Late into the night Seaver talked with Calilla Yishai, as he so often has in recent times. He spoke with her of his innermost thoughts, there the Variag listened to him as she does with her usual patience and willingness to lend a friendly ear.
He rests within her quarters now but in a bed alone. They did not share warmth that night. Nor will they again any time soon it seems as circumstance dictates. Her choice, her doing. You would think that he would feel some dissappointment that their nights together had come to an end. Indeed, he did. To a small degree. It had though come as some relief as he had been non-committal as to whether to do so. Uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of commitment to Neyaa as it is. She made the decision for him, herself desiring closer relations it seems with a man she has recently met after Talvor. Something which he will no doubt puzzle upon. In truth, the thought of spending the night with her did not sit well with him given recent developments.
In recent weeks following the wedding feast he had kept himself busy, making purchase of a premises in the Stone Quarter with which to make mead. He did anything that he possibly could during the days and the evenings to drown out the dissenting voices. He had even sated darker urges to his own financial benefit and likely the benefit of the local populace. There are few who will miss 'Lord' Merton.
So vocal the voices have been in the past. Driving him near to madness. Now shut away. As though within a room far off. He still hears them as though banging upon a locked door, distant. Wailing to get out. Protesting vociferously. Warning him against his foolishness. The folly of this love. But in the darkness of the night, absent any other sound they are loudest when he is alone.
You have been here before, Seaver. You know how this ends. You know how this has to end. They called to him as he lay staring upwards at the canopy of the Variag's four-poster bed, he grimaced as he rolled over onto his side, before shaking his head suddenly as though shrugging off an irksome and irritating fly.
Who are you to tell me how this ends? How do you know what fate has in store for me. Where has listening to you got me?
He took a deep breath.
His days and evenings with Neyaa Sunngifu had been blissful, since the feast and that terrible night where he had thought he lost her. The nights spent with one another had left him with a spring in his step come morning. The distant voices gagged in their entirety in her presence. If only for a short while. The tension wrought between them not so long ago forgotten. So relaxed in her company as he has often been. As though he has had not a care in the world.
Calilla Yishai had asked of him earlier whether he loved this woman or no. Yet for the very first time his answer had been yes. Though in his admittance he was under-stated. Releasing his breath in a sigh he stared at a specific point upon the wall. He wished that he had his journal with him but that tome, fraught with confessions and anxieties and the darkness of some of his thoughts and deeds sat safely at home. Locked away within his study. Hidden from the world's prying eyes. Only two pages left. Better to not fritter them away with inconclusive meanderings, he thought.
You could be happy with this woman. If only you let yourself.
Some time ago Seaver and Neyaa had made a pact, that whatever this was that was blossoming between them. They would not speak of it. They would not give voice to it. They would simply take each day as it comes. And take each day as it comes they had. The chemistry between them electric. This woman so attuned to his moods and so patient with his anxieties. It had been in the quieter moments between them that had mattered the most. For so long words had been left unspoken. But now it seems that finally, they had reached an understanding. He bore his soul to her in his confessions and to some degree she bore the wounds of her past also. An empathy and a bond shared. Within the depths of their blue eyes a love which shined bright, communicating perhaps in a way that his tongue still would not let him. Lest the voices break free once again from their prison and escape. Once more to guide and restrain his actions. For once free of them his feelings have seemed to him in those moments so pure. So simple. So uncomplicated. He himself felt as though he was but riding upon a cloud.
Fate had sundered their paths from one another so long ago. Yet it seemed to Seaver that at last they had each come full circle and found one another so far from home and though it had taken time, though the road was fraught with much strife and difficulty. Perhaps now he would be able to traverse gentler pastures new. And walk with her together in the sun and gentle breeze.
Don't be ridiculous. The voices sneered. He turned onto his other side as though there was actually a person looming large above that side of the bed. Temporarily within the room. The shadow of his doubts echoing from confinement. Of course such sentimental musings within his mind he keeps to himself. Having established boundaries in which he himself is comfortable. Why rock the boat, why speed full sail ahead? The ship drifts so gently as it is along the waters with no sign of fracture or torrid condition.
It had taken him long enough to raise the sails to half-mast and make any progress at all toward the object of his heart's desires. For so long he had languished, in spite of the fair wind blowing. It's gusts giving him cause to panic. The urge to cease it all and abandon ship, to row back to shore and forget it all in spite of his longing desires having been strong.
No, there's no hurry.
He thought of past loves, he thought of Cirywen and the raging tempest he had rowed into so freely, a storm impossible to weather absent disaster. Doomed from the beginning.
This is different. It is. I know it. I feel it.
The voices oft counteract from their cage, This is just the calm before the storm, you know it. I know it.
No, this is different. He insisted stubbornly.
I will not run, I will not be cowed by you, these fears. Come what may. Fate be damned. What has been need not always be. The omens are fair.
I will weave my own path.
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Come the morrow he rose. To face the world come what may.
