A name and a face to put to this strange figure are a comfort, and the tension he has held in his shoulders eases slightly as she lifts the hood again - this time as protection from the rain more than for concealment.
He says, beginning to walk again, leading the way now instead of jogging to keep at her heels,
”My family’s home is too far, else I would take you there. It’s best we get out
of this rain. There is a good inn not far from here, I’ll lead you there.”
His mouth tips upward, a characteristic mix of smirk and smile at her next words. It is true, of course - his father is well respected and well loved, his mother as well. His siblings, too, are all but adored, especially Elphir (the heir) and Lothiriel, the princedom’s little princess. He is not disliked, of course, but he - wild and reckless, most visibly in comparison to his siblings - is treated differently. More friend than commander, more ship’s captain than prince.
”My parents are good people, my father among the best of men. My
brothers, too, are like him. My actions toward you are less than they
would offer.”
Elphir already would have offered her his own cloak, or to carry her pack, or to fetch a horse, he was sure. Thiri might have already batted her lashes into a wagon and horse to take them back home.
Amrothos would only lead her to the inn, and offer what company he could while he waited for the rain to pass.
SHE HASTENS to follow him at his beckoning word, one hand
bringing her cloak more tightly about her as the other shifts her
pack to better rest across her slim shoulders. the water seeping
into her boots is no longer a welcomed cool touch, but a vice that
chills her toes and causes leather to chafe much more roughly
against already journey battered feet. yet, they are only slight
discomforts in contrast to those faced during war, so she grits
her teeth against the movement against blistered skin and
focuses instead on the wet sound of the mud beneath her boots.
❝ i do not ask that i infringe on your home, an inn is
more than suitable. ❞
SHE HEARS his words, the one of the odd child out --though of
one who found it for better or for worse, she cannot say for sure.
but whatever his siblings may have offered her in his stead, they
are not here presently. only the man before her is; who, she notes,
it getting even more soaked then she is.
❝ it matters not what they may or may not have done,
only what is being done, lord amrothos.❞
IT IS not often that she is treated with such equality, devoid of any
regal respect or impish fear born from old wives tales of the elves,
and it has certainly not been so since firnen's hatching and her
acceptance of the elvish crown. she finds this quiet respect refreshing,
if it is indeed respect and not some other human notion. arya does not
enjoy the company of men who think her weak and helpless, and who
seek to exploit that. and if this man thinks so, he hides his intentions
well behind that good-humored twist of his lips.
she could reach out with her mind right now
as they slogged down the rain-slick street, just
the softest wisp of consciousness to fish out his
intentions.
BUT SHE does not, for she has morals to uphold including respecting the
sanctuary of other's minds.
blakekathryn
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2087
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