Aeryn Stormwater

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She wakes too slowly, at first—more slowly than usual.

It's dark.

Something smells pleasant.

She feels... sad.

Sad isn't the right word, of course. But she hasn't figured out the right word for the empty, gaping hole within that conjures itself anew each time she sleeps; and so she can only assume she must be sad, and that it's the sadness that now makes everything else hurt.

Wait, does- does everything else hurt?

The slow crawl of waking abruptly cedes to an onslaught of fleeting observations:

Her head rests against her arm. She's not in a bed. (That's not uncommon.) She can't recall falling to sleep. When was she last awake? Where was she last awake? She's in pain. (It's not just the sadness.) Why is she in pain? What hurts? Is she injured? Was she attacked? She listens, but- She can't hear. No. She hears her heartbeat. It's too loud. She's panicking. She must calm down. She must lift her head-

She can't move.

No. She can move, but she shouldn't. Not until she reconciles her last known whereabouts and her present circumstance. Not until she knows it's safe to move. She must be careful. She can't hear Hydaelyn anymore, and she's-

"Peace, Aeryn."

The voice that speaks is instantly known to her: Urianger.

She exhales. The breath is unexpectedly cool against her flushed skin.

If Urianger is with her, then-

"Thou art safe within the Sands—in the common room, to be precise. 'Twas but a short measure ago that thou didst unexpectedly succumb to a well-deserved slumber whilst working o'er thy journal."

Her racing heartbeat calms as the melodic poetry of his voice wafts over her, helping her understand. She'd drifted off in odd places before, of course—not least of all at this very table. She can feel the painful impression in her skin where her arm rests atop the pages of her open journal, no doubt smudging some scribble of little import.

Urianger is beside her.

There is no danger here. She's safe.

The scent of candle smoke, warm wax, and old books permeates the air, even within the dim shelter of the crook of her arm—and, too, a faint hint of spice, as there always has been in Vesper Bay, where the aroma of baking Ul'dahn sweet breads fills the air, heavy and mouth-watering in the still of morning, mingling with fresh coastal breezes in the afternoon.

Of course she's at the Waking Sands. Though its walls still occasionally reflect her Echo vision of the massacre here, its warmth and familiarity somehow overpower that loss with an inexplicable comfort—as does the presence of a friend here whose gently flowing words, she's come to realize, offer an equal sense of peace.

She curls her back tight with a quiet groan, working to stretch the aching muscles made stiff by her position, then slowly turns her head without lifting it. It's just enough to pull at a knot of pain in her neck, and it affords her a view—though somewhat bleary—of the man seated beside her.

He peers down at a book open before him, long, slender fingers hovering over its pages. He has folded back the sleeves of his robe and removed his gloves, which lay on the table nearby, casting shadows over the wood in the wake of flickering golden candlelight. She blinks and feels the dancing shadows are not unlike the dark line of damp sand left behind a retreating wave.

"And so it seemeth thou hast now, at last, escaped the realm of dreams," Urianger says.

His voice draws her gaze back to him. Though much of his face is, as ever, veiled beneath the shadow of his hood and the red lenses of his goggles, she likes the way the glowing light and the curve of his smile shift his few visible features.

"A fair morning to thee, Aeryn."

"Is- is it morning?" Her voice emerges raspy with disuse, and she swallows.

"Nay, gentle warrior," Urianger replies. "Mine apologies. 'Twas in jest I didst speak, regrettably at thine expense, for the hour of thy waking seemed of some notable amusement."

He pauses with a contemplative hum, gazing down into the palm of one hand.

"'Twould seem keeping company with a compatriot long-estranged hath elicited some manner of odd influence o'er me. Strange…" he mutters. He then clears his throat and looks her way. "It was not mine intent, nor ever shall it be, to discomfit thee. Forgive me."

He gives a small, elegant bow; and because she can summon no words to form a reply, she nods.

It's enough.

Her wordless responses have always been enough, with him.

"As to the hour," Urianger continues, "though dawn's approach be nearer than not, she shall yet sleep for some bells more… as might present company, if thou shouldst desire."

Aeryn wonders if she could drift away again. Though exhaustion weighs heavily upon her, she rarely finds sleep amenable to her seeking it—least of all in this moment, when the manner of her waking has left her mind and body especially restless.

