goethbeforethefall | Inbox // IC Communication

[He scoffs at her good humor, but joins her willingly. It's... upsettingly vulnerable, to seat himself on soft covers, crosslegged, her back to him. There are scars on her back, her shoulder marked by crazed lines where backblow from the mark's progress had mazed like lightning. She has freckles there, cast by the sun, and time, and he is allowed—

No, too weak: he is being asked to reach out and touch.]

Of course.

[They have touched before, of course, but it is very different now, with all that has passed between them. And there is a different texture entirely to a touch that comes not with necessity or heat, but simply because she is tilting her head and he has the opportunity to brush his fingertips against the nape of her neck and pass the comb through the soft fringe of her hair. It is trying to curl, unruly after their swim, and as the wood moves through it, it slowly tames itself into ringlets that wind and split and wind together again. It is deep red and tarnished gold in the candlelight, and when he is finished he says nothing, only sets the comb on the bed and sighs.

Was this what it was, when there were no more wars to fight, no more causes to champion? Nights like this, with the smell of water in her hair, and the softness of breath, and... he was nothing more than a body with folded legs, and the quiet of the moment, all wisdom and pride fled in the face of this consuming peace?]

Ar lath ma [He says it thoughtlessly, without even knowing he's said anything at all. The truth rises out of him with all the inevitability of loss, and none of its sting.] You are beautiful now. Dalish and all. I have learned better, I think.

Edited 2025-01-06 03:26 (UTC)

[ It was silly to feel nervous for him to do something that she had asked. She feels it anyway, strangely exposed. This is no accidental sighting during the awkward shambling of dressing at camp, or necessary exposure for any healing needed, or the other mundane reasons someone might see her body. This was a kind of intimacy different from any of that. Different than any she had experienced with him, even.

But the brush in his hands is so, so soothing, and her eyes close, shoulders relax. It is a moment of peace and comfort, and it occurs to her: They could do this again tomorrow. And the day after. For as long as they stay here, the two of them can live like this.

It's intoxicating.

And then he speaks, and she wonders if a day will come when those words don't give her a thrill, where they are so common to her ear that she hardly notes them. Hopefully not. ]

My heart. I would never have thought I would have something to teach wisdom. [ She turns to face him, presses her lips to his forehead. Then, almost guiltily: ]

You had the grim look and sense of knowledge of a hahren. Odd, for such a striking young man, I thought. But I was glad to have another elf with me. I would have lost my nerve, if Cassandra had fetched human guards to accompany me.

Edited 2025-01-06 05:17 (UTC)

[He chuckles] I have not been young for a long time.

[He remembers having hair once. Then again, he also remembers being thirty and stupid and thinking he knew everything that mattered about cost and effect, and the worth of things. For all his regrets, he would not go back. Solas steadies her balance when she turns in his arms and all at once they are nestled together. It is both familiar and shockingly new: he has had lovers before, but this... quiet, deliberate comfort, the warmth of skin, and her knowing touch. He has no right to such things, but drinks them in regardless, and looks up at her, smiling.]

Seeker Pentaghast was always a formidable woman. It took very little acting to seem intimidated by her authority; in truth, she could easily have done worse.

As for wisdom... [He hesitates. Wisdom. No one has called him that in such a very long time. Even Mythal seemed to have forgotten that he had ever been anyone before Solas, a man of pride.] I would tell you a story, my heart.

I am sure you have always been strikingly handsome.

[ His smile is returned, and she is grateful for his support as she leans against him. Her eyes close then, enjoying the moment, the feel of him. His quiet voice, his comforting presence. Is he as happy as she is? It is what she wishes for, above all else. That they can stay like this, stay happy. Surely they've earned it.

And she decides not to keep talking about how scared she was of Cassandra. There's more pleasant conversation topics than her fear. ]

A story? [ She opens an eye to look curiously at him. ] I would love to hear it

[She leans closer, and her weight, the trusting warmth of her hair on his shoulder, is its own agony of undeserved joy.]

Long ago, there was a spirit of Wisdom. I— [his courage falters, briefly. He has never told anyone of this.] An old an powerful spirit, which had learned much of the fade, and never concerned itself with the physical world. It had for a companion a spirit of Benevolence, until one day that spirit vanished.

