[ He hums, thoughtful, and then launches into the first leg of an Orlesian version of Hans in Luck—more because it’s one he likes himself than because he thinks she would. She won’t remember anyway, and he only makes it part way through before he pauses and waits in silence to see if she’s awake to protest stopping. ]
[ He’s reminded—not for the first time, but the first time that it truly twinges—that Athessa is Eliya’s age, if Eliya is even alive. He told her bedtime stories, a long time ago, on the odd night he was home to do it. ]
Good night, Athessa.
[ Even if she can’t hear him. Saying her name helps, like an anchor to the present, and he closes the crystalS’ connection and falls asleep not long after. ]
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I don't think now is, but maybe it'll someday. 'S a lot.
[ Then, more quietly, more sleepily: ]
I might...wanna go home soon.
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[ Could be several places, as far as he knows. ]
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[ She's mumbling now, because she finally closed her eyes instead of fighting to keep them open. ]
We can bring your... ravens... feather bed...
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Aw. ]
Oh course.
Are you sleeping now?
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[ She is. ]
Mmnh.
[ Or is she? ]
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Do you want me to tell you a story?
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Yes please, [ is a generous translation of what really is just more mumbling. ]
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Good night, Athessa.
[ Even if she can’t hear him. Saying her name helps, like an anchor to the present, and he closes the crystalS’ connection and falls asleep not long after. ]