honest_johns | (no subject)

(no subject)

Alain is outside, for a change. He's sitting crosslegged on the large rock by the waterfront, ~~brooding~~ whittling. It's something to do.

There's a small pile of shavings in the grass, now.

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Very shortly, there is also a ka-mai in the grass. Which is to say that Cuthbert has come out from the lake door, spotted Alain, headed over, and dropped in a heap on the grass next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey."

As usual, Alain considers this exchange perfectly sufficient as a conversation.

The knife scrapes against the wood, and water laps on the shore.

Not surprisingly, Cuthbert has something further to say.

It's just saying it that's the problem.

Finally, "Susan had a dream, the other night." Beat. "About Lilly."

Alain glances at him sharply.

She comes out of the stables, where she's spent some time finishing up the bride's-gifts, now all safely completed and stored away in a basket.

Upon seeing them together, she approaches. A little smile for them both, brighter than most of those she's had of late, because it's these two-- but not very bright, for all of that.

Cuthbert nods. "Aye. And spoke with the Dream-Lord, after."

He breaks off, belatedly, as he sees Susan coming--then, after a moment's hesitation, holds out a hand to her.

She takes his hand, moving closer to him, having heard the last of it-- and oh, but she knows what 'Bert must have been telling Alain, from that little.

(the Dream-lord)

A silent nod of greeting, but she doesn't speak yet-- listening instead, and a little more pale than when she'd first drawn near.

A quick smile for her, but it's a little distracted -- Alain hasn't missed the paling, nor the way she's drawing towards Cuthbert.

Quietly, "Aye?"

Cuthbert glances to Susan--it was her nightmare, after all--and, at a nod from her, turns back to Alain and continues.

"As I said, Lilly was in her dream, but she was...confused. Thought Susan was her friend Veronica. And--there was blood on her hands, and when Susan woke up--"

"There was blood on my hands, as well," she finishes quietly, watching Alain.

He's listening. Grim.

It takes a second before he makes the connection, and then his eyes widen, and he reaches out in worry. "Susan--"

A stuffy-guy's red hands, and fire burning.

She takes his hand in her own, squeezing tightly.

"I'm all right, Alain, say true. I'm all right. It were-- it were a dream. The Dreaming, I wot, and -- and a nightmare."

"But she-- I couldn't help her, I couldn't bring her out with me, only the blood-- and she's gone on."

A pause. "To do what she has to do, is that it?"

It's a relief, in a way, to talk about it. Even with the new worry.

He glances down, with a small nod, and back up at them. Quietly, "Aye."

Cuthbert reaches to take Alain's hand before speaking again, closing the three of them in a circle.

"And last night, the Dream-Lord told Susan of--of what's wrong with Lilly."

Alain's fingers curl around Cuthbert's, and he meets his eyes.

"She asked me not to tell you. To worry you."

It's an apology.

"Is't so?"

Almost deceptively light, but Susan flicks a glance at Cuthbert-- almost a guilty one.

"... I kennit, then, Alain."

But she'll have words for Lilly, oh aye, when she returns.

If she returns.

Cuthbert gives a faint, rueful smile. "We were worried anyway. But I understand."

An answering smile, in kind, and he squeezes their hands lightly.

So. They know. It's the waiting game for all of them, now.

"You alright?"

He's asked this already. But that was before he knew what was going on.

Susan looks up at the question and directly at Alain, searching his face for some sign.

A faint smile, reassuring rather than happy, and a small shrug. "Worried."

Cuthbert squeezes his hand. "Anything we can do. Just let us know."

There likely won't be anything, aside from what they're doing already. But the offer is there, all the same.

"I know thee are, Alain," she says, very softly. "But it's as 'Bert said-- if there's aught we can do for thee -- no matter what it is."

It's not himself he's worried about.

His face warms, touched, as his hands tighten on theirs. Softly, "I kennit."

There's no need for thanks aloud, not between them. But it's there, an extra thread of warmth in his voice.

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