Alain Johns

Morning. A few hours after dawn; the light slants in through half-drawn curtains, making window-squares on the blankets.

(Come)

Alain's arm is curled around Lilly. Both of them are asleep, breathing slow and regular.

(Come)

And then

(Come)

he's awake, staring blindly at the ceiling,

(Come)

and all he can hear and see and feel and think is that pounding silent call.

Alain wakes with a gasp. It's not from a bad dream; on the contrary, he can't remember what he was dreaming.

He can't remember anything, for a disorientingly long moment -- not this room, not his name, not his dream and not where or when he is. Just the morning light, slanting sunbeams bleaching the room to white, and a call that fills his brain and tugs at his body:
Come.
Soon. Soon. Soon.
Come.
Slowly, slowly, things filter back.

Milliways. His bed here; just him, this morning. Last night, and last week, and all the increasingly dreamlike months.
Come. Come. Come.
Soon.

Whatever's ahead and whatever's on your mind, there's chores that must be done. And animals don't understand excuses or 'later.' Susan learned that from her da, Alain from his parents and Cort and Vannay, but both of them learned it well.

Which is why, even now, Alain is in the stable as he is every afternoon, parceling out grain. Susan did morning chores, but she's helping out, or mayhap just keeping her hands busy; either way, she's sitting on a bale of hay, mending a worn stirrup leather.

It's been a day and more, and he hasn't seen Lilly.

Maybe she's in the Dreaming. Maybe she's been out, but avoiding him. And it's a very strong possibility that she'll resent him for trying to check up on her.

But he left her huddled on the couch looking as if he'd stuck a knife in her, and he hasn't had word of her in over a day. He's worried.

And guilt gnaws at his stomach.

A quiet knock on the suite door.

Alain wakes slowly, to slanting sunbeams and disorientation.

That's nothing new, these days. It's been weeks since he woke swift and certain, except when startled awake. Lilly's next to him, sprawled in a tangle of sheets, but that's no clue -- he can't remember where Lilly belongs, either. Is he in Gilead? Milliways? Some farmer's house, some barracks outpost? He's dead, of course, but he's somewhere outside the clearing, and he can't remember where. He doesn't fret over it, only lies dozing until the world seeps in. Any wondering is dim and far-off, through a layer of dreaminess like cottonwool.

He's in an inn. Attached to a bar -- Milliways. Yes. The bar at the end of the 'verse. His room, in the staff quarters, with the stained glass rondelle in the window.

The morning light falls golden on the covers. What time is it? He has to think about it -- eight, he thinks. Eight or a little after.

He should know, of course, down to the minute, without thought. Cort trained them so. But that's been slipping, recently. Time goes soft, when the world moves on. Milliways hasn't changed, but somewhere inside, not quite acknowledged, he knows that he's moving on from it.

Eight in the morning, a day or so before Reap Night.

He remembers now, and the morning is colder. He can't imagine how he forgot.

There's frost, outside. There were murmurings last night of celebrations starting already. In a few hours, they'll set out for the woods, to camp there overnight. Out of sight, out of earshot -- not out of mind, nor out of memory, but they do what little they can.

Lilly mumbles something, half-awake at best, and rolls over to wrap an arm around his waist. He smiles at her, and the world settles into place a little more. Enough for now; enough that he can't bring himself to mention the rest of it yet. Everything's just enough more real when he's with friends, in the bar.

Enough. For now.

It's a pretty day. Cold, but clear. Coming on fall; Alain's acquired a heavier shirt and a coat. Brown -- it's hardwearing and hides dirt, and also Bar has a sense of humor. Lilly's got her own brown coat, the gift from Mal. "We totally match, sai," she told him earlier, with something of her usual teasing. "You'll, like, have to call me captain again now."

Alain's response to that was a silent, amused look that set her grinning again. Not giggling, but it was a start.

He's saddling Mithros. Lilly is helping by perching on the fence and watching.

It's well past midnight.

Alain's asleep.

In his dream, he's talking to Cuthbert at Milliways -- except Milliways looks like the Traveler's Rest in Hambry.

It's late. The party's winding down, outside -- laughter still drifts in through the window, with chattering conversation, but more muted now. Susan and Cuthbert slipped away a while ago, for a more private wedding celebration.

When Alain and Lilly make their way to his room, they are flushed and laughing with happiness and just enough champagne to help make the world seem a wonderful place right now. Not that they really needed any alcohol for that.

It's the quiet time, not late night yet but dark enough that the stars are out. Somewhere, there are crickets chirping. Sounds of the bar drift up. It's chilly with the first hints of fall.

Alain is sitting in the chair on Lilly's balcony, looking out into the night. She's perched on the railing nearby.

Alain's left Cuthbert to have some time alone with Susan, now that he's fully awake and clearly out of true danger.

And also because a wounded Cuthbert is a fidgety Cuthbert, and times of respite get increasingly valuable after a while of that. It's only been a day, so far, and that's not bad, but Alain knows from experience.

Which is why, right now, he's stepping into the kitchen, wondering if he can find tea and maybe even some food.