The chapel receives a predictable amount of attention from Essek--which is to say a cursory glance and not much more--but the words arcane laboratory certainly pique his interest. He glides through the door Percy had shouldered open for him, taking in the room with a curious and critical eye.
It's clear even before Percy says as much that this space hasn't seen use by a wizard in quite some time. But the basic necessities are there, and Essek is pleased to have a workroom even in their home away from home. He trails his fingers lightly along the edge of the bench. Sturdy. Usable.
"Not as well-equipped as mine, but it will do," he says airily, with a coy little half-smile for Percy. "I should be able to do most necessary work here without issue." With a purposeful glance toward the cot, he teases, "Though I hope that you are not expecting me to spend the night in here as well?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," he assures with a warm look Essek's way. "I'll show you the bedroom next, but I thought this was worth a detour. And you are in Emon now, dear husband: we can probably find anything you want for arcane work here."
Maybe he'll inflict Gilmore on Essek sometime during their stay. Percy steps back into the hall with an inviting gesture. Essek can explore the workshop more fully in a bit: he wants to make sure the wizard has a feel for the keeps layout before separating.
From the laboratory, Percy takes them to the upper floor.
"We took some walls out to create bigger rooms. Before that, each member of Vox Machina had one."
The door to the largest room is open and it's clear their things have been delivered. Someone has also started a fire going and lit candles. The bed is large and luxurious. There is plenty of space for a desk and a bookcase, and a screen hiding a tub.
"Much better than a cot in the corner of the laboratory. Thank you, dearest."
The pet names have become a mutual joke between them, excessive and overly sweet to the point of deliberate ridiculousness. But it has also had the effect of normalizing the words, to the point where Essek has almost begun to use them unironically. But likes it either way, he's decided privately, either as an inside joke or genuine terms of endearment.
Essek drifts down onto his feet and then drops his spell, swinging his cloak off his shoulders in the same motion. It gets laid across the end of the bed as he begins to make himself comfortable in the space, going to open the trunk that's been brought up containing the belongings he'd brought along.
"Will we be sharing this room, or is there another?" He asks casually, as though the answer is of little consequence, as he begins to float items out of the trunk one by one to organize and put them away.
It occurs to Percival, as he watches Essek swing his cloak off, that they've never shared a space quite like this. On the ride here, he'd made sure Essek had his own room along the way. But they've never seen each other winding down their days.
"I'd thought we might share it, given the somewhat limited space in the keep. But there are other rooms, if you'd prefer. I can certainly sleep in my old haunt."
Maybe it was too presumptuous to have their things sent to the same room. It had been his thought, given their conversation in Whitestone prior to leaving, that they ought keep up appearances. But he certainly doesn't want Essek to feel forced into sharing the space when there are alternatives. Waiting for his husband's answer, Percy absently unbuttons the coat he's wearing and slides it off, letting it rest over his arm. No sense in going too far til he knows Essek's preference for arrangements.
Essek shakes his head, currently lifting his jewelry box from the trunk and floating it over to the desk.
"We will only be here for a week," he says lightly. "I have no issue sharing a space with the man I am married to."
He says it like it's a given, but several months ago it very obviously would not have been. At the beginning of their marriage Essek would have graciously but firmly accepted Percy's offer to move elsewhere, even if it was an inconvenience. That he doesn't jump at the opportunity for his own room is a testament to how much he has grown to like and trust Percy in the time they've spent together.
"Hang your coat up, Percival. Unless you have somewhere else to be?" A smirk and an arched brow.
Percival's look warms at Essek's smirk and his chiding suggestion. He hangs the coat and works on unburdening himself of other things. He'd dressed to travel rather than make a grand impression, but the day had been cool. Not quite as cold as Whitestone.
A pocket watch lands on one of the night stands and he slides his suspenders off his shoulders. He lets them hang as he checks a few envelopes left for him: invitations, notes of greeting, a few more official-looking documents. He wanders to the desk to leave them there: he'll deal with them tomorrow.
Percy sits on the edge of the bed to get his boots off. He's gotten them unlaced when he pauses and gets up again. He opens the heavy door and peeks into the hall. There's a short conversation, then he closes the door again.
"Someone will bring us some food in a moment."
It won't be anything heavy, which he appreciates. Percy turns his mind back to getting his boots off, then digs into one of the trunks for fresh clothes. Someone arrives with food a moment after Percy disappears behind the screen to change. When he reappears, he's considerably more dressed down in what he'll likely wear to bed.
Essek watches the process of Percival's disrobing--as far as he can, anyway, before the man disappears behind the changing screen--out of the corner of his eye. Even entirely disparate from finding his husband appealing physically, seeing him removing layers and preparing himself for rest is deeply intimate, and more than a little interesting. Honestly, in nearly 130 years, Essek has never been in this position before. He's never been close enough to anyone to witness something both so mundane and personal. Even when he traveled with the Nein, the circumstances were so unusual that there was never the opportunity to get the sense of what any of them might be like on a normal night. This is...even just through this simple act, he feels as though he knows Percival better.
