Title: Longest Night
Author: girlwithtulips
Fandom: Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey
Bunny: #13 - dreaming, exhausted, stubborn, dark, "Don't need it." 
#14 - flowers, floating, warm, sudden, "I want to." 
Rating: PG 
Feedback: NO feedback please.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jacqueline Carey!
Summary: It's Longest Night and Joscelin and Phedre are far from home.
A/N: AU for being in a time vacuum, but imagine it's set somewhere in the middle of the first book. D'Angeline is both a place and a descriptor for the people who come from there. Longest Night is the Midwinter Solstice. Kushiel's Dart is an amazingly wonderful series, and everyone needs to read it! This fic is for tarotgal, with many happy returns :o)

Joscelin and I had made camp early, spurred by the knowledge that it was the Longest Night. Away from D'Angeline, so long away from home and familiarity, it was a wonder, in some respects, that we had remembered tonight at all. I paused to gaze up at the chilly lilac sky, frosted with stars and already darkening with the promise of the long night to come, and bowed my head in prayer. We are D'Angeline, Joscelin and I. There is no way we can forget.

My hands were stiff and awkward from the cold and I fumbled unsuccessfully with the flint, striking my numb fingers almost as often as I struck the stone, and never managing to coax more than a feeble spark from it.

"Phedre."

Joscelin leant closer to take the flint from me, and I felt the way he shivered against the bitter cold of the night. Shivering or not, though, he had the tiny fire lit within seconds, and I held my grimy hands out to warm them. Joscelin did the same, and I absently studied his hands in the flickering light. They were long, fine hands. Beautiful, as everything about Joscelin was beautiful. But a swordsman's hands also, with rough callouses between thumb and forefinger and down the side of his palm.

The usual silence between us lingered, and I began to drowse as the warmth of the fire flowed from my hands to the rest of my body. In my half-dreaming state, I could amost imagine myself back home, dozing by the fire with an ancient book in my lap, listening to the soft voices of Alcuin and my Lord Delaunay debating Yeshuite theology beside me.

"h'ISCH!"

I blinked at the sudden sound, abruptly drawn back to the present. Joscelin's eyes were closed, a stern line drawn between his brows, breath caught in expectation.

"heh-ESSH!"

His eyes opened before I could speak, and I saw that the wheat-blond lashes were damp.

"Joscelin?" I said hesitantly. D'Angelines seldom know illness, but we were a long way from home.

He sniffled in an almost childish fashion, rubbing a knuckle under his nose in place of a handkerchief. "Do not concern yourself," he told me, voice slightly congested but retaining every inch of his damned Cassiline's formality. "It is just a passing chill."

As if in mockery of his own words, he gave an involuntary shiver, pulling his cloak tighter around himself for the meagre warmth it offered.

If I was tired, Joscelin must have been exhausted. I saw how drawn his face was, how dark the smudges beneath those summer-blue eyes, and marvelled at the training that Cassilines underwent, that allowed them to ignore ordinary boundaries of strength and endurance. Still, even Cassilines needed to sleep some time, and I, not being a Cassiline, was more than ready for sleep right then.

I reached over with a forked stick, and stirred the ashes of the fire, banking it for the night.

"Sleep well, Josce–" A giant yawn almost split my jaw in two.

A finely arched eyebrow rose. "Sleep well, Phedre."

He watched as I spread out my bedroll, but made no move to ready his own. Even when I turned my back, I could feel that even gaze fixed at me. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stir in a way I couldn't quite explain.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" I asked, just to break the moment.

He shook his head, blonde braid swinging. "It is Long… Longest… Ihhtchehh! Ihktchhuh! Heh…" He paused, expression caught in an agony of need as he breathed shallowly, waiting for the final sneeze. "Heh…
HehISHHEH!" His eyes stayed closed a moment more, as if making sure that the need to sneeze had truly passed.

"You're going to keep a vigil tonight? When you're sneezing like that?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my voice.

"I am oathsworn under Cassiel," he said stiffly. "Cassiel does not permit me to leave you without a guard, my Lady. And it is my duty to observe the vigil on the Longest Night." His words were perfectly level, but even as he finished, he turned aside to sneeze forcefully into the crook of his arm. "hehISHH!"

