This seems to be a common occurance— that she begins to shiver after sundown, as though she’s a featherless chick wanting for the warmth of her mother’s wing.
She’s too proud and too embarrassed to ask for him to scoot closer, so she resigns herself to laying there, blankets drawn tightly across her shoulders, her jaw clenched with the effort of stopping her teeth chattering. Her back is turned to him, anyway, so it wouldn’t be an easy feat to notice. She hopes, so, anyway. The lack of light in the room doesn’t make things any better. Only the soft firelight provides some sort of illumination, but it doesn’t stretch much further than the foot of the bed.
He had been pacing through the room. /And she hasn’t even noticed./ Qanik pauses to stare at her as she taps her fingers against the table. He cannot see her face, but in the short span of time he has spent with her, he knows what it means when her shoulders are angled that way. He could sense the tension on her muscles. Briefly, she relaxes but only to sigh.
I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment that
I could just understand
the meaning of the word you see
cause I’ve been scrawling it forever
but it never made sense to me at all.
There really is no word for the way her bones feel at the moment. Cold? No, far too weak of a word. Chilled? Closer, but not quite.
"Fire," Qanik says as he lights the leftover firewood. Lady’s room isn’t big enough for a huge fireplace, but this one would be enough.
"Pot," he whispers as he places the pot above the brewing fire. He has been reciting words ever since the morning. All of it had been taught by Lady. Qanik remembers the night she spent patiently teaching him Fereldan. The words were easier to learn than he anticipated, but some of it sounded like he had something stuck on his mouth or on his teeth. He rubs his jaw as he remembers how much he repeated "beautiful." His lips curve upward when the image of Lady’s twitching ears crossed his mind. He wasn’t really referring to her by his 6th try at the word, but the first time he properly said it, he did mean it.
It’s been a long while since she gathered any types of books for schoolwork. The last time she’d been doing something like this she had been rifling through the scarce stores of books of The Gondola, searching for something that could help her in teaching Carmen how to read— and of course, pilfering anything helpful from the stores on the street, though most of the book shops were in the higher market district, where all the nobles skulked.
The train of her thoughts— which had been running along the lines of quiet shadows and wondering what expression would be the bodyguard’s last when she finds him— comes to a screeching halt when he says her name. She is about to ask him what he wants when she remembers that it would not do much to clear the air, so instead she watches, tensed, as he reaches for the dagger at his back. She is faster than him, surely he knows that, and—
She barely restrains a shriek when he cuts his own palm. Blasted unpredictable Chasind with the large eyes and the unexpected kindness and… /curses!/ She lets out a colorful Rivaini expletive as the blood creates a small pool by the toe of her boot. Lady moves out of her seat to kneel at his height and clasp him by the shoulders.
“Are you touched in the head? What have I done to deserve a blood-oath?!” she says with surprise making the notes of her words higher and sharper. People she has known for decades want nothing to do with her, do not want to touch her, hear her name— and she hasn’t known this man for more than a day and now he binds himself to her this way. She’s not sure whether she considers him devoted or insane. Perhaps both. And rather likeable.
Lady takes a section of her cloak between her teeth and tears it without second thought. She can replace and repair the cloak, but a warrior’s hands have no substitute. She binds the cut, careful not to tie the fabric too tightly, and then pulls him to his feet, unsure of what to say. She is… grateful, in a way. Lady just pats his hands awkwardly again before she pulls away hesitantly, head hung a little lower.
“Don’t bow to me.”
—- snipped from How to Say Hello
Night had enveloped Ferelden, yet it still had that noisy buzz. Qanik suddenly misses home where the nights were quiet. He could still hear the fire crackling and the owl hooting. But home is so far away now, and he was in a strange land where all he knew was one woman and where she lived. Lady had left him in a flurry earlier. It is confusing to be precise, so Qanik spends the next few hours sitting on her bed baffled.
The sun in this country is pale. Strong. Northernly. She is unused to this type of light. It makes her squint her eyes and blink in frustration when there are no clouds to hide away the whiteness of the sun. The journey from the inn to Lothering had been fairly painless. The others on wagons had not bothered her much— she supposed that there was not much cause to bother a foreign elf armed to the teeth, and she is glad for their fear. She cannot understand, however, what in the seven hells the people in this forsaken country have against horses.