Stavanger Bay It was all forlorn, if only for a season

When Reverie next slept, she dreamed again. She did not know how long it had been since her last dream. There was something special about this dream, in that there was nothing special about it at all; for the first time in a very long time, she dreamed of something mundane. That planned trip with Blossom; the burned forest; picking flowers.
And when she awoke, she felt... very strange. No, she felt — not good, but maybe okay, and this was startling to her because it was not her body that felt eased but her mind. There was a smoothness to her thoughts that she had truly forgotten the feel of, no great sense of relief but a small easing of what had been a constant struggle for each step forward in time. It hadn't sunk in, not yet. But she rose and for a change did not look immediately for Blossom. Instead she stepped toward the entrance of the den, careful not to disturb @Lestan but wanting to watch the sea in silence for a moment before she truly began her day.

reverie slept. lestan did not. and yet he found peace in watching the still lines of her face, the more peaceful mien of her body.
perhaps — maybe — they would return to some semblance of them. of what had been.
when at last he did sleep, lestan came sharply awake, turning in attunement to her. but she did not bleed, or did she run; reverie only stood softly against the starting day and looked out to sea.
lestan laid back upon one elbow to watch her.

Lestan did not join her, but she felt his eyes on her all the same. For a few moments she only watched the sea; then, slowly, she went to him. She settled beside him, and her eyes drifted toward Blossom. She didn't know what to say. Then she looked at him, really looked for the first time in days, and the words just started to pour from her.
You - said you don't want to be the reason I live. And I - well, of course I listened. I've never wanted to make you feel trapped with my love. But… what if - what if I don't know any other way to be? The words were tremulous, her expression full of heartbreak. I've - I've always been this way, I think. It was Rose first. When she died, well… you know what happened. But they wouldn't let me die - there was no escaping The Gilded Sea, not that way. I had to run, and then - then, I figured I would try to - do good. Be good. To bring beauty into the world, the way Rose wanted to. I thought that would make me happy.
But it didn't. I don't really want to - be that. I'm not good, or brave, or any of the things she was. Honestly, I've only ever wanted to be happy. And when I met you - you made me happier than anyone ever has, Made; past tense, and some spiteful part of her hoped that it hurt him to hear it as much as it hurt her to say it. And I thought you understood, I really did, because - why else would I stay, after everything? I don't mean to be unfair, Lestan, but it - it feels as if you're always rejecting me in some way. Emotionally, or physically, or sometimes both. I've always forgiven you. Only you, because you were everything to me. But then - And here her voice finally broke.
Then you told me not to love you that way. To live for Blossom. And Blossom - she'll grow up. She'll have her own life one day, and that's what I want for her, but then - what does that leave me?
Not you. That's what you said. Not you. And I - Reverie started to cry. I think I'm starting to - to fall out of love with you. And I don't want that to happen. I want to - try to fix it, if we can. If you want that too. She started to dissolve into true sobbing then, barely finishing her words, one paw swiping furiously at her tears, I know I'm not easy to - to love.
But, more than that, it was terribly exhausting to be loved by her; Reverie knew this too. It was the real reason she hated herself, the reason she subjected herself now to the torment of herbs and healers and false hope. It was what she deserved. She could only seem to love with a fierceness that could almost pass for hatred — and she knew that was wrong of her, but she didn't think she could ever change.