Her eyes drift back to Urianger's gloves, then to the candle beyond them. Its flame casts waves of flickering light and shadow, ever in flux, across all it touches. She wonders why she had thought them similar to waves and wet sand. She wonders-

The dull pain in her center returns with a swift, cold surge, and she curls her back tight against it. It hurts. It hurts so much, this loss of whatever once filled the gaping caverns within, the sensation of being raw and battered on the shore each time she wakes, wondering what she's dreamed of, what memories linger in the ebb and flow of tides of sleep.

An empty and agonizing unknown.

She wants to reach for Urianger's sleeve, as she has done now some dozen times before—to furl her fingers in the soft folds of warm fabric and glean from that meager nearness all the stability and calm that he evokes with both his presence and his words. But his sleeves are turned back, his focus on his tome, and she doesn't wish to trouble him.

She squints her eyes and bears it in silence until the pain once more settles, leaving behind its signature sadness (that isn't quite sadness). Her shoulders sag. She sighs.

"Ere thou drifteth," Urianger murmurs, "would not a more suitable place of slumber be of preferable comfort?"

She should, she supposes, retire to a room. Seek a soft bed, a warm blanket in which to nestle. But she can't summon the will to stir, because…

Because she doesn't want to.

Though warmer, cozier surrounds would surely beget a more restful sleep, she knows it can do nothing to combat the cold emptiness within. She doesn't want to be alone, and-

Understanding comes to her as a slight tingling sensation at the nape of her neck.

She doesn't want to be alone.

Has she- has she felt that before?

"Aeryn?"

She doesn't want to leave. It's warm enough here. The scents are comforting. The company is-

She wonders when Urianger came to sit beside her.

"Can-" she whispers, then half chokes on her next words before she can utter them. But Urianger doesn't rush her. He is quiet, patient, and still—waiting. She clears her throat and tries again. "C-can I- maybe… stay?"

"Thou art ever free to act in accordance with thy will, dawn bringer," he replies.

Am I? she wonders.

"Though a sounder repose may doubtless be sought elsewhere, shouldst thou truly wish to remain, I would be most glad for the gift of thy company."

Both she and the empty unknown within shudder, and she doesn't know why.

"Might I impose upon thee to allow a recitation of what words I, at present, mean to examine? The hour being late, that it might conspire to steal away with what secrets may be found within this text is assured. Yet betwixt we two, I am certain, we may avert the night's thievery and find what elusive knowledge may be gleaned in yon pages, together."

Aeryn nods, eliciting another pleasant smile from him.

"I am in your debt, gentle warrior."

You're not, she thinks, closing her eyes. She has agreed to this selfishly, knowing it will afford her another precious opportunity to slip away beneath the uniquely calming cadence of his mystical poetry.

Though his tone is pleasant and his words carefully measured, she can't quite follow all he reads regarding surveys on the nature of unaspected aether and its myriad uses. From beneath the fog of her weariness, the complexities of each observation swiftly muddle like ink smudges. Urianger murmurs something about Moenbryda's studies, about Ascians and primals; and though she tries to bring the words into focus, the warmth in the air and the soothing sound of his voice lulls her all too quickly toward inattentive thoughtlessness.

Her breath slows. She lapses in and out of awareness. She must be quite near to sleep again when Urianger's recitations cease. The silence lifts her from near-slumber, affording her a moment of clarity, enough so that she feels the air stir when Urianger rests his hand upon the table, surprisingly close to hers.

"Would that I might do more to aid thine efforts than merely pore over tomes and steward these halls. Yet that thou shouldst return again and again to this place in search of rest…" he trails off, and all is still for one breath, and another, and then-

"Doubtless it must seem to the contrary, when our every request draweth thee nearer unto ever more dire foes and such unfathomable dangers, but… we do care for thee; and we can but wish thee safe." His voice wavers at the last.

Aeryn's eyes spring open. The candle has burned much lower than she'd expected, emitting little more than a soft orange glow. Urianger's head is bowed, his hood blocking her from his view. He- he must think she's asleep.

"Though I can offer no promise of safety, I can but offer this: with steadfast devotion shall I assure thy rest go undisturbed, for as long as thou shouldst seek for it within these walls. Though such aid remaineth laughably meager, I nonetheless am heartened to offer freely of it to one who-"

He stops.

He stops, she thinks, because she has stretched the very few ilms it took to touch his hand with hers. He looks down to where their skin meets, the pads of her fingers just barely pressed to his small finger.

