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Sleeping is a comfort for Leandro.
His usual aching muscles after a hard day lay on soft furs, tickling his bare chest, his eyes fluttering close as nothing, but his low humming lulled him to sleep.
He doesn't dream—not often. Not as much as he hoped to when he was a boy, wishing for a small glimpse of his mother and of his life in his home country. Of simple, of easy.
But, now, his dreams consisted of sweet memories or made-up dreams of horseback riding all day and a feast before his eyes—once or twice, he'd see his sisters limp in his arms, and he'd be screaming himself till he passed out and shot up, sweaty and shivering.
He's cold now. Unable to move, as if he's been frozen solid. And he's scared. He doesn't know why; there's just this fear coursing through him, and he feels tiny—the world too big for someone tiny.
A soft coo makes his eyes shoot to his hands, where he feels a heavyweight, not just in his hands but on his aching back, weighing him down. He prevails through it, though; he doesn't know why but knows he just has to.
The weight is a baby, covered in blankets, wiggling about now, dark eyes staring up at him.
"You'll be okay," he finds himself murmuring to the tiny baby. "We'll be okay. I swear to you."
He glances back up, only for his grip to tighten on the baby as people shuffle by, bellowing at one another, most with urgent but awfully giddy looks. Leandro doesn't know why they look that way—why aren't they scared? He's terrified.
He hears similar coos, and he's instantly transfixed to where a twitchy middle-aged man struggles with bags and two weights in his arms, covered in different blankets, one purple, one red.
Suddenly, a shiver runs up his spine, and he doesn't even have the chance to scream as it happens while he blinks, the man—his father, he recalls, sucked by something eerie, a dim hue of blue, and it's cold. So, so cold for summer. Why is it so damn cold?
He feels the ghost of long, bony fingers skim the top of his shoulders, a brush against his cheek and a light, eerie hum echoes into his ear. He doesn't move, keep his eyes fixed on the— now three babies in his arms, never once daring to look at the hue of blue covering his back, slowly starting to encompass his being. It wasn't him, this evil wanted. It was them.
But, somehow, he knows, as long as he has them, the wretched evil couldn't hope to get anywhere near them.
Then the screaming begins—
Leandro's eyes snap open, shooting up with a gasp, and he immediately scrambles for his sword, rushing to his feet and out of his quarters. He feels it—the coldness, his body shaking as he thrusts the door to his sister's bedroom open just as they awaken screaming.
Their hands reach out for one another instinctively, Andrea leaping into Caia's arms, the latter of which are tightly wrapped around her younger sister, while Myrcella has a dagger from under her pillow in hand, her eyes wild, aiming at any incoming threat. There only happens to be Leandro, and Myrcella breathes heavily before all the sisters' eyes land on their big brother, and Caia pushes Myrcella's hand down before she flings her dagger at him. Leandro, sword in hand, turns on his heel, scoping out the bedroom until the corner of his eye catches a small light. Leandro eyes the dark corner of his sister's room, blinking away the fading blue light like he'd imagined it.
