[Though still relatively new, there is already comfort in this morning routine they have begun to develop. Godfrey has always risen to meet the dawn, and Gale would do nothing to stand in the way of that, however much he might wish for them to remain tangled among the sheets together just a bit longer.
As he has done every morning since they had begun, Gale begins to stir softly as Godfrey disentangles himself, mumbling something incoherent but undeniably fond in protest under his breath. Godfrey's soothing efforts are as effective as they always are; the wizard's hold on his partner loosens and he drops back to the pillow below, caught between sleep and wakefulness, and settles for letting his hand trail down the length of Godfrey's forearm as the larger man pulls away, Gale subconsciously curling his fingers against his palm slightly just before they part.
Godfrey would pray, and sometime afterwards, Gale would rise and join him for breakfast, and together they would see what the day held. Until then, Gale would allow sleep to gently drag him back downwards into its embrace, curled up in the circle of warmth Godfrey had left in his wake.
There is a sudden shift in the atmosphere that tugs at his senses, causing him to stir a second time, but it is the scream that pierces the air a heartbeat afterwards that shocks him awake, eyes flying wide open as he feels a spike of terror surge through him. Covers are thrown aside as he all but trips over himself scrambling out of bed; adrenaline has forced sleep from his eyes just in time for him to see Godfrey become violently ill on the floor, a sense of dread all-encompassing as he rushes to his side.]
Godfrey, are you—
[His own panic is scarcely contained, fearful as he drops to his knees beside the paladin just as Godfrey's head smashes against surface of the table; Gale grabs hold of his shoulders to try and right him, his heart beating rapidly despite being lodges in his throat.]
My love, I'm here, can you—?!
[Can you hear me? But Godfrey himself is gasping for breath, gold streaming from his eyes, and Gale finds his own words seized from him.]
[ Please strangles in his throat, combusted by the painful dawn blooming in his chest.
Often, sunrises are slow, pensive affairs. Dawn-side prayer is a soft and sacred thing, which brought watercolours to Godfrey's world; inky blue and deep, deep purples giving way for pinks and gentle violets and soft oranges, or the rich brilliance of more adventurous colours, or the soft fogginess of a gray rain-shower. Regardless of how it looked, sunrise always brought much of the same. Recollection, peace, the edge of awakening. Before the rest of the world caught up, this precipice is where Godfrey would sit and collect himself, and lay thought and deed bare for his Lord. He watched the dawn's rays stretch across the world, from that little window to the next plane. He thought it often His gaze, stretching across impossible distances, beholding the mortal plane.
Holding him in His regard.
Godfrey feels something impossible within him. He recedes from Gale, his touch, his voice, his concern - it runs farther and farther from him. Is he getting smaller, or farther away? He doesn't know. He won't ever know. The dawn is in his chest, ringing through him; it is strangling him, and it is spilling from his eyes in glowing molten brilliance, and it is burning every moisture from him. His mouth turns to sand. Blood drains from him. It is a dawn's ferocity with none of its peace.
It pushes in. The borders of him crack. Mountainous hands brace against the invisible pieces as it pushes its way in, and the dawn-light blots Godfrey's eyes to two glowing points of sunlight. ]
[Godfrey is heavy in his arms, an impossible weight against his chest as Gale struggles to hold him up, his own heart racing and beating furiously against the inside of his ribcage.]
No, no!
[He doesn't recognize his own voice, raw and desperate, and he places a hand flat against Godfrey's chest and the blossoming heat within it, clenching his jaw as the paladin's eyes give way to brilliant light. He is all instinct now, pushing back against whatever this is that has taken hold of his lover, fighting to expel it with the sheer force of the arcane powers that flows through his own veins, drawn from the very atmosphere, and yet for all the strength he has regained, he can feel the futility of it, feel that this force he rails against is nothing less than divine.]
Godfrey!
[His voice echoes as it reaches the rafters— but already, he fears it falls on deaf ears, that the man in his arms has slipped beyond his reach.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lmao a cozy au for us as a treat
As he has done every morning since they had begun, Gale begins to stir softly as Godfrey disentangles himself, mumbling something incoherent but undeniably fond in protest under his breath. Godfrey's soothing efforts are as effective as they always are; the wizard's hold on his partner loosens and he drops back to the pillow below, caught between sleep and wakefulness, and settles for letting his hand trail down the length of Godfrey's forearm as the larger man pulls away, Gale subconsciously curling his fingers against his palm slightly just before they part.
Godfrey would pray, and sometime afterwards, Gale would rise and join him for breakfast, and together they would see what the day held. Until then, Gale would allow sleep to gently drag him back downwards into its embrace, curled up in the circle of warmth Godfrey had left in his wake.
There is a sudden shift in the atmosphere that tugs at his senses, causing him to stir a second time, but it is the scream that pierces the air a heartbeat afterwards that shocks him awake, eyes flying wide open as he feels a spike of terror surge through him. Covers are thrown aside as he all but trips over himself scrambling out of bed; adrenaline has forced sleep from his eyes just in time for him to see Godfrey become violently ill on the floor, a sense of dread all-encompassing as he rushes to his side.]
Godfrey, are you—
[His own panic is scarcely contained, fearful as he drops to his knees beside the paladin just as Godfrey's head smashes against surface of the table; Gale grabs hold of his shoulders to try and right him, his heart beating rapidly despite being lodges in his throat.]
My love, I'm here, can you—?!
[Can you hear me? But Godfrey himself is gasping for breath, gold streaming from his eyes, and Gale finds his own words seized from him.]
no subject
Often, sunrises are slow, pensive affairs. Dawn-side prayer is a soft and sacred thing, which brought watercolours to Godfrey's world; inky blue and deep, deep purples giving way for pinks and gentle violets and soft oranges, or the rich brilliance of more adventurous colours, or the soft fogginess of a gray rain-shower. Regardless of how it looked, sunrise always brought much of the same. Recollection, peace, the edge of awakening. Before the rest of the world caught up, this precipice is where Godfrey would sit and collect himself, and lay thought and deed bare for his Lord. He watched the dawn's rays stretch across the world, from that little window to the next plane. He thought it often His gaze, stretching across impossible distances, beholding the mortal plane.
Holding him in His regard.
Godfrey feels something impossible within him. He recedes from Gale, his touch, his voice, his concern - it runs farther and farther from him. Is he getting smaller, or farther away? He doesn't know. He won't ever know. The dawn is in his chest, ringing through him; it is strangling him, and it is spilling from his eyes in glowing molten brilliance, and it is burning every moisture from him. His mouth turns to sand. Blood drains from him. It is a dawn's ferocity with none of its peace.
It pushes in. The borders of him crack. Mountainous hands brace against the invisible pieces as it pushes its way in, and the dawn-light blots Godfrey's eyes to two glowing points of sunlight. ]
no subject
No, no!
[He doesn't recognize his own voice, raw and desperate, and he places a hand flat against Godfrey's chest and the blossoming heat within it, clenching his jaw as the paladin's eyes give way to brilliant light. He is all instinct now, pushing back against whatever this is that has taken hold of his lover, fighting to expel it with the sheer force of the arcane powers that flows through his own veins, drawn from the very atmosphere, and yet for all the strength he has regained, he can feel the futility of it, feel that this force he rails against is nothing less than divine.]
Godfrey!
[His voice echoes as it reaches the rafters— but already, he fears it falls on deaf ears, that the man in his arms has slipped beyond his reach.]