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Waking up in the morning brought with it it's own curses, Amaya found. The sleep she managed to get was fraught with the usual nightmares of a time long passed; of cult members, of sacrifices, of murder that she couldn't forget even if she tried. As Amaya rubs her amber eyes, she looks around the room with what scant light the morning offered. A cloudy day; likely to be a rainy afternoon. It's good, if little else; they've needed the rain for their crops, and Amaya is sure that the people of Fefello Caelum could use a little bit of reprieve.
Amaya brings her hands together in prayer, gently, and prays for the gentle rain that will so grant her people rest.
But be that as it may, it doesn't mean Amaya can dither. Forcing herself out of bed is more of a task than she's anticipating, the empty joylessness of it all overwhelming. She could go back to sleep. She should. She's still so exhausted, and deep down, she's sure that her fellow men and women of cloth would be glad to take up the slack for her.
It's for that very reason that she doesn't. Amaya gets out of bed, rolling up her bedroll, and elects to get herself ready for the day. Changing into a simple white dress and getting her gardening gloves and boots on is easy, but it's when she props herself in front of her confidant's mirror and sees her messy hair that she finds herself stopping. Finds herself wondering what the point of it all is. Her father and the followers would have never allowed her hair to be this messy, dark gray hair sticking up all over the place, and good, she thinks. She finally looks as poorly put together as she feels. Amaya's negative emotions feel like they're strangling her, mind warring from the need to be presentable to wondering what any point of it all is, if she should just give up, if she should just--
The door to her and her confidant's shared room opens with a soft consideration, and that's when Amaya manages to look to see Aneirin enter the room, a little startled but managing a smile.
"Oh, Amaya, darling! You're awake at this hour?" Aneirin's voice is gentle and soothing, causing a pervasive emptiness to rise in her heart. Positive emotions were utterly foreign to her, but she's...she thinks she's pleased to see him. "You ought to at least rest a little longer, you know. I'm sure nobody's going to be up for several more hours today."
"...No thank you. I can manage, Aneirin." Amaya's words are soft and gentle as ever, even as she turns to look back to the mirror--but of course, Aneirin won't leave such a thing alone. Amaya watches the demon begin to float over to her from the mirror, looking at her just as much as he looks himself over. Vain as he is, there isn't a single curly black hair out of place on his head; his golden horns gleam lightly in the fading morning light, and even his outfit doesn't have a crinkle on it. It's enviable, and only highlights how much effort he puts into himself. But of course, he's not his own primary focus, and Amaya feels a hand rest on top of her head and play with her hair a bit.
"Manage, hm?" Aneirin's words cause Amaya's gaze to avert, but Aneirin gently starts to run his fingers through her hair and scalp, the ease unintentional as she feels his other free hand gently grasp her shoulder. "I have a feeling that our definitions of it aren't quite lining up, dear."
"...And if they aren't?"
"Then it's no problem," Aneirin's voice maintains it's gentle, soothing qualities. "I can take care of you today."
"--What?" Amaya feels herself tense, turning to Aneirin--he backs off a little bit when she does that to let her stare at him, her gaze uncertain. "No, no. You needn't worry overmuch. I can..."
Take care of myself, Amaya wants to insist, and her hand goes towards the soft hairbrush. But even the idea of bringing it to her hair, to make herself look a little neater, it's too much effort. It's entirely too much effort to rake it through her hair, and she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve it, she doesn't want it, she just wants to...to...
Aneirin's back and close to her after a couple of moments, gently taking her hand with the brush in it and placing his own hands on it--one atop, and one underneath, fingers gently trying to pry it out of her grip.
"Ami, sweetie," Aneirin looks at her with those gray eyes, and Amaya feels her gaze dart away from their softness and warmth and pleading. She doesn't want it, she doesn't deserve it, she-- "let me take care of you this morning, okay? Please?"
