Nights were always difficult for Roden Harlowe, especially on cold evenings when he slept alone without a nameless girl to distract him. Every so often he believed that he'd be fine if he stayed awake long enough, as he said so very very often: he could rest when he was dead. Proudly, Roden had kept himself awake for two nights now, he had no intention of entertaining his nightmares and was perfectly inclined to avoid sleeping for a third night.

Though the hallucinations he'd seen hours ago proved that some nightmares couldn't be avoided simply by staying awake.

Alone he sat in his cozy room, forcing his eyes open by trying to count the numberless stars in the dark midnight sky. In the corner of his gaze, a brown haired woman sat with her face in her hands. She wasn't real of course, and she had no face. Roden thought of her as his mother, he dreamt of her often, though in every dream... Havanila had no face. Havanila's faceless ghost was present whenever he stoically avoided resting his tired mind.

Aside from Havanila, his second most persistent hallucination was the deceased pirate king Devlin, one of the first men Roden had intentionally killed. Devlin had his face, but there wasn't much left. His eyes were empty sockets, and his skin paler than rice paper. Devlin usually came when Roden experienced extreme regret, and he always led the long line of the others who'd been killed by Roden's hand.

Counting the stars began to make his eyelids droop, forcing Roden to change his tactics. He stumbled away from the glass window with a new goal in mind. The fire had grown low; Roden had been lucky enough to have his own little fireplace. Dutifully, Roden placed a new log on the fire, waiting patiently for the room to grow warmer again. He picked a stray string from off of his white linen shirt.

It had crossed his mind that if he was vulnerable about his inner darkness, there was a chance the blackness always on his mind would leave him, and he'd finally be at peace...

But Roden never did speak his mind. He knew that his burdens were for him to bear, and nobody else.

In a moment of weakness, Roden pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes. There was no telling what he would see if he allowed himself to fall asleep. The sheer anxiety of what he couldn't predict was a well needed jolt in keeping himself awake.

Well, that and a shy knocking at his bedroom door.

Roden rubbed his eyes, dreading whatever it would be that came next. He could always remain silent and pretend he was asleep. The knocking would stop, and he could go on torturing himself as he always did. It was a victory for both parties involved. Unfortunately, the timid knocking only grew more insistant.. And if anything, Roden heard he swore somebody whispering through the wood.

"I know you're awake in there, Roden Harlowe," hissed the knocker. Roden knew just exactly who it was the moment they stopped knocking.

"Hello Maris," Roden croaked in return as he opened the door to her in. "If it had been anyone else, I would've told them to go away."

"Oh that's not true you ninny," Maris snickered, and threw her arms around Roden's neck.

Her touch was something he still hadn't grown accustomed to. The soft, firework-like brush of he ruddy hands through his shirt calmed him, but only for a split fleeting second. With Maris there, he'd have somebody to talk to for a few short minutes. Once she left, he'd have to find new ways to keep the disturbing call to rest at bay.

"I'm glad you're here," the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.

Maris responded by twirling one of the sandy curls at the nape of his neck, "Do you want me to stay."

Silence.

"Yes."

"Are your nightmares troubling you?"

Roden shut his eyes again. Saints above, he was exhausted. All it would take to ease his troubled mind was a single word, and frankly, admitting there was something the matter with him was far more difficult than riding into battle. As Maris continued to toy with his hair, blissful tremors began to compete with the cemented notion that he didn't deserve positive attention from a woman. He swallowed hard, "Yes."

Without pulling her hands from his body, Maris stepped back, her round face caught the light of the fire. "What do you see in your nightmares?"

The questions to come would be difficult, curse Maris and her horrible curious desire to help in eccentric ways. She finally moved her hand from the back of Roden's neck, and guided him to sit near her on the rug before the warm hearth. Patiently, she took his hand in hers, and began to touch his hand in the most peculiar way.

