Work Text:
Kythorn 1393
Baldur’s Gate
“You don’t look very comfortable,” says Eliwyn from behind her book.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been less comfortable,” Marek says with a groan. His head rolls to the side, still resting on his crossed arms on top of the table.
“I really think you should go home and rest.”
He’s just gotten off a night patrol and is obviously exhausted. Yet he insisted on coming with her to the Knowledge-Hold.
“And miss the opportunity of spending an entire morning with you without your mother breathing down your neck?” Marek scoffs. “Not a chance.”
Eliwyn’s mother was called away early this morning to one of the homes of the patriars. The lady in question is having twins, so Eliwyn’s mother is sure to be busy for most of the day.
She closes her book with a light thump. Marek peeks at her through one dozy open eye.
“Come with me,” Eliwyn says as she kisses the top of his head. “I know where you can be more comfortable.”
The Knowledge-Hold takes up almost the entire block on which it is situated, but there is a small green space nestled into the exterior between the west wing and the main building. It’s nothing special, really, just a little jutting patch of grass off the main strip. But there are some junipers growing there to offer shade and a bit of quiet from the clatter of the nearby street.
Eliwyn sits against the stone wall and arranges her skirts over her stretched legs. Then she pats her thigh. With a smile, Marek settles down in the grass and rests his head on her leg as if it were a pillow.
For a while they gaze wordlessly at one another. Eliwyn trails the tip of her finger lightly along the bridge of his nose, across his brow, under each eye darkened by tiredness. With each pass of her fingers his lids droop more and more.
“Would you read to me?” His voice is a distant murmur as sleep begins to carry him away.
Eliwyn opens her book and does as he requests. All the while she strokes his feather-fine hair away from his face. Soon, his eyes close and his breathing slows.
How long does she sit there watching his peaceful sleep? How far does she let her thoughts travel into the future, imagining mornings when she will rouse from her reverie to such a wonderful sight as this? Her heart skitters at the thought of being there always to greet him with a kiss and a cup of tea whenever he rises from his slumber.
The streets beyond rise and fall in a crescendo of voices and carts and hoof beats. The sun hangs hot above them. But Eliwyn only has ears for his quiet breathing and cares only about the warm weight of his head on her lap. She takes one more long look at him, collecting up this lovely moment to look back on someday in the future.
Then, she returns to her book.