[The room is small and warm, and his arms hold her close against his chest. He can feel his own pulse, in the contact between them, rapid in a way that has nothing to do with sexual excitement— fear. It is fear. He does and does not want her to know these things about him.]

It followed its companion's trail, and found it in the physical realm, trapped there in a body forged of lyrium. In despair it asked, what happened to you, my beloved friend? And the spirit of Benevolence shook her head and said, that she had chosen to live outside the fade, to live in the physical world. She told it that she needed Wisdom, to hold back the foolhardy voices of the powerful. To protect the people. To help her, despite the danger, and the greed.

I... allowed her to convince me. I chose a physical form, and A body was forged. [It felt safe, to let go of the pretense, if only for a few words, his voice captive in the few inches between them, where no one could hear it. Even the lighthouse no longer held these secrets, he had made sure of it.] Solas, she called me. Wisdom turned to Pride, and I... I was no longer my own self.

[There, it is done. He breathes.]

You have had more than you know, to teach to Wisdom, Vhenan. If only you knew.

[ She listens, as she has always listened to him, with a quiet, attentive interest. No, it does feel different now. It's hard to compare it when she's cuddled so warmly against him. And his voice is so solemn.

She stills as he speaks, a sudden feeling like ice in her veins as the story is revealed to her. Not from his revelation, but because she already knows. And he does not know that she knows. With a lurch in her heart, she is certain that she can't share how she was told. To tell Solas about the regrets that Rook saw-- that she had helped collect the regrets. She could not bare it. Cowardly, for he would surely find out from Rook eventually. But she is not brave enough to hurt him.

Still, she can't feign the surprise. Instead, she pulls away enough to get a better look at him (and press another kiss to his cheek). ]

You could not stand Varric trying to turn Cole away from his nature as a spirit. To turn him mortal. You thought it cruel.

I find this Benevolence cruel to do the same to you.

[ She does not bother to hide the genuine dislike from her voice. Mythal. She had stolen so much from Lavellan's beloved. She should've had some words with that sliver when she dared to show her face. ]

Wisdom fits you far better. Is that what you would prefer being called? Dirthara?

Edited 2025-01-06 14:38 (UTC)

[He laughs, feeling light, and strangely relieved. She understands. Of course she does, his brilliant, compassionate beloved.]

An apt comparison. Varric... always meant well. But he only ever saw a person as real if they were— in his own words, people.

[It would take so little, for a Spirit of Compassion. They are already aligned towards the desires of others, eager to serve and soothe. Without Lavellan there to be the stronger influence... Varric meant well. He believed what he said. And with all the good intentions and love in his stalwart heart, he would still have crippled Cole for all of time; Solas knew intimately how true that was.

But these are dangerous topics, as close as skin to one he dares not tread. He says nothing, waiting for the blade to fall, waiting for her to ask— and again, to see the ugliness of his worthless wisdom, His poor judgement. He has to laugh again, when she deferrs.]

Ah, the Dalish. [He mutters it, relief alive in his half-teasing chagrin.] 'Knowledge' and 'Wisdom' are not the same.

[And does he want to be called that? He has been Solas for so long. And yet he does— or is he, in any way, still that original self, from so many ages past? His hands are loose, lying useless between them and he accepts her kiss with a child's grace, closing his eyes and tiling his head to meet her.]

Sileal. [He says it softly, indeed.] I have been Solas for many thousands of years, and I cannot fully escape the consequence of my prideful folly. Nor should I. But to you... I would prefer to be known as Wisdom. As Sileal.

Edited 2025-01-06 23:38 (UTC)

[ She had not thought about it at the time. Not as much as she should have. Didn't understand why it seemed so personal to him. Maybe something to do with his spirit friends? She had simply felt a connection to Cole's struggle: the pressure to change who you were, how you'd been made, to fit better with those around you. She had, simply, hoped that they could both remain who they were.

Cole had managed it. She wasn't sure she had. ]

People don't understand. They don't understand spirits, or what it's like for them. I didn't. Even now, I doubt I do, fully.

[ She might have gone on about how the Dalish viewed all spirits as suspect, granting them autonomy, but with the inherent danger an autonomous being could be. And they could be very dangerous.