Amaya pauses at the request. Aneirin can likely feel the negative energy radiating off of her, and objectively, she knows that he's been working hard and could use the energy. She knows that he can serve himself while doing this, and she can uphold her end of the bargain. She keeps him fed, he stays by her side. That's the way this has always worked, and objectively, she'd be cruel to not allow him the opportunity to take his due.
But Amaya feels herself wince internally, because she knows better. If Aneirin is offering this, it's because he wants to. No matter how many times Amaya has given him the opportunity for taking the easy road when it comes to her, he's always taken a gentler one.
"...As you wish."
"Thank you, sweetie. I'll be nice and quick, okay?"
They talk while he works. Of her nightmares, of the things she's seen. He's not surprised, given how much she writhes in her sleep that it was fraught with such things; as he works through the knots in her hair, she can feel the negativity seeping out of her slow but sure, leaving emptiness in it's wake. She tells him about that too, though he knows better than anyone what it all means. It means the negativity in her heart won't be left to overflow, ripe for the Dragon that's sealed in her heart to make use of. It won't make use of her depression in the way Aneirin can; it won't make use of her jealousy, at watching all of these people get to be happy while she cannot. Amaya knows this is her eternal penance, but all of the negativity and rage makes it so much harder to keep trying to do good when she can't feel a damn thing otherwise. She knows this. Aneirin knows this, and that's why he's happy to bear her burdens. It's hard to miss the way the negativity feeds into him and makes him look more vibrant for brief moments, her misery the perfect fuel as he gently asks after her, each question hurting more than the last.
But Aneirin, as always, is gentle. Kind. Even as Amaya feels her shoulders slump, shuddering slightly, she feels his free arm go around her and embrace her gently and tries to soothe her.
"It's okay, Ami. It's okay to hurt. I'm here, okay? I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
He says it with devotion, so gentle and kind, and all it feels is empty to hear. But Amaya knows deep in her heart that he wouldn't say that for fun, despite her brain not wanting to believe the words.
It isn't long after he's done brushing her hair that he takes her to her wash room, gently summoning water with his magic and telling her to lean back so he can work. The gentle soap that he managed to trade for in Pravitas makes her hair smell floral, and the scent tickles her nose slightly as he scrubs her hair, magic wetting it gently enough that it glides through and cleans it with ease. Amaya stops talking at this point, and Aneirin doesn't mind it as her hands come together and her eyes slide closed. The Dragon could take so many positive emotions from her, but the physical ease of having her hair washed is something that it can't quite take away. She can enjoy this much for now, letting the sensations overtake her and letting herself fall into a nice, deep ease.
...Perhaps a little too much, if Aneirin shaking her shoulder is anything to go by as her eyes flutter open a bit and she feels herself flush and glance away.
"...My apologies, I didn't...I..."
"Ami, sweetie..." Aneirin chuckles, warm and bright as he gets a towel wrapped around her hair and moves to help her up. "Am I going to have to drag you into bed, at this rate? You almost fell asleep on me there."
"Hmph." Amaya's glance still doesn't look back to Aneirin, but... "Are you going to insist on it?"
"If you give me a reason to, I might." Aneirin's tone is light as ever, though there's a gentle bit of pleading behind it. "If you're too tired today, it'll make you sloppy. And we all know how much you hate doing a sloppy job."
Amaya pauses, eyes closing gently. "...Only if you stay with me."
"Oh, sweetie. As if I'd do anything but? As if I'd want to be by anyone's side, than yours."
Were Aneirin not a gay man, Amaya could have been swept off her feet by that. But as it stands, Amaya finally looks to him, pausing before nodding. "...Very well. Please don't leave me to sleep alone. I...do not believe it will end well."
"I won't go anywhere, Ami. Promise."
It doesn't take long for the two of them to get their bedrolls together, and for Aneirin to let Amaya curl into him as the first drops of rain begin to fall on their little shelter and she falls back asleep against him.
Aneirin can't fight away all of her nightmares or take away all of her problems, but as he lets himself ease back to sleep, he knows he can at least ease them for her a bit.
And that's enough, in both of their eyes.