Chapter Text
I always hated the archetypal pining woman, the foolish femininity of wishing for things out of reach. I prized myself on practicality, individualism, everything I learned on my father's boat that felt wildly incompatible with sighing after a silhouette.
Today, though, I was that woman. I set myself tasks and failed at every one. You can't tie a proper net if you're already dreaming too deeply of the dinner you’ll catch. I caught myself preparing my life for you, thinking when she gets back, when I see her — which is no way to live. You’ve been gone only two days.
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So much for bloody agelessness – I swear I've aged a decade in the year you've been gone. This Dragon should be named Draghkar, draining the life from us. I spent countless hunched hours in the library this week, my only reward a fragment of prophecy directly contradicting Dorine’s interpretation. It unsettles me to cast my line so far into the future, but I suppose it can't be helped. Finding him is only the first step.
Light, I’m tired. Why couldn't the Pattern choose someone else?
(It’s childish to rail against unfairness and it doesn't help a bit. Forgive me, love.)
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I took lunch today with a Green and her Warder, and jealousy nearly ate me alive. He put his palm on her knee and my ears filled with a rushing that drowned out his next words. The only clear thought wailing through that tempest was that even if you were here, I would never be allowed that casual act of intimacy. Then I pictured Lan and the jealousy bit deeper.
Of course it’s not his fault he has a place by your side while I am denied one. I only wish, foolishly, to walk through the Tower hand-in-hand with you.
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It seems that every time you come home, you bring a new scar, like you’re collecting them. With my fingers and mouth, I collect them too, map them onto you so I can hold them in my mind when you’re gone. Part of me resents that you change when we’re apart, that when I picture the contours of your back in quiet hours, I could be missing a new lithe curve of muscle or puckered slice of skin. Of course, I wouldn’t wish you to be stagnant (although if I had my way, you’d be unharmed), I only wish we could grow and change shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. At the Tower, you could hardly get a papercut without me finding out within the hour. I got too used to that luxury.
Go, be brave and reckless, collect your scars. Just promise you’ll always bring them back to me.
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Last night I dreamed of you glowing. You were floating among a bloom of luminescent jellyfish — once as a novice I called you a jellyfish, remember? We'd snuck out and you were trying on that billowy dress, and you gave me such a look that I never called you that again. I think it suits you, though — not the dress, it was hideous, but the name. Graceful, pale, mysterious. (And the hidden sting.)
You smiled, in the dream. You looked so peaceful, a great weight removed as the water cradled you. I could have stayed there forever, watching you glow.