Soft scratching called her from sleep's embrace. Aelinor turned on her back, wondering at the noise. She peered at the arching structure abovehead blearily, thinking she was still dreaming might be. But nay, the noises were not stopping even as she became more and more alert. Having a fair idea as to the instigator of the disturbance, she pushed away her covers and climbed out of the bed. The door she opened with no fuss and, sure enough, on the other side stood her youngest son. Arms outstretched, Gerald met the thin cotton of her shift, little fingers digging into the cloth. Wordlessly, he stepped fair into her, face crushed against her stomach. Aelinor bent to lift him up, knowing better than to attempt waking him. He would come to in his own time. She carried the child to her bed and settled the both of them within, drawing the covers for a shield.
Silver-gold, bright against her bosom, her son's hair shone in the low light of breaking dawn. Aelinor carded careful fingers through the curing locks, wondering that he should have such a striking resemblance to his sire. Cerisse had her father's colouring as well, but Aelinor fancies she could see more of herself in the girl's face than not. Yet Gerald was all Brynden down to the perpetually serious cast of his features. She bent to drop a kiss upon his brow as he snuggled even closer, seeming to wish he might melt into her. Her fingers worked still in his tangled curls when the thought came to her; would the babe she'd lost have resembled Brynden?
Tears stung her eyes. She had lost babes before. A goodly number even. This last one had been an unlooked for miracle, a blessing in a good year she'd thought at the time. And Aelinor had so wanted to give Brynden another child. Another boy, might be, whom he would teach to ride before the tyke could even walk, as he'd done for Criston and Gerald. Happy had been her thoughts then, picking out patterned cloths with Cerisse at the market. She'd even managed to draw some tracings, even before she'd whispered to Gwenys about her unexpected fortune. The tears were rolling down her face, slipping over the bridge of her nose and across the line of her cheekbone, finding rest into the pillow beneath her head. Absently she pushed down her shift, as Gerald had finally released it. It seemed to her that she'd lost more than her babe; might be because she had. Her husband had been taken away as well, hadn't he? And what was she to do without Brynden?
Those hadn't been false words she spoke to Aemon. The better part of her life had been dedicated to serving her lord and master and the thought that she would have to make her way in the world without him hurt her. Even if she hadn't given him her heart, long enough had been their years together that his side of the bed, unslept it, troubled her. Of course, she no longer slept in the Tower of the Hand and that bed she did not see. But even her new one felt vastly empty.
She woke sometimes in the night, her arms empty and looked about still for sight of her husband bent over scrolls or papers. But she never found him as she expected and then the knowledge of his imprisonment returned. On those nights she struggled not to weep nosily, knowing full well Kit slept light and would come barrelling into her chamber the moment he hear those noises. For all he looked little like his sire, he had Brynden's temper, whereas Gerald was more like Aelinor in action and speech, sweet and mellow to his brother's stern and, at times, brutal comport.
Why, she would never forget how Kit had marshalled her out of bed, bidding her dress and comb her hair. Thereafter, he had dragged her from the sleeping chamber all the way to a smaller room where her children and Gwenys sat at the table. Boxing her between himself and his eldest sister, her firstborn had laden her bowl with something very akin thin gruel. No one had left the table until she had finished her bowl and from that point on she'd no longer been allowed to linger abed with her dark thoughts. Truly, she had no notion what her fate might've been had Kit indulged her. But her son was not so easily led by pity, which accounted for his continuing to drag her out into the garden, bringing her tasks to fulfil, which at first she listlessly saw to, yet as she became more and more regimented saw to on her own and of her own volition. Kit still came to her in the morning, though he merely had to knock and wait outside her door as opposed to flinging it open with a mighty crack and bodily removing her from bed.
Mylessa had been of no less help, though Aelinor could well see her sorrow was great. Her poor daughter went about with red-rimmed eyes, though she did not weep openly before herself, even if sometimes the shine of tears should steal over her gaze. She had instead thrown herself into the household work and done so well for herself that Aelinor no longer had any fear that she wouldn't suit the running of her own home someday soon. Cerisse had taken her sister's example and took over minor tasks when Mylessa permitted, though much of her time was spent in lessons from her septa and her smiles were wan of late.
Only poor Gerald had been left quite as adrift as herself. For him, his father's disappearance had begun a new wave of an old affliction they thought put behind them. All the same, when Gerald had begun to wander the halls again, deep in his sleep, it was quite clear not one member of their family had escaped unscathed.
