I don't remember that story being about me. [ Yseult affects blythe unconcern, but the dry tone lingers always beneath. ] If anything, I should be telling it about you.
[Equally blithe, if not more, Darras relaxes, sinking back, with her fingers in his hair.]
No one would believe a story of a village festival, and oil, of me. Would they believe it of you? They'd have a hard job of it. But they'd want to believe.
They'd easily believe it more of you. I'm a Division Head. [ She manages it with a straight face and everything.
She brushes hair off the back of his neck, shorter and shorter as she tries to find an even level that still suits him. His ears will begin feeling a draft as the sides come up and in. ]
Trust me, it will look good [ she promises, preemptively. ]
[Darras can feel the tell-tale prickle on the back of his neck that indicates Yseult's unimpressed look. Far from flinching, he grins. The brush of her fingers against his damp skin does give him a little chill, so she can have that one, at least.]
Yeah, you Division Heads, with your fancy apartments and your hot water and jugs of wine. Living the high life here. Can't be trusted by anyone.
[He tips a look back at her again, still wearing that grin.]
Which is why I like you, of course. And trust you. I'm feeling a lot of air on my ears right now, y'know. Not sure how I like it.
[ As for his ears ] You didn't leave me much choice. It will be different, but good. Easier to wash.
[ He'll just have to take her word for it for now. She neatens it up as much as possible before finally calling it done and finding a broom to sweep up the hair on the floor. ]
I can bring your dinner in here if you're planning to soak.
[His hand comes up the moment she's not cutting any longer, feeling about to assess what she's made of his hair. It's short, certainly. Strange. He scratches his fingers through it, feeling the length of it, the bare skin of his neck.]
Has your position got you a mirror that I can see this with?
[With a great sigh, he sinks down again in the bath. The water level rises with the movement, lapping at the sides of the tub.]
I'm planning not to have you leave the room, actually. Or at least that's what I'd like. Not dinner.
It's just sitting in the office, [ Yseult replies, as she produces a hand mirror from her dressing table, ] Are you sure?
[ She means about not eating, after weeks of surviving on Maker-knows-what, but she says it as she hands him the mirror. Finished sweeping, she settles back down on the stool and lathers up a soft square of flannel, using it to wipe hair and lingering grime from the back of his neck, across his shoulders. ]
Truth be told, I lost most of my appetite getting here. Think I was ashore too long, walking about on dry land. Wasn't proper sea-sickness, or anything--don't even for a moment think that of me.
[He takes the mirror from her and tips it so he can see himself. More neck, more ears.]
Makes the beard look pretty ridiculous.
[Darras switches the mirror to one hand only,so he can reach back over his shoulder, try to grab for her hand. She's industrious, the swipe of that cloth gentle but firm over his back. But he's insistent, the way he always is. And he finds that he needs this--pleasant, domestic contact, the way it's always been--and with that comes his hand pressed to hers. This easy simple thing that he's been missing.
He tips his chin back so he can look at her like this, upside down, smiling.]
[ She nods, not about to pretend she hasn't made her opinion of his current beard quite clear. ] If you grew it back in short, [ she suggests, hand leaving his grasp after a second to tap the cloth on his cheek, a little teasing, ] And kept it quite short, that would look good. Not so different, in spirit.
[ She is industrious, but not without reason, since he seems strangely disinclined to bother washing behind his own ears. She drags the cloth down his throat while he's tipped back, across his collarbone and the top of his chest. ]
[Darras' eyes slide half-closed again, as a grin settles over his face. He lets his hands slip back into the water without grasping for her again. At least for now he doesn't.
It's funny, the sort of stuff you miss without knowing you miss it. Not as if they've done this often. More the spirit of this moment. All close, familiar. They haven't been like this in ages. It's be a mistake to name it. Like breaking some charm, the thin strand that holds this all together.]
If you've got to know, I'd let you do nearly anything to me right now. What's the Orlesian for that, when you can do as you like? That.
