#this was pretty exploratory in a lot of ways so some vibes here might evolve further in future XD we'll see

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Prompts for Ordinary Things That Feel Intimate Rasaad/Jaheira - [ carry ] after receiver falls asleep in an inconvenient place, sender carries them to a bed and tucks them in Set around 1400DR. This turned out to be mostly just a rambly sort of character exploration, but you'd expressed interest in hearing more of Rasaad's perspectives and I wanted to play around with exploring them, so here we are. :D Hope you enjoy!

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They call it the Night Stalk.

It is, Rasaad has always felt, a rather ominous term for a ritual which carries such meaning to so many Selunites. Then again, “night walk” sounds counterintuitively mundane, so perhaps there is no winning, in the end.

A pity it is not so simple a thing as either name suggests. He sighs, pacing slowly along the cobblestones, trying and failing to settle his thoughts.

It was easy once, of course, when he was young. In Calimport, the monks honored the full moon by meditative circuits around the wide courtyard at the monastery’s center, bathed in Selune’s light and lost in prayer to her radiance. As a boy, Rasaad looked forward to these nights - the crisp fresh air of the desert after sunset, and the goddess’s light binding them all together.

That was before everything fell apart. His brother's death. His vengeful quest for Alorgoth. The shattering apart of his brotherhood with the Sun Soul. For many years it became difficult to see himself as worthy even of prayer, let alone a more intense communion.

It's only in recent years that he has come back to the practice, cautious and uncertain. As much at Jaheira's urging as at his own will, he's started to watch for the full moon again on their journeys. It's simple enough on the road, at least, to wander away from camp into the darkness, just far enough that the light of the fire fades, and relinquish himself into the moonlight. 

And now I am here, he thinks ruefully, kicking at a pebble and watching it skitter along the battered cobble. Trying yet again, in yet another place.

This is his first stalk since he and Jaheira purchased the small house near Baldur’s Gate’s harbor. Even though they’ve now owned it for nearly a year, their stays here are intermittent at best and have never coincided with the full moon until tonight. And in spite of his anticipation, he's already finding that attempting to commune with Selune on a city street is a far different experience than in the dark of an empty forest. The light of the moon, full and bright as it is, is nevertheless dimmed and muted by the flaming and flickering lamps that line the street in front of the house. 

His eyes narrow in frustration and his step quickens, taking him around the corner and behind the house into the shadows. It’s slightly better there, shielded from the street; he relaxes, coming to a halt, and watches the silver light glint off the water of the small creek that runs down towards the shore. Better. For some minutes he simply stands there, unmoving, drawing slow breaths to the count of six as he was taught as a boy.

It's a strange business, this return to city life, more so than he expected. Jaheira’s work with the Harpers was bringing them to the Gate more and more often, and Rasaad initially thought himself pleased with the development. It would be nice, he felt, to have a place that was theirs, a place that was home. He will never return to Calimport, but it was home for many years of his life, and he has missed having an anchor point to which their journeys could be tethered.

But it has not been quite so simple in practice. He did not, perhaps, account for the way that coming to live in Baldur’s Gate, even for these intermittent periods, would touch much older and more primal memories. Cracked stone streets and the shouting of merchants, the smell of coal fires and the sea, and the furtive movements of rats and thieves and lonely children in the shadows. Such things recall to him his very earliest years before the Moonmaiden entered his life, and while the memories are not unpleasant, it leads to a… jumbling of his thoughts, a feeling of all the chapters of his life pressing in on him from behind.

All the more important to take these times for meditation. Slow breaths. One… two… three… four… five… six. 

Calm returns, and with it, the sense of Selune’s presence, undimmed by lamps or anything else. A soft hand on his shoulder - and a gentle chastisement for his irritation and strain. I should know better, after all I have seen, he thinks ruefully. Every place has its own challenges, and the moon follows everywhere, city or field or forest. A good reminder.