"Mamma?" The soft question drew her away from her thoughts and she glanced into the semi-awake face of her son. Questioning eyes regarded her long and hard. Realisation was slow to worm its way within and then that little face crumpled in such an expression of disappointment that Aelinor instinctively drew him together against her.
"Nay, nay, my sweet boy; don't you take on so." She rubbed his back consolingly after, doing her best to stem the flow of his frustrated tears. Alas, he was nowhere near wise enough to know his crying would attract attention and so when a sharp knock came and the door opened just a fraction, the boy jumped in her arms, wrapping all limbs around her as she twisted to an upright position, taking Gerald with her. Kit's had opened the door just a fraction, his eyes settling on the two of them.
After a moment's hesitation, he stepped in, holding his arms out for Gerald, "Come along, you little troublemaker and let mother sleep." But Gerald merely shook his head at that and clutched at her harder, his grip turning very near painful. "Gerald," Criston said warningly, stepping closer to the bed. Yet before he might continue his thought, a gasp from behind him turned all eyes to the open doorway.
"That's not fair," Cerisse groused unhappily from her spot. "I want to sleep with mother too." She scurried past Kit and climbed atop the mattress before anyone could stop her. Kit looked to her searchingly, waiting for what Aelinor would decide.
"That is a fine notion, Cerisse, sweetling. Kit, all is well as you can see; pray do go back to sleep and we shall do the same." With a glare to his younger siblings, Kit gave a curt nod before wishing them all a fair slumber. He went out the chamber, closing the door quietly in his wake. "There now, your brother has gone to sleep. You can settle down my boy."
Gerald released her, though slowly. He rolled onto the side of the bed which would have belonged to Brynden while Cerisse settled firmly into Aelinor's side. Her brother shifted around for a few moment until he too found the comfort of his mother. The children drifted off to sleep without much fuss after, leaving only Aelinor awake. She watched over them as they slept; in fairness she liked having them with her well enough. Kit and the little Miss had never been quite as invested in seeking their parents out should their rest be disturbed. They seemed very happy to share that with only one another.
In the end, when the sun spilled over carpeted floors and she could no longer linger abed, Aelinor left the children to their sleep, moving about the chamber ever so quietly as she fulfilled her morning ritual. Even when she was neatly dressed for the day and undoing her plait did they not stir. Thinking to let them get their ease, she made her way without.
The little Miss was already at the table, munching on what looked to be a small honey cake slice. "Good morrow, daughter," she greeted warmly, leaning down to kiss Mylessa's cheek. The girl returned her affection and patted the open seat next to her invitingly. "Where is everyone else?"
"My husband and Kit are hard at work. They left some time ago but said they should return in time for supper. And I rather thought the children were with you, lady mother." The little Miss sliced more of the cake, dividing it between the two of them. "'Tis very good, this one. I am on my third slice. Shall I pour you some milk as well? Only it has cooled some, but if you wait a little I can have it armed again."
"No matter, I should like it as it is." Aelinor nibbled at her slice of cake and drank her milk. The day was fair and if she was not mistaken, they could spend a great deal of time in the gardens. Might be she would knit a bit for she'd not done so in a long while. Looking to her daughter she thought to ask after her opinion when she noted the ashen tone of the girl's skin. In fact, the poor dear did not look all that well rested and for all she said she enjoyed her food, her progress was slow. "Whatever is wrong, my sweetling?" she questioned, reaching out to touch her daughter's hand.
Mylessa gave her a guilty look. "Oh, mother; this is all it needed." Fine bright eyes shone with unshed tears. "I think–oh, but I do so think; I might be with child." She whispered the words and for a moment Aelinor did not quite know what to say. The words weren't unexpected; she knew all too well how matters stood between the little Miss and her man. The reaction, however, puzzled her.
"But is not that a good thing, my lovely? What reason have you to weep?" She cupped the girl's face in her palms and stroked her thumbs gently over the smooth skin. Mylessa have a noisy sob and threw her arms around Aelinor, saying something about the circumstances. It took a moment to understand the issue but once she did, Aelinor could but sigh and stroke her daughter's head, waiting for the strong emotions to subside. "But, Miss, surely you cannot think so. How ever could I be unhappy at this excellent news?" To think her own daughter could come up with such a notion. "There now, wipe your tears away and tell me all." As it turned out, there was not very much to tell, it was still rather new to Mylessa herself. "Well then, you will want to be prepared; have you taken a look at the linens I had." Her daughter nodded. "Good, choose what you will of them and for the rest we may go to market together and see what can be found." Their funds, thanked be the Father, had suffered little alteration.
