#but - enjoying poking a little at the stuff that led up to OYE being able to happen :D

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Bleachers lyrics, Strange Desire edition. Jaheira/Rasaad: "If you're lonely, wake me." I definitely strayed a bit off the prompt in the end on this one. Some pre-relationship Spellhold stuff, which I picture being the time where they first really started connecting. LATE-GAME BG2 SPOILERS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

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Spellhold is a dank and unpleasant place. Jaheira sits with her back to the wall, her scimitars resting across her lap, and thinks about the poor unfortunate mages who have been trapped here. 

In Athkatla, the place is referred to - officially - as an asylum, a center of healing for the "magically deviant", but the hushed tones used made perfectly clear what would have been obvious anyway: in truth, it is simply a prison, a storing-away place for those who anger the Cowled Wizards. Even before Irenicus took over the place for his own depraved purposes, she doubts there was much comfort to be found within its walls.

Now, under Irenicus's control, of course, it is beyond a prison. It is a torture chamber.

Jaheira's fingers flex tightly around the hilts of her swords, whitening her knuckles. After what Irenicus did to Khalid, and after what he has now done to Caden, she finds herself trembling with rage at the thought of him. They all desperately need to gather what rest they can, but she can't sleep, can't make her mind go quiet when her husband's murderer exists somewhere in the same building.

"Jaheira?"

She jumps, her head snapping around to meet Rasaad's eyes. He puts out a hand reassuringly. "It is only me," he says softly.

"You startled me," she mutters curtly, but the words have no heat in them.

"Forgive me..." He crouches at her side, offers her a small packet from his other hand. "We have little way to make a fire at present. But the jerky we bought in Trademeet is still good. Do you want some?"

She almost brushes the offer away brusquely, too consumed with her own thoughts and worries, but then her eyes refocus on his face. Rasaad looks just as careworn as she feels; with Caden out of commission, the two of them have shouldered the burden of keeping the group together in these hellish circumstances, and the strain is starting to tell on them both. His dark eyes shine with weariness, his lips drawn into a tight line.

"Please," he says quietly, nudging the packet at her again. "You should keep up your strength."

She takes the packet from him, marks how he relaxes a little to see her eat a few mouthfuls of the tough dried meat. It is a kind gesture, and she musters a slight smile at him in answer to it. "Thank you," she says quietly. A pause. "We will manage this, Rasaad."

"You sound very certain of that." His eyebrows knit together tightly.

She chews another mouthful of jerky slowly and deliberately before answering. "I am not, in truth," she admits in a low voice. "I am not certain of anything. I do not know how we will help Caden, or how we can overcome all of Irenicus's strength. But we must. We must, Rasaad - there can be no other choice."

"I know," he says. His voice lowers as well; for a moment his eyes glint with that dark intensity that he tries so hard to keep hidden, the subtle reminder that he, like her, has lost too much. "Yes... you are right. We will."

She isn't sure which of them is comforting the other at this point - but in any event she does feel oddly better for it. "Yes." She takes another bite of the jerky, then reaches out with her free hand. "Come. That will need to be healed or it will scar."

The tattoos on the left side of his face are marred by a newer wound that Caden opened there during his brief, terrifying rampage. She presses her fingertips to his jaw, feeling the tense thundering of his pulse, and releases a small burst of healing magic into his skin, all that she has strength for at present. 

Rasaad goes very still, his eyes widening a little, his breath slowing, and then a soft noise of relief escapes him as the pain of the injury eases. 

“Thank you,” he mutters.

She nods, draws back, looks away down the shadowy corridor. “You should rest,” she says quietly. 

“As should you.”

She chuckles softly. “You do not think my pure rage is enough to carry me through?”

She can hear the concern in his voice as he answers. “Jaheira, we will be lost if we cannot keep our strength.” Then he catches sight of the wry grin on her face as she turns her head. “Ah,” he murmurs. “You are joking.”

“I am.” Her smile softens. “I will rest in time, Rasaad. Do not worry for me. I simply… need some time to think.”

He hesitates, then nods. “If you wish company while you do so…”

She almost dismissed this out of hand, but then gives him a sideways look, registering his expression. He is not always easy to read, keeping much of his deepest feelings locked away, but she thinks she can understand something of his mind at this moment. 

He, like her, cannot make himself settle to sleep, not quite yet. He, like her, feels too much the weight of what lies ahead of them… and what has been taken from them. 

“If you wish,” she says quietly, “you are welcome.”

He doesn't answer, but shifts from his crouching position to a sitting one at her side, lasing into a brooding silence. And together they sit and watch the darkness, side by side, wondering what new horrors the morning will bring. 

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