Quiet me. Tiznes. Agnès comforting Tiz after he woke up from one of his recurring nightmares.
Agnès has always thought of herself as a crybaby, but Tiz has never minded. When her eyes pricked up at cutting herself in the middle of cutting vegetables, he would bring her the bandages and then wipe away any tears she missed. During an argument in which she got upset enough to start crying, she was instantly appalled and ashamed of herself, but Tiz didn’t scold her--he backed down, told her he wanted to take a half hour for them to both calm down because he was getting worked up too, and asked if she was okay when they met again. He said he never minded her crying. It wasn’t a sign of weakness to him. It let him know something was wrong so that he could offer her help.
She wishes he thought the same of his crying, because she feels awful when she wakes up merely puzzled at strange noises and realizes her love is trying so hard to smother his sobs--and failing--that he’s starting to hyperventilate into one of the pillows. “Tiz,” she says, and rolls over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. They’re shaking. “Tiz, come here.”
She can hear his throat seizing up against his attempts to control it and shushes him. “There’s no need to say anything right now. Just breathe. Come here.” She moves herself, pressing more closely to him and trying to be a steady presence next to the tremors running through his body. He surprises her by how quickly he turns to her, shifting their positions, though she’s glad he’s letting her comfort him. “Shhhhhh. Shhh, shh. We’re fine. I am fine, Tiz. Egil is fine, too.” He’s told her enough of his nightmares for her to guess what would scare him most. She repeats the reassurances as she strokes his hair to soothe him. “Everything is well.”
It’s late, and she grows a bit worried that she’s repeating herself fruitlessly, too tired to think of better words. But, after a long moment, they seem to work, or perhaps Tiz is simply too tired himself for the nervous energy to last. Taking slower breaths, he starts to calm down, falling still in her arms.
She huffs, and she would have words if there was light to find them with. But what little she can see makes her think his eyes are already closed, and...she can tell him it’s okay to cry to her when they are both awake to remember the conversation. With a small kiss on the forehead to reassure him, she lies her head back down. They’ll both feel better in the dawn.
