#rhoten

Ymelei closed the bedroom door behind her with a quiet sigh, rubbing over her face as if the action could alleviate some of her fatigue.  She was covered in bruises, and everything ached; she'd had to restrain Nalette while Haestus worked on Malithas, and the little blonde had fought with a fury.  It had taken all of Lei's strength and cunning to keep her from interrupting the healers' work.

The Silverfire residence was more richly decorated than Lei’s own flat, and as she looked around, she trailed her fingertips over the gleaming surfaces, bone-deep fatigue making her limbs feel heavy and clumsy as she padded through the house.  Even though she knew it was secure, she wandered through, checking all the windows, testing the doors.  In the confusion, no one could say whether the people behind Mal’s kidnapping had survived, and… with everything Lei had seen happening lately, she wanted to leave nothing to chance.

She smelled him before she saw him; smoke and herbs and the oil he used to maintain the light chainmail he was fond of.   “Ya want to be getting some rest now?”  While it was phrased as a question, there was a gentle weight to his voice.  “Ya didn’t sleep on the zepp’lin, no.”  Haestus had kindly offered them a room; she had thought Rhoten long since abed.

She turned to the mounded, shadowy form in the enormous kitchen, leaning forward until her brow bumped against his.  “Not sure I can.”   She closed her eyes, hearing again Nalette's screams, feeling her childhood friend's nails score deep furrows in her arms.  "He... He's not doing so good, Rho."  She heard the tremor in her voice, felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes.  She hadn't known Malithas long, but no one could mistake the love shared between him and Nalette.   She felt Rhoten's arms curl around her, pulling her in close as if he could shelter her from the awful knowledge that her friend's husband might not survive the night.

There was nothing he could say, nothing either of them could do.  "Dat healer, he don't seem t' type t' give up, Em.  An' nothin' ya can do by stayin' up.  Less go t' bed."  He straightened to his full height, an arm sweeping beneath her legs to lift her up against his chest.  Ymelei was too exhausted to argue, and lay like a child in his arms.  For all of her protests that she couldn't sleep, she was unconscious before they left the kitchen, sinking deep into uneasy dreams.