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Jasnah settled down on Wit’s bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. He did have a heart. The organ, at least.
That had surprised her the first time they had done this. Though in many ways Wit was deeply human, he was also alien.
There was a depth to him, a knowledge that came only from the thousands of years he had been alive, stalking her planet, and more besides.
At times that daunted her. Looking into his eyes could sometimes feel like looking into an abyss that held the weight of more knowledge than could ever be contained in all the books on Roshar.
History. History from a thousand worlds given life. And he was in her bed at this very moment peering down at her with a haze of sleepy pleasure. That gave her a little thrill of pride and excitement.
Alien and ancient or otherwise, he liked to hold her once they had finished. She had the sense that he craved the tenderness and the humanity of it, to end an act that had always seemed so primal to her with a distinctly human, civilised note.
She didn’t protest. Initially she hadn’t wanted it. It had felt like wasted time. The world was ending and she was cuddling? But, more recently, she had come to acknowledge the benefits of a little rest, of time where she was allowed to simply be. To exist, rather than fighting tooth and nail for each breath.
She suspected that was part of why Wit insisted on it. He kept doing things like that. Making excuses to feed her, or force her to take a break and step away from her work for a moment.
A part of her had balked at that at first, seeing it as a subtle way of him trying to control her. She had shut those fears down. It was not about control, it was about care. And she could let herself be cared for. Sometimes.
Wit stroked his fingers idly through her hair, unbound, pooling around her like a swath of night. Then he threaded their fingers together, deliberately choosing her safehand for the purpose.
He often did things like that, trying to entice or excite her. She worried he was beginning to see it as some sort of challenge or game she was luring him into.
She sighed.
The time had come to speak to him about this. In truth, the time had probably come long ago. But, well, she was human. She could admit to a little fear.
In the chaos of everything that had happened over the last year, Wit had been a flurry of his own kind. But it was a kind that felt good rather than terrifying and she...Well she did not have an excellent history with romantic partners and she had feared to lose this.
The time had come, however, when not saying something would do more harm, so she pushed herself up, back against the headboard of the bed, drawing her dressing gown more firmly around herself.
Wit shifted lazily, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.
“Wit,” she said, tone brisk and firm, “We need to talk about sex.”
For a moment she saw surprise tinge his sharp features. Then he blinked and smoothed it away.
“What?” he said, his tone light, “Have I been doing it wrong all these years and no one has thought to tell me until now?”
She eyed him. Each conversation was like a dance, a fight, testing, seeking, pushing one another. She enjoyed it, normally, but tonight...Tonight she just wanted to be open, and honest. No games.
“No,” she said, simply, “You were perfectly satisfactory.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her and she grimaced slightly. That..was probably not the most tactful thing she’d ever said to a partner.
Fortunately he just laughed and kissed her hand, “Jasnah, my dear, you can be wonderfully refreshing at times,” he said.
“As refreshing as a highstorm, you mean?” she said, bluntly, and he smiled again, eyes twinkling.
“Roshar would not have life without them,” he said, lightly.
She sighed again, more heavily this time, and Wit frowned slightly as she rubbed her temples. His expression shifted, and he sat up straighter.
“Jasnah?” he said, a faint note of worry tinging his words for the first time, “Is everything alright?”
“Fine,” she said, waving a vague hand, “It’s still difficult to speak about this. I’ve done it several times in the past, yet it never seems to get any easier. Particularly if one attempts to approach it with any measure of delicacy.”
“Then don’t,” he said simply, taking her hand, “Approach it like the highstorm that you are, Jasnah. I assure you I’ve survived worse.”
She took a deep breath and, not looking at him, said quietly, “I don’t need sex, Wit.”
He frowned slightly, and she braced herself for the quip.
“Don’t need it for what, my dear? For life? Technically none of us needs it, in the basest of terms. We don’t theoretically need wine, either, to survive. But to live? I consider it a necessity.”
“I don’t,” she murmured, and her voice seemed to strangle itself, becoming small.
She hated that, and forced it back to its typical tone and volume with effort as she cleared her throat and continued.
“I don’t need it to feel satisfied with life. I don’t need it to feel satisfied or fulfilled in a relationship. It is not something I have ever found myself wanting, as most other people seem to.”