She's spared from the admittance by Solas disparaging the Dalish for her. Her nose wrinkles, she huffs, and is only saved from a truly devastating pout by Solas' next words. Her face smoothes then, thoughtful. She tests it out on her tongue. Likes how the word feels on it. ] I wish more people saw you as Sileil than Solas. I wish they could see you. But until then, I will hold the name close. [ Her own, private word. It makes her heart swell, and she adjusts so she can touch his face, leaning on him for support. ] You are so beautiful.

Sileal [Gently, he corrects her pronunciation, and then soothes that small annoyance with a kiss.] I cannot hope for their compassion; they will see whatever they wish to see. So long as you see me as I am, then I am not alone.

[Though, in truth, he should be. At this hour, her face is bare of more than ink, clean and soft, and strangely intimate without the cosmetics. He wonders how many have seen her this, without her armor or warpaint. It was a flagrant, magnificent luxury, just to look at her.]

Come, vhenan. You must be weary; it has been... a very long day. Would you lie with me, to sleep? I... [Sleep, he abruptly realizes. Dreaming. The Fade. As dreamlike as this moment was, the question of sleep hung over him for more reasons than the unfamiliar mundanity of being together.] ...I would ask, only if you are willing. I do not know what will happen.

[He has never not been a mage, except for when he was not an elf at all. And he is afraid of what that means.]

[ Only the kiss saves him from getting groused at, a small huff all he gets as the kiss is returned. ] And I will be there with you, Solas. For as long as you would have me, you will not be alone. [ Not that it will save him from getting grumbled at. ]

Oh--[ She's eager to accept, but the look on his face makes something click in her mind. Without a Fade, will they even dream? For a man who spent so much time wandering the Fade in his sleep, facing something like that must be. Difficult. Well, she can't fix that, but at least she can comfort, as best as she can. So she presses light, fluttering kisses over his face. ] I would love that, Sileal. Do not worry, if you cannot visit my dreams, I will simply visit yours. [ Not a promise she can actually keep. But it makes her feel better. ]

[It's a light jab, but it still wins a twist of the lips, despite his trepidation. Sileal indeed— though the idea of a dream where some other thing, either his own memory or some curious spirit, wears her face and voice...]

I have not dreamed of you in many years. [The admission comes reluctantly, almost shy. He leans back into the bedding, drawing her with him as he does. Trite as it is, this is their first night in the same bed, and he will not lie next to her like a plank of wood when he could do better by holding Lavellan near his heart.] When I watched, it was only ever from a distance, and whenever my dreams began to form a facsimile, I... could not bear it. It would not have been you.

[Solas stills her gentle affection with a hand cupped around her cheek and jaw, fingers warm in her hair and the shadow of one ear. His answering kiss is deep and lingering, full of his long-held longing for her, the reality of her.]

But you are here. I will take courage in that.

I thought I saw you, sometimes. [ Haunting her, almost. Never close enough for her to confirm it wasn't a mere errant spirit, a black wolf between the trees of the Fade. ] Though-- I was afraid I was imagining it. It brought...some comfort, to know you were still out there, and that you still wanted to see me.

[ She knew he loved her, those long years. God of lies or not, he was a lousy liar when it came to her. But sometimes, after long, lonely days--it was difficult to not let her worries overtake her. That something had happened, or that he no longer wished for her company.

His arms are an assurance that this is not the case, pulling her in as they lay down. It's a wonderful feeling, his heat radiating from behind her, his arms around her. If she could just pause time, and luxuriate in this singular moment. The kiss is returned, Lavellan radiating her own happiness in turn, in the simplicity of this, in the culmination of getting all that she had patiently waited for. ]

And I will stay here, by your side. There is nowhere else I'd rather be.

If I had not wanted to see you so badly, I might have been able to do so without inviting disaster.

[Ten years seemed long, in the wake of the journey that they had shared. In ages past, he'd have spent as much time on what felt like nothing at all— and yet that decade had been feverish, full of searching and despair, of work and effort and the exacting nature of forging the tools he would need to cut the Evanuris away from the Veil, forever. But it had been for her, ultimately. To save her life, to stop her dying— he did it for all of them, of course. But in his heart, it was for her.]

Ir abelas. I know you do not agree. [It is said quietly, the acknowledgement of the truth he had offered her, at the beginning of this lie of domesticity. It feels unnatural both ways: to hide the truth from her, and to be honest. He simply turns his face to the side, so that as she settles in against him, his cheek and mouth lie soft against her hair, and as he sighs Solas is filled with the scent of her. Here in the dark, there is peace.] Do you have any other pressing question, Vhenan?

