A moment falls as the queen speaks that Nanna cannot help but feel a little in awe. When they had ventured to rescue Anora not days prior, even in the face of such danger and the threat posed by both Arl Howe and her own father, she had stood undaunted when an avenue of escape had presented itself. Truly a woman forged of iron, steadfast in her resolve and quick of wit, so much that Nanna could not help but wonder how all would have gone thus far were a woman like Anora at the helm of this venture against the Blight. A more competent leader she could not think to contend.
And yet that same woman forged of iron, crowned in gold and standing as though the crown was never meant to be worn by another, stood now almost someone entirely different than what the mage had seen before. Something softer, little touches of wear at her polished edges. Something so… human.
Nanna would admit a fascination with this transition; the soft uncertain shuffle of well tended hands in the dim firelight, the gentleness in eyes once seen as icy and hard in a manner that reminded her, without spite intended, of her father. Nanna cannot help but return this unusual display of softness, something in so dangerous a time that she could only take as a small sign of trust, with a smile in turn of gentle kindness.
“Indeed, Your Majesty, your words are true. Hope is not lost to us yet.” There is a small warmth in her chest at the encouragement. However, she knows there is more than this. A sway of midnight curls would accent the tilt of her head in curiosity and invitation. “But, if you would forgive my boldness… Am I wrong to assume that you come bearing more than gratitude weighing on your thoughts?”
“Oh, “ the Queen guessed she had this coming, or at least should have seen it. If she was to be honest, that had been plainly the reason why she had come to the Warden, whatever judgement she and Alistair were to pass on her father and on herself on the coming days were already done. After all, why would Anora think otherwise? Eamon had helped them at every turn, Alistair had been raised by him and he was the senior Warden. And she? She was a mage that had been stuck in a tower, not allowed out by the Chantry and, what was only logical, the kingdom itself. She would not be wrong to resent her and not the man whose child had been kept outside the circle, free. Anora didn’t know that else the situation had been different, but what mattered was what sort of message that passed to everyone else.
She hums to herself, light eyes moving from the warden down to the fire, nails scratching the side of her left hand before moving to cover her stomach with a small smile “I guess I just could not really rest and it dawned on me that we had yet to really talk.”
Anora’s back straightens and her attention returns to Nanna, a sharp sigh leaving her lips. A single step is taken backwards, a way from the fire.
“I hope that I am not bothering you. Or that I’ve prevented you from getting a good night’s rest. Maker knows it’s probably been a while.” Anora chuckles, a barely audible one and only then did it dawn on her how foreign that sound was to her now. How long had it been since she had been in a situation where she had chuckled, laughed even? She takes a few steps towards the door “It has been a while since I’ve gotten the chance to speak with anyone more than a couple of words that are not staff since the armies moved to Ostagar. But maybe it is time to leave you to rest.“
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