chapter fifteen
I need this.
Tita finally went to sleep, unsatisfied after hours of questions, but relenting at last. Dear child, I am weary! Tomorrow will be... no. I don't think about that. Instead I quietly open the door to Tristar's room and tell myself once again: I need this. So much pressure, so many conflicting thoughts in my head, a war between the councilor, the Krysli, and one greatly concerned with how best to preserve the safety of her people. But none of it serves the woman. None of it serves the scared little girl behind the mask of a woman.
Tristar is sleeping, sprawled carelessly across his bed, his sheets scarcely concealing... What will he think of this? What will I say to him tomorrow? How can I justify this? I shake my head and dispel the endless concerns. Endless concern is what drives me here, to the side of this strange man's bed. I desperately need a break, relief, and a release from the maddening expectations of both the living and the dead.
I look down upon his slumbering form, not failing to note its charm, it's alien allure, and wonder again--where did he come from? This odd man, who tackled me naked as a newborn babe so many moons ago. This visitor from the unknown, just as naked tonight as then, who proceeded to learn our language with amazing swiftness and sure tongue in scarcely two moons... what was his true name? Surely not Tristar. How could a grown man, certainly near enough my own age, have no idea where he came from, or why, or even who he was? I try to picture myself in similar straits and cannot. I would go mad if I did not know exactly who I was, exactly what I was doing. I disrobe easily and slide into the bed next to him, but I do not touch him just yet. I regard his sleeping face and wonder why he doesn't seem to mind, this forgetfulness that has stricken him. Poor Randle, myself, and others we know and employ on occasion, none of us could find any trace of this man's history. When we made report of this to him, he simply shrugged. And smiled that half-lunatic grin of his. I touch is lips now, tracing them lightly with my finger. Always smiling, with no idea and seemingly no real interest in his past. That is why most of us consider him to be a bit touched. But laying next to him now, watching him take deep breaths in repose, I know what I have long suspected. He is not mad. He is rather, surprisingly untroubled. And now, tonight, that peace has drawn one too-long troubled to his bedside, even into his bed. It is alright. I need this.
Will he remember the joy of union? Has he ever known it? His face is handsome in its strange, alien way, with attractive, almost soft features. Moons of teaching and conversations about proper grooming and etiquette have left a pleasing mark upon him. His body... I let my fingers flutter down to his chest as my breath quickens. It is not... Garth's. Or my ex-husband's. Or any of a number of others I have known. He is tall, lean and seeming awkward, but not displeasing. And those amazing reflexes of his, belying tightly coiled muscles and an incredibly sharp mind... how will this translate into union? He will suffice, perhaps more than suffice. But if he suffices, that will be enough. I am not seeking a mate, as poor Garth came to know all too well. Tonight I seek peace, and an easing of burdens. I am not strong enough to stay away. Forgive me, Garth! Tomorrow... I cannot face it. You will... oh, mock funerals I can handle, but you... the crowds... everyone would be looking at me! Wanting to see what Lida the Krysli, Lida the councilor, Lida the woman will do, how she will conduct herself in light of the persistent rumors of an affair that... that never quite happened, my dear. Forgive me. I cannot face it, and instead fly into the arms of an utter stranger.
I am weak. Knowing this, I reclaim strength. I lean over and kiss Tristar's cheek. One hand moves across his torso, while the other caresses his long hair. I breathe into his ear for a moment before speaking softly. "Tristar. Awaken. I..." Well, what do I tell him? The truth, and let him understand as he is able. "I need you."
He stirs in his quiet sleep. I press my naked body against his, feel the burning rise and repeat my selfish seduction, my lips brushing his ear... "I need you."
His eyes do not open, but I feel him rise to consciousness. "Rabbhit. You're a swift little rabbhit." His voice is slurred and yet half-dreamy. He is in the nether realm between sleep and waking. I need him awake.
"Yes. Tristar, I am a rabbhit. Your rabbhit." A soft kiss now, on the nape of his neck, and my hand descends to his belly.
I feel him smile. He is awake now. "Tricky rabbhit. I was sleeping and dreaming of you, Lida-rabbhit."
Ah, this is good. My blood flushes hot and the last of my inhibitions gives way at the thought of impending pleasure. Pleasure long-missed, and so sorely needed. I am overcome with excitement and give over my thoughts to my body, that all the charms I possess might guide us into union so near. My tongue flutters in his ear, my hips press against him with an unyielding will all their own, and my hand moves lower now, lower still. "And I did dream of you, Tristar. Forgive my boldness, but I cannot resist." Lower still... ah, yes!