Is there a word for that? [ Yseult hums thoughtfully, dropping the washcloth onto his shoulder to take the shaving kit back up again instead. She shakes her head. ] Nothing's coming to mind.[ He's already laid his head back, and she tests his claim of pliability with a finger under his chin, tipping it up. ]
It'll only take a few minutes [ she promises, lathering up the brush and then, gently, his jaw. ] And then you can go back to soaking. Or to sleep. [ Maybe she should be direct and tell him straight out that he's welcome to stay--that she's expecting he will--but she balks at the last second, and instead advises ] Hold still.
I swear there's a word. But I s'ppose I have to trust you on there not being one. You're the cleverer one, with that sort of thing. Someone might have been having me on.
[It's a possibility that he has to allow for, though he doesn't sound much fussed by it. Nor is he fussed by the push of her finger beneath his chin. With all the obedience that he'd implied, Darras tips his head back further.
He'd left his eyes closed, mostly because it seemed too much of a bother to open them. Now he cracks one open, looking up at Yseult with a little grin.]
This is a funny way to be using your free reign, y'know. When you could be telling me t' do anything, instead, you're spoiling me. I'd have wanted to stay and sleep on my own, without being told to.
There could be a word, [ Yseult shrugs, easy. She lets the soap settle on half of his face as she gives the razor a token strop against the leather, and when he grins at her she smiles back, just like she used to: immediate, fond, a little helpless.
She shrugs again, to balance it. ]
You may be underestimating how much I dislike the current state of your beard. Now hold still.
[ She's quick, like she promised, and still a predictably steady, careful hand. She's only done this a few times, for him, but she remembers past instructions, and in just a few nick-free minutes she's gently dabbing away shaving soap from his throat and nose. When it's done, she hands him the mirror again without needing to be asked, and then wraps an arm around his shoulders and sets her cheek against his. Finally. ]
[Obedient, true to his word, and also in the interest of not getting cut, Darras holds still. It is, actually, easy to do as Yseult says. He's naturally contentious, inclined toward universal disobedience to authority--but Yseult isn't authority. Or rather, she is, in some ways, but that's not what she is to Darras. She's everything else to him. The one person he cares about.
It's hard to have that thought without the brackish follow-up. That his deep devotion to her and only her is less than desirable, or worse somehow--not enough, or not what she wants--that could ruin everything.
And it's easier than it should be to put the thought aside when she presses the mirror to his hand again, when she puts her arms around him and presses her cheek to his. It makes Darras forget everything, to have her that close.]
Looks like a bloody stranger.
[His grin makes him look more familiar. And he's looking away from his reflection a second later, because he can't help himself, because she's that near to him and he's finally not in some wasteland, because this was what he wanted, really--regardless of the place or the time or anything that has passed between them, any argument that has passed.
He kisses her. On the cheek, first--and then, if she's willing, on the mouth. It's a good kiss. Familiar, in the best way.]
A handsome stranger [ Yseult replies, a tease lingering in the corners of her mouth ] And so well-groomed.
[ In some respects, at least. When he moves to kiss her on the mouth she dodges, giving him back her cheek instead, and reaching up to catch his chin in her fingers as she draws back. ]
Not until you clean your teeth. [ She loves him too, but there are lines. ]
[He makes a noise of disappointment--amused, not offended--and lets himself sink down in the bath again, a little ways away from her and the mirror both.]
Come off it. Is that really the sort of thing you say to a handsome stranger? Really.
[He slaps his hand into the water, exaggerated disconsolation, without a care for splashing Yseult in the process. In fact he's sort of hoping that he splashes her in the process, and again when he lifts his hand to scrub water over his teeth, dripping it down onto his chin. It's a curious sensation, and Darras grins at it, unable to keep up his mock indignation.]
Ooh, now, that's a strange feeling. Water on my chin. Glad it's just you here t' see this.
If he'd told me he'd just spent two weeks starving in the desert and the Deep Roads.
[ The splash catches her arm, soaking into the thin cloth of her sleeve, but she's already pushing back and to her feet, crossing to the basin and ewer to collect a spare tooth brush from a drawer beneath. She rolls her eyes at his playing as she passes it over, and drags a hand over what's left of his hair. ] I'd think this would be the bigger change.