The fading candlelight glints across his goggles as he raises his attention to her.

Aeryn sucks in a breath, half-strangled, and draws her hand away. She twists her face back into the safety and shadow of her arm, curling her back tight—so tight. There erupts from the emptiness within a vortex of far, far too many sensations: myriad feelings interwoven like tangled yarn, such that she can't seem to pick apart the ones she's come to recognize from the ones that remain undefined.

She can't make any sense of it. She knows she couldn't bear to hear him speak of her any further—and she knows she wishes now that he would speak of anything else, if only so she can find peace once more in his soothing tone.

She- she doesn't know why she reached for him.

His skin was colder than she expected.

"Forgive me," he says quietly. "I had hoped not to wake thee."

Aeryn can think of nothing to say in return.

After a lengthy pause, Urianger resumes his reading. He continues without interruption, and his voice is still a wash of low, velvet calm when she finally, finally drifts back to sleep.

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When she wakes to a proper morning some bells later, the candle has long since been snuffed. Urianger and his tome are gone. But his cowl is draped over her shoulders, like a shawl. The flood of feelings tangled in her center come alive at once, no more easily discernible for the daylight.

She folds his cowl over the back of the chair beside her own, then departs for the Rising Stones and the next mission.

The scent of candle wax and spice accompanies her.

📖reading: Started reading Project Hail Mary (after falling in absolute love with the movie), but I could tell it was going to consume my soul, so I put it down a few pages in. Probably going to save it for when I have sufficient time to sit down and devote all my brain cells to it.

🎵last song: Short answer? No idea! Probably one of the songs I used for sproutoflight's nameday playlist request. Long answer? Music is one of many things that can trigger lengthy bad spells and/or pain spikes for my chronic headache (now many, many years old). I have to be selective about my "noise" intake to avoid exacerbating the pain, so I rarely have music on anymore and don't usually have ready answers for this type of question!

📺currently watching: I don't watch much TV these days. Even when I get excited about the potential for a new series, I can't seem to find the motivation to sit down and watch them. It's so silly!

🎬last movie: Oops, already revealed that: Project Hail Mary! I might also try to catch The Sheep Detectives next? The trailer looked cute, so I was already considering it when a co-worker recently talked it up. Spider-Man: Brand New Day is another one I'm looking forward to!

current obsession: Perpetually XIV at this point, though I've just been logging in and sitting idle, lately. In a bit of a fog, so I've sort of lost the itch to continue MSQ with any of my alts for the moment. Before the fog, though, I was fixated on housing/decorating (it feels like a character study to me); and I spent the last few nights gposing my angry Garlean... so maybe one of those things will renew my focus, soon?

currently working on: Nothing specific. I've just got one more gpose to do for the vanilla challenge, since one's already done in drafts. I may work on some unfinished sketches this weekend, or just tidy up and relax? I'm also (unfortunately) stressing myself out over whether or not to do anything for Wolianger week. Suspect I'm going to anxiety myself into hermit mode and not participate, but the notion's been swimming laps in my brain pool, regardless.

🔎last Google internet search: Ah. So. It was "sheep movie." So I could look up the actual title of the film for the above answer and not sound silly. :D

It was time to show her hair's been growing out again, though I'm going to miss her post-HW trauma bob so much. ;-; She was just so hecking cute with it. ;-;

Eiyre's martial classes (archer and lancer) are backups. She's far more comfortable fighting and defending with magic and only leans into other types of combat as a last resort or when situations demand; but I wanted a cute ShB glam for them, regardless! I'm cheating a bit by showing this one off so early, since I imagine she'll acquire it during her time with the viis in Rak'tika. (Reserving the right to change my mind, though!) She's apprehensive about the fit and will add belts or leather armor at some point for added protection of her midsection. (Or at least she will if I ever feel brave enough to try wizarding this!)

And yes, she's over-leveled enough to use these weapons already—oops! But I love the idea of the Exarch kitting her out with gear appropriate for her fight on the First immediately upon her arrival there, so I splurged and got both this and the WHM cane. For her bow... I might take a page from Aeryn's book (the two are connected, after all) and suffer through some PVP to get her the bow of the Wanderer. It feels like it has decent forest-warden vibes and might likewise have been a gift from the viis. But... ugh. PVP. ;-;