♫ Dorothea left a pause before she could muster a reply to the young man. The battle for Fhirdiad had so recently been burned in her memories that it truly was easy to see him as a ghost, but there was already enough she didn’t understand about her current circumstances.
“An explanation… I suppose that’s necessary. Some tea might be nice as well.” If anything the drink might serve to soften her nerves a little in the face of uncertainty. His demeanor, at least, seemed different from the burning city. She couldn’t blame that Ashe, who had lost essentially everyone he’d gone to the academy with including Dimitri.
“It’s been a very long day…”
He nods, relieved. Ashe wouldn’t have blamed her if she fled or attacked or...well, any manner of other reactions she might’ve had. Even just a few months after the war when he’d arrived his nerves were still singed with the sting of it, dreams still permeated by a weeping conscious. Even now, it sometimes came when least expected.
And so, he takes her back to his place. He considered a proper tea shop, but figured the privacy of home might be better. It’s clean and somewhat plain at first glance, but upon closer inspection there are little accents of flowering plants, a few picture frames, and the quiet scent of lilac. If one was thorough, they might see pictures of classmates in unfamiliar garb--Petra, Dedue, Annette, specifically. But the rooms are just dimly lit enough that unless you looked at them closely, those images might’ve been a trick of the eye.
They arrive in the dining room, where he pulls out a seat for her.
“It shouldn’t take long. I hope apple tea is alright,” a pause and a shaky sigh, “Thank you for indulging me this.” he doesn’t know if it’s the favorite of this Dorothea as well, but it’s what he has left. Ashe makes a mental note to go out and get more. He leaves the room with the gait of someone that wants to hurry but also doesn’t want to frighten a nervous rabbit.
He makes two trips back--the first with modest teaware (small plates for nibbling, teacups). It’s all adorned white with violets and looks at first glance very expensive, but on closer inspection something feels...fake about it, not quite hand-made. Despite this, they were some of Ashe’s favorite possessions.
He makes a final return with a pot of steaming tea and a white and violet-accented tray of tiny sandwiches.and butter cookies. Going on to pour