Some nights, she couldn't sleep. Even when she was tucked into Jaron's chest, Imogen couldn't find the sense of safety she'd lost. When that happened, she kissed her husband's sleeping eyelids, and walked the castle halls with her robe wrapped around her.
During the day, the castle was warm and friendly. The walls were full of kindness. Always beckoning the weary traveler to come rest beside it until they were ready to continue on their journey.
But at night, the castle was lonely. It waited for the friends it made to return with the rise of the sun.
She hoped the castle didn't mind her company.
With candle in hand and slippers on her feet, Imogen walked down the hall, leaving the royal apartments behind her. There was much to see at night. Only the moon was there to see what she found, as well as the occasional guard. There'd be one watching her from a distance. Walking with her without a word.
Though the guard trailing her wasn't cruel, he wasn't a friend either. Just a watchman.
The castle corridors were still a little confusing to her despite having lived there for so long. She knew the rooms and halls she occupied during the sunlight, but it was under the guard's gaze that she found new places.
First, there was something she needed to do.
Imogen began a long ascent up spiralling stairs. Her candle faltered once, but the flame clung to the wick from then on after. It cast her shadow like a towering spell.
Her shadow was more of an outlandish creature than a silhouette of her person.
On the floor above the royal apartments was a series of rooms, most of which served as an office for regents. Tobias had a physician's room on this floor, almost identical to the one he had on the first. Roden had an office here too. She knew he had an additional one hiding behind the throne.
Gathering her robe, Imogen held the candle high above her head. She approached the first door, and pressed her ear against the wood. No sound. No movement.
And she moved on to the next door.
There was a slight danger in checking each door for noise, but Imogen could sacrifice her safety in the name of telling a snoring regent to return to their chambers for a better night's sleep. With the guard behind her, she was safe.
The next door was silent as well. Imogen repeated her ritual until she reached Roden's office. She tapped her finger against the door and waited a moment. There were no grunts of acknowledgement and no scrambled whispers to hide, so she pushed open the door.
He'd made a fire at one point, but the flames had died to nothing but pale coals. Papers were stacked on the top of his desk, and his long blue coat draped over a chair, but there was no sign of him.
Imogen let the door click shut, and turned back to the hallway. More doors, no sounds. Her task was nearly complete, and her heart had begun to slow.
Not enough to quell the eerie panic walking across the back of her neck. Not enough to let her return to sleep, but enough to entertain the idea of returning to the royal apartments, casting off her slippers, and wrapping her arms around Jaron's lean waist.
Her guard remained at the end of the corridor. He stood too stiff. Too ready to appease all the rules. Imogen waved at him, and swore he almost moved to wave back.
The last door was thick and set with metal detail. Tobias claimed that it had once been a safe room for the early kings and their queens, but nobody knew how true that was. Imogen had to use her whole hand to knock against the wood.
And for the first time that night, she heard a muffled response.
Pushing the door open, Imogen blinked at the sudden change in light. The fireplace was filled with burning pine planks. Tobias's office always carried the scent of the wild woods to the north side of Drylliad. It was a place to rest among the drying herbs, the bottled medicines, and kettle typically filled with a warm drink.
"I hope I'm not intruding," Imogen called as she faced the door to pull it shut. When no response came, she peeked over her shoulder.
It was Roden sitting on the ground beside the boxy table, not Tobias. He caught Imogen's eye and shrugged before resting his head against the table.
"Everything alright?" She asked, lingering near the shelf. There were mugs there somewhere. If something wasn't already in the kettle, she'd make a drink herself.
Roden coughed, a dry, awkward cough used when somebody didn't know what to say. "They're not horrible, if that's what you'd like to hear."
"That's good, I'd rather feel dismal than horrific. But if given the option-," Imogen wrapped the edge of her robe around her hand and lifted the kettle lid. Only water. "-I'd rather be happy."
"I agree."
She kept her gaze on the shelves, looking for anything labeled 'tea'. Ah, there they were, all lined up in little jugs. Imogen reached for her favorites; the ones she used when her heart couldn't find rest. "And what's keeping you from being happy?" She asked, finally turning to look at him.
His face was neither blotched from tears nor clean from emotion. She'd tried her best to understand him, but Roden was different from Jaron. Imogen could accept that Jaron was wild. That he was sometimes confusing. Jaron did his best to help Imogen navigate his thoughts and actions.
But Roden was not her husband. Only a friend.
And she knew that's what he needed most.
Imogen selected a jug from her collection and measured out the appropriate amount of tea leaves for both mugs. She needed to wait for an answer, and that was alright.
It came not long after.
"Thinking about the people I might never see again," Roden said.
There was a layer to his words. Those who might never be seen again. Those who'd died and those who'd gone on to other paths in life. Imogen returned to the fire, and lifted the kettle from its hook.