"Should you like to see what I have chosen?" the little Miss asked at long last, after they'd finished their food and drink. Aelinor agreed with alacrity, only too happy to ease her daughter's suffering. Truly, what a pea-goose the girl could sometimes be. Oh, if only she could tell Brynden as well. No more than three steps had she taken towards her daughter's chamber when a hasty knock on the door put paid to the excursion. As her Mylessa looked a fright, she sent her to righten herself and went to answer the door.
Great was her astonishment when she saw there Aemon and a young boy whom she knew to be cupbearer to the king himself. Without waiting on pleasantries, the boy fixed her with a hard stare. "His Majesty the King will have you walk the gardens with him." As invitations went she had heard more gallant ones. Looking to Aemon, she got a mere nod for him.
"If that is His Majesty's wish, then certainly. But let me fetch my cloak." Mylessa was unhappy to hear of the need which bore her mother away, but dutifully fastened the cloak about her shoulders, promising ever so faithfully to look after the children in her absence. "Aunt Gwenys should be by soon enough."
Once without, she took Aemon's proffered arm and watched as the boy sauntered before them, apparently much in haste to return to his lord. "Whatever can the King wish now?" she asked Aemon.
"As to that, I shan't spoil it for you," the maester answered, not quite meeting her eyes. "Be not afeared, he means you no harm." If she were a fool those words would have soothed her of a certain. She walked alongside Aemon after without speaking further
As promised, the King was waiting in the gardens, his lady wife with him. Betha Blackwood regarded her with a steady gaze as Aelinor made her bows. "Come sit with me, lady," the other woman offered, for I've a question to put to you."
Doing as bidden, she took to the bench, seating herself in nearness to the queen. "I will do my best to answer," she said, though couldn't be sure if she'd been heard as her companion made no answer to that.
Still, before long the queen spoke. "If I told you I would allow you to take up with your husband wherever he is now, would you do it?" That was quite the frank question and so deserved quite an honest answer.
"In a heartbeat." The children had Mylessa and Gwenys t see to their needs and Kit would look after the family. She didn't suppose Brynden had much longer if they offered her such a chance.
"Even if I told you it would be the black cells you would be joining him into?" Did she imagine it, or was the queen deriving pleasure from her suffering? Who could tell?
The sound of rattling chains did not disturb Brynden unduly. Lying on his cot, he listened to the movements without his cell. There was little enough to do in the blessed darkness but lie on his back and think. And that he had done a fair lot in between the meals provided him. He had counted, of course, the many days of imprisonment, wishing it were all over and that his basted kin would proclaim the verdict once and for all. If his head were to roll, what need was there to keep him for so long in a rat infested box. Let them spill his blood and be done with it.
He half-hoped Aelinor would not be there when the executioner plied his trade, but he knew his wife well enough that she would not forsake him. As for Kit and Mylessa, they would come as well. The younger one would be spared. And after that what would happen to them? Kit knew well enough where to obtain funds from and that husband of his daughter's had property enough in Lys to see them comfortably settled. Would that be enough? Not for his conscience; his poor wife was bound to endure the snide remarks of the courtiers on his account, though it could well be that Aelinor would ignore them as she had done the jabs at the circumstances of his birth. She was good in that way; donning her mask and acting as though the slings and arrows hurt her none.
Closing his one eye tiredly, Brynden fought off sleep. The snatches he had managed brought him the oddest visions. He did not wish to think upon it. Or if not that, he dreamed of his family, which was an equally uncomfortable thing. Scrubbing a hand over his unshaved jaw, he muttered under his breath. Something scurried over his leg; a rat no doubt. He budged not an inch. Chains clinked and dragged; he fancied he heard someone cry out. The business of extracting confessions was naught he need concern himself with, for Brynden had plainly confessed to his deeds. He felt no remorse for those actions. The king was wily enough, he suspected, to know his reasoning and clever enough to see Brynden for the danger he was. It gratified him in a way; it was only the moment that was unsuitable. Closing his eyes momentarily, he concentrated on what sounded to be footsteps.
They were drawing close. Dare he hope his time had come at last? Heavy footfalls neared his door. He heard the lock and then the bar and after that the squeak of rusted hinges. The light of torches flooded his cell and he sat up, looking to see what the commotion was about. But it was not some guard come to drag him away that he saw, but Aegon himself, lips twisted in apparent displeasure. He held the man's gaze as their eyes met. "I see you are not at all daunted by your circumstances," the king noted softly.