[ But her fingers card through it the same as ever, and give a teasing little tug before she settles back on her stool just behind him, leaning against the lip of the tub, in easy distance of reaching and splashing both. ]
I need to get back to work, [ she says after a few minutes. She says it quietly, reluctantly, fingertips just barely brushing the back of his shoulder. ] There will be things to take care of now that you're all back. There are towels and something clean to sleep in on the chair. Food in my office if you change your mind about eating first. [ She stands, and then bends back down to press a kiss to the top of his head. ] I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't fall asleep in here and drown.
[There's been that same easy drowsy silence between them--domestic, pleasant, familiar--but the minute Yseult speaks again, Darras perks up. On another day, he might have protested, and indeed he thinks it hard, to be deprived of her company so soon--but then again, that's Yseult, isn't it. He can't keep her fixed here any more than he might keep her fixed elsewhere.
So instead, he reaches around to grab at her hand as she presses that kiss to the top of his head. He doesn't hold her. Just a squeeze, a moment more of contact, before he lets her go.]
I can't drown. S' not possible. But I appreciate your concern. I'll be in here, enjoying myself, and I'll come around and distract you if I finish up before your work is done. This bit of work, at least.
[And, that said, he releases her hand, and sinks down up to his nose in the water again, waving his hand like a dismissal.]
A dolphin will come save you? [ She offers that gentle tease and a return squeeze of his hand in thanks for not protesting, lingering a half-second before taking her leave.
She's gone longer than either of them expected, well past however long even he can manage to linger in the bath, and no longer in her office either by the time he's out of it. But there are clothes, like she said--his own, washed and neatly folded--and her bed is wide, with a thick mattress and feather-stuffed pillows, arranged with the headboard against one wall, to catch the breeze through the open window on the other. She doesn't expect him to resist its lure long, but stays away a couple hours extra just in case, to make sure when she faces him next it's with her own head clear, her thoughts straight, decisions made.
But eventually he'll wake, and she'll be there when he does: the thin cotton of her shift against his back, her arm slung across his middle--hold tight even in sleep--and a foot hooked around his ankle, too, for good measure. Her forehead his pressed to his nape, breath soft and even on his skin, so he'll feel her wake the second he moves. ]
[She'd been gone longer than Darras had expected. He'd tried to stay awake, at first, waiting for her. But Yseult's plan (not that he knows it to be a plan, not precisely--though perhaps a part of him suspected a bit of it) had worked, so Darras fell asleep and now wakes up, clean and better-rested than before--a little hungry, at last--and confused, for a moment, as to where he is.
It takes no thought to shift his hand onto Yseult's, pulling her that much closer to him. Then he hears some sound outside of her window--hers, not theirs--and it's a clatter of hooves on stone, and someone yelling out an order to someone else--and then Darras remembers. And it's not the cottage anymore, then, and the world unfurls around them. And that's all right. Better than, even.
He feels her wake. Doesn't move, except to say to her--]
Must have been a great many things to take care of.
Always. [ Yseult's nod brushes her nose against the back of his neck.
She lifts her fingers, pushing them up through his, weaving them together, and then settles her arm over his ribs again. ] Go back to sleep. We'll talk later.
[It's almost agreement, right up until the upswing at the end of it. That's what tunes it more thoughtfully. The way he squeezes her fingers between his has a kind of thoughtfulness to it, too.
Drowsy in his voice, but still somehow talking--]
And what if I want t' talk now? I dreamed of this moment, y'know. Well, not this one, precisely. But one very much identical to it. So identical I might think I was asleep, if I couldn't hear that mule screeching from outside. That was never a factor.
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[Darras turns back again to mull this one over. After a few seconds of thought--]
Too bad I told him all those stories, then. Not 'cos he's a bard, just 'cos, if he's doing work for you... Well, it'll probably be all right.
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What stories?
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Nothing much. Just, y'know. Stories. Incidentally, d'you remember that time in the village, at the festival? With the oil?
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[Equally blithe, if not more, Darras relaxes, sinking back, with her fingers in his hair.]
No one would believe a story of a village festival, and oil, of me. Would they believe it of you? They'd have a hard job of it. But they'd want to believe.
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They'd easily believe it more of you. I'm a Division Head. [ She manages it with a straight face and everything.
