Let go of yesterday.

Caer rested her cheek on the door frame of her room, she had watched him sleep for some time, her palm resting gently over the soft curve of her hip, the other hanging loosely at her side. She wore only the simplest of outfits just a sleeveless shirt that she tended to favor as well as a pair of pants that were slightly baggy on her smaller frame; the armor having been long discarded.  No, there was no need for it today, she had taken a day to herself, a day to just mull over the things that had happened the past few days.

She had spent a lot of her time with Neirov, the enigma that was the Mirialan who she had grown up with, fought along side, had bled for and had even done her best to protect from the Council. Her and Raiyden both had done their best to keep him safe from the Councils wrath.  They had done everything they can to keep Neirovs actions under the radar for years, while striving to bring him back from the brink of the dark side. The struggle was like the ebb and flow of tide, he would respond and then slowly slip away again.

Neirov had slipped from their lives and Caer had been left wondering in silence if he was alive. She never spoke of these concerns to her brother; no, Raiyden didn’t like to talk about Neirov. It was as if Raiy felt like Neirov was a personal project he had failed at. Caer understood that her brother disliked the idea of failing at anything.

Caer watched Neirov’s aura through the force as he rested. There were times he seemed troubled, as if struggling with something greater than himself. But that was the force, wasn’t it? Greater than them all? But to see Neirov, it seemed like he was a mighty river. It appeared calm and cool on the surface, but beneath it, it was a torrent of undercurrents and danger. He had a way about him that drew her to him. She had always liked Neirov, she had always enjoyed their times they’d had gotten to spend together. Even the arguments they had, she had found memorable.

She pulled away from the door frame, padding quietly barefoot to the side of the bed. Yes, she had offered her bed to him and he seemed happy to take it. Caer didn’t mind either, the feel of someone next to her comforted her.  She would have been unwilling to confess that she had sometimes wondered what it’d be like to have someone wake up next to her, that she sometimes wished that she could feel strong arms around her as she slept.

Their sharing of the bed was innocent in all its forms. Their feelings tightly bottled up, shored up like a wall holding back potentially dangerous waters.  They both had been taught that any feelings, any hints of love, caring,  or even the more baser instincts were forbidden.

But why even after being released from the Order did they still keep these emotions away?

She sat down on the bed gently, trying hard not to wake him but even as the realization hit her she felt the bed shift slightly under her weight. She cared for him.

More than cared for him. And she was afraid.

These emotions were wrong. Everything she’d been taught- no they had been taught had been drilled into them. Passion was a way to the dark side, loving was an attachment, everything to do with the emotions of caring, loving, sexuality, it was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Balling her hands into fists she pressed her palms to her face and fought the tidal wave of emotions. Hadn’t she said the same thing to Amaare when they’d spoken? That she had no idea what she was doing? He had accepted it, he had said that he understood and he had left.

So why did she feel this way now? She still had no idea what she was doing or even thinking. It was within the thought process that loving, caring for someone was almost instinctual in it’s rightness, but the training in her screamed for her to stop, for her to step back and analyze these emotions like they were some piece of tossed off archaeological artifact, categorize it and file it away under ‘do not use’.

The internal struggle was the worst, little voices whispering it was okay. Things were okay, it was alright to wrap her arms around him, lay down next to him and move in close, give in and let their bodies touch, her head tucked near his shoulder… to let the emotions close in on them and blanket them and open the door of opportunity they had long since been denied.

What was so wrong with that?

Everything, nothing, a little voice whispered inside her head.   She drew her hands away from her face and sighed softly, the tug of war of voices going on in her head making her feel like she had nowhere to turn to. Her brother would not understand, likely would not approve.

Caer got to her feet and turned, watching the sleeping form of the Mirialan in her bed. His skin looking pale for his kind, the eye lids closed in slumber, the tattoos his kind held in high regard standing out against the pale green skin. His expression was nearly troubled as if dreams plagued him- unpleasant ones. His hand was stretched out across her side as if seeking something. The other arm pinned under his head.

What was so wrong…

Nothing, everything…

Then why did her body and mind tell her to crawl into that bed, crawl under the blanket with him and sleep? To let whatever happen, happen?  The words fluttered in her mind like trapped birds.  Nothing, everything, go, let nature take its course, trust yourself, trust him. 

She bit her lower lip and tugged the cover back.  The little voice settled, as if waiting to see if it needed to speak up again.

Climbing into bed, she felt the Mirialan shift and waken only briefly; her back to him she didn’t ‘see’ this, she felt it through the ripples in the force. Growing still as she rested on the bed, she nearly jumped as she felt a strong arm slip over her side and pull her close.

No words were exchanged, Neirov soon settled, his breathing evening out to the rhythmic sounds of one who’d fallen back asleep; Caer closed herself off from the force, essentially closing her ‘eyes’ as she felt herself relax there.

Her thoughts as he relaxed and fell into true sleep were, Trust yourself, trust him… let go of yesterday.

Tomorrow would come and this would start all over again.

She felt the arm tighten around her and she smiled faintly.

Or, perhaps not.

 

 

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