He fixed the man with a hard stare but made no answer. Aegon gave a nod to whoever was behind him and entered fully. A small stool was pushed in his wake before the door was fastened shut. Lights were lit by the king's very hand and then, once a comfortable balance had been achieved, the man finally sat down. "Do you not wish to know why I have come to you?" Brynden gave a loose shrug of his shoulders. In faith, he cared not. "Well, well, you shan't even ask, I see. Very well, I had hoped you would indulge me, but I see now I was much mistaken. Let it be known then that I seek you out now at the plea of Lady Aelinor." A shadow flickered in the king's eyes just then. Brynden narrowed his eye, much displeased that they would drag his wife into it. "She spoke for you most handsomely. And Aemon as well, if you can believe it."
Gritting his teeth against the hiss of scorn threatening to overtake him, Brynden took a shaky breath. "Your Majesty is right; I cannot quite believe he would." There was no love lost between them and certainly never had they been close. Only Aelinor linked one to the other. Though that might be the case, he couldn't suppose Aemon's nature had sent him rushing to his defence.
"Yet he has. Who knows his purpose." Something very like a smirk touched Aegon's mouth just then. "Oh, I suppose you do know it well enough." He knew, damn his eyes. It would do no good to feed that curiosity any further. "Naught to say? More's the pity; he does want to protect the Lady Aelinor, truly." And a bit more than that, Brynden didn't doubt. "But let us not allow ourselves to be distracted. I have come to tell you deliberations are not yet at an end as to your fate. But I thought nevertheless to allow some mercy at this point."
"What need have I of your mercy?" He kept his voice steady, unwilling to give an inch. "You've what you want of me. Trouble me no further unless it is to tell me of my doom." He would not be tugged like some puppet on strings. Cleverer men had tried and found only death for their reward.
"Alas, that you are not king." He rose from his seat and turned back to knock on the door. It opened and Aegon stepped out, leaving the cavernous space well-lit. Brynden wondered at the ploy and waited for the door to open once more, not daring hope the interview was at an end. He did not care even if the torturers set upon him; there was little they could get out of him in any event.
And yet it looked that the king had more than a thin streak of cruelty to boast of. When the door opened once more, within stepped a most nervous looking Aelinor. "Husband. Oh, Brynden," she croaked, hurrying to his side. Without thought she knelt upon the filthy floors, throwing her arms around his neck. Aegon's words came to haunt him then, with the warm press of her weight against his chest and her familiar scent in his nostrils. Unable to help himself, he embraced her back for all his ire burned in the pit of his stomach. Aelinor drew back, cupping his face between her small soft hands. "I can scarce believe it." She sniffled and broke from his embrace entirely, rising to her feet. "You must come with me now."
The door was still open, he could see. Beyond it stood the gaoler, the king and Aemon as well. Bristling, Brynden climbed to his feet, movement tugging at the chain holding him fast within. Aelinor turned towards those without and the king nodded at the gaoler. He was set free before long and his wife moved at his side as though to offer support. He let his arm warp around her waist and directed the heat of his glare towards the men who had thought to bring her in such a place. But they were on their way before long and left the dungeons behind, though not as soon as Brynden might have wished.
He and Aelinor were allowed the use of a chamber wherein a tub awaited. Surveying the surroundings, Brynden pushed back at his temper and the thorny ache in his chest. "What did you do?" His wife looked up from where she stood, hand plunged in the water to test the heat. "To get me out." Frustratingly, she took a moment to react.
Aelinor straightened. "What needed to be done." Streaks of dirt stained the fall of her skirts. "And I will tell you all, if you so desire. Only let me make you comfortable before that." Would that alleviate the sting of the blow when she finally told him? Brynden grunted his assent and shed his foul clothing upon the ground.
He climbed into the tub, still struggling to master his anger lest it mastered him. Aelinor he saw picking up the garments and setting them aside onto a bench. When at last he thought he could speak, he said to her, "It will not happen again." Sitting rigid in the warm water, he watched as she came around to his side and took up a cloth which she lathered carefully with soap. "I won't let it."
She nodded and reached for him, hand and cloth resting on his shoulders. "Do you want me to tell you now?" Muscles rippled under her touch. Heat swarmed him.