She brushes hair off the back of his neck, shorter and shorter as she tries to find an even level that still suits him. His ears will begin feeling a draft as the sides come up and in. ]
Trust me, it will look good [ she promises, preemptively. ]
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Yeah, you Division Heads, with your fancy apartments and your hot water and jugs of wine. Living the high life here. Can't be trusted by anyone.
[He tips a look back at her again, still wearing that grin.]
Which is why I like you, of course. And trust you. I'm feeling a lot of air on my ears right now, y'know. Not sure how I like it.
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[ As for his ears ] You didn't leave me much choice. It will be different, but good. Easier to wash.
[ He'll just have to take her word for it for now. She neatens it up as much as possible before finally calling it done and finding a broom to sweep up the hair on the floor. ]
I can bring your dinner in here if you're planning to soak.
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Has your position got you a mirror that I can see this with?
[With a great sigh, he sinks down again in the bath. The water level rises with the movement, lapping at the sides of the tub.]
I'm planning not to have you leave the room, actually. Or at least that's what I'd like. Not dinner.
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[ She means about not eating, after weeks of surviving on Maker-knows-what, but she says it as she hands him the mirror. Finished sweeping, she settles back down on the stool and lathers up a soft square of flannel, using it to wipe hair and lingering grime from the back of his neck, across his shoulders. ]
Do you hate it?
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[He takes the mirror from her and tips it so he can see himself. More neck, more ears.]
Makes the beard look pretty ridiculous.
[Darras switches the mirror to one hand only,so he can reach back over his shoulder, try to grab for her hand. She's industrious, the swipe of that cloth gentle but firm over his back. But he's insistent, the way he always is. And he finds that he needs this--pleasant, domestic contact, the way it's always been--and with that comes his hand pressed to hers. This easy simple thing that he's been missing.
He tips his chin back so he can look at her like this, upside down, smiling.]
You've got to agree. Right?
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[ She is industrious, but not without reason, since he seems strangely disinclined to bother washing behind his own ears. She drags the cloth down his throat while he's tipped back, across his collarbone and the top of his chest. ]
Does that mean you're going to let me shave it?
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It's funny, the sort of stuff you miss without knowing you miss it. Not as if they've done this often. More the spirit of this moment. All close, familiar. They haven't been like this in ages. It's be a mistake to name it. Like breaking some charm, the thin strand that holds this all together.]
If you've got to know, I'd let you do nearly anything to me right now. What's the Orlesian for that, when you can do as you like? That.
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It'll only take a few minutes [ she promises, lathering up the brush and then, gently, his jaw. ] And then you can go back to soaking. Or to sleep. [ Maybe she should be direct and tell him straight out that he's welcome to stay--that she's expecting he will--but she balks at the last second, and instead advises ] Hold still.
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[It's a possibility that he has to allow for, though he doesn't sound much fussed by it. Nor is he fussed by the push of her finger beneath his chin. With all the obedience that he'd implied, Darras tips his head back further.
He'd left his eyes closed, mostly because it seemed too much of a bother to open them. Now he cracks one open, looking up at Yseult with a little grin.]
This is a funny way to be using your free reign, y'know. When you could be telling me t' do anything, instead, you're spoiling me. I'd have wanted to stay and sleep on my own, without being told to.
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She shrugs again, to balance it. ]
You may be underestimating how much I dislike the current state of your beard. Now hold still.
[ She's quick, like she promised, and still a predictably steady, careful hand. She's only done this a few times, for him, but she remembers past instructions, and in just a few nick-free minutes she's gently dabbing away shaving soap from his throat and nose. When it's done, she hands him the mirror again without needing to be asked, and then wraps an arm around his shoulders and sets her cheek against his. Finally. ]
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It's hard to have that thought without the brackish follow-up. That his deep devotion to her and only her is less than desirable, or worse somehow--not enough, or not what she wants--that could ruin everything.
And it's easier than it should be to put the thought aside when she presses the mirror to his hand again, when she puts her arms around him and presses her cheek to his. It makes Darras forget everything, to have her that close.]
Looks like a bloody stranger.