[Is he trying to put off sleep, despite his weariness? Don't ask.]

[ Lavellan is silent for a long moment, then another, letting her silence stretch as she muses over all his words. She knows that he does not entirely believe her, and she wonders if she is the villain here, to pull him in to her, knowing that he's not entirely ready. That he has not fully let go of all that he held so tightly in Thedas.

But if she is, then she will take whatever punishment falls on her head for it, for she knows she could not part herself from him. If he acts within that prerogative, if he tries to make another play against the people here, or the Veilguard--

Well. She's made a promise to him. His fate will be hers, wherever the dice fall. She sighs softly, pressing a hand against his. ] It is what is is, Vhenan. [ And what more can she really say? She can neither condemn nor agree. She understands, but she had to stop him. Will have to stop him, from his viewpoint. ]

I have no more questions, for now. It's late, and we have all the time in the world to learn more from each other. And it's been...a very long day. [ She'd started the day planning to kill a god and save another. Unsure if Solas would listen. If he would accept her back by his side--And here she was, nestled up against him. In a strange land, with strange jailers, but she was with her beloved, and she was happy. ]

Edited 2025-01-13 03:56 (UTC)

[Once, in another life, another dream, Solas had been kissed by her. And, enchanted, he had been unable not to draw her in, to touch her, even knowing he was hiding in those shadows, plotting her death and ruination. Even when his folly had branded her with magic that was killing her, when he had only been using her to try and regain the very tool he wished to destroy her world with— and yes, while sitting under the pretenses of noble and selfless motivations. Even so, he had done it, had been unable to resist what in him called to her, and from her in kind.

If she is a villain, to draw again into willful deception, to loosen the bonds of duty on his heart and distract him with what can only hurt her... Then he is the worse monster, for letting her. He knows better. The only thing that has changed, is that now she knows better too.

So too always, for fools in love.]

[Solas sleeps. His dreams are not unpleasant, really, but they are chaotic and intermixed, a hideous collation of a thousand poorly-remembered details, and he is cast, bewildered down amongst them. Nothing of the dream makes sense, conversations bleeding into action without logic, with nothing of—

— and then, abruptly, it steadies. He finds his feet on the ground, and the whirlpool draws back from his legs so that the dreams are only an invitation, not a overwhelming maelstrom. The Fade... the Fade finds him again.]

[He wakes with a terrible startle, half-jerking himself out of the blankets, and only slowly able to sink back down. His heart is beating as if he had been in terrible danger, and only just escaped its jaws, and yet... He can feel it again. He can feel the wholeness, the texture of the world gone back to what it was. Not properly, not fully; it is like coming up from Uthenera all over again, and he is so weak. But the difference is enough to bring him to weeping with pathetic gratitude; even knowing what this is, that it's merely a carrot to sweeten the threats of the stick, he cannot stop himself from feeling it.]

Vhenan? [His voice, like his hands, are shaking. Solas seeks to master himself, and tries again.] Lavellan? Beleth.

[ In her dream, she sees the wolf again. It is not uncommon, though how she acts depends on the night. Sometimes she ignores him, bitterness rising in her throat. Sometimes she calls, begs, cries. Tonight is one of the nights that she chases. As usual, he runs. But this time, there is something different. She feels renewed, strengthened, and with the sound of hooves stamping, suddenly she begins to catch up. Then she realizes-- those are her hooves, brilliant white against the dark of the forest, racing towards him, and she reaches out--

Then she awakes with a sudden, miserable jolt. Her first reaction is to groan, and grab for the blankets. She'll beg whichever servant was sent to wake her for another few minutes, unless the need is dire--But then she hears Beleth, her true name, not the name of her clan that others insist on using like their shemlen surnames. There are few who dare wear it on their lips, and none are servants. Her eyes open then, and she sees Solas. That is when everything rushes back, and if she were not someone accustomed to having to wake up and greet some Situation or another, she might have had to sink back to her pillow and take it all in. But that can wait.

For now, she analyzes his situation. He's slept for the first time, without the Fade, and now he's undone in a way she has never seen before from him. Her first thought is that he's had his first nightmare. A cruel introduction to the world of uncontrolled dreams, but he certainly has had enough waking nightmares for them to haunt his sleep.

