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Lorcan lay on the hard ground, staring up at the dark clouds that concealed the stars. He could feel a tree root digging into his back, just next to his spine, and he shifted uncomfortably. Sleep lay just out of his reach; he was tired, yes. Exhausted. But his eyes refused to close over his heavy thoughts.
The others were all asleep. The long hours and hard travel had taken a toll on them all, but Elide especially. She lay a sparse five feet away from him, obviously by pure exhaustion rather than design. Never by design. She hated him now.
He hated himself as well.
Rowan and Gavriel were both deep asleep, spaced apart a few yards on the other side of the fire, which had died down to glowing embers. It was rare now to see Rowan in his Fae form. He spent the days in the skies searching from above for his lost queen. Lorcan couldn't help but respect his single-mindedness a little, even if it was for the benefit of that fire-breathing--
But no. Thinking like that, mistrusting Aelin, was what had led to her capture by Maeve. He had to learn to respect her, if he was going to ally with these people, and aid them in their mission. If he was to ever have a chance of winning back--
With a sinking feeling, his mind turned again to the small figure lying to his right. His role in the loss of the queen was also what had turned Elide against him. And deep in his ancient heart, despite the battles he had fought and terrible things he had done, he knew that he could not live with her hatred and despisal of him.
He was filled with bitterness. But mixed in with it was an emotion he had never experienced in all the centuries he had been alive: despair.
Beside him, so close but so far away from him, Elide whimpered in her sleep.
He turned his head to look at her. Her small body was curled up tightly, her knees folded up against her, and she was shaking a little. The blanket she had wrapped herself in to protect against the cool night had slipped off at some point and she looked cold and smaller even than usual. Lorcan felt the need to protect her, to hold her close and never let her go, as a physical ache, threatening to override his other emotions.
Sighing a little, he stood and padded to her, kneeling down to grab the blanket and tuck it around her as gently as he could. Inside his head, a voice laughed at him. See what your centuries of cruelty and heartlessness have ended in? He felt an absurd desire to laugh as well at the hold this tiny, angry woman had over him. Or perhaps to weep. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about much these days.
He knelt there a little longer, watching her shivering lessen and her tense face relax a little. When he was sure she was warm again, he went to rise. . .
Almost too quick to see, a small hand shot out and grabbed his where it was braced on the earth. Lorcan nearly overbalanced in his shock, Fae reflexes or not. He stared down at her and strained to hear her breathing - but no, she was still sleeping deeply. He didn't know whether to stay there or gently remove her hand where it gripped his tightly. Elide decided for him.
The tiny hand pulled insistently on his, shifting to his wrist for a better grip. A little helpless, Lorcan allowed her to pull him towards her. He swore he heard her mutter, ". . .so bloody warm--" before with a yank he was suddenly lying on the ground right in front of her, staring into her sleeping face. She was frowning slightly.
He tried moving away, but her grip on his wrist tightened, the line between her brows deepening. Apparently still asleep, she lifted his arm up and draped it over her shoulder. Then she shifted forward until she was pressed against his chest, still curled in the foetal position. He swallowed.
Tentatively, praying furiously for her not to wake, he wrapped his arm more tightly around her. She smiled and inched closer.
Emboldened, he slid his other arm under her head so that it was pillowed on his bicep. He could feel her tight muscles loosen as he held her close. She murmured something indistinct. Her heartbeat was slow and steady and it made him feel. . .peaceful? Another new emotion. He gazed at her sleeping face, her own unsmiling peace smoothing away any worry or fear. Her lashes lying against her cheeks. Her rosebud mouth.
Gods, but she was beautiful.
And incredibly, undeniably, off-limits.
He found himself wondering again how this fragile-yet-strong, quiet-yet-deadly-smart woman had managed to thread her way so inextricably into his long-dormant heart. How she had managed to find something good in him, after he had killed and destroyed and tortured all his long, long life. How she had made him into something better than himself. Before, of course, he had ruined it all. He sighed for the second time that night. He knew that, whatever her subconscious wanted, she would be furious when she woke in his arms. In the morning she was going to rip him to shreds. But for now he curled his knees up to her small frame, nestled his chin in her soft dark hair, closed his eyes, and felt sleep finally take him.