After a long day of travel--a long week of travel, really--the promise of a full, hot meal in their own room is a blessing, and the food smells incredible just for that. But before he settles in to eat, Essek too takes his turn behind the screen, and strips away his many layers. He's left in his usual resting clothes, soft black trousers that fit high on his waist and a silken camisole that tucks into them, crossed over his chest and lightweight enough to be sheer. After he emerges, he quickly retrieves a slightly heavier housecoat, quilted dark purple velvet, just for his own comfort. It is a little chilly, and he's getting enough of that just from being barefoot.
"What do we have for dinner tonight?" he questions as he turns to his jewelry box where he'd left it on the desk, beginning to pluck some of the more complex chains and heavier baubles and intricate metal latticework caps from his ears. The permanent piercings stay in place, but the accoutrements go into the box for safe-keeping.
Percival gets a full look at Essek before he disappears beneath the housecoat. He's never seen his husband quite so dressed down, and the sheer fabric of the camisole is--it's rather appealing. It's not the first time he's realized just how attracted he is to Essek, but it's a bit flustering to be reminded of it in such an intimate space, which they will be sharing for a while.
He doesn't stare, though. He has the decency not to and he turns his attention toward the spread when Essek asks about it. That is, he manages to give the food his attention for a few seconds before getting caught up in watching Essek remove some of his jewelry. Get it together, de Rolo.
"Nothing too heavy," he says as he sits back. "It smells like a curry over rice and there's bread here. Then as much fruit as either of us could ask for."
The warm spices likely won't be too hot, but Percy is looking forward to the flavors that are so readily available in Emon.
"That sounds wonderful," Essek says sincerely. Curry is something of a staple food in Kryn culture. Spiced mushroom with a light, tangy vinegar sauce is usually the default, a traditional dish found in taverns and eateries and on tables from the Coronas to the Lucid Bastion. Grown in sprawling farms beneath Rosohna, mushrooms and tubers are naturally a prominent ingredient in many recipes, and Essek has found himself missing the particular flavors of home since his relocation. Not that he expects this curry to taste anything like the ones he's familiar with; a different base, and likely different spices. But the touchstone is something he appreciates nonetheless.
The food has been arranged over the low table in the corner of the room meant to be used as a sitting area, with two lounge chairs flanking it. Essek settles in one of them with a sweep of his housecoat that's nearly as graceful as his cloak.
"Shall I serve?" he offers. Traditionally the role of a host in his culture, but if this keep is an extension of Whitestone, then that should be considered his role as much as it is Percival's. Essek is already reaching for a bowl and serving spoon before his husband can answer, lifting the covers from the larger serving bowls to begin doling out helpings of rice and curry. A thicker, creamier sauce than he's used to, but it smells appetizing.
Percy settles into the other chair and he can't help but smile when Essek offers to serve.
"Yes, thank you. I'll pour, if you like," he says with a gesture to the bottle that came with dinner. Whatever it is, he trusts it will compliment the meal. He takes a deeper breath as Essek uncovers the curry. He's fairly certain at least some of the spices come from Marquet.
This is a more intimate occasion than their usual dinners together, served in a small dining room with a servant or two lingering just outside open doors to see to whatever they might need. Tonight it's just the two of them, and, outside of social occasions, it's likely to be similar for the rest of their stay.
"How are you feeling about tomorrow night? I thought we could keep the day relatively quiet, unless there's anything you are desperate to do in Emon prior to the soiree."
Once their dinner is distributed and Essek has a drink in his hand, he leans back into the chair behind him. "Confident. I am not worried about presenting myself to the sort of people we will be meeting there." The sweetness of the wine, he notes, nicely cuts through the spice from the curry. He'll have to ask Percival about who is preparing their meals during their stay here. "They will think what they will think about me regardless, but I intend to show them that a Kryn drow is much different from what they might be expecting."
His fingers drum against the arm of his chair, a light tap of nails against the upholstery. "I think I should like to see at least a little of the city beforehand. I would not like to appear ignorant about it."
Percy has prepared Essek with as much information about the unfortunate state of drow in Tal'Dorei as he could find. He knows people will likely have opinions, some informed by the stories here and others by Empire propaganda, and there is little he can do to shield his husband from that. But he has no intention of leaving him to sink or swim alone. Percival will support Essek in his debute however he can, including being a proud spouse.
His smile returns when Essek confesses a desire to explore.
"Then I will happily squire you around, if you'd like company in your exploring."
Percy knows Emon well enough and, he hopes, he knows Essek well enough that he might be able to share relevant points of interest.