"Not yet." It was almost as though he couldn't feel before and at the point found himself overwhelmed. She washed him on in silence, scrubbing and lathering tirelessly until even he had the vague notion that the noxious filth of the dungeons had been finally washed away. Her movements were graceful and unhurried, as though this was one of their ordinary baths. Staring down at the murky water, Brynden reined in the thoughts and rose to his feet. Unaided, he climbed over the edge of the tub and took from Aelinor the proffered sheet, drying himself near the fire.
She had brought clean garments too. They rested, when he glanced back, in her arms. Brynden did not reach for them though. Instead, he took hold of Aelinor's upper arm and pulled her to him, ignoring her squeak of surprise. He disposed her of the clothing she carried in her arms, throwing them to the side and lowered her to ground upon the woven rushes. "Who is without?"
"The guards His Majesty left," his wife whispered tremulously, winding her arms loosely around his shoulders as he lifted her skirts up her legs. She lifted herself as best she could for him to bunch the skirts up. Her smallclothes were deftly cast aside. He touched his fingers to the naked flesh. Aelinor gasped. "Brynden; here?" He stroked her, looking into those dark, half-closed eyes. It did not take very long to obtain her agreement. "Hurry," she panted, drawing him down for a kiss.
He settled between her legs more fully, flesh brushing intimately together. Relinquishing her lips for a moment, Brynden braced his weight on one arm, the other hand busy with guiding. She jolted slightly at the feel of impending penetration before lifting her hips pleadingly. He went slowly, aware this was rather less in preparation than their usual bouts. But she took his eagerly enough as he sank down into her body until they were pressed flush together. His weight bore down upon her, pinning her hips to the ground. Without much thought, Brynden moved, sluggish thrusts more for depth than anything else. Aelinor had locked her legs tight around him. He took her lips again, demanding entrance. It worked to hush whatever sounds their lovemaking would have otherwise produced. All the same, he felt the rest of her body react as was its wont.
When they separated for breath one of her hands came to his wet hair, fingers toying with the damp strands at his nape. He grunted and glared down at the top of her kyrtle. His hips flexed with movement. "What are you–" Aelinor managed brokenly before he paused to the tune of her protest. Her legs fell from around him as he jostled her, lifting her entire weight off the ground so he could bring her in his lap. "Brynden!" It did not take much to sheath himself again. He almost forgot to work the laces of her garment when she wound tight around him. But soon enough the top of her garment was being pushed down her shoulders and Aelinor freed her arms as well.
Their lips met in the middle of a moan. Brynden anchored Aelinor against him with both arms as they both surged towards the peak. She jumped off the precipice first, whining softly when he rolled them until she was flat on her back again. "Am I hurting you?" he managed past the tightness of his chest. She shook her head, giving him wordless leave to carry on. He strained and bucked until the tight coil within him broke apart.
Aelinor held him to her, contented it would seem, to stroke his hair and murmur gentle words of appreciation as last broken thrusts died down to languorous grinding and finally faded into fine trembling. She moved her lips against his throat, fingers caressing once more at his nape. In his turn, he pressed a kiss to her brow and pushed her hair out of her face. "Tell me now." She gazed up at him with unfocused eyes, casting after his meaning. Clarity came soon enough along with a rosy blush to her cheeks. She attempted to move beneath him as though to disengage them, but he merely allowed more of his weight to come to bear and she subsided.
She spoke of the many appeals she had forwarded to the king and his refusal to see her. She told him of the various ideas which had struck her and how they failed her one by one. It was then that Aemon came into play. He tensed above her at the mention of his name and ground his hips into hers more firmly. Aelinor took immediate notice. She touched a hand to his chest, as if to calm him. "There now, my love; might be he has grown as tired of these games even as us." It helped, of course, that Aemon hadn't touched her. "He was helpful. And it was more than anyone had done for me in all this wretched business." So the king had played him false. Relief rolled over Brynden as she went on with her tale employing as much economy of words as she could. "And that would bring us here."
Gazing down at her in a thoughtful manner, Brynden took a few moments more to digest her words. "And so we shall remain together?"
"Certainly, until a verdict has been reached." She said naught of his impending demise, as though consigning it to silence might somehow change the path. Rolling off of her, he helped Aelinor to a sitting position, aiding in straightening her clothes. "I can do it," she assured, "you go dress as well ere you catch cold." He did so, though keeping an eye on her, watching ever so carefully. It was more than he deserved, he suspected, but decency had never been one of his foremost qualities and so the fact that such a woman should throw her lot in with his disturbed him a great deal less than it ought to. He was only glad, in his selfish black heart, that she felt so strongly about him as to remain faithfully his even in such bleak circumstances as he faced. Once they were both presentable, he swooped in for one last lingering kiss, biting gingerly into her lower lip before parting from that sweet mouth.