a river of words. lestan found that through their torrent he could not always meet her eyes, that his too focused upon the inexorable sea and the driftwood upon the bank, of the sun glinting from the wood, something for his mind to pea-plant-tendril around and ground himself as reverie spoke in her own pained truth.
she spoke to the feelings of entrapment, to the way she had spun around him. she spoke of her sister, of the gilded sea; of what she had fought, what she had lost. who she had been. what had been expected of her.
happiness, then, he had brought, armfuls of it.
you made; yes, lestan heard its past tense and looked down at the denfloor between his paws, drawing a breath.
the statements of rejection almost brought his head up in sharp confusion, but it was the admission that reverie was falling out of love that was bloodletting.
and so for a long time, lestan said nothing. he could not argue with her; he would not deny her story nor the essence of who she was. reverie loved fully and completely at a high cost to her, and it frightened him.
the sea, the sea. if she allowed he meant to softly cover one of her paws with his own. "y-you're not hard to love, reverie. don't believe that."
it felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't —
how do you fall back in love with someone?
no one did that.
"i'm sorry i have made you feel rejected." always? always? always rejecting her? where? the apology felt disingenuous, for lestan did not see where he had done either until these very last days, after that horrible argument at the beachhead before everett had taken the children.
or did she mean his — malady?
despite his best efforts, frustration was starting to seep into his tired soul. always forgave him? why had she said nothing? why had she forgiven him only to hold it now in her palm and say look what i've done for you.
if only lestan had the words to tell reverie that his caretaking of her in those addled, manic times had destroyed his desires and exhausted him. that the bleeding again and again and again, and her refusal to be seen by healers, the journey they had made, the overwhelming shame that his wants had harmed her body with the birth of blossom, and how she had told him so weakly she would die and there was nothing to be done.
lestan had not been prepared for it, but he had been prepared to begin acceptance if she had not sent him to the witch.
and even then he had gone, for her, only for her to hurl the life he so loved toward him, and threaten to take it herself. something had broken that day and lestan was not certain how to get it back.
but he said none of this, only stared blankly toward the sea and then down at their paws, and then — he felt blood in his jaws, the man's blood; he felt sick and spinning; he remembered the sight of reverie scarlet-stained and crumpled in the sand, and the mingling of those crimson drops.
"h-how c-can you say you love me so completely and then say you will end your own life? if t-that is — i — that is what i meant. i don't w-want to be the beginning and the end, reverie. if it c-can't be blossom then it should be you. all your life you've lived for others, haven't you? don't l-let me be another."
he was so tired. nothing she had said was untrue, nothing warranted argument. but lestan could not continue on this unknown rocky path where they loved each other so fiercely it was to a great detriment. he thought only of blossom, how selfish it would be to walk into proverbial seas with reverie.
"i d-don't know how to fix — me," the mayfair admitted, face at last painted in silent saltwater, too ashamed to do more than allude to the consistent failures of his body since the birth of their daughter, before, really. "and i l-love you, rev, you know that. truly and deeply. but if — all you have been doing is staying and forgiving me for constant rejections, i — don't want that either. it's unfair to you and has been unfair. i w-want us to be better, and i t-thought maybe we c-could take some time, to settle, now that you're s-seeing bridget." lestan was stumbling, and eventually he simply stopped.
blood in his teeth, heavy. the metallic hint of copper rising all through swiftcurrent. he had begun to associate the smell of blood with her soft coat and it was a destructive realization.

He was silent for a time, and Reverie was afraid. Even as he touched her, she felt that prickle of fear, and it was all she could do to hold back the sudden clench of sickness in her throat.
She was silent, too, in the wake of his words; unable to answer some things, shaken by others. But she pressed closer, wanting him to hold her if he would. I'm sorry, Reverie said finally, softly, her own tears still falling freely. I want us to be better, too. I - I've been thinking of ways... if you want to try. But I - I understand if you don't. But her voice trembled fiercely and then broke with these last words, and her tears fell anew, and her expression said what she did not: that she needed, desperately, for him to want this.
I know I've hurt you, too. I want to - learn how to be a good wife to you. I want to make you happy. And I - I think we can get there, now that things have... settled down a little, She was rambling; anxious. She closed her mouth and looked down at the place where their paws were still joined, this point of contact he'd initiated. Did that mean there was hope?
She didn't know.
I love you, She started to weep again. My - my love for you isn't gone. That's why - why I thought - if we talked about it, if we both decide to try, together, maybe - She wanted it to stop; it hurt, it hurt so terribly she could hardly stand it; I don't want to lose you.