"And does Cassiel also forbid you to fall ill?" I retorted, keeping a rein on my temper with some difficulty. I didn't bother to bless him. I doubted he'd take my blessing anyway.

A wry smile caught at the corner of that beautiful mouth, and Joscelin bowed low, Cassiline style, arms crossed and steel vambraces glinting in the soft glow of the banked coals.

"I protect and serve," he told me formally. And ruined the effect by sneezing twice in rapid succession. "h'iktsh! KISCH!"

"Of all the stubborn, unreasonable Cassilines!" I snapped.

He gave me a flat stare. "You would not understand," he said. "It is my duty – and my honor – to keep the vigil tonight."

He was wrong – I did understand. But I had also grown to understand that, torn away from security and familiarity, it become necessary, at times, to abandon that which you hold dear in order to survive the best you can.

I opened my mouth to say this, but Joscelin was plainly not listening. His eyes were closed, a frown of concentration marking his brow. A finger was pressed hard against his nose, rubbing slowly to keep back the tickle that was doubtless plaguing him. "Huhh…" He blinked, the itch receeding just enough to delay the sneeze, but not nearly enough for relief. "Huhh…" His eyes drifted closed again, mouth half-opening as he willed the sneeze to come, or go, but not to hover in the middle as it was. "HehKishhh! Ihkshehh!"

"Joscelin…"

"A… mo…ment…" His voice was breathy, taut with expectation. "H'ISCHEHH!" He gave a wet sniffle, still rubbing at his nose as if to clear the last of the irritation away.

"Here," I said, fumbling in the pouch I kept at my side, and producing a small square of cloth. It was not a handkerchief, exactly, but a trade sample of a fabric called damask, white as the driven snow and woven through with a delicate pattern of flowers. It would do, though.

Joscelin gave me a disapproving look. "I don't need it," he said, but two bright spots of color burnt high in his cheeks. He sniffled again, not meeting my eyes as he did so.

"Don't be an idiot," I told him, not unkindly. "Besides. It's not as if I'll be needing it, anytime soon."

The bitter truth of that hung in the air for a moment, floating like ashes after a funeral-pyre. After a moment, Joscelin's shoulders slumped in defeat and he accepted it from me, still refusing to my eyes. The cloth was thick and soft, though, and after he had – awkwardly – blown his nose several times, he sounded better for it.

"Thank you," he said, still awkward, and painfully proper because of it. He stood, ignoring the shiver as what little warmth he'd had vanished, and bowed again. "Blessings upon you, Phedre, this Longest Night."

I watched him walk a little way away, where he knelt with a fluid grace that even an adept might envy.

My bedroll beckoned invitingly, but suddenly my mind was much too awake, although my body was weary. Joscelin's kneeling form was almost invisible in the night, but my eyes found the edges of his silhouette and latched on to it. I had always assumed this unyielding refusal to leave behind familiar ways was a result of his strict Cassiline training, but now I was beginning to think it was genuiunely a part of Joscelin himself.

It was easier to set aside the familiarities, to succumb to whatever practicality demanded to survive. But, Joscelin's unwavering form told me, surrender too much, and there might not be enough of yourself left to come back to.

Joscelin showed no surprise when I knelt at his side. His summer-blue eyes, appearing as dark pools in the night, were appraising.

"You do not have to observe this vigil, Phedre no Delaunay," he said gently. His voice was scratchy and hoarse, but no less beautiful to hear. "Sleep. I will wake you in the morning."

I shook my head, suddenly mute, as if I were the one whose voice was gone. "Joscelin," I whispered. "Joscelin, I want to."

He smiled in the darkness and pressed closer to me, and I wrapped the blankets around us both.

I remembered all the Longest Nights that I'd celebrated: the exquisite beauty of the Midwinter Masques held at Cereus House, the twin thrill of terror and desire as I thought of Melisandre. Certainly there was no reason for this one to be memorable, huddled in vigil beneath a filthy blanket, lost and alone so far from home. But the stars were very bright against the lonely sky, and Joscelin's body was warm against mine.

Despite by best intentions, my eyes drooped closed, tiredness rolling over me in waves. Sleepily, I rested my head on Joscelin's shoulder. He stiffened at the unexpected weight, then awkwardly, carefully, slid an arm around my waist, holding me close in the utter stillness of the night.

Not alone, after all.