She drew her knees up to her chest, holding them. A part of her recognised that she did this as a defence mechanism, that it was a very obvious tell that she felt afraid and insecure, which she hated feeling, and hated telegraphing even more. But she couldn’t help it. In that moment, not looking at him, waiting for the storm wall to hit, she needed the comfort it brought her.
Wit moved beside her, sitting up straight, facing her, and when she looked up at him she saw that his face was uncharacteristically serious. He reached out and gently took both of her hands in his. She let him, and he seemed deeply relieved by that. Far too relieved in fact.
She frowned at him as he said, in a tone she had never heard from him before, serious and direct, “Jasnah, you haven’t felt as though I’ve ever-”
“No,” she interrupted him quickly, suddenly understanding what he was worried about.
Then she gave him a flat look that clearly said, ‘do you truly think you could pressure me into doing anything like that?’
The tension in his posture broke and he laughed, then, and said, “You are truly wonderful, Jasnah. I don’t think I’ve seen such a fabulous glare for centuries now. I must study it thoroughly at a later date so as to be able to properly master it when needed.”
She smiled again, some of her own tension bleeding away, though not all.
He scooted over to sit beside her, back against the headboard, legs stretched out comfortably in front of him.
She waited for him to settle himself then said, “This isn’t a problem for you? In our relationship?”
“No,” he said, and though his tone was lighter than it had been earlier, it took on that uncharacteristic serious cast once more for her.
“You surprised me, Jasnah Kholin. You were something on this planet I never expected, and have been delightful in many ways. I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed our physical diversions. But you, and indeed this budding partnership, are worth more to me than the pleasure I can derive from our bodies.”
She nodded absently, then frowned as she realised that he seemed to be perfectly content to continue with her, without question or hesitation.
She had been about to assure him that she was perfectly happy to continue having sex with him, for him. She was not repulsed by it, if she had she would certainly never have entertained it with him. But she had expected to make this point in rebuttal of his disappointment or withdrawal. And he hadn’t done either, which momentarily threw her.
She knew her worth. And she knew that her value as a partner was indeed worth more than the use someone might find for her body.
Other partners had not exactly shared that sentiment in the past.
However fond they had been of her, her disinterest in sex had always put them off. Even if they did not react initially poorly, over time they became frustrated and disappointed, as though they had secretly hoped that she might make an exception for them.
They seemed to take it as a personal slight that she didn’t think about having sex with them every waking moment.
She had never had either the time or the patience for that nonsense, and each time she had walked away without regret. But she would have been lying if she claimed that it hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t made her feel lonely, and alien, even broken, when she’d been younger.
Wit was taking this too well, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at him, trying to determine his angle.
He did not seem the type of man who would take it as a personal insult that she did not crave sex with him. He was arrogant, and he had an ego, but it was of an entirely different sort.
Still, she hadn’t expected his reaction to be, so, well, absent. He was looking at her with the same bright eyes he always did, the same thinly veiled eagerness to see what their companionship would bring, the same intensity and hunger that had simmered between them this past year.
Wit seemed to read her confusion and suspicion in her face, for he reached out and took her hand, her free hand, and squeezed it.
“You are not the first person I’ve met who feels this way, Jasnah,” he said gently. “Indeed, you are not the second, third, or fourth person, either. We would have to climb rather high up the number scale, if you wish to truly and accurately plot yourself.”
“Really?” she said, before she could stop herself.
Logically she knew that she couldn’t be the only person who felt this way. Particularly when one factored in the sheer number of people Wit had known in his life. Statistically it was highly likely that he’d met someone else like her before.
The logic, however, did not prevent the sudden rush of warm emotion at hearing, at knowing, that she was not alone.
Wit smiled at her. A different smile than any she had seen before.
This was the smile of a man who knew the importance of knowledge, the emotion it could bring when used to connect, rather than destroy.
The smile of someone who used that knowledge to bring hope and comfort to people; to bring them together, and help them Connect across realms and ages.
The smile of someone who still found simple joy in using the wealth of his vast experience to bring a simple joy to a frightened girl who had spent so long afraid that she was alone and unlovable.
He squeezed her hands and nodded. Absurdly, she felt her throat tighten, and had to raise her other hand to wipe at her eyes as she felt tears bud in them. Some instinct urged her to pull away from Wit, to not let him see her emotion, the power he had over her with the truth he had just given her.