Pleased by the offer, Essek gives a positive-sounding hmm. "I would gladly accept your guidance."
In truth, a relaxed tour of the city sounds like the perfect lead-up to tomorrow night's event. Rather than admitting that he hasn't seen much, he would prefer to speak with authority. Rarely has he ever been on his back foot when it comes to social engagements like this, and that is in large part because he does his research beforehand. He would have made a poor Shadowhand if he didn't.
"Do any of your former compatriots still reside here?" He asks with a curious glance as they really dig into their meals. "Perhaps you could introduce me, if so. It would be helpful to know where to find allies in this city."
He's heard plenty about Vox Machina, though ironically more from other sources than from Percy himself, beyond the occasional anecdote and reference. It's a part of his husband's life that he hopes to learn more about first-hand, both out of curiosity and genuine interest.
"Oh, well... Keyleth is in Zephrah, last I heard. I think Grog might still be in Vasselheim, and Pike and Scanlan with him. The next time Vex'ahlia is in Whitestone, I'll surely make an introduction. She ah... had quite a lot to say when she heard about the marriage treaty."
It feels a bit strange to recount the scattered locations of his friends. People he'd spent so much time with, and now all of them are living very different lives. And he misses them, he realizes. Quite a lot.
"The person I can most certainly introduce you to, however, would be Shaun Gilmore. He's a good friend to have, and a solid ally."
And he suspects Shaun will flirt unrelentingly.
"Allura Vysoren will be at the gala, but if you'd like to meet her before that on quieter terms, I could send a note in the morning."
A lot to say, Percy says, and Essek nods with an understanding hum. A few of the Nein had strong opinions about this arrangement as well when he'd informed them, but naturally, there was nothing to be done. And Percival's friends, it seems, have scattered even further apart than the Nein. It makes a little more sense then why none have visited Whitestone in the last several months. Busy with their own lives, no doubt.
Essek receives regular Sendings from Jester still; Percy has witnessed several in their time together. But other than that and his contact with Beauregard, he's neither seen nor heard from any of the Nein directly since he left for Tal'Dorei. Jester's updates mostly consist of tales of her adventures at sea, but occasionally she'll tell him what she's heard about Caleb and Beauregard's progress in the Empire. She knows what is important to keep him apprised of.
He misses them, of course. Constantly. But as much as he wants to extend an invitation--please, my friends, visit me at my new home, you will be most welcome--it feels selfish to ask them to drop their current objectives and responsibilities just to see him. Later, perhaps. Eventually.
"I would not wish to inconvenience the Arcanist on such short notice," he says. "I am content knowing that there will be someone at this party I am actively interested in speaking to." His legs cross as he considers the other name Percy had mentioned, connects it to some of his own research on Emon. A specialty shop for enchanted and unusual magical items, specifically. He'd been considering asking Percy to visit. "The Gilmore you are referring to is the owner of a shop specializing in arcane wares, yes?" he asks with a hint of amusement. "That seems like a convenient friendship for a group of adventurers."
"Allura can be wonderfully forgiving if one knows how to ask her," he says with a wry smile. "But I look forward to having the chance to introduce you. I imagine she will be a far more interesting conversant."
Percy is curious about Essek's work and fascinated by the mechanics of how wizards perform their magic, but, at some point, there is only so much theory he can grasp without having years of arcane study to help him follow. He'll continue to be interested, always, but he suspects a conversation with Allura will be far more engaging for Essek.
"Yes, the very same." A warmer smile lights his face. "We had to be endearing, Vex'ahlia haggled for everything."
He manages to finish his curry between bits of conversation and eventually sits back with a peeled orange.
"Once, Vax spent an afternoon enjoying Emon on Shaun's arm and it got us a decent discount."
Essek chuckles knowingly, shaking his head. "Flirting for favors? A true classic." And a tactic well known to him, on both sides of the equation. It's impossible not to think of earlier days; of Caleb smiling at him, holding eye contact for too long, squeezing his arm, touching his shoulder. "I think I should like to meet Shaun Gilmore," he decides.
He finishes his own meal as well, and makes good progress on his wine.
"I suppose it would be most practical while we are sharing a room if I rest when you do," Essek muses aloud. "I won't require the bed to trance, so you are welcome to it."
"It's large enough for two," he says as he looks at the bed. "If you'd rather sit while you do."
Though there is an entire, cozy sitting area that Essek can also make full use of. Still, Percy feels wrong not to offer. There's enough space that they wouldn't touch each other without making some effort.
Percy realizes that he is tired from traveling, more than he'd thought upon arrival. Whatever adrenaline there had been is long gone now. He relaxes more, content to trade lighter conversation as they both wind down. And when he is ready, Percival gets up to retreat to the bed, putting out a few more candles as he goes. It occurs to him that Essek can see in the dark, but he leaves a few burning on the far side of the room all the same. His husband can put them out if he'd like.
