6th of autumn, 519 AV
The night was foggy and cold, inconsistent with the warm weather that had been plaguing the city, telling of yet another approaching winter without Morwen's presence. Alard had been subdued that day; Aster could see the telltale signs of illness in him with the way he was sniffling constantly and wiping his nose, letting out an occasional wet cough, but she kept her mouth shut. He didn't like being seen as weak, and besides, the longer he held onto his pride and didn't ask her for help, the longer she got to watch him suffer what was probably just a seasonal cold.
Was it petty of her? Absolutely, but she had learned to take the little victories.
They had spent the evening both sitting close to the lit and blazing hearth, Alard with a flask and her with a cup of watery tea made from stale herbs that had been sitting in the back of the closet, and Asterope had only half-listened as Alard rambled on and on, complaining about one thing or another.
Soon enough, even he had grown tired of listening to his own voice, and he'd snuffed out the fire and crawled into bed. He had taken to forcing Aster to share his bed and sometimes his company, something that was always a literal battle, and a fact that only stoked the embers of bitter hatred that smoldered in her chest. But tonight he seemed to want his space. She was fine with that.
After finishing the last of her tea, she had crawled under the thin blanket on her cot, shivering as the heat from the now extinguished fire's heat slowly faded from the room. She stared blankly up at the ceiling for a long time, her thoughts churning. She was in a strange place. In many ways she'd become complacent again, quiet and doing mostly as she was told. She was tired. But there was something simmering beneath her sternum, deep in her chest, waiting and growing.
The burning of the cursed bone that had accompanied her since Alvadas had lifted a weight off her; she had felt the difference, both sudden and gradual, since that moment. She no longer felt quite so hopeless; now it was question of biding her time and figuring out a plan, and keeping herself alive in the meanwhile. And alive, right now, meant complacent...at least for the most part.
It was still tiring. She still wondered if it wouldn't be better to die fighting tooth and nail, but she waved the question out of her mind and closed her eyes. She needed to rest. It didn't take her long to drift off, the only sound the creaking of the building settling and the hooting of a lone owl outside somewhere. She dreamed uneasily of flying creatures and brands pressed into her hands.
Word Count: 473
Was it petty of her? Absolutely, but she had learned to take the little victories.
They had spent the evening both sitting close to the lit and blazing hearth, Alard with a flask and her with a cup of watery tea made from stale herbs that had been sitting in the back of the closet, and Asterope had only half-listened as Alard rambled on and on, complaining about one thing or another.
Soon enough, even he had grown tired of listening to his own voice, and he'd snuffed out the fire and crawled into bed. He had taken to forcing Aster to share his bed and sometimes his company, something that was always a literal battle, and a fact that only stoked the embers of bitter hatred that smoldered in her chest. But tonight he seemed to want his space. She was fine with that.
After finishing the last of her tea, she had crawled under the thin blanket on her cot, shivering as the heat from the now extinguished fire's heat slowly faded from the room. She stared blankly up at the ceiling for a long time, her thoughts churning. She was in a strange place. In many ways she'd become complacent again, quiet and doing mostly as she was told. She was tired. But there was something simmering beneath her sternum, deep in her chest, waiting and growing.
The burning of the cursed bone that had accompanied her since Alvadas had lifted a weight off her; she had felt the difference, both sudden and gradual, since that moment. She no longer felt quite so hopeless; now it was question of biding her time and figuring out a plan, and keeping herself alive in the meanwhile. And alive, right now, meant complacent...at least for the most part.
It was still tiring. She still wondered if it wouldn't be better to die fighting tooth and nail, but she waved the question out of her mind and closed her eyes. She needed to rest. It didn't take her long to drift off, the only sound the creaking of the building settling and the hooting of a lone owl outside somewhere. She dreamed uneasily of flying creatures and brands pressed into her hands.
Word Count: 473