Tristar leaps from the bed in an instance to land without sound on the flagged stone. Even as I recoil in surprise, I wonder once again how any person could move so swiftly and surely--especially one who but a moment before was--
"I was dreaming of you and Garth, and how happy he was just to stand at your side. I was remembering many evenings around campfires, dining tables, and at the theater. Ever was he near to you, ever was his thought intent upon you, and you basked in the adoration like a rabbhit in a field of clover! All for you and all for your smile."
No! Speak not such words! My desire stands to this challenge, these careless waking words that threaten to squelch my need like slithering vermin under a booted heel. "I could make you happy, Tristar." I take in his body, framed in silver moonlight streaming through the window by the head of his bed. "Pray, return to bed. Do not be alarmed! I will not harm you. Am I not sworn to preserve you and keep you safe? Hurting you would never be my intent. Indeed," I lid my eyes meaningfully, "the very opposite is my intent tonight. Won't you return to me now?"
He has no shame, and makes no attempt to conceal his bare skin. I... like that. As quickly as he did depart, he has already returned to the bed and faces me with an eye full of moonlight. "Do you miss him, now that he has left you behind?"
Oh, Tristar, desist! I am but a woman, and unaccustomed to losing ground in the bedroom. My eyes lower of their own accord. "Yes. I do miss him. But let us leave words for the morning and the waking hours." I place a hand on his chest and lean forward to kiss his neck. His breathing quickens, and I again press forward. The kiss becomes a soft, gentle bite. Pray relent and give yourself over to me, Tristar. No more words, just...
"I miss him as well. I do not wish to leave you behind as we have been left behind. Hold fast to me and I will never leave you behind."
Lost in the dreamy nuzzling of his neck and hair, I nod slightly and put my lips to his flesh once more. "Yes. I will hold you, Tristar. Never leave me behind." My hand returns to his belly and slides again towards--
He sighs. He sighs! "Good. I am most comforted at the thought." He grabs my wrist and places my hand woefully high on his torso and rolls over with his back to me, my arm captive in his own. "I thank you for the kindness of your visit. Hold me now and let us dream of Garth." Already his breathing slows and deepens. His voice grows thick. "He was near and now so far. Pray do not let me go, I could not bear it." He squeezes my hand in his own. "Protect me. Though sleep descends and all the world rise against us, hold fast. Protect me."
Tears spill forth unbidden and unwelcome. I have no power. I cannot stem the tide. I cannot seduce this man. I am ashamed, and my body reacts to this unexpected discussion of Garth's passing as if suddenly doused in the waters of an ice-cold mountain stream. Tristar is breathing deeply. Sleep has claimed what I could not. I am weak, my needs unmet and chafing at me still through the veil of my thoughts. I tug upon my hand, but he has held it fast, and after my shameful attempt to visit my passions upon his sleeping fears, I have not the heart to wake him again.
Tristar, forgive me! I thought... no, admit it, stupid, selfish little girl. You deliberately were not thinking. You were weak, and let need overcome sensibility. How many more times, little girl? How long before reason at last takes root in your heart and mind, and at last bends all need and weakness to your will? Poor Tristar. I rise on the elbow of my free hand and see that he is smiling. Good. At least I did not quash his optimism. I fear I shall need it, very much of it, in the coming days. Yes, I was a fool to enter here, mind aflame with schemes and desire. Yet now I see the beauty that remains as I lower myself to my shoulder to gently stroke his hair. He is fast asleep. He is beautiful. What was it he asked of me? Protect him? Hold him fast?
I curl up next to him with my arm firmly planted between his innocent dreams and the dark of night. Yes. I can do that much good and right. I will protect you, Tristar. It is my specialty, my lot in this world. You will be safe. A tear, then another arrive unbidden to my suddenly weary eyes. I rest my head against his shoulder, curled up against him, and cannot evade the implications. I could not protect Garth. I would not let him near enough. In my vanity, I succumbed to his chivalry and behaved as if I needed his protection. And now he is gone. There is a lesson here, but I will learn it later, after I have rested. I am so tired, so quickly now. I squeeze Tristar's slumbering form. Forgive me, Garth, for not letting you nearer to my heart, for keeping you at arm's length. Your affections honored me--you deserved better.
Forgive me and my vanity, for not keeping you safe.
Tristar is snoring ever so lightly. So sweet and innocent, I squeeze him tight once more. Am I smiling now, I who was just rejected by this gentle man? My eyes grow heavy and close in the face of it. No more thought, just simple desire, purer now for the experience. I do smile with a final, goodnight hug to one far gone. Tristar's back is solid and at peace. I need this...