What could she say?
She thought she knew what he meant. Who he spoke of.
"You don't know that for sure," Imogen pointed out. She poured the kettle's contents into the two mugs. "The Saints made it possible for us to see those we've lost to death and our differing choices again."
"That takes too much time," Roden rubbed the back of his neck. His eyebrows puckered together, and then his eyes went wide. "Not that I don't appreciate the gifts from the Saints. But- I just- well-"
"I understand. We were given a divine gift to choose for ourselves, and sometimes people choose contrary to what we wanted."
He nodded, and gestured to the pair of mugs. "Is it alright for me to have one?"
"Yes, that's why I made two instead of one."
A frown tugged at his face, battling a grin. Roden got up from his place on the floor, and joined Imogen beside the mugs of tea. He scratched at the back of his neck again. There was something he wanted to say, Imogen could tell.
Words sometimes failed to be useful when trying to describe a feeling.
"I heard you took up jousting. How's that going?" She asked, pulling open drawers to look for a small spoon.
Roden sniffed, "It's- it's alright."
"Not one to appreciate being knocked off a horse, I see."
"Yes," he said. Imogen could hear the grin in his voice. "I like to practice with the swinging dummies for swordplay. Knocked one clean free from the scaffolding."
Aha! She found the spoon! Imogen fished her tea bag free from the mug. "Speaking of swordplay, Nila tells me she's decided to pick up the rapier."
"Amarinda put those ideas in her head. Fencing is a popular sport in Bymar, but it's different than the techniques I use."
She handed the spoon to Roden. "I suppose that means Nila will just have to wield that two handed sword of yours."
"Nila, wielding a Carthyan longsword? She'd like that."
"Mott was telling me about a sword called the Claidghmor, he said you might like to try it."
Roden shrugged. "Perhaps one day. And, ah, thank you, Imogen, for coming."
"I'm glad you're not angry at my interruption," Imogen said. She blew away some of the steam from her mug. She'd managed to take him away from troubling thoughts, if only for a moment. But his shoulders slumped ever so slightly in the silence. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
It was difficult, standing back and letting her friends have to navigate their lives and problems on their own. She'd learned to pick and choose her battles.
Most of her battles.
Imogen wasn't perfect, which made her real. As she watched Roden decide whether or not to draw into himself, her own regrets began knocking at the back of her mind, waiting to plague her even more.
"Unless you know unholy magics, there's not to be done," he finally said.
Roden was right. Only those who dared taunt the Saints risked learning dark arts to raise the dead and strip another person of their agency. She'd never seen it, but she'd heard stories from Mendenwal.
Though she wasn't sure how true those stories were.
Each adventure at Jaron's side brought a new perspective on the things she knew little about.
"You'll have to trust in what the Saints have designed for each of us," Imogen sipped at her tea.
"There are many I can't wait to see again," Roden trailed his finger around the lip of his mug. "I suppose it'll just be a matter of time."
"Perseverance is often rewarded. Stand tall, perhaps you'll finally solve your impatience."
"You're more impatient than I am."
She snorted, "I suppose your jousting has kept you far from Jaron."
His eyebrows furrowed, but his expression softened not long after. "You're right," he said. "I've poured my time into too many other things. I wasted time. Saints, I'm-"
Imogen tried her best not to interrupt when another person was speaking. Words held value. She never wanted somebody else to feel like they were being talked over.
Like they weren't important.
But she knew what Roden was going to say.
"The most essential things can't be seen," Imogen said. "It's the time we waste on people and on things that make them so important. The time wasted is what makes things belong to your memories, which becomes a part of you."
He looked down at his mug, his head moving so slowly, Imogen almost missed the tiny nod he gave. Roden knew. He knew what she was saying. What she was trying to explain.
"I'll have perseverance," Roden said to Imogen. Determination twinkled in his gaze.
Imogen flashed a smile. Something was different. There was a new feeling about the room. A new feeling warming the tips of her fingers.
Her heart had finally returned to normalcy. She'd done just what she'd set out to do.
Brought comfort to somebody else in the way she knew best.
Through patience and words.
After a few more moments of comfortable silence, Imogen excused herself. She knew she could be a friend to Roden, but she knew her boundaries. She knew better than to force him to sleep. The door to Tobias's physician's chamber thudded shut. Her guard from before hadn't moved.
Although she could see the slight droop of his eyelids.
Jaron was sitting up waiting for her. Dark red line from where he'd lain on his pillow marked his face.
"I missed you," He said, patting the mattress. "Everything in order?"
She nodded, and tucked herself in next to him. "Everything is as it should be."
He set his hand on Imogen's hair, smoothing down the few hair that had broken loose from her braid.
And she fell asleep.