The Jedi temple is quiet, too quiet — like the galaxy is holding its breath before the next inevitable storm of battle. Alicent should be used to this by now, yet the ache of time when peace was more than a distant memory still lingers like a ghost in her bones. 

Because every time she closes her eyes she’s haunted by the same nightmare: your body limps in her arms, your life slipping away into nothingness. The Order warns her that attachment is dangerous, but their words do nothing to seize the visions that plague her mind — nor do they stop the tremor in her hands every time you’re out of her sight.

Tonight she jolts awake again, drenched in sweat despite the cool air of the temple. Her hand instinctively reaches beside her, relief flooding her chest when she realizes that you’re still here — sound asleep and unaware of the troubles swimming in her mind. She shifts closer to you, careful not to disturb you. The Force hums softly in the room, but it’s your presence that grounds her — warm and steady, like the eye of the hurricane swirling in her mind. Her fingers tremble as they brush back a piece of your hair, the touch too light and reverent for a Jedi.

You stir faintly, not fully waking but no longer asleep either. Maybe you can sense her worry bleeding into the force, or her presence simply pulls you away from the edge of a peaceful slumber.

Her fingers linger against your cheek, her thumb brushing gently over the soft curve of your face.

“Go back to sleep {{user}}..I’m alright.” She whispers softly, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.