Tita finally went to sleep, unsatisfied after hours of questions, but relenting at last. Dear child, I am weary! Tomorrow will be... no. I don't think about that. Instead I quietly open the door to Tristar's room and tell myself once again: I need this. So much pressure, so many conflicting thoughts in my head, a war between the councilor, the Krysli, and one greatly concerned with how best to preserve the safety of her people. But none of it serves the woman. None of it serves the scared little girl behind the mask of a woman.
Tristar is sleeping, sprawled carelessly across his bed, his sheets scarcely concealing... What will he think of this? What will I say to him tomorrow? How can I justify this? I shake my head and dispel the endless concerns. Endless concern is what drives me here, to the side of this strange man's bed. I desperately need a break, relief, and a release from the maddening expectations of both the living and the dead.
I look down upon his slumbering form, not failing to note its charm, it's alien allure, and wonder again--where did he come from? This odd man, who tackled me naked as a newborn babe so many moons ago. This visitor from the unknown, just as naked tonight as then, who proceeded to learn our language with amazing swiftness and sure tongue in scarcely two moons... what was his true name? Surely not Tristar. How could a grown man, certainly near enough my own age, have no idea where he came from, or why, or even who he was? I try to picture myself in similar straits and cannot. I would go mad if I did not know exactly who I was, exactly what I was doing. I disrobe easily and slide into the bed next to him, but I do not touch him just yet. I regard his sleeping face and wonder why he doesn't seem to mind, this forgetfulness that has stricken him. Poor Randle, myself, and others we know and employ on occasion, none of us could find any trace of this man's history. When we made report of this to him, he simply shrugged. And smiled that half-lunatic grin of his. I touch is lips now, tracing them lightly with my finger. Always smiling, with no idea and seemingly no real interest in his past. That is why most of us consider him to be a bit touched. But laying next to him now, watching him take deep breaths in repose, I know what I have long suspected. He is not mad. He is rather, surprisingly untroubled. And now, tonight, that peace has drawn one too-long troubled to his bedside, even into his bed. It is alright. I need this.
Will he remember the joy of union? Has he ever known it? His face is handsome in its strange, alien way, with attractive, almost soft features. Moons of teaching and conversations about proper grooming and etiquette have left a pleasing mark upon him. His body... I let my fingers flutter down to his chest as my breath quickens. It is not... Garth's. Or my ex-husband's. Or any of a number of others I have known. He is tall, lean and seeming awkward, but not displeasing. And those amazing reflexes of his, belying tightly coiled muscles and an incredibly sharp mind... how will this translate into union? He will suffice, perhaps more than suffice. But if he suffices, that will be enough. I am not seeking a mate, as poor Garth came to know all too well. Tonight I seek peace, and an easing of burdens. I am not strong enough to stay away. Forgive me, Garth! Tomorrow... I cannot face it. You will... oh, mock funerals I can handle, but you... the crowds... everyone would be looking at me! Wanting to see what Lida the Krysli, Lida the councilor, Lida the woman will do, how she will conduct herself in light of the persistent rumors of an affair that... that never quite happened, my dear. Forgive me. I cannot face it, and instead fly into the arms of an utter stranger.
I am weak. Knowing this, I reclaim strength. I lean over and kiss Tristar's cheek. One hand moves across his torso, while the other caresses his long hair. I breathe into his ear for a moment before speaking softly. "Tristar. Awaken. I..." Well, what do I tell him? The truth, and let him understand as he is able. "I need you."
He stirs in his quiet sleep. I press my naked body against his, feel the burning rise and repeat my selfish seduction, my lips brushing his ear... "I need you."
His eyes do not open, but I feel him rise to consciousness. "Rabbhit. You're a swift little rabbhit." His voice is slurred and yet half-dreamy. He is in the nether realm between sleep and waking. I need him awake.
"Yes. Tristar, I am a rabbhit. Your rabbhit." A soft kiss now, on the nape of his neck, and my hand descends to his belly.
I feel him smile. He is awake now. "Tricky rabbhit. I was sleeping and dreaming of you, Lida-rabbhit."
Ah, this is good. My blood flushes hot and the last of my inhibitions gives way at the thought of impending pleasure. Pleasure long-missed, and so sorely needed. I am overcome with excitement and give over my thoughts to my body, that all the charms I possess might guide us into union so near. My tongue flutters in his ear, my hips press against him with an unyielding will all their own, and my hand moves lower now, lower still. "And I did dream of you, Tristar. Forgive my boldness, but I cannot resist." Lower still... ah, yes!