He had taken her again after the briefest of rests in their new bedchamber. It was quite a small affair, not even room to swing a cat. But all the same, he'd fallen into fitful slumber almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and afterwards when he'd woken to feel her next to him, he had indulged again, though it had been a much slower rendition of the act, complete with much meandering as to please any woman. Afterwards, he'd settled Aelinor's back against his front, spooning around her until her curves pressed to hard lines. One of his arms he used for pillow and the other he slung over her waist, bringing the flat of his palm tight against her mons, fingers curling inward. The touch wasn't so much sexual as it was protective, she recognised, feeling him relax against her back. It was not a gesture she hadn't met in him before and in truth it displeased her none. She rubbed his arm tenderly, stroking her thumb along the wrist tendons.
Sleep did not come for her. Too much had happened. She did manage a light doze, though every sound had her opening her eyes before long. So passed a few hours before she felt her husband stir faintly. She knew when he woke by the sharp intake of breath. The mattress trembled with his shifting. The hand cupping her firmed its touch, albeit the lingering stroke spoke of farewells and not kindled passion. He leaned over her. "I thought you asleep."
Turning until she was on her back, Aelinor caught his gaze. "I could not sleep." He was propped up on his below, the cover fallen away to expose most of him, she saw when looking away from his arresting eye. Shifting she brought her front against his, pressing her breasts into his chest. "I was just so afraid it might all be a dream. If I closed my eyes and you weren't there when I opened them again, what would I do?" She felt him stroke her back comfortingly. There was truly no answer he could give which would please her. Instead of insisting, Aelinor chose to return the favour, enjoying the feel of his against her. It might be best not to think about what the morrow might bring.
"You do not speak of the children," he rumbled at long last, giving her a topic she might latch onto. She hadn't known if he wished to hear.
"They are as well as can be expected. Miss was the luckiest by far. Her husband has been most devoted to her care. But Kit is not far off either; you should have seen his take the reins." She prattled on about the children. "Cerisse is spending most of her time with Miss and is, by all account, a great help. It is Gerald I worry most about, for he has begun to move about in his sleep again." Her husband made a thoughtful sound. "Yet I am not expecting much trouble for the moment; Gwenys has everything well in hand. There is however one more thing." At that his attention returned wholly to her. "Mylessa begs the boon of a name off you." He stared at her uncomprehending for a moment.
"She is–" Aelinor nodded her head before he could finish. Something akin to wonder passed over his features. "How far along?"
If she admitted ignorance he would question her further about it, which she did not wish. Better to keep him from grief as much as she could. "Far enough along to be thinking of names," Aelinor prompted. "You will give her it?"
"Two even; should the child be a girl." His fingers splayed across the small of her back as Aelinor turned her face into the pillow to dismiss the gathering tears. Might be thinking she had fallen asleep, Brynden shook her by the shoulder. She turned to him. "Go to Lys after. Stay with our daughter." Her lips flattened in a thin line and she hid her face again. He was not helping matters at all. "Aelinor, promise me."
She firmed her jaw and drew a noisy breath before she managed a terse vow. "Only if you are no longer here." That seemed enough for him to return to cosseting her. He asked for more tidings of the children and she did her best to provide, not entirely certain she made any sense. Still, her husband listened, caressing her idly throughout. In the end it was she who exhausted herself from jumping form one emotion to another in quick succession and found her way into slumber to the tune of Brynden's even breathing.
Later she woke to the familiar sight of her husband seated at the small desk, a little away from her. She noted by his position that he wrote aught. Climbing to her feet as quietly as she could, Aelinor moved around the bed to reach him. She dropped a hand to his shoulder and was not at all surprised when his own came to grip it. "Whatever are you going now, my love?" she murmured, not looking at the flowing script she knew to have been written down.
"I made a promise, did I not?" She knew what he spoke of without asking for clarification. Without waiting for invitation, she came to his side and seated herself in his lap, which he allowed with equanimity. There were a number of names to be seen.
"Have you settled on any yet?" He shook his head in answer and his palm settled at her hip, securing her to him. "I am sure it will come." She hummed softly, as her eyes traced the list once more. Mylessa would like any of these, she was certain. Though Maeron was like to prefer a name suited to his native Lys. Still and all, those two would never quibble over such matters. Leaning her head against Brynden's shoulder she patted his arm. "Shall I leave you to it?"
"By all means, stay."