The bed is comfortable, more so than some of the ones they've braved on the road here. It puts him in mind of nights spent here before, when the room he occupied was considerably smaller, when his workshop existed somewhere considerably closer.
"Good night, Essek."
Blessedly, sleep comes easier than he's anticipating. But it doesn't stay easy. It's some hours into the night when Percy stirs. It's just little changes at first: his heart beats faster and his breathing quietly picks up. Sweat beads on his skin despite the otherwise comfortable temperature of the room.
And, at some point, Percy sits bolt upright with a sharp, gasping breath and a soft, desperate, "No."
The room is not full dark, but it takes precious seconds for his vision to focus at all. The few candles left alight have burned low and the flames sputter as they encounter liquid wax. It makes the deep shadows flicker and shiver and Percy grips the blanket and sheets tighter as he tries to bring himself fully around.
Essek declines the offer of the bed. He doesn't need it for trancing; the chair does just as well, comfortable and high-backed, and honestly, he doesn't even need that. When he trances, he floats. He closes his eyes and crosses his legs and lays his palms on his knees, and hovers several inches above the seat of the chair as he settles into restorative meditation. After more than a century of practice, it doesn't take long to settle into the correct mindset, to focus internally and let his thoughts become amorphous and fluid.
But like all elves, he remains peripherally aware of his surroundings when he trances, and somewhere around the three hour mark, nearing the end of his required rest, he is alerted back to full awareness by a gasp from the nearby bed and Percival's voice distinctly uttering the word no.
Essek's eyes blink open, able to see perfectly in the dim light of the room. His husband is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He's breathing heavily, clutching at the blankets. Essek drops down to his feet, crossing to the bed with light steps and sliding onto it. His eyes glow faintly in the low light, a reflection from the candles.
"You were dreaming, I think."
Spoken softly into the quiet as he reaches out tentatively to lay a slender hand on Percy's shoulder. The way he says it has the ring of curiosity, almost. Essek has not dreamed in more than a century, not since he was a child, before he learned to trance. He hardly remembers what it was like.
Seeing movement in the dark from the corner of his vision nearly gives Percival a heart attack. His chest goes tight and he doesn't breathe again until he actually hears Essek's voice. He manages to focus on his husband, but it is more difficult to calm himself. He stares at Essek, willing himself to see the man he has been living with. And nothing else.
He lets go of a heavier breath and he pushes his fingers through his hair as he hunches forward. His pulse is still pounding, but he tries to slow his breathing. Percy slides his hands to the back of his neck and he just stays like that for a little while, unable to summon his voice to answer just yet.
"I'm fine," he says at last, quite aware that it is possibly the most unconvincing thing he's said since they met. He sits up slowly, unfolding himself. Then his eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes again. He manages to keep his voice even the next time he speaks. "I don't suppose you could give us a bit more light?"
It's a ridiculous request. It puts him in mind of a child being afraid of the dark. But he cannot stand the deep shadows, and the lights that Essek creates tend to glow steadily rather than flickering.
The length of time between his posed question and the answer does nothing to assure Essek of its authenticity. His hand moves gradually from Percy's shoulder to his back as his touch becomes firmer, hoping to provide some reassurance. With a soflty-spoken word he honors the request for light, and the room is lit in a steady pale blue glow.
"I gathered as much, k'allis," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The Undercommon word for dear one is nothing he hasn't spoken before in Common, though somehow it feels weightier in his own language. "It has been a long time since I have dreamed, but I recall how it felt to wake from a nightmare."
Is trying to relate an awkward thing to do? Perhaps Percival would simply prefer to drop the subject entirely. But it's equally possible that he'll find talking to be soothing. Essek quickly discovers that more than fearing crossing a line or coming on too strong, he wants to help his clearly shaken husband. How could he not, when he's come to care about Percival as much as he has?
"Humans cannot trance, of course, but I could guide you in a meditative breathing exercise that might prove calming enough to ensure a more restful sleep," he offers. "This was done for me in my youth."
Listening to Essek's voice itself is soothing. Knowing he is not here alone in the dark with only his own thoughts and the sound of his shivering breath. He focuses on the way Essek's hand feels on his back, too caught up to fully appreciate the tenderness of the gesture. The foreign word catches in his mind, but he can't focus on it enough beyond the tone to glean its meaning.
The offer is kind. That Essek wants to help him at all is--no, to say it's unexpected is a slight. His husband has been attentive before, and Percy is grateful for it now. He makes himself take a deeper breath, if only to prove that he can. And while he wants to grasp this offered help, there is some cynical part of him that believes it cannot possibly help. Perhaps meditative breathing will help calm him down, he'll trust that. But he doesn't know if anything will get him back to a restful sleep.