Tristar leaps from the bed in an instance to land without sound on the flagged stone. Even as I recoil in surprise, I wonder once again how any person could move so swiftly and surely--especially one who but a moment before was--
"I was dreaming of you and Garth, and how happy he was just to stand at your side. I was remembering many evenings around campfires, dining tables, and at the theater. Ever was he near to you, ever was his thought intent upon you, and you basked in the adoration like a rabbhit in a field of clover! All for you and all for your smile."
No! Speak not such words! My desire stands to this challenge, these careless waking words that threaten to squelch my need like slithering vermin under a booted heel. "I could make you happy, Tristar." I take in his body, framed in silver moonlight streaming through the window by the head of his bed. "Pray, return to bed. Do not be alarmed! I will not harm you. Am I not sworn to preserve you and keep you safe? Hurting you would never be my intent. Indeed," I lid my eyes meaningfully, "the very opposite is my intent tonight. Won't you return to me now?"
He has no shame, and makes no attempt to conceal his bare skin. I... like that. As quickly as he did depart, he has already returned to the bed and faces me with an eye full of moonlight. "Do you miss him, now that he has left you behind?"
Oh, Tristar, desist! I am but a woman, and unaccustomed to losing ground in the bedroom. My eyes lower of their own accord. "Yes. I do miss him. But let us leave words for the morning and the waking hours." I place a hand on his chest and lean forward to kiss his neck. His breathing quickens, and I again press forward. The kiss becomes a soft, gentle bite. Pray relent and give yourself over to me, Tristar. No more words, just...
"I miss him as well. I do not wish to leave you behind as we have been left behind. Hold fast to me and I will never leave you behind."
Lost in the dreamy nuzzling of his neck and hair, I nod slightly and put my lips to his flesh once more. "Yes. I will hold you, Tristar. Never leave me behind." My hand returns to his belly and slides again towards--
He sighs. He sighs! "Good. I am most comforted at the thought." He grabs my wrist and places my hand woefully high on his torso and rolls over with his back to me, my arm captive in his own. "I thank you for the kindness of your visit. Hold me now and let us dream of Garth." Already his breathing slows and deepens. His voice grows thick. "He was near and now so far. Pray do not let me go, I could not bear it." He squeezes my hand in his own. "Protect me. Though sleep descends and all the world rise against us, hold fast. Protect me."
Tears spill forth unbidden and unwelcome. I have no power. I cannot stem the tide. I cannot seduce this man. I am ashamed, and my body reacts to this unexpected discussion of Garth's passing as if suddenly doused in the waters of an ice-cold mountain stream. Tristar is breathing deeply. Sleep has claimed what I could not. I am weak, my needs unmet and chafing at me still through the veil of my thoughts. I tug upon my hand, but he has held it fast, and after my shameful attempt to visit my passions upon his sleeping fears, I have not the heart to wake him again.
Tristar, forgive me! I thought... no, admit it, stupid, selfish little girl. You deliberately were not thinking. You were weak, and let need overcome sensibility. How many more times, little girl? How long before reason at last takes root in your heart and mind, and at last bends all need and weakness to your will? Poor Tristar. I rise on the elbow of my free hand and see that he is smiling. Good. At least I did not quash his optimism. I fear I shall need it, very much of it, in the coming days. Yes, I was a fool to enter here, mind aflame with schemes and desire. Yet now I see the beauty that remains as I lower myself to my shoulder to gently stroke his hair. He is fast asleep. He is beautiful. What was it he asked of me? Protect him? Hold him fast?
I curl up next to him with my arm firmly planted between his innocent dreams and the dark of night. Yes. I can do that much good and right. I will protect you, Tristar. It is my specialty, my lot in this world. You will be safe. A tear, then another arrive unbidden to my suddenly weary eyes. I rest my head against his shoulder, curled up against him, and cannot evade the implications. I could not protect Garth. I would not let him near enough. In my vanity, I succumbed to his chivalry and behaved as if I needed his protection. And now he is gone. There is a lesson here, but I will learn it later, after I have rested. I am so tired, so quickly now. I squeeze Tristar's slumbering form. Forgive me, Garth, for not letting you nearer to my heart, for keeping you at arm's length. Your affections honored me--you deserved better.
Forgive me and my vanity, for not keeping you safe.
Tristar is snoring ever so lightly. So sweet and innocent, I squeeze him tight once more. Am I smiling now, I who was just rejected by this gentle man? My eyes grow heavy and close in the face of it. No more thought, just simple desire, purer now for the experience. I do smile with a final, goodnight hug to one far gone. Tristar's back is solid and at peace. I need this...
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