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The northern lights shine in the sky of drakkar...it's not home...it's just close enough to have some elements of comfort for Jornir...but still distinctly not. It's uncanny, like a garment that looks like one you've worn all your life...but just isn't the same to you, no matter how identical it looks to others. The wind feels wrong against his skin but he still stands strong, watching to make sure his...companions- they call him friend but it's not a good thing to get attached in such a way with a life like he leads- aren't beset upon by any danger in the night. They're all supposed to be sleeping...but as he looks across their forms, one of the four chests isn't moving in the rhythm of a being that's sleeping.
Barnabos is awake. This is...a bit troubling, because he's supposed to have next watch, and Jornir's is far from over. As he's about to say something, pacing lightly through the snow, closer to the Triton, he notices a shiver in the large form.
Barnabos doesn't get cold like the others do...so that's not the reason.
He only puts it together when he steps a little closer and notices the firelight dancing on the lustrous surface of Barnabos's shell; the mode of communication between him and his "lover", the voice that speaks to him, encourages him through the darkness. He raises it to his ear and leaves it there for a minute before he shakes again, a dry sob wracking his otherwise strong body.
He's not crying...but it's clear that he could be given the seemingly dark nature of his current emotions, just barely keeping it at bay.
"Barnabos...are you well?"
His voice rings out in the quiet of the frigid night.
There's a long silence before the barbarian turns towards him slightly.
"Do you want the truth Mr. Jornir?"
"I would appreciate it, yes. I cannot help you if you are not honest."
The Triton lets out a dry chuckle and looks at Jornir with sadder eyes than he's ever seen on his boisterous ally.
"This isn't something you can heal, lad...though...I truly wish it was..." He clutches the pink pearlescent shell closer to his chest.
A long moment of silence passes between them.
"No..." Barnabos answers, splitting the silence with a voice so quiet and weak that it barely sounds like his.
The shaman almost thinks he imagined it, ears deceived by the whipping of the wind...until Barnabos continues.
"It's...getting bad again. It hasn't felt like this in a long while. Not even in the egg...but there were moments that it was damn close. Honestly...hasn't been this bad since..."
He trails off and lets out a scoff, sitting up fully and turning towards Jornir.
"Well...one of the two moments I'm reminded of, you've seen first hand thanks to those lights...and the other...I don't wanna even think about right now, because I think that'll do nothin' but make it worse. I already feel disconnected enough from 'er..."
Although Jornir isn't always the most engaging in conversations...he's an amazing listener. This is a quality that Barnabos has always enjoyed...but never really fully appreciated until now. Where the others might make jokes...or try to fix things, find solutions...Jornir just sits and lets him speak his mind...without pressure or judgement.
"I'm used to traveling, sure...but I've always tried to stay close to the ocean. The time in that hole of a prison...even with the while we spent back on the sea, I...feel like I just got 'er back and now I've been torn from 'er again. So when you ask if I'm well? No...I'm not. I don't know if I ever really was in the first place."
Something utterly unexpected happens then...a small smile comes to Jornir's weathered face. It's as sad as Barnabos feels...like a mirror to his very soul, bathed in the dancing colors from the gods. The purples, pinks, greens, and unsurprisingly, blues are the most fitting against Jornir's pale purple fur. The colors shine in his eyes, both the seeing and blind of the two. It was especially pretty in his white eye, with the faint scarring...though Barnabos might just be biased...he did always think scars added character after all, but the reflection in the eye that no longer captures the light...was certainly something special.
Jornir looks back at Barnabos for just a moment...and once again shocks him.
"That makes two of us then..."
Suddenly the burden doesn't feel as heavy...because he knows he's not alone. He should know that by now, having seen all of his friend's pasts...but something about this moment was especially validating. Even though he doesn't know what exactly it is from his past that Jornir is struggling with...he's given comfort, knowing that his wise, ancient sage of a friend, is in some way feeling like he is.
Both of them are simultaneously in their element in some ways and also completely, uncomfortably, out of it.
He finds a small sad smile creeping onto his own face. He finally averts his eyes from Jornir's expression and looks at the sky with him. It is...truly a beautiful night.
What Barnabos doesn't realize though...is that once he looks away from Jornir...Jornir looks at him. He's never been one for eye contact...even though he wishes he could be right now, this will have to do.
And it certainly does, because though there's a lingering sadness in Barnabos...he's looking a lot less crushed by it. That's all he could have asked for...he didn't need magic to heal his companion...just to show he was also hurting.
Comfort in shared discomfort.
He drapes a part of his cloak over Barnabos's shoulders, even though he knows the Triton doesn't need the warmth...it's the closest thing to a hug he can give right now, with his own preferences and reservations.
He looks away again when Barnabos looks back to him. He cuts off what is surely a sly chuckle and quip bubbling from the sailor, as he says.
"I would be happy to share my watch with you. There are enough of us that I think the only one that would be bothered by you not having your own watch would be Skrimm."
That really gets a laugh out of Barnabos, loud enough that the others stir for a moment before falling back into sleep.
"What isn't Mr. Stabbaskotch bothered by?"
A small laugh from the druid and the reprise of the scraping noises of him carving his runes is Barnabos's only reply...but somehow the silence is comforting rather than deafening now.
Barnabos feels like he can simply be.
And he's happy to.