"I can never predict what I dream about," Roden confessed quietly, his voice easily overpowered by the occaisional crackle of the fire. Maris gave him a look, and he continued. "There are some nights where I am trapped on the banks of Drylliad. I am alone, always alone. The dead drag themselves towards me, and the living always seem to attack. Sometimes the river changes to boiling water, and I stupidly jump into the boiling Roving River. And..."

She arched an eyebrow, "And?"

"I am pulled under the water," even thinking of the events he'd dreamt of made his breathing begin to quicken. "It is dark, and I drown till I awake. That's one of the more merciful dreams."

Now that she'd finished touching his hand, Maris turned his wrist, and pressed her lips against Roden's palm. "And you're always alone? There's never somebody to help you?"

"Nobody," Roden confirmed. There were some cases where even his friends turned against him, and he was trapped in the castle only to face their wrath.

"I hope not to cross a line when I say that you trust me to a degree," Maris cracked a solemn smile. She'd cupped the side of Roden's face with her ruddy marked hand. "You and I both know from experience the lengths I'd go to follow you."

Maris stood suddenly, taking Roden by both hands to help him stand up. Silently, she lead him to his large bed, and he obediently followed... Though as she flopped backwards onto the mattress, his hands grew sweaty with nervousness. Fear was an overwhelming emotion, and Roden was sure he was on the brink of admitting his fear.

Just when he believed Maris had finally stopped with her strange attempt to comfort him, she crawled over Roden, leaving him alone on his bed. Roden rolled over, and attempted to follow her, but she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back against his pillows. Roden propped himself up on his elbows as she pulled off both of his boots. Then Maris snatched a fur coverlet, and dragged it over him. Roden assumed she'd finished her strange ritual when she crawled back over him, and nestled in close to him. Close enough to ruin her reputation should she get caught.

"I can't be with you in your dreams," Maris mumbled, absentmindedly trailing her fingers over Roden's temple. "But I can hold you through the night."

Roden turned again, facing Maris this time. He pulled her under the fur coverlet by her waist, "Do you promise you're not going to leave me?"

Never once did they break away from the other's gaze. Roden was acutely aware of the lack of space between his body and Maris'. She continued the same pattern of brushing Roden's hair from his face and trailing her thumb over his temple. "I'll always be with you, there's a Gelynian word for what you are to me."

"Will you tell me what it is?" Roden asked quietly, his attention slowly turning from his fear of the night.

"Perhaps someday I will," Maris promised with a cheeky grin. She kissed his forehead, her blush only hidden by the dimming light of the fire.

The chaste gesture seemed to dispel the majority of the little devils in Roden's head. He entwined their fingers, closing any gap there might have been before. When Maris blinked, her eyelashes dusted against Roden's cheek. True to her word, she'd snaked an arm around his shoulders to hold Roden close.

He couldn't remain awake for much longer, Roden knew that much. The steady beat of Maris' heart was easy to follow, and easily made him drowsier than he already was. The faceless Havanila had long since vanished from view. There was no room for anything other than his dependance on Maris and the constant she'd been in his life since they'd met.

"Maris?" Roden asked, practically murmuring into her mouth.

Everything about her was soft, even beneath her chatty persona she was gentle. Roden began to trace the ruddy birthmark on her hand. Her silence chipped away at his confidence, but she could bring it all back with a single word. He'd unknowingly allowed Maris to hold power over him, but in their many adventures, Roden was confident that she wouldn't abuse his emotions as so many others had.

"Yes?" She whispered.

Roden began to nuzzle her cheek, drawing a shy giggle from Maris. He let go of her hand and instead wound it in her unruly blonde curls. Roden pressed his lips against her skin, "I think I love you."

He kissed her cheek again and kept her pressed against him. Maris laid her hand on Roden's chest, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"I know I need you," Maris whispered back. Roden could feel her cheeks burning against his own.

For the first time in a long time, Roden knew he wasn't alone.

He knew he was deeply loved.

He knew he was needed.