But she was learning to fight those instincts, and so she turned to him, full on, and let him see her tears, let him see her smile, let him see what a gift he had given her today.
Wit smiled back, warm and genuine, and stayed quiet, with obvious effort, allowing her to have her moment.
A gloryspren winked into existence above her head, and for once she let it manifest in the physical realm, smiling up at it.
After a moment she pulled herself together, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes, returning to business.
“Have you ever been in a relationship with someone like me, though?” she asked him, tone direct once more.
“No,” he admitted gently, then added, with typical levity, “But I’ve never been tap dancing with a chull, either, and I’d very much like to try that as well. The ability to continue providing me with new experiences even after all this time is one of the cosmere’s greatest gifts and joys, Jasnah.”
She eyed him, judging his sincerity. Somehow, the man sitting there with a twinkle in his eye, talking about tap dancing chulls, seemed more sincere than the others who had initially told her the same, with serious tones, and sombre expressions, only to accuse her of being cold and inhuman some months later.
She eyed him again and he raised an eyebrow at her.
She sighed and admitted, “You’re taking this too well.”
A faint blush stained her cheeks at that and she turned away. It felt so vulnerable to admit that, to admit that she expected him to hurt her. More vulnerable even than it had felt to admit the thing she expected him to use as a weapon against her.
“Jasnah,” he said, quietly, “I won’t pretend that I haven’t enjoyed that aspect of our relationship. You are a beautiful, alluring woman. And for all that you have no inclination towards it yourself, rather talented."
She smirked a little at that. As with most things, she had felt that if she was going to engage in it she may as well at least attain some competence.
“But it was a means to an end, my dear. Pleasure, indeed, but also intimacy, and closeness with you. That is what I truly want.
“I’ve had plenty of sex in my life, Jasnah, I’m quite sure I can survive a few decades without it for a creature as truly incredible as yourself. You are the unique and wonderful experience Roshar has gifted me with. What a fool I would be to throw that aside for the sake of sex.”
"Others in the past have not been as...discerning," she said drily.
"Well, as you yourself are fond of noting, dearest, other people can often be idiots," he said lightly. "Sex is wonderful. A true masterstroke by the cosmere to encourage us all to keep producing children. But I'm fairly sure its lack won't be added to the list of things that have killed me any time soon."
She studied him, so sincere, so lighthearted, then said, bluntly, “I’m not asking you to become celibate for me, Wit. We can have sex again, if you wish.”
He blinked at her, digesting that, then he said curiously, “Do you enjoy it?”
There were no strings to the question. They did not do that with one another, as was openly established early on in their relationship. Questions were welcomed, by both parties, whatever their content, the intent assumed always to be genuine.
She considered the question, truly considered it.
With him, and with a few others, she had engaged in sex because her partner had desired it, and she had wanted to do something for them.
Rather as she might prepare a meal she was not altogether fond of, but which she knew was their favourite...If she prepared meals.
“Yes,” she said, finally, “It is pleasurable for me, when done correctly,” she added with a frown of irritation.
In her experience, that was certainly not always the case. Wit, for all his flaws, could never be accused of being stingy with the attention he gave her. In every aspect of their relationship.
"As I imagine it can be for most people. Though likely not as intense and consuming as it is for others, I’ve gathered. And then there’s of course the fact that-”
She broke off, actually blushing noticeably for the first time in approximately a decade.
Wit’s face split into a wide, almost wicked grin.
“Come now, Jasnah," he said, waggling a finger at him, "A highstorm does not hold back its rains, you should not hold back your insightful and unique pearls of wisdom on the human condition. Least of all in my presence. I simply won’t have it,” he said, prodding her with a finger in a spot that he knew she was ticklish.
She actually growled at him, and he stopped at once, though he did laugh as he did so. Insufferable bastard.
She sighed and said, “Sex is pleasurable, but it’s not a pleasure that I can’t achieve myself more easily, with much less mess and fuss, and a good deal less complex emotional baggage attached.”
Wit laughed again at that, loud and full, and she found herself smiling in spite of herself.
Knowing he would enjoy it, she continued, layering an analogy onto the idea.
“It’s rather like attending a feast when you’re already full. The food still tastes nice, even if you didn’t particularly want it. But wouldn’t it have been far simpler, faster, and less likely to cause a headache had you simply taken a private meal in your chambers and skipped the fuss?”
