This scene is familiar, but becomes more familiar as the weeks pass, because it repeats, and repeats, and repeats. There is always a stack of work. There is always an early morning, when Darras wakes up and the bed beside him is empty and he leaves their bedroom to find Yseult sat in her chair, working.
She is deft when she changes the subject, when the subject comes up. And it does come up. How could it not? She was missing, she was held captive. And she doesn't talk about it, no matter the hour or the day or where they are when Darras brings it up--at her desk and working, sitting on the sofa while she works, laying in bed and trying to fall asleep. Some days he comes back from the ferry early and finds her already asleep, taking a nap while Rosana suns herself curled up on the desk. And even then, when he shakes Yseult's shoulder, gently, and her eyes flick open and soften as she smiles--even then, she swings her legs over the side of the couch and stands up, stretching. Not now.
One evening he brings her fishing with him, instead of dinner in Kirkwall or dinner in her office. The days are getting shorter as the season begins to turn, but the weather has been pleasant enough on this particular day, so even as the shadows start to lengthen, there is no need to turn back from where Darras has taken them--a rocky cove off of the Wounded Coast, with a narrow strip of beach well protected from the sea winds. They can build a fire there, cook what they catch. Mostly it is nice to be alone together, in the quiet, with the waves lapping at the side of the slender skiff and the wind pushing lazily at its slack sail.
Yseult is looking out across the water when Darras says, again, "Will you tell me?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-11-03 03:28 am (UTC)She is deft when she changes the subject, when the subject comes up. And it does come up. How could it not? She was missing, she was held captive. And she doesn't talk about it, no matter the hour or the day or where they are when Darras brings it up--at her desk and working, sitting on the sofa while she works, laying in bed and trying to fall asleep. Some days he comes back from the ferry early and finds her already asleep, taking a nap while Rosana suns herself curled up on the desk. And even then, when he shakes Yseult's shoulder, gently, and her eyes flick open and soften as she smiles--even then, she swings her legs over the side of the couch and stands up, stretching. Not now.
One evening he brings her fishing with him, instead of dinner in Kirkwall or dinner in her office. The days are getting shorter as the season begins to turn, but the weather has been pleasant enough on this particular day, so even as the shadows start to lengthen, there is no need to turn back from where Darras has taken them--a rocky cove off of the Wounded Coast, with a narrow strip of beach well protected from the sea winds. They can build a fire there, cook what they catch. Mostly it is nice to be alone together, in the quiet, with the waves lapping at the side of the slender skiff and the wind pushing lazily at its slack sail.
Yseult is looking out across the water when Darras says, again, "Will you tell me?"