NIGHTMARES IN SECRET
“...the rifting grows in dour tread
the guilt of lover lied in bed...”
Denyoh Nvwnle Gusya IV
2:2:2:5/5, III:IX
Larin awoke slowly, her mind fluttering into action as her body wallowed through sturdy stillness. Nightmarish fragments drifted through the back of her mind, haunting her with their eerie howls and ready claws. Bad dreams, she told herself, bad dreams is all.
When she opened her eyes, Jorn was there watching over her, a glass of water and a plate of toast ready on the bedstand beside him. “Hey,” he greeted with a hesitant smile. “How are you doing?”
“Good.” She beckoned for the food and Jorn helped her sit upright. “How are you?” She plucked a piece of toast from the plate and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully and dislodging dark flickers with a shake of her head. Bad dreams...
A soft rumble emanated from Jorn’s chest, and Larin raised an eyebrow at him. “I... Good. I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” Clearing his throat, he summoned his courage to ask, “Do... Larin. Do you remember what I did to you?”
Her eyes flickered for a moment. Worried, Jorn brushed the backs of his fingers across her forehead; she blinked and looked up at him wistfully. He was silent, the pain of his question hanging in the air. “Yes,” she answered at long last. “You pulled me out. I remember.” Lifting her hand, she took Jorn’s in hers, squeezing with gentle absolution. “Thank you.”
Anguish flooded their connection and she gasped, dropping his hand as a thin sound curled past his lips. “Please!” he rasped softly, standing and turning his back to her, hands clenched at his sides, the whorl of red pattern from their contact sinking back into his flesh. “Please stop thanking me. Of course I pulled you out; of course I did! But I’m the reason you were there in the first place.”
Bewildered, she reached out, brushing hesitant fingertips across his back. “No, you’re not.”
He stiffened at her touch and turned to stare at her, a bright flush reddening his tanned features. “What?”
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Larin gripped his arm, face screwed up in concentration. The time before the Hells was foggy, distant, but this was important. Eyes closed with deep focus, she managed, “The mers. They told me I’d be cast down, after I spoke Ryunic the first time. I knew when I spoke to you that I’d go.” She paused, eyes opening to gaze up at him in wonder. “But I didn’t know if I’d ever come back. Thanks to you...” Catching the deep strain in his green eyes, she trailed off.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Larin. Let alone your gratitude. I–” His voice quavered, and he turned his chin, unable to bring himself to pull his arm back from her tight grip. She tugged him down to his chair; he sank obediently, jaw clenched.
Larin waited, the silence stretching into oblivion. She was very good at waiting. Finally, his jaw loosened and he heaved an anguished sigh. “I turned, Larin. When I found Sharis. The turning transferred to me and... I betrayed you. I betrayed everyone.”
“Jorn–”
“Hang the mers!” he interrupted, trembling with emotion. “I don’t care what they told you. If I hadn’t– If I’d been stronger, I could have–”
“If not you, it would have been something else, Jorn. I’m just glad you got me out.”
He cringed, then slowly lifted her hand from his arm and covered it in both of his. “Do you... Do you remember the Hells?” A heady dose of his fright flowed through their hands, and Larin gulped, wading through the emotions– fear, guilt, pain, and also hope, a tender shard of frail expectation, yearning to shoulder her trauma, longing for it to be expunged entirely.
“...No,” she decided, the flickering nightmares too much to bear, let alone confess and expose. “No, I... No. There’s nothing.” Eager to shift the conversation back again, she added, “Just you. In the light.”
Relief now flooded through his hands, a kind of strangled, keening gratitude that she’d somehow been spared. Amid the roil of rejoicing came other, subtler things; unslaked curiosity, a yen to know what she’d been through, a wash of isolation, and the slightest tinge of regret. “Thank Mother,” he breathed, face pressed over her hand in his, her knuckles against his forehead. “I was there too, you know. Not as long, but...” The shudder of his body shook her, deepening the sense of terror she felt through his hands. “It’s good you don’t remember. I’m... glad.” His unvoiced thought added, “At least it cannot plague you.”
Larin eased her hand back, the intensity of his emotions threatening to swallow her. “Jorn, I...” Was it right, to lie to him? The memory of his pain flowing through her hand made her fingers curl, trembling, into a fist. “Please, I don’t– I don’t think...” More words wouldn’t come.
“I can never make it up to you, what I’ve done. Ever. Nothing I do or say can ever erase what happened.” His voice was slightly muffled; she looked up to see him rubbing his face in his hands. “Sweet Mother, I wish I could.” He wiped his palms down his face and scrounged up a lopsided grin. “But, knowing you aren’t... That whatever you suffered down there, it doesn’t hurt you, now... I’m glad, Larin.”
Wordlessly, she chomped the toast in her hand, fidgeting with the crumbs down her front. “Yeah,” she managed after a dry swallow. “I’m glad, too.” She scolded herself, Bad dreams is all.