Moonlit Musings

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan curled into warm blankets and peace in the quiet of a cottage far from any waves, far from the rock and pitch of the Heathen. Truthfully, he dozed in and out, eyes lazily half-opening and heavy mind wandering sluggishly. Warmth came not only from the flames of a nearby hearth, but also from within his fortress of fabric and furs… whether they were real or not, he never really ascertained… he doubted he'd know offhand, anyway. Fingertips traveled the soft wool of a thickly knitted blanket until they came across silken moonlight colored strands. He shifted closer to that warmth, and nestled his face into the sweet smell of strawberries and lavender and something he couldn't quite place. He took a deep breath, turning into the urge to stretch… And what he ended up doing was writhing in a strange way like a worm around the one next to him. His eyes closed, then opened again, rather suddenly. He couldn’t help himself… He had to take a peek.

He tilted himself to get a better look at that sleeping face, brushing hair from it before he leaned forward to lay the tiniest press of lips on that forehead. Gently, so he was not awakened! Morgan carefully… Oh so carefully… extricated himself from the blankets, digging around in cushions for the remote to the tv. His hand swept heavily across a box stuffed deep in fluff, then paused. His face screwed in confusion… Until he pulled it out. Beautifully carved and inlaid with gold, it was the very one he’d debated giving away to the one it was actually intended for. Inside he knew there to be a stone that was not so very precious to most, but held more sentimental value, set in a fine chain and sure to catch any light that fell upon it. His eyes immediately went to the sleeping form on the couch, and he couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face. What was the reason to hold on to it now? Hiding it was not doing him any favors. Slowly, he set the ornate box on the low coffee table, and swiped a few more times until he found the remote. Off went the TV, and he set it next to the box.

Another stretch, this one languid and far less contained, lifted the button up long sleeve pajama shirt he wore, something light blue with little stars printed all over in different colors and sizes. He was wearing matching long bottoms, as well! Anyone that knew him would be very surprised, anyway. Bare feet slid almost soundlessly across the floor as he moved toward the kitchen, scratching at his belly as he yawned. Not that it itched. He paused near the counter and looked back, pursing his lips. New things had to be taken into account, maybe. “But was it fate?” he found himself murmuring. Or perhaps it could more be attributed to years of experience, and quite a bit of power. He found himself sad that his own death had been no more than a brief ending to a dream that shifted happily all over to things that might never have been, but for him... There were so many years after.

The young captain couldn’t imagine it… Couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone, and obsessing for millennia… Hadn’t he said something similar, once? No. For someone, he had promised to tear the universe apart. But here, peaceful and serene in his sleep, was someone that instead rebuilt it. Somehow. Far in the future, and yet in the recent past, all things came together.

”I look to you now, at the end of my journey. At its very beginning.”

His eyes slipped closed, and his palm settled on a quickly warming cheek. It was always to end here. A breathy sigh escaped his lips, and he dipped toward the refrigerator, pulling it open quietly and pulling a pitcher of what was likely lemonade out. He set the pitcher on a counter, and reached up to a cabinet to dig through a few nondescript glasses. Once he’d poured his drink, he turned and leaned against the counter, one hand grasping the edge of it as he put the glass to his lips to pull greedily at the tart liquid. Before he knew it, he’d drained the glass! His tongue flicked out over his lips, and he set the glass in the sink, sticking the pitcher back into the fridge before he wandered back to the couch. He didn’t immediately slide back into the warm blankets, but rather folded his legs beneath him to settle on the floor in front of the couch, draping the top half of him over a pair of legs almost lost to the pile. Arms crossed gingerly over them, and he found himself quite comfortable in lying his head in the crook of his elbow, where he could just see the face of the sleeper. Lips pulled into another smile, and he found peace. Not at the bottom of a bottle. Not the bottom of the ocean. Not in drugs, or the thoughtless acts that often brought that sensation that could be mistaken as peace… Numb. Numb was its name. Here, on the floor in front of a couch, wearing warm pajamas he’d never have bought for himself…

This was where peace truly was.