She rises to her knees, and throws her arms around him, bringing him against her. Small kisses are pressed into his face, wherever she can reach, as her voice calls gently. Soothingly. ] It's okay. It's okay, vhenan. I'm here. You're safe.

[He grasps at her, clinging first at her nightclothes, and then shoulders, bowing his head as she pulls him closer, to lay his face against her shoulder. He's being foolish, childish, he knows that— this is no more than any mortal elf, than she herself experiences, nearly every night. And yet, and yet, the contrast!

Solas reaches up to touch her cheek, and clasp her close against him, holding on.]

I'm alright. [His voice is rough with sleep.] Vhenan, I—

[It's too much, too pathetic. He raises his head and presses his forehead to hers, seeking to find some tattered edge of dignity. Solas has not felt so small in millennia.]

Mmh. This must seem painfully dramatic, to you.

[ She continues to hold on to him, making soothing noises as he moves, grabbing her, holding to her. There's a small twinge of guilt--it's comforting, in a strange way, that it is her, that gets to see him this vulnerable. That she gets to be the one comforting him. Another glimpse into her beloved that is for her alone. ]

Sileal. I am here. It is alright.

[ She closes her eyes as their foreheads touch, and starts taking deep, loud breaths. Steady breaths. She counts, in, then counts, out. Slowly. Trying to provide some way for Solas to calm. It's fine. She's here. Breath with her. ]

On the contrary. A child's first nightmare can be horrific, and they have only a few years of life for a nightmare to build off of. You have been through so much, my love. You have been done cruelly by the world, and for so long. Of course your nightmare is that much worse. You are allowed to be upset by it.

[He asked her to call him that, and yet the recognition is a blow that shudders through him in a nearly-physical way. To be seen, to be known for who and what he is, and loved regardless... It is an impossible joy. How can he deserve this? And yet, it doesn't seem to matter. She breathes with him and he recognizes the technique even as it begins to work on his panic.

He nearly protests: he is no child, has never been a child, and yet... Why even fight it? He is weak, and he needs her in this moment, desperately.]

It was... [Eyes closed, struggling to remember; the dream slips away and that is almost more upsetting. Will he forget this experience, forget the Fade entirely, night after night, morning after morning, not even able to know his soul's home in this fumbling, broken way?] ...I cannot remember.

[He can hear the horror in his own voice, and doesn't care. How can they live like this? How can any of them want to live like this?]

I cannot remember.

[ She doesn't speak for a few moments, keeping her arm wrapped around him, continuing the breathing. And trying to think of what to say. That's normal, is her first inclination, but it's hardly normal to him. It would do little to comfort him. She is almost frustrated by her own inability to truly wrap her head around how it must feel for him. She isn't even a mage, can't begin to truly grasp his connection to the Fade. Save, possibly, for the anchor. But that was less a connection and more of a tool that she wielded, no different than her bow. ]

Yes, that happens. Sometimes, it is a gift to not remember. Especially the bad dreams. It helps the terror abate faster, if you can't remember what caused it. Focus on what you do know. [ She presses a kiss to his forehead. ] You are here, and I am with you. You are safe. The nightmares will pass, and life will continue.

[ Is it the right thing to say? She's usually better at this. She can empathize, sympathize, she can see their point of view and tell them what needs to be heard. She can tell this wholly upsets Solas, and she aches to soothe him. At the least, she can offer her presence and her love. What she has always offered him. ]

A gift

[He wants to weep, for the suffering she has endured. Her life is already so brief, and she spends fully half of it in the Fade, in chaos and uncontrolled madness where anything might happen and it is a blessing to have lost that half in a void of non-memory. They have so little, these mortals, and they are so wounded that they think that to have even less is normal.

Bad enough, for a stranger, but to imagine Beleth crippled thus, and to know that it has been so for her, all her life... The loss of a limb seems almost the kinder amputation.]

Ir abelas. I will endure, until— [There is a sound, soft but sharp, like an intruder at the window. On the sideboard table, built into the wall, they had left the two plump sacks of bones that had been awarded them in exchange for the gathered mushrooms. And now there was only one— the other had simply collapsed, its contents vanishing from inside with the sound of a collapsing pile.

Solas gasps, stricken, as it comes flooding back to him— first the burning under his skin, a lyrium prickle and the burn as old senses find their places. Then the world seems to expand, almost painfully stretched, a stiff muscle finally allowed to relax. Could it be that simple?]