"i think," and it hurt to breathe, "i think i want you to f-focus on getting better, before me." it aligned with what he did not want: eternal spotlight toward himself. "i w-want this too, reverie," he fairly whispered, "and i know that n-no matter where or what, that love is t-there."
for them both.
he drew a long breath and shut his eyes, squeezed her paw; he felt tension in his arms, wrists, body; entire.
"i'm n-not going anywhere."
his voice firmed as he said this, for he wanted her to know it was the truth. he languished when she was sick, not while she was well; when reverie had her steadiness, so did lestan.

Reverie nodded, feeling she could do little else; she wanted to argue, of course, because this scene felt familiar in a way that seemed hopeless. They'd talked as she'd wanted, but it seemed they'd done nothing but hurt one another even further. Nothing was fixed, and Lestan made no promises in that regard. He told her only that he would stay — and once, that might have comforted her. But Reverie didn't fear his absence as much as she had; more than that, she feared that they would make one another miserable, that they would do the same to Blossom as her parents had done to her.
Even if - it takes a long time? Reverie leaned against him even as she questioned. I - I've been trying things on my own for months, Lestan - you know that, don't you? Ever since Swiftcurrent Creek... She sighed. I - I'm tired of being sick - of putting my life on hold for it. Before Bridget came, I was in pain all the time - and even now, I feel so - exhausted. I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything, and I just - I just want one thing to go right -
She cut herself off, aware that she was bordering on hysteria. But you're - you're right, we should... wait. It's - hard for me to think clearly, lately. It has been for awhile, really. It shamed her to admit this so late; she should have told him sooner, she knew, but she hadn't wanted to. Just - will you promise that - if Bridget finds something that works - Reverie caught herself again. When she finds something, we'll talk about this again. And we'll figure out a way to fix things. Please?

"b-but reverie," lestan's weak protest, "it is your life, for now." an intake; "getting better is." he slid his arm around her slim golden shoulders; there was a sweet give inside him, something sharp unloosening thorned branches; "but it won't be forever, it isn't all of who you are." he kissed her cheek softly.
"we c-can keep talking about it, rev," the mayfair said, feeling some spark of hope or — well, something lighter.
"even if it takes a long time." lestan meant to be with her each step of this journey, as much as reverie would allow him to be.
mending took time.

Finally he held her, the way she'd wanted, but Reverie felt — not better, and for a moment that was all she could focus on. But nothing would get better if she only focused on the negative, she knew that. So she allowed herself to relax in his embrace for now, and told herself that it would all be okay.
Even if it still hurt.
I - I'm going to take some time... I think I just need to - to process my feelings a little bit, She took a breath, feeling she hadn't worded it well, and tried again. What I mean is - I - I just don't feel any differently yet, I still feel - hurt. But I think it'll get better, with some time. And then - then, I think -
I don't want this distance between us anymore, It was still so difficult to put her thoughts together. She struggled a moment. So maybe... then we could spend some time together. Just us. Vairë could watch Blossom for a little while.

"y-yes. i'd like that."
some time away, just the two of them, and in no capacity such as the run from swiftcurrent — or anything else that had come after.
the idea of being alone with reverie was equal parts something he anticipated, and something he feared.
suppose —
he leaned sideways and kissed her temple with a feathering touch.

Last for me <3

We'll be okay, Reverie murmured, closing her eyes briefly when he kissed her. Then she leaned into him, settling there, suddenly feeling worn by their conversation. Will you stay in bed with me for a little while? She couldn't help the note of hope in her voice; she wanted nothing more than to rest in his arms for now, while this small flame of hope for the future burned between them. Without waiting for an answer she buried her face in his fur and settled, and felt something like relief when a familiar rush of warmth overtook her. Her love for him wasn't gone, as she'd told him; it was only wounded and in need of care. It would just take time.