A home to come to. A warm fire. A pair of emeralds and the shafts of moonbeams that encircled him no matter what state he was in, perfect for every occasion. Sometimes gentle, and warm, others strong, unrelenting. Stalwart. He found himself protected, but also felt, in a strange sort of way… protector. He couldn’t think of many he felt the need to actually protect… but there, one of the most powerful beings he could think of…

Finally, he unfolded himself, and slid like silk into the nest of blankets once more, careful to get beneath each and every one so nothing more than cotton came between two points of warmth as he wrapped himself around the other once more, arms slithering like serpents around a warm stone, legs drawing up until they matched all the angles of another curled body. The other shifted, and gave a breath, and Morgan took the opening to fully nestle himself between body and couch cushion. He was happily smooshed in and snuggling the mage as if he were clutching a life raft in the ocean. He could feel himself drifting into that space between wakefulness and sleep once more, and started to mumble almost incoherently. “I’m glad I don’t… remember…”

His mouth opened in another yawn, and his head tipped so his forehead rested upon the nape of that warm neck, strands of moonlight sliding over his face. “I get to make a new story.” Wrapped arms loosened, and his fingers searched until they found a warm, limp hand to hold. Intertwining fingers were tucked closer to a belly, and the captain gave a final pleased wriggle, letting lashes drift closed with the finality of sleep finally setting in in earnest. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, and the two were nothing but an unmoving single lump in a mountain of blankets, comfortably fitted together no matter how they were positioned beneath. The only break in the peace, of course, was the sound of the captain snoring, the way he was laying perhaps more of a boon than expected… For he did so rather lightly, compared to his regular sprawled log-sawing exhibitions.

Two unlikely hearts were come together under the roof of a cottage hidden away from prying eyes, at once a hundred years joined and newly introduced. Love, when it finally hit you, was truly unexpected. It tore at your insides, tugged at your chest, muddied the thoughts in your head. It sent men stronger than Morgan into never ending spirals that few crawled from. One he himself had nearly gotten caught up in. Where he now slept peacefully, once he tossed and turned and fretted, waking drenched in sweat. He still found himself, even these past few nights, lost and looking for something he did not expect to find that was, every time, right beneath his nose, his fingertips, right there.

Rain had fallen, in the very first moments, but he hadn't felt a drop. Perhaps one day he might tell the story of how he had dropped to his knees and cried out for the other, and he remembers, for some reason, the most beautiful moon that night. Another mouth eventually only smiles, many times having tried to correct him. Things the very same to another life, and yet all very much different.

The captain still had not come down from this strange new high. The one that made him feel warm, when he was standing dripping under the leaves of a mallorn tree. The one that eased his eyes closed in content slumber for the first time in so very long. And yet, as happy as he would be to languish in it, he knew there were things to be done. Dark pinpricks of void in the starry sky, unseen but their presence felt always. Always. Even here, in bliss, there were reminders of those dark things in the real world Morgan had always struggled to escape. But here… they did not seem so big, nor did they weigh as much on his mind in the dark hours. Here, for snatches of time, whenever he could, he rested.

In the morning, he would wake, and depart almost unwillingly, and yet eager to bring back stories for the next time. And the next, and again, until the very end. A cup of tea wrapped in blankets, and a hurried rush out of the door, a quick kiss on the cheek and nearly falling down the stairs as he tapped down backwards, always smiling back… Every time. Maybe one day, he would get the hang of it. Likely, he would never learn. Or simply didn’t feel that heart-skip sensation when the tip of his foot slipped down to the next step. It was like that, when your heart was already doing strange flip flops in your chest. A heavy boot would thud against wood, and he would pretend nothing had even happened, and disappear.

Off after whatever wild geese he chased, what treasures he found, what hidden secrets. Sometimes he wanted to pull the other with him. Share the ocean, the sea breezes and salted air. Show him the islands with black beaches, and perhaps ask why, or how such a thing existed. Every morning, he paused just before he disappeared, thoughtfully… and perhaps on one of them, he finally turned around and said "Come with me."

Let's start an adventure.