She hadn't been able to remain asleep for long periods of time, instead waking every half-hour to make sure Elan still breathed, much like a new mother constantly checking on her sleeping baby. She was beginning to doze off once more when she felt his breathing change. He was finally awake. "I'm afraid I had to disobey your orders about not channeling," she said in a low voice. Her arm was laid across his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.
She heard him swallow and clear his throat. "I'll let it slide, just this once," he murmured.
"How magnanimous of you," she said wryly. He let out a weak chuckle.
They lay there for a long time in silence. She thought he fell asleep again after some time, and she drifted off as well, now that she was satisfied he wouldn't die. He was still there when she awoke hours later. They were in the same position as before; the bed really was too narrow for two people. "Elan?" she whispered. "Are you awake?"
"Yes." There was a pause. "Have you always called me that?" he asked.
"I've been doing it for a while, yes," she answered truthfully. "You never said anything about it."
"I hadn't noticed," he told her. "Have I ever asked your name?" he went on.
"You did, on my first day here. You don't remember?" she asked him uncertainly.
"I don't. Sorry," he added as an afterthought. At least that explained why he kept calling her 'pet' all the bloody time.
"It's Neya," she said. Her own name sounded odd after so long without hearing it.
"A fitting name. It means 'spirited' in the Old Tongue," he said.
"Yes, I know. I doubt that my parents knew that, however." She'd never had time to ask them. "It's certainly better than Betrayer of Hope, anyway," she went on without thinking, biting her lip in annoyance. That might have been off-limits.
He chuckled softly. She felt his chest shake beneath her arm. "It's less gloomy, I'll concede. Not so impressive in the fear-inspiring department, however," he went on wryly.
It was her turn to laugh. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. She hauled herself on one arm to look at him. He turned his face to her, meeting her eyes. "How many times do I have to save your life before you finally kiss me?" she said. She promptly felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Blood and ashes! She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Had she gone mad?
She saw him flinch, his eyes widening. He looked horrified. "Why in the Pit of Doom would I do that?" he asked in a faint voice.
"I–" She cut off, not sure what to say. How could she cover this up? She took a deep breath, eyes closed. "It was just a quip," she went on with a forced smile. "I'm still tired from the Healing. Forget it." She almost fell off the bed in her haste to get away from him and practically ran into the other room.
Kiss her? By the blood falls, it had never even crossed his mind, not once since he'd brought her here nine months ago. She was pretty, he had to admit, though he was hardly an expert in that field. Women had never held much interest to him. Not that he was more inclined toward men; he simply wasn't very keen on intimacy in general. It hadn't occurred to him that she might think of him that way. Why would it? He had taken her from her home in the middle of the night, held her captive for almost a year; hardly the sort of things to make a woman swoon, as far as he knew. She was barely old enough to be called a woman. How old could she be? Seventeen, eighteen? And he was… well, at least five hundred and twenty-nine years old. That's how old he was when he travelled to Shayol Ghul and became immortal.
Sighing, he heaved himself off the bed, stretching and marvelling at the fact that he was still alive. That wound should have been fatal. She was an amazing Healer, especially for one of this Age, and she hadn't even been trained yet. With proper tutoring, she would become a truly powerful channeler. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should simply Turn her to the Shadow, but the thought found no anchor in his mind. He found it difficult to concentrate on ideas, sometimes, a sure sign of the madness that had somehow permeated his brain. But if he knew he was insane, if he was aware of it, then was he truly insane? More importantly – did it matter in any way? He would soon be freed of it, and everything else besides.
He joined the girl in the other room, in what he called his library. He possessed many books and artefacts from the Age of Legends and kept them in several secure locations – some of these places he had occupied for centuries, or even millennia, in this instance. She sat at the table, reading. She didn't lift her eyes when he walked in, though he saw her blush despite her obvious attempt at concealing her face with her hair. The book was yet another biography of Lews Therin – one from his early life, dating from decades before the Collapse. Had she figured out what was happening? Did she know that the Dragon had been Reborn? It didn't matter. There was nothing she could do to stop him, and she'd had at least two opportunities to kill him – or let him die – and chosen not to act on them. Of course, her own fate was linked to his. She could not escape this place without his help, not unless she somehow figured out how to Travel. The very idea was laughable.
He took the opportunity to study her, considering for the first time that she was in fact a female being. She was rather short, barely reaching his chest, with curves in all the right places. Her wavy dark brown hair fell lightly just below her shoulders. She had dimples around her mouth. She was pretty. He hadn't been intimate with anyone in… centuries, at the very least, and he had never suffered from the lack of it. So why did he feel a sudden desire to touch her, to kiss her, just as she had suggested moments before? It could simply be her nature, he supposed, although that was a strange twist on what he knew of such people.
He heard her sigh and gave himself a shake, focusing on the present once more. She closed her book and started moving toward him hesitantly, though her hazel eyes fixed him with determination. She said nothing, simply taking his arm and pulling him along back toward the bedroom.
"You will what, pet?" he asked her some time later.
Feeling drowsy, she grunted something that she hoped sounded like 'What?'
"I heard you say this at some point, 'If you ever call me 'pet' again, I swear I will…' but I didn't quite catch what you would do if that were to happen," he clarified. She could almost hear his smug smile.
"I'll let it slide, just this once," she muttered dryly. That made him chuckle. "Did you sleep?" she asked after a while.
"No. I never do," he answered in a sombre tone.
"Never? But–" She cut off with a frown. She had seen him sleep just the night before! Although, in all fairness, he might have been unconscious rather than asleep. She wanted to point out that people needed sleep to live, but realised that might not be his case. He was, after all, one of the Forsaken. Who knew exactly what that entailed? She closed her mouth, at a loss for something to say. The silence began to stretch.
"Do you have any idea what it's like, to be immortal? To know you could not die, even if you wanted to?" he asked eventually, as if he'd read her previous thought. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so she offered no answer. "I am like a ghost, unreal, barely even there. And quite mad besides," he added softly.
She wanted to comfort him, to say something that would make him feel better, but she knew no word would achieve that. Instead she tightened her grip on him, hugging him closer to her. After a while she drifted off to sleep once more.
When she woke up, he was gone.