A weak smile appears and Percy finally looks at Essek, able to make him out better in the pale light.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before you learned your husband's restless sleep habits."
Maybe it could have gone on much longer, given that they do not share a room in Whitestone. Percival rubs his brow, just trying to ease some of the tension away. As the adrenaline fades, he feels exhausted.
"Let's try the breathing," he says quietly. He wants to accept Essek's help. He should let his spouse in that much. And, if nothing else, it saves him from explaining himself, at least for a little while.
Essek's expression is one of sympathy, but also resolve. As soon as Percy agrees to his suggestion, he gives a curt nod. "Good. Listen to me, then." He has no issue taking the lead here, authoritative, but gently so. It seems to him that in this state, Percival could use someone telling him what he should do.
He very deliberately has not inquired as to the subject of the bad dream; best to let that fade away, and instead concentrate on what might be done to mitigate the symptoms of his husband's apparently regular restless sleep. Perhaps this will be a lesson he can take forward with him. Essek's hand rubs down and up Percy's back once before he pulls away, scooting toward the head of the bed. With his back to the headboard, he sits cross-legged and pulls a pillow into his lap.
"You will lay on your back with your head here." A hand gives the pillow a single sharp pat. It's clearly an instruction rather than a suggestion, which Essek hopes cuts through the possibly awkward novelty of this new level of intimacy. "Hands folded on your chest, eyes closed. You should attempt to concentrate on my voice and your breathing. Nothing else."
The shift in Essek's demeanor feels sudden, but welcome. It feels like imposing some order over frightening entropy. It cuts through the lingering guilt and fear and the strange, oily feeling that comes with it all.
The sharp tap on the pillow gets his attention and prompts him to move. Percival eases further down the bed so that he can rest his head on the pillow in Essek's lap. It's an unexpected intimacy and, even if it is purely instructional, he takes some comfort in the closeness.
He rests his hands on his chest and looks up at his husband for a moment more before finally closing his eyes. It takes a moment to get his breathing even, but at least he manages.
The proximity is no accident, and the intimacy that comes with it is meant to be comforting. As soon as Percy is settled, Essek's hands come to rest on his shoulders, pressing down lightly.
It occurs to him as he looks down at the man settled in his lap that this is the first time he's seen Percival so closely without his glasses, let alone disheveled in bed after a less than pleasant dream. It's an incredibly vulnerable state to be in around anyone, Essek recognizes, which makes the trust Percy is putting in him all the more poignant.
"If you find your thoughts wandering, say so. I will assist you," he says simply. "Now, follow my instructions."
Essek retains that same soft, authoritative tone as he begins to lead Percy in a breathing exercise, instructing him on when and how much to breathe in, how long to hold, and when to release. He counts out loud, occasionally touching the center of Percy's chest to feel his chest expanding. It's a lot of deep breaths and slow exhaling, as might be expected, but the pattern isn't just one continuous cycle.
"Hold until it feels natural to release. Good. Now inhale--five, four, three, two, one."
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It's clear even before Percy says as much that this space hasn't seen use by a wizard in quite some time. But the basic necessities are there, and Essek is pleased to have a workroom even in their home away from home. He trails his fingers lightly along the edge of the bench. Sturdy. Usable.
"Not as well-equipped as mine, but it will do," he says airily, with a coy little half-smile for Percy. "I should be able to do most necessary work here without issue." With a purposeful glance toward the cot, he teases, "Though I hope that you are not expecting me to spend the night in here as well?"
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Maybe he'll inflict Gilmore on Essek sometime during their stay. Percy steps back into the hall with an inviting gesture. Essek can explore the workshop more fully in a bit: he wants to make sure the wizard has a feel for the keeps layout before separating.
From the laboratory, Percy takes them to the upper floor.
"We took some walls out to create bigger rooms. Before that, each member of Vox Machina had one."
The door to the largest room is open and it's clear their things have been delivered. Someone has also started a fire going and lit candles. The bed is large and luxurious. There is plenty of space for a desk and a bookcase, and a screen hiding a tub.
"Will this suit?"
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The pet names have become a mutual joke between them, excessive and overly sweet to the point of deliberate ridiculousness. But it has also had the effect of normalizing the words, to the point where Essek has almost begun to use them unironically. But likes it either way, he's decided privately, either as an inside joke or genuine terms of endearment.
Essek drifts down onto his feet and then drops his spell, swinging his cloak off his shoulders in the same motion. It gets laid across the end of the bed as he begins to make himself comfortable in the space, going to open the trunk that's been brought up containing the belongings he'd brought along.
"Will we be sharing this room, or is there another?" He asks casually, as though the answer is of little consequence, as he begins to float items out of the trunk one by one to organize and put them away.
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"I'd thought we might share it, given the somewhat limited space in the keep. But there are other rooms, if you'd prefer. I can certainly sleep in my old haunt."