As she had hoped, that caused him to laugh harder. Wit enjoyed an apt metaphor, particularly if it was original. Or as original as it could be to someone with his life experience.
He leaned in and gently kissed her temple, “You are a true delight, Jasnah. A highstorm that invests me with such joy and wonder, even as it attempts to bludgeon me with the force of its will.”
She raised an eyebrow at him as he coaxed her back down into a more relaxed posture, the two of them lying down once more, their legs lazily entwined, his fingers in her hair again.
“Too far?” he asked, lightly, as she settled back into place.
Wit liked flowery language, in all areas of life, but particularly in complimenting her.
She'd made the mistake of telling him, flatly, that it was nauseating.
He'd spent a solid month afterwards composing the most outrageous quips and lines of flattery, which had included multiple pieces of poetry sprung on her without warning.
Finally losing patience, she had soulcast all six pages of the final one into crystal and thrown it at him.
He had laughed, and they had come to an agreement regarding a comfortable level of tolerable flirtation and flattery from him.
“You’re a faint breeze away from ending up at the bottom of a chasm,” she told him flatly.
He smiled, “You may need to think of something with more threat to it, my dear,” he said. “You know perfectly well that if a faint breeze did topple my hapless person into a chasm I’d only crawl out of it a day later far more annoying than when I’d plunged in.”
“Hm, with a tap dancing chull in tow, no doubt” she deadpanned in response, resting her head against his chest once more.
She felt the laugh vibrate through his ribs this time. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one.
He sobered again a moment later and said, “I’ll need to leave again, in the next few days. There’s somewhere else I must be. Something that proves even more irresistible than your delicious tongue, my dear.”
She nodded without comment. He did this, disappearing for sometimes weeks at a time. He had done it even when he’d acted as Elhokar’s Wit, and she’d had no illusions at all that she would be able to dissuade him of it. He always came back, typically just before she truly needed him. That was enough. She'd long since given up asking where he went.
She did appreciate that he’d started giving her some warning that he was going to vanish on her, however.
“I would like to discuss this further when I return,” he said, thoughtfully, fingers still carding absently through her hair, “I understand, and appreciate, your willingness to continue experiencing the true wonders my tongue can perform in physical matters, as well as mental,” she rolled her eyes, but he pressed on, apparently without noticing, “But I would like to have an open conversation, establish some rules, some tweaks to our relationship going forwards to allow it to blossom as it may.”
She smiled against him, “That would be wise, and appreciated,” she said slowly.
It still hadn't sunk in that he was so...Accepting of this. People usually had a broad range of reactions to her. Acceptance was rarely one of them.
Then, with more reluctance than she ever thought she would feel doing so, she pushed herself out of his arms and stood.
“I have work that must be attended to tonight, casualty reports from the latest battle, maps I wish to review before the strategy conference in the morning,” she said, adjusting her robe.
Wit propped himself up in bed and eyed her. She knew that he thought she should sleep, that she worked herself too long, and too hard. He had warned her about the dangers of relying on Investiture to push her body beyond its natural capabilities. Indeed, she had chided several of the younger Radiants with similar warnings, and forced them to rest.
But for herself? This had been her burden to bear for almost twenty years, now. She had already given so much of herself to it, and felt that it was still not enough, that this was a piece of advice she found it difficult to take.
He opened his mouth, and she expected him to protest, to urge her to return to bed with him, perhaps with some crass quip.
Instead, he said, “How can I help?”
She smiled, and asked if he would fetch her copies of the maps from the room they used for study and preparation.
He pressed a small kiss to her cheek before moving off to do as she’d requested. Watching him go, she felt a faint stir of warmth inside her. Rather like the feeling she had when drawing in Stormlight.
The world was ending. They were embroiled in the midst of a centuries long war with the destructive embodiment of hatred, bent on their capitulation and eventually destruction. But in that moment, she allowed herself to be human, to be vulnerable, and open, and flawed.
In that moment, Jasnah allowed herself to be cared for. She allowed herself to be wanted, in a way she never truly believed she could be. She allowed herself to remember why they fought, why she had given so much of herself to saving this world. She allowed herself to live, for just a moment, before she returned to the fight.