tomes of thoughts

[Cera Le'Orin]

Buried in thoughts and concerns, it was still fairly early in the evening but she couldn't sleep. She had tried yet the restlessness had become too much, which inevitably drew her from her chambers to aimlessly walk the chilly corridors of the castle. Winter was finally on its way out, pathing the path for Spring, and it helped her breathe a sigh of relief. After her conversation with Lord Rohan out in the gardens all those weeks ago, Arcisea was all she could think about. Its coldness and harshness that she had yet to see. He had painted such a lovely picture of the place, however, it was hard to let go of her reservations.

It was making her feel sick again, filling her with a dread she simply couldn't let go of.

Eventually, her wandering brought her to the library. It was one of her favorite places to be, with its tall ceilings and books filling every inch of every wall. It was miraculous and it was comforting this late at night when there was no one there to disturb her. Some of the candles were still lit, but Cera took her time to light some of the surrounding sconces; drawing her robe around her tighter to combat the cold still in the air.

[ @gabrielrohan ]

[Deleted]

The castle library was a musty, warm haven, a pleasant retreat from the bitterly cold rain that fell now in lieu of snow. After that first tantalizing snowfall, it had been cold and wet. The faint smell of beeswax candles hung in the air mingling with the smoke of burning wood from the fire and the musk of old, worn parchment. Rohan lounged comfortably in a one of the large armchairs by the fire, a book across his knee. Elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, his head resting against his fingertips. The warmth of the fire had made him cast off his usual jacket so that he now sat in a white shirt, the collar loose. His black hair had grown long and hung in an unruly tousled mess that fell damply over his brow.
This was not his first visit to the castle library since he'd first arrived in Teronna. He often came here when he could not sleep, sometimes to read, often just to get out of the drab confines of his quarters to think, to breathe. There was something comforting about the enclosed space of a library, the thick musty smell, the dark corners. He wondered if Allarick had ever set foot in here. It would make sense for what he knew of the man; most pretentious, preening asses who wanted to pass for erudite had shelves full of unread books. But for Gabriel, they were a refuge.

 His lips moved silently, keeping time with the finger he lightly tapped on the book-

'Speak to me, fair maid!
Speak and do not go!
What sorrows have your eyes inlaid
with such black woe?

My dam is buried deep
Dark are my father's halls
And carrion and wolves now keep
Their ruined walls.'

It was a sad, tragic tale, the Lay of Andomian and Beruldh. It had been some time since he had read it and, even then, it had been incomplete. He found the rhythm and familiarity of the story a solace tonight, a distraction.

[Cera Le'Orin]

Ever since the Mystic attack at the party, Cera had been unable to sleep easily. It was as if she were afraid that one of them would find their way into the castle. And when it wasn't these worrying thoughts, there were the nightmares that kept her up; dreams that felt so real, so vivid, and so close to her heart as though she had lived them...but she certainly hadn't. It made little sense in all honesty, and it was something she was afraid to utter a word to anyone about.

Especially with this hatred for magic. Wouldn't it sound crazy?

Slippered feet brought her along the rows of dusty books that were hardly ever touched, except by her own hands and only a few others, she imagined. When she had been younger, she always claimed that she would read every single one in this library- something that she would never achieve, of course, even if she read every waking moment. There were simply just too many, then there were the topics she cared little for. Cera grinned softly at the memory, rounding about one of the shelves, only to come to an abrupt halt. The flame of the candle she still held flickered violently and almost threatened to go out. There was someone here, seated in a chair, and her gasp probably alerted them to her presence.

It was Lord Rohan. Why did he always seem to be in the places where she always tried to seek peace?

"I'm...sorry, my lord. I did not think anyone else was here." Her apology was quiet, as though she feared she would further ruin his quiet. Her free hand drew the robe around herself more before she was quick to turn, as if to sneak away.