Timestamp: Vhalar 11, 720
And for the first time in so many arcs, Ezner failed to ever fall asleep. He sat there on Elisabeth's parents couch, watching the fire, long after she fell asleep in that cushy chair across the way. He listened to the sounds of her breathing as she went from a light slumber to a deeper one. It was calming. For the first time in his life, Ezner chose to actually... think. He'd always just accepted things as they were, accepted that he was a slave, accepted that he couldn't be, wouldn't be anything else.
Elisabeth had completely shattered that. He was an entirely different person after having met her. And it was terrifying. And exhilarating. Becoming free was now a seed in his mind, one planted by her. As he watched those glowing embers fade to the white ashes, he vowed to not let himself do the same. He looked over as she slumbered, knowing that this would be a dangerous path for her. Everyone knew what happened to those that tried to free slaves. They were made an example of, as were the slaves, and any others associated with them.
He could leave right now. He could wake her up, tell her off, hurt her somehow, and she would forever leave him alone. And in doing so, she couldn't be hurt in his plight for freedom. That might be the better choice, in all honesty. It might be the smarter choice. The safer choice, for them both. But Ezner didn't want to do any of that.
He didn't want to be alone anymore, and here, this woman, was choosing to be his friend. She didn't care about the costs, the risks. She wanted to be his friend, and she wanted him to be happy. That was something special, something Ezner had never experienced in his own life before. And it was something he would protect with every single breath he had.
And so, instead of rousing his friend away, the tired man stood up. He quietly pulled the blanket from his shoulders, folding it neatly, setting it on the couch. He checked the couch quickly by the dim fire light and rising suns, and plucked off several of his hairs and threads from his clothes. He constantly stole glances toward his sleeping friend, hoping to not wake her. He grabbed some wood from the storage, and stoked the fire a bit, building a flat pile of small logs.
And then he disappeared into the kitchen.
She said he couldn't clean. So be it. She didn't say he couldn't cook breakfast. He began searching through the cupboards. He found a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, a few large eggs, duck he would've guessed, and some butter. He continued to search, quietly, as best he could, finding a serrated knife, and a couple of iron pans. He cut the bread into slices, not perfectly straight but as best he could manage. He cracked the eggs into a bowl, and using the knife's point, scooped out a few of the stray shells that fell in. He then spread some butter into both pans, then carried all of this back out into the living area.
He set the two buttered pans on the now more lively fire, balanced on the burning logs. He waited until the butter just began to bubble a bit, then he tossed in the bread slices, spreading them around a bit. As they toasted, the room began to smell of butter and bread. As they toasted, he reached in with the knife, flipping them. He did this for a bit, occasionally refilling the butter, until he had a good stack of toast. Then he poured in the eggs, careful to not break the yolks. Three of them survived, one squished. He fried them up, slightly charred on the bottom, but certainly edible. Once they were ready, he used the knife to cut them up, placing them onto the toast, which he put on another plate.
Then he came over to Elisabeth, plate of fried eggs on toast in hand, "Good morning, Elisabeth," saying it just loud enough to rouse a typical person from sleep without startling them.
