Part of the lucidity that had come with grief was leaving him, retreating into a blur; his left hand remained on Lelaros’ hair, his right on his own stomach, having both somewhat found rest there now that he had no mug to hold and empty out. Perhaps he had a talent for feeling outrage on another’s behalf, but the brief account of the elf’s life made him frown and turn toward the window. He had, until then, entirely blocked out the sounds of the street; the world outside had been entirely empty and that inside his head filled with the name of two daughters.
« I didn’t know that elves did that », he commented, with a dumbfounded surprise that he felt was out of place as soon as the last word left his lips. Marrying children off to unknown spouses was a common practice among nobility, of course, and at the moment he could barely envision the higher classes as having anything in common with the elves at all.
Thrask swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again to the sight of the room, the bed, the panels she hid behind to change her clothes. « Freedom is always better, no matter what it entails, isn’t it? » He didn’t say that thinking of elves or brothels, but of Olivia and Circles and apostates; the opinion of mages who could afford having an opinion rarely changed on that.
And perhaps this was better, for Lelaros. Better than many alternatives.
« But… », carefully and slowly, he mindlessly drew her head toward his shoulder and let out a sigh, « still young. »
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