Maybe it was too presumptuous to have their things sent to the same room. It had been his thought, given their conversation in Whitestone prior to leaving, that they ought keep up appearances. But he certainly doesn't want Essek to feel forced into sharing the space when there are alternatives. Waiting for his husband's answer, Percy absently unbuttons the coat he's wearing and slides it off, letting it rest over his arm. No sense in going too far til he knows Essek's preference for arrangements.
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"We will only be here for a week," he says lightly. "I have no issue sharing a space with the man I am married to."
He says it like it's a given, but several months ago it very obviously would not have been. At the beginning of their marriage Essek would have graciously but firmly accepted Percy's offer to move elsewhere, even if it was an inconvenience. That he doesn't jump at the opportunity for his own room is a testament to how much he has grown to like and trust Percy in the time they've spent together.
"Hang your coat up, Percival. Unless you have somewhere else to be?" A smirk and an arched brow.
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A pocket watch lands on one of the night stands and he slides his suspenders off his shoulders. He lets them hang as he checks a few envelopes left for him: invitations, notes of greeting, a few more official-looking documents. He wanders to the desk to leave them there: he'll deal with them tomorrow.
Percy sits on the edge of the bed to get his boots off. He's gotten them unlaced when he pauses and gets up again. He opens the heavy door and peeks into the hall. There's a short conversation, then he closes the door again.
"Someone will bring us some food in a moment."
It won't be anything heavy, which he appreciates. Percy turns his mind back to getting his boots off, then digs into one of the trunks for fresh clothes. Someone arrives with food a moment after Percy disappears behind the screen to change. When he reappears, he's considerably more dressed down in what he'll likely wear to bed.
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After a long day of travel--a long week of travel, really--the promise of a full, hot meal in their own room is a blessing, and the food smells incredible just for that. But before he settles in to eat, Essek too takes his turn behind the screen, and strips away his many layers. He's left in his usual resting clothes, soft black trousers that fit high on his waist and a silken camisole that tucks into them, crossed over his chest and lightweight enough to be sheer. After he emerges, he quickly retrieves a slightly heavier housecoat, quilted dark purple velvet, just for his own comfort. It is a little chilly, and he's getting enough of that just from being barefoot.
"What do we have for dinner tonight?" he questions as he turns to his jewelry box where he'd left it on the desk, beginning to pluck some of the more complex chains and heavier baubles and intricate metal latticework caps from his ears. The permanent piercings stay in place, but the accoutrements go into the box for safe-keeping.
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He doesn't stare, though. He has the decency not to and he turns his attention toward the spread when Essek asks about it. That is, he manages to give the food his attention for a few seconds before getting caught up in watching Essek remove some of his jewelry. Get it together, de Rolo.
"Nothing too heavy," he says as he sits back. "It smells like a curry over rice and there's bread here. Then as much fruit as either of us could ask for."
The warm spices likely won't be too hot, but Percy is looking forward to the flavors that are so readily available in Emon.
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The food has been arranged over the low table in the corner of the room meant to be used as a sitting area, with two lounge chairs flanking it. Essek settles in one of them with a sweep of his housecoat that's nearly as graceful as his cloak.
"Shall I serve?" he offers. Traditionally the role of a host in his culture, but if this keep is an extension of Whitestone, then that should be considered his role as much as it is Percival's. Essek is already reaching for a bowl and serving spoon before his husband can answer, lifting the covers from the larger serving bowls to begin doling out helpings of rice and curry. A thicker, creamier sauce than he's used to, but it smells appetizing.
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"Yes, thank you. I'll pour, if you like," he says with a gesture to the bottle that came with dinner. Whatever it is, he trusts it will compliment the meal. He takes a deeper breath as Essek uncovers the curry. He's fairly certain at least some of the spices come from Marquet.
This is a more intimate occasion than their usual dinners together, served in a small dining room with a servant or two lingering just outside open doors to see to whatever they might need. Tonight it's just the two of them, and, outside of social occasions, it's likely to be similar for the rest of their stay.
"How are you feeling about tomorrow night? I thought we could keep the day relatively quiet, unless there's anything you are desperate to do in Emon prior to the soiree."
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His fingers drum against the arm of his chair, a light tap of nails against the upholstery. "I think I should like to see at least a little of the city beforehand. I would not like to appear ignorant about it."
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His smile returns when Essek confesses a desire to explore.
"Then I will happily squire you around, if you'd like company in your exploring."
Percy knows Emon well enough and, he hopes, he knows Essek well enough that he might be able to share relevant points of interest.
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In truth, a relaxed tour of the city sounds like the perfect lead-up to tomorrow night's event. Rather than admitting that he hasn't seen much, he would prefer to speak with authority. Rarely has he ever been on his back foot when it comes to social engagements like this, and that is in large part because he does his research beforehand. He would have made a poor Shadowhand if he didn't.