[His grin makes him look more familiar. And he's looking away from his reflection a second later, because he can't help himself, because she's that near to him and he's finally not in some wasteland, because this was what he wanted, really--regardless of the place or the time or anything that has passed between them, any argument that has passed.
He kisses her. On the cheek, first--and then, if she's willing, on the mouth. It's a good kiss. Familiar, in the best way.]
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[ In some respects, at least. When he moves to kiss her on the mouth she dodges, giving him back her cheek instead, and reaching up to catch his chin in her fingers as she draws back. ]
Not until you clean your teeth. [ She loves him too, but there are lines. ]
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Come off it. Is that really the sort of thing you say to a handsome stranger? Really.
[He slaps his hand into the water, exaggerated disconsolation, without a care for splashing Yseult in the process. In fact he's sort of hoping that he splashes her in the process, and again when he lifts his hand to scrub water over his teeth, dripping it down onto his chin. It's a curious sensation, and Darras grins at it, unable to keep up his mock indignation.]
Ooh, now, that's a strange feeling. Water on my chin. Glad it's just you here t' see this.
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[ The splash catches her arm, soaking into the thin cloth of her sleeve, but she's already pushing back and to her feet, crossing to the basin and ewer to collect a spare tooth brush from a drawer beneath. She rolls her eyes at his playing as she passes it over, and drags a hand over what's left of his hair. ] I'd think this would be the bigger change.
[ But her fingers card through it the same as ever, and give a teasing little tug before she settles back on her stool just behind him, leaning against the lip of the tub, in easy distance of reaching and splashing both. ]
I need to get back to work, [ she says after a few minutes. She says it quietly, reluctantly, fingertips just barely brushing the back of his shoulder. ] There will be things to take care of now that you're all back. There are towels and something clean to sleep in on the chair. Food in my office if you change your mind about eating first. [ She stands, and then bends back down to press a kiss to the top of his head. ] I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't fall asleep in here and drown.
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So instead, he reaches around to grab at her hand as she presses that kiss to the top of his head. He doesn't hold her. Just a squeeze, a moment more of contact, before he lets her go.]
I can't drown. S' not possible. But I appreciate your concern. I'll be in here, enjoying myself, and I'll come around and distract you if I finish up before your work is done. This bit of work, at least.
[And, that said, he releases her hand, and sinks down up to his nose in the water again, waving his hand like a dismissal.]
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She's gone longer than either of them expected, well past however long even he can manage to linger in the bath, and no longer in her office either by the time he's out of it. But there are clothes, like she said--his own, washed and neatly folded--and her bed is wide, with a thick mattress and feather-stuffed pillows, arranged with the headboard against one wall, to catch the breeze through the open window on the other. She doesn't expect him to resist its lure long, but stays away a couple hours extra just in case, to make sure when she faces him next it's with her own head clear, her thoughts straight, decisions made.
But eventually he'll wake, and she'll be there when he does: the thin cotton of her shift against his back, her arm slung across his middle--hold tight even in sleep--and a foot hooked around his ankle, too, for good measure. Her forehead his pressed to his nape, breath soft and even on his skin, so he'll feel her wake the second he moves. ]
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It takes no thought to shift his hand onto Yseult's, pulling her that much closer to him. Then he hears some sound outside of her window--hers, not theirs--and it's a clatter of hooves on stone, and someone yelling out an order to someone else--and then Darras remembers. And it's not the cottage anymore, then, and the world unfurls around them. And that's all right. Better than, even.
He feels her wake. Doesn't move, except to say to her--]
Must have been a great many things to take care of.
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She lifts her fingers, pushing them up through his, weaving them together, and then settles her arm over his ribs again. ] Go back to sleep. We'll talk later.
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[It's almost agreement, right up until the upswing at the end of it. That's what tunes it more thoughtfully. The way he squeezes her fingers between his has a kind of thoughtfulness to it, too.
Drowsy in his voice, but still somehow talking--]
And what if I want t' talk now? I dreamed of this moment, y'know. Well, not this one, precisely. But one very much identical to it. So identical I might think I was asleep, if I couldn't hear that mule screeching from outside. That was never a factor.
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ty
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