[ A sound escapes her as he leans into her touch - a noise of soft surprise, or approval, or of a breaking heart. Was he appreciating her touch, or only seeking her, only reminding himself of the tenderness there? Surely that, for how can he appreciate what he doesn't understand?
He will; she'll ensure it with every passing day if she must that her touch means him only gentleness. That her presence doesn't herald harm. (To what end, she can't say, save that she doesn't like the way things are between them now; she doesn't like this hostility, this distance.
She is so tired of both. If she must have a husband, then perhaps in him she can find her own cold comfort.)
His hand bats at hers and she realizes he's falling into a stupor, and will soon be asleep if she doesn't get him from the chair and onto his feet. The day has been so long, though, and the prospect of dragging him up herself seems...unlikely.
And just like that, she senses another presence in the room, a large form behind her that, for once, heralds no sense of unease. Behind her, and then at her side. At Treavor's, practiced hands helping her husband upright. (And her gratitude finds another recipient, another unfortunate target sure to endure her thankful smiles for days to come: Wallace is managing capably.)
Was he near all along? A thought to examine later, that question of whether he was listening at the door to her tearful entreaties, to Treavor's fear. Waiting to intervene? Waiting to part them, should the scene turn ugly? Or only waiting to see what would happen? For now, perhaps unnecessarily, she takes her husband's other arm, a second brace in the slow struggle to his room.
This room, that was hers. This room, that was Brom's, when it ceased to be hers. How she hated this room. How it bears now no sign of that other man, and so seems strangely unfamiliar, enough that she falters in the doorway. Only a moment, though. And a moment more for indecision: go, or stay with him until he sleeps? He seems so troubled. He seemed so soothed by her touch.
And Wallace can hardly stay all night; poor man, he deserves his rest. They all do.
So, she determines to remain, and follows onward, to help as she might. ]
I'll stay with him.
[ This, to Wallace, but she returns her attention to Treavor; he's not so far gone, is he, that he can't comprehend her offer? ]
I'll stay until you sleep. Would you care for that?
no subject
He will; she'll ensure it with every passing day if she must that her touch means him only gentleness. That her presence doesn't herald harm. (To what end, she can't say, save that she doesn't like the way things are between them now; she doesn't like this hostility, this distance.
She is so tired of both. If she must have a husband, then perhaps in him she can find her own cold comfort.)
His hand bats at hers and she realizes he's falling into a stupor, and will soon be asleep if she doesn't get him from the chair and onto his feet. The day has been so long, though, and the prospect of dragging him up herself seems...unlikely.
And just like that, she senses another presence in the room, a large form behind her that, for once, heralds no sense of unease. Behind her, and then at her side. At Treavor's, practiced hands helping her husband upright. (And her gratitude finds another recipient, another unfortunate target sure to endure her thankful smiles for days to come: Wallace is managing capably.)
Was he near all along? A thought to examine later, that question of whether he was listening at the door to her tearful entreaties, to Treavor's fear. Waiting to intervene? Waiting to part them, should the scene turn ugly? Or only waiting to see what would happen? For now, perhaps unnecessarily, she takes her husband's other arm, a second brace in the slow struggle to his room.
This room, that was hers. This room, that was Brom's, when it ceased to be hers. How she hated this room. How it bears now no sign of that other man, and so seems strangely unfamiliar, enough that she falters in the doorway. Only a moment, though. And a moment more for indecision: go, or stay with him until he sleeps? He seems so troubled. He seemed so soothed by her touch.
And Wallace can hardly stay all night; poor man, he deserves his rest. They all do.
So, she determines to remain, and follows onward, to help as she might. ]
I'll stay with him.
[ This, to Wallace, but she returns her attention to Treavor; he's not so far gone, is he, that he can't comprehend her offer? ]
I'll stay until you sleep. Would you care for that?