How many times did she lie beside Mother, telling her all about her day while Mother held her and brushed aside her hair like that?
Someone keeps prodding her, and she weakly pushes him away.
“It’s me, El. I need to check your wound and your vitals,” Tharios says softly.
“Tharios?”
“Who else has been keeping you out of trouble for most of your life?”
“I’m pretty sure the answer to that is everyone,” Pera says with a gentle laugh, and a smile wants to tug at Elowyn’s lips, but she can barely muster the energy for that.
The hand holding hers lets go, and panic fills her. “Rominy! Rom—”
“I’m still here. I was just letting Tharios move closer.”
There are whispers as she tries to quiet her panic at the loss of his hand. Then the bed shifts beside her, and Rominy’s cheek presses against her temple, replacing Mother’s gentle touch. She can smell the shampoo in his hair, though a masculine scent, uniquely his, accompanies it.
“I’m not going anywhere, love,” he whispers near her ear, and she relaxes again.
“So tired,” she whispers.
“Just rest, all right?”
“What if...I don’t—”
“Wake up?” Tharios finishes for her as he looks into her eyes while Pera shines one of his lights at her, and she blinks at the brightness. “You will,” Tharios says.
“Sleep, love,” Rominy whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake again.”
But she can’t fight it, even if she wanted to, and her eyes drift closed as Rominy’s nearness lulls her back to sleep.
Throughout the day, Elowyn drifts in and out of consciousness, and Arisanna can’t convince Cerian to do anything other than stand guard over his sister. He won’t eat. He’ll barely speak.
But Elowyn is well cared for.
And Cerian needs a break, to eat if nothing else.
“Perhaps we should collect the candy we bought for Elowyn,” Arisanna whispers near his ear.
And another apple for him.
He seems hesitant to leave, but the thought of doing something useful for his sister wins out, and he nods.
Together, they make their way into the corridor, and Cerian clings to Arisanna’s hand as they climb the stairs to their room.
Once inside, he makes a beeline for the pail, but she closes the door behind them and leans against it.
Not that he couldn’t easily move her. But hopefully, he gets the message.
His brows quirk as he looks at her, but she says nothing.
“This was a trap.”
She nods. “It was.”
“You intend to make me eat, don’t you?”
She sucks in her cheeks to hide a smile. “Perhaps.”
He leans his head back and lets out an exaggerated sigh, and laughter bursts from her. She loves this humorous side of him he rarely shares with anyone else.
“How cruel I am to ensure my husband doesn’t starve himself.”
“I survived just fine for most of my life without you shoving food in me, you know.” The smile teasing at his face reveals the truth, though. He likes it when she fusses over him.
She lifts her shoulder in a half-shrug and wanders closer, laying a hand on his chest. “Are you saying you don’t want me here? Seeing to your needs?”
Stars above. That is probably the most brazen thing she’s ever said to him. Her cheeks burn, and she’s about to pull her hand back when he presses his own palm over it, holding it in place.
“I am not saying that.”
The heat in his eyes floods her with warmth of a different kind, and for the space of several shallow breaths, neither of them says anything.
He’s not catching fire as quickly as he normally does.
Then he kisses her. Soft and slow. An undemanding kiss that makes her toes curl.
Still, he doesn’t catch fire, though he’s growing warmer.
“Your magic,” she whispers against his lips.
“You burned through my heat this morning. It’s easier to control now.”
“It is?”
“It is. I may need your help expending my fire magic regularly.”
“Seeing to your needs?”
“My need for you.”
He definitely has his moments. Stars above.
He kisses her again, and she wraps her arms around his neck as he pulls her closer.
“You need to eat,” she eventually says, and he rests his forehead against hers.
“My stomach is tied in knots.”
“Can I tempt you with sweets?” She buries her fingers in his hair, and he groans.
“I believe you have me confused with Elowyn. My temptations lie elsewhere.”
“Perhaps a caramel apple?”
His eyes snap open. “A what?”
“You don’t have caramel apples in Lostariel?”
“This is not something with which I’m familiar.”
“It’s an apple dipped in melted caramel.”
To her surprise, he doesn’t make a face. “And this improves the apple?”
“Well, I like it.”
“It sounds...messy.”
“Yes. But worth it.”
“Are you certain?”
She shrugs. “I’ll help you clean up after. If you get too sticky.”
He eyes her warily. “I believe this is another trap.”
“Is it working?”
When he continues to look skeptically at her, she slides her hands to his chest again. “How about this? We’ll make you one, and if you decide you don’t want it, you can eat a plain apple instead. Deal?”
He doesn’t respond right away, and she lets him think everything through without hurrying him.
“I suppose I can live with that. But I don’t like being sticky.”
“I promised to help you wash up.” She smiles sweetly at him, and he sighs dramatically again.
“How do we do this?”
“I assume we melt caramels and dip our apples in it. Is there a metal bowl in here? Something we can hang over the fire?”
Cerian leans near her ear. “Fire wielder. Remember? We don’t need the hearth.”
Right.
“Perhaps you’d better take the lead, then.” Her voice hitches when his teeth tease her earlobe.
“So a bowl to melt caramels in?” His breath tickles her neck, and she nods, though it’s hard to focus on apples and candy when he’s so near.
“And...and sticks to poke in the apple cores so we can hold on to them without getting sticky,” she breathes.
“This I approve of.” He presses his lips to the dip at the base of her neck before letting her go. “I’m not certain I can draw life from the wood in here to create the sticks and bowl we need.”
Oh. He was planning to grow them. That’s convenient.
“You grow vines all the time in here, though.”
He glances toward her, his cheeks a little pink. “My magic is eager when it comes to you. Less so about apples.”
She tries not to smile, but her lips twitch enough for him to notice, and he shakes his head and smiles a little himself.
“So you need a better motivation than caramel apples to grow what we need from the wood in this room?”
His eyes snap back to her as she realizes how that sounded. Stars above.
Although...it’s not a bad idea, is it? She’s his wife. She can help him awaken his plant magic, can’t she? There’s no reason she shouldn’t.
Other than the blush creeping up her face at the thought.
He says nothing as he gazes at her, as if he’s waiting to see her next move before he responds. Perhaps he’s trying to figure out if she meant that the way it sounded.
“I-I want a bowl to melt caramels in, Cerian. And sticks to...to hold the apples. You...want to make me happy, don’t you?”
This feels so foreign. Not wrong, but not the sort of thing she’d normally say. She’s not in the habit of sounding like a self-centered, spoiled princess. Mother saw to that.
Arisanna pushes aside that thought. Now is not the time to think about her mother.
“I always want to make you happy.” Heat fills Cerian’s eyes. He seems to understand where she’s going with this.
But...now what?
Maybe they should go ask Chef for what they need. She should have thought of that first.
Cerian would probably rather stay here, though.
Judging by the look in his eyes, he’d definitely rather stay here.
And now he’s waiting for her to seduce him.