I... Something has changed.

[Experimentally, he pulls back, one last gentle caress against her cheek in gratitude. His cupped hands between them, head bowed over them as if in prayer, and a tiny spark of veilfire lights itself from the aether, at his bequest. He laughs, a wet little giggle, full of tears, and extinguishes it, collapsing forward against her shoulder again. Whole.]

[ There's a barely discernible twitch when he echoes her words back to, with tone that indicated he did not agree with her assessment of it. But now is not the time to be annoyed. He doesn't mean anything by it. It might be hard for him to understand, that some nightmares can haunt you long past when you wake, and to be rid of the memory of them is to loosen the hold of the fear. Maybe he will see her wisdom, in time.

But then she hears a noise, like something--no, someone, and she jolts. Training kicks in, her arm clutching Solas protectively, other arm going to the knife hidden--

But there is no other arm, and there is no other knife. Damn it all. She starts to get up, to find some way to seek out the intruder and deal with them, when Solas gasps, pulling Lavellan's attention back to him. Had he been attacked? Had some magic that she couldn't defend against been done to her beloved?

And then Solas pulls away from her, and Lavellan, still lost as to what has transpired without her understanding, goes to follow him. But then--is he praying? No, he's-- ]

Vhenan...your magic.

[ Her arm, that had been moving to brace Solas, terrified that he'd been attacked, now grips his shoulder as he leans against her. Relief for both the return of his magic, as well as the knowledge that they weren't being attacked by some mysterious interloper, makes her sag into the bed. Maybe he'd avoided having to understand nightmares, after all. She presses a kiss to his head. ]

I'm so glad. Are you alright?

[He makes a small noise of assent, against her shoulder. As she slumps back, he simply follows along, shivering when she turns to kiss him, but making no protest.]

I... [Whatever he was about to say, Solas trails off. He what? What could he say to ease this moment? There's nothing. Even to apologize again is asinine.] Vhenan

[As wounded as she is, the worst of his sins all borne upon one person, how can she still love him, still wish to hold him thus? But she does, and she wants him here. The strength of her arm, anchoring him nearby, is irrefutable fact. It is impossible. Illogical. It is the only truth that can matter.]

I am. I am alright, now. The shock— I am alright, now.

[Perhaps by repeating it, it will sound more true.]

Ar lath ma, Beleth. My heart.

It is okay to not be alright, vhenan. You've been through a great deal. And you don't have to pretend in front of me. You know that, right? [ Her hand goes to his cheek, hand gentle, even as her eyes are firm. ] You are allowed to feel, and you are allowed to show that in front of me. I will not think less of you. You are the one I have bonded myself to, Sileal, and it would take more than your grief to break that bond.

[ She smiles, then, though it is...more sad than happy. ]

I hope that one day, you can tell me that without it sounding like an apology. [ It does wear on a person, to have their love be seen as a tragedy that should have been avoided. ] I'm glad that you have found your way to the Fade again, but I think that we should go back to sleep. We should be rested for tomorrow.

[ She releases him, and takes a moment to glance at the bags of the strange currency they had collected. A boon for a boon. She ought to be grateful. For whatever mercies the leaders here inflict upon their laborers. She does not feel grateful. Instead, she turns, and lays back down. In this moment, what she is grateful for is that she can't control her dreams -- she does not think they would be very kind. ]

[He opens his mouth to protest— and then, thinks better of it. She is right, after all, as she so-often is.]

If that is true for one of us, then... [Gently, too-gently, he stretches out a hand an lays it across her cheek. When he had met her, she had worn the green whorls of Mythal there, mirror to his own dedication, and it had made him shudder to see it. Now, she is free, and yet the chains remain on her.] ...Will you allow me to guard your dream, vhenan? I did not know... I have been— selfish.

[It is not, strictly speaking, an apology. But it is closer to a real apology than he has come in years. Perhaps longer. If Solas realizes the contrast it makes, he shows no sign of it. Instead, he shifts higher in the bed, following her direction, and drapes the blanket more fully around her narrow shoulders. It is a poor shield, against the woes of the world, but it is warm and close, and she is beautiful like this, with her hair spilled out against the pillow.

Not for the first time, he wishes— but no. It is not the time.]

May I ask...

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