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His tension eases as he surrenders himself to the meditation. But even so, eventually he cannot hold himself still any longer. Solitude and contemplation do not come as easily to him as they once did. Not after all he has been through, and not with Jaheira waiting for him inside. 

He pushes open the back door of the house and steps inside, feeling the welcome warmth of the dying fire in the fireplace compared to the late fall chill outside. With a heavy breath out, he begins to trudge towards the stairs, shedding his outer robe and tossing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs - and then halts, hearing the subtle sound of movement from the study.

“Jaheira?” he calls softly. He’d assumed she went to bed long since, but pushing open the study door, he finds his wife slumped in her chair, head resting on one arm on the desk. Her other hand is gripping a pen, which is slowly dripping ink onto the corner of a report of Harper activities in Waterdeep. Occasionally she twitches, scraping the nib of the pin against the desk, and mumbles a few inarticulate sounds.

Rasaad smiles. Moving to her side, he places a hand gently on her shoulder, and she stirs at once, a quick jerking motion like a frightened animal. Her eyes flutter half-open, and then, seeing Rasaad, she relaxes. “Hmmn…?” she says drowsily.

“You are up late,” he murmurs, rubbing his fingertips in slow circles over her back and shoulder.

She mumbles something else barely audible; he barely discerns the word “reports”. 

“They can keep till morning, surely,” he says. 

She doesn’t respond. 

He can guess at her thoughts; he knows her well enough by now that he does not need to force her to say them aloud. If Rasaad is perplexed by the re-entry into city life, Jaheira is a thousand times less comfortable. The house feels strange and dark, too new and too enclosed and too large all at once. She can rest here if he is beside her… but when he is not, the walls and the city rumble press on her too fiercely. She saw no point in lying alone, staring at the ceiling; better to work, to chip away at the neverending set of tasks she lays for herself, while he prowled the night outside.

“I am here now, my sun,” he says softly. “Shall we go to bed?” 

He runs his fingers through her hair, and she rolls her head into his touch. “Mmm,” she agrees sleepily. 

At this assent, he crouches down and lifts her carefully into his arms. “Come then,” he says, and dips his head to press a kiss to her temple.

Her eyes flicker more fully open as he begins to carry her up the stairs. “Mmph. You spoil me, foolish man,” she mumbles dryly, her voice still thick with sleep. “Take care I do not become too used to this…”

“Would that be a bad thing?” he murmurs.

She chuckles hoarsely, turning her head to press her face into his shoulder. “I will not have the city make a soft thing of me, Rasaad,” she says after a while, the words muffled into his shirt.

Ah. He pushes the bedroom door open and carries her inside - but does not take her to the bed, instead letting her down onto her feet so she stands pressed against him. At once she wraps her arms around his torso, turning her face now into his neck.

“I would not ask it of you,” he murmurs. 

As he folds his arms around her, he feels her start to relax into him, and there’s a long silence while he presses another slow kiss into her hair. Her embrace feels comfortable and familiar and safe. There are no questions here of faith or past failures or city smoke; there is just her and him.

“This is a strange place for us both, is it not?” he asks quietly after a while. 

“To put it mildly." She's coming more awake now, but doesn't pull away, her fingers fisting into the back of his tunic. "I am glad we will be on the road again before long. I cannot imagine what it would be like, to live in such a place unceasingly.”

“I did not turn out so badly for it,” he points out, raising an eyebrow with the flicker of a smile.

She snorts a low laugh against his shoulder. "Perhaps not." She pauses, shifts to settle more comfortably into him, and lifts her head to kiss his jaw. “I am glad you are here with me,” she adds in a low voice. “If this is to be our home.”

He’s quiet for a little while, then tucks his fingers under her chin to lift her face to his. “You are my home,” he answers. “This place is only a place that is ours.” 

She smiles at that, and he feels her relax fully against him. “Then what have I to complain of, hm?”