"Do any of your former compatriots still reside here?" He asks with a curious glance as they really dig into their meals. "Perhaps you could introduce me, if so. It would be helpful to know where to find allies in this city."
He's heard plenty about Vox Machina, though ironically more from other sources than from Percy himself, beyond the occasional anecdote and reference. It's a part of his husband's life that he hopes to learn more about first-hand, both out of curiosity and genuine interest.
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It feels a bit strange to recount the scattered locations of his friends. People he'd spent so much time with, and now all of them are living very different lives. And he misses them, he realizes. Quite a lot.
"The person I can most certainly introduce you to, however, would be Shaun Gilmore. He's a good friend to have, and a solid ally."
And he suspects Shaun will flirt unrelentingly.
"Allura Vysoren will be at the gala, but if you'd like to meet her before that on quieter terms, I could send a note in the morning."
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Essek receives regular Sendings from Jester still; Percy has witnessed several in their time together. But other than that and his contact with Beauregard, he's neither seen nor heard from any of the Nein directly since he left for Tal'Dorei. Jester's updates mostly consist of tales of her adventures at sea, but occasionally she'll tell him what she's heard about Caleb and Beauregard's progress in the Empire. She knows what is important to keep him apprised of.
He misses them, of course. Constantly. But as much as he wants to extend an invitation--please, my friends, visit me at my new home, you will be most welcome--it feels selfish to ask them to drop their current objectives and responsibilities just to see him. Later, perhaps. Eventually.
"I would not wish to inconvenience the Arcanist on such short notice," he says. "I am content knowing that there will be someone at this party I am actively interested in speaking to." His legs cross as he considers the other name Percy had mentioned, connects it to some of his own research on Emon. A specialty shop for enchanted and unusual magical items, specifically. He'd been considering asking Percy to visit. "The Gilmore you are referring to is the owner of a shop specializing in arcane wares, yes?" he asks with a hint of amusement. "That seems like a convenient friendship for a group of adventurers."
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Percy is curious about Essek's work and fascinated by the mechanics of how wizards perform their magic, but, at some point, there is only so much theory he can grasp without having years of arcane study to help him follow. He'll continue to be interested, always, but he suspects a conversation with Allura will be far more engaging for Essek.
"Yes, the very same." A warmer smile lights his face. "We had to be endearing, Vex'ahlia haggled for everything."
He manages to finish his curry between bits of conversation and eventually sits back with a peeled orange.
"Once, Vax spent an afternoon enjoying Emon on Shaun's arm and it got us a decent discount."
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He finishes his own meal as well, and makes good progress on his wine.
"I suppose it would be most practical while we are sharing a room if I rest when you do," Essek muses aloud. "I won't require the bed to trance, so you are welcome to it."
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Though there is an entire, cozy sitting area that Essek can also make full use of. Still, Percy feels wrong not to offer. There's enough space that they wouldn't touch each other without making some effort.
Percy realizes that he is tired from traveling, more than he'd thought upon arrival. Whatever adrenaline there had been is long gone now. He relaxes more, content to trade lighter conversation as they both wind down. And when he is ready, Percival gets up to retreat to the bed, putting out a few more candles as he goes. It occurs to him that Essek can see in the dark, but he leaves a few burning on the far side of the room all the same. His husband can put them out if he'd like.
The bed is comfortable, more so than some of the ones they've braved on the road here. It puts him in mind of nights spent here before, when the room he occupied was considerably smaller, when his workshop existed somewhere considerably closer.
"Good night, Essek."
Blessedly, sleep comes easier than he's anticipating. But it doesn't stay easy. It's some hours into the night when Percy stirs. It's just little changes at first: his heart beats faster and his breathing quietly picks up. Sweat beads on his skin despite the otherwise comfortable temperature of the room.
And, at some point, Percy sits bolt upright with a sharp, gasping breath and a soft, desperate, "No."
The room is not full dark, but it takes precious seconds for his vision to focus at all. The few candles left alight have burned low and the flames sputter as they encounter liquid wax. It makes the deep shadows flicker and shiver and Percy grips the blanket and sheets tighter as he tries to bring himself fully around.
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Essek declines the offer of the bed. He doesn't need it for trancing; the chair does just as well, comfortable and high-backed, and honestly, he doesn't even need that. When he trances, he floats. He closes his eyes and crosses his legs and lays his palms on his knees, and hovers several inches above the seat of the chair as he settles into restorative meditation. After more than a century of practice, it doesn't take long to settle into the correct mindset, to focus internally and let his thoughts become amorphous and fluid.
But like all elves, he remains peripherally aware of his surroundings when he trances, and somewhere around the three hour mark, nearing the end of his required rest, he is alerted back to full awareness by a gasp from the nearby bed and Percival's voice distinctly uttering the word no.
Essek's eyes blink open, able to see perfectly in the dim light of the room. His husband is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He's breathing heavily, clutching at the blankets. Essek drops down to his feet, crossing to the bed with light steps and sliding onto it. His eyes glow faintly in the low light, a reflection from the candles.
"You were dreaming, I think."
Spoken softly into the quiet as he reaches out tentatively to lay a slender hand on Percy's shoulder. The way he says it has the ring of curiosity, almost. Essek has not dreamed in more than a century, not since he was a child, before he learned to trance. He hardly remembers what it was like.
"Are you all right, Percival?"
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He lets go of a heavier breath and he pushes his fingers through his hair as he hunches forward. His pulse is still pounding, but he tries to slow his breathing. Percy slides his hands to the back of his neck and he just stays like that for a little while, unable to summon his voice to answer just yet.
"I'm fine," he says at last, quite aware that it is possibly the most unconvincing thing he's said since they met. He sits up slowly, unfolding himself. Then his eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes again. He manages to keep his voice even the next time he speaks. "I don't suppose you could give us a bit more light?"
It's a ridiculous request. It puts him in mind of a child being afraid of the dark. But he cannot stand the deep shadows, and the lights that Essek creates tend to glow steadily rather than flickering.
"It was a bad dream, that's all."
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"I gathered as much, k'allis," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The Undercommon word for dear one is nothing he hasn't spoken before in Common, though somehow it feels weightier in his own language. "It has been a long time since I have dreamed, but I recall how it felt to wake from a nightmare."
Is trying to relate an awkward thing to do? Perhaps Percival would simply prefer to drop the subject entirely. But it's equally possible that he'll find talking to be soothing. Essek quickly discovers that more than fearing crossing a line or coming on too strong, he wants to help his clearly shaken husband. How could he not, when he's come to care about Percival as much as he has?
"Humans cannot trance, of course, but I could guide you in a meditative breathing exercise that might prove calming enough to ensure a more restful sleep," he offers. "This was done for me in my youth."
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The offer is kind. That Essek wants to help him at all is--no, to say it's unexpected is a slight. His husband has been attentive before, and Percy is grateful for it now. He makes himself take a deeper breath, if only to prove that he can. And while he wants to grasp this offered help, there is some cynical part of him that believes it cannot possibly help. Perhaps meditative breathing will help calm him down, he'll trust that. But he doesn't know if anything will get him back to a restful sleep.
A weak smile appears and Percy finally looks at Essek, able to make him out better in the pale light.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before you learned your husband's restless sleep habits."
Maybe it could have gone on much longer, given that they do not share a room in Whitestone. Percival rubs his brow, just trying to ease some of the tension away. As the adrenaline fades, he feels exhausted.
"Let's try the breathing," he says quietly. He wants to accept Essek's help. He should let his spouse in that much. And, if nothing else, it saves him from explaining himself, at least for a little while.
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He very deliberately has not inquired as to the subject of the bad dream; best to let that fade away, and instead concentrate on what might be done to mitigate the symptoms of his husband's apparently regular restless sleep. Perhaps this will be a lesson he can take forward with him. Essek's hand rubs down and up Percy's back once before he pulls away, scooting toward the head of the bed. With his back to the headboard, he sits cross-legged and pulls a pillow into his lap.
"You will lay on your back with your head here." A hand gives the pillow a single sharp pat. It's clearly an instruction rather than a suggestion, which Essek hopes cuts through the possibly awkward novelty of this new level of intimacy. "Hands folded on your chest, eyes closed. You should attempt to concentrate on my voice and your breathing. Nothing else."
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The sharp tap on the pillow gets his attention and prompts him to move. Percival eases further down the bed so that he can rest his head on the pillow in Essek's lap. It's an unexpected intimacy and, even if it is purely instructional, he takes some comfort in the closeness.
He rests his hands on his chest and looks up at his husband for a moment more before finally closing his eyes. It takes a moment to get his breathing even, but at least he manages.
"What if I can't? Concentrate."
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It occurs to him as he looks down at the man settled in his lap that this is the first time he's seen Percival so closely without his glasses, let alone disheveled in bed after a less than pleasant dream. It's an incredibly vulnerable state to be in around anyone, Essek recognizes, which makes the trust Percy is putting in him all the more poignant.
"If you find your thoughts wandering, say so. I will assist you," he says simply. "Now, follow my instructions."
Essek retains that same soft, authoritative tone as he begins to lead Percy in a breathing exercise, instructing him on when and how much to breathe in, how long to hold, and when to release. He counts out loud, occasionally touching the center of Percy's chest to feel his chest expanding. It's a lot of deep breaths and slow exhaling, as might be expected, but the pattern isn't just one continuous cycle.
"Hold until it feels natural to release. Good. Now inhale--five, four, three, two, one."
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