Summary: Imogen isn't recovering too well after being dosed with dream-seed against her wishes. She finds some comfort in Dorian's music. (sequel to day twelve)
She didn't know how long she laid awake in bed, shivering, her head still a cacophony of whispers. The noise of the city seemed to sharpen until it was almost a roaring inside her own head, every thought of every person in or out of the manor amplified to a blinding, screeching noise. Even Laudna's steady, familiar mind seemed too loud now.
Imogen finally threw back the blanket and climbed out of bed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she fled the room. Ashton had said she would sleep off the effects of the dream-seed that barman had put in her drink earlier in the night, but that meant she needed to get to sleep...which meant she needed somewhere quiet.
And there, in the swirling maelstrom of voices, was a tiny current of peace. She didn't know who it was—one of her companions, perhaps, or one of Lady Riggston's servants—but it was the only note in the chaos of her mind that didn't burn or tear at her. If she could just get closer, just get a little bit of peace to try to reassert control...
She followed the notes of that mind down past the rooms that housed her sleeping friends, to a small sitting area tucked away by a bay window that overlooked the garden. Imogen heard the music before she saw him, and stopped in the shadows of the hall to watch Dorian for a moment. He was playing his lute, just the soft sort of wandering music he played in the background sometimes, not a song she recognized.
Dorian opened his eyes and saw her. “Oh, sorry,” his hands stilled on his lute. “Didn't mean to disturb you.”
“No, please,” Imogen stumbled forward and caught herself on the back of a chair. She knew she must look a sight, with her hair tangled from tossing and turning and her eyes still swollen and bloodshot from tears. “Please don't stop.”
He'd gotten up long enough to take her by the arms and guide her around to sit in the chair, but picked his lute back up when she was settled. Dorian opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and settled back to pick up his tune again.
Imogen closed her eyes and curled up in the chair, focusing on the faint strains of Dorian's thoughts. They were louder now, like he was trying to send them to her, but it was still a peaceful, soft note in the chaos in her mind.
Water, she realized. Whatever Dorian was playing made him think of water, and his mind was full of the sights and sounds of it. Rivers running down a mountainside, rain on the surface of a lake...splashing your face after a hot day under the sun.
“How did you do that?” she asked when he stopped, feeling a little less overwhelmed.
“It's an old bardic trick,” he replied with a smile. “It's not all about playing drinking songs in taverns. Sometimes you have to find the music to fit a theme or a place. That's what bards do; we shape the world around us into our music.”
Imogen nodded, rubbing a hand across her eyes. “It's nice.”
Dorian leaned forward, lute still held across his lap. “Are you all right?”
“I don't know,” she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sometimes drinking makes everything harder to block out, but that stuff he gave me...it's like everyone's just shouting at me. Inside my head. I can't get away from it.”
“But the music helped?”
“It did.” Imogen tugged her shawl a little closer and stared at the window, at the moonlight reflecting off the petals of the flowers in the window boxes. “Could you play a little more?”
“Of course,” Dorian adjusted his position, and she didn't need to look at him to know he was smiling. “How about some stargazing music?”
She managed a faint smile. “That sounds lovely.”
He began to play, notes filled with yearning and wonder. She thought she caught a glimpse of the flying city he called home, a taller figure that might have been Cyrus pointing out a band of colored lights on the horizon. A steady pressure, like rain on a warm night, seemed to mingle with the music so perfectly it took her a moment to realize Laudna was standing behind her.
Imogen opened her eyes to apologize to her friend, but Laudna just scooted into the chair with her and tucked a blanket around both of them. She wrapped an arm around Imogen and pressed a kiss to her temple, then rested her head against Imogen's to watch Dorian play.
“It's all just so loud,” she whispered after a few moments had passed.
“I'm sorry,” Laudna hugged her a little tighter and started trailing her long, skeletal fingers through Imogen's hair. “It's hard when the hurt is in here.”
Imogen nodded. Voices battering around inside her head, clawing at the inside of her skull. Wounds no one could see, scars just as vivid as anything physical.
Laudna made a thoughtful sound, and the pitch of her thoughts changed. She'd picked up on the strain of Dorian's music, and now her own memories of gazing up at a starry sky were coming through. It could have been disastrous, a mingling of images almost indiscernible, but it was peaceful. The comforting familiarity of Laudna's mind mixing with the calm of Dorian's music, washing out the chaos that Imogen couldn't block out.
She finally drifted off to sleep, head on Laudna's shoulder and Dorian's music in her mind.
Adam blinks at him, eyes wipe and mouth gaping. "I can't believe you hit me at all, you giant barbarian. Damn Rocky over here." Oh, god, fuck. Fuck. Did Imogen just give him a deviated septum? Is his nose bleeding? Oh, shit, it is, isn't it? Well, serves the little prick right; karma is a ruthless bitch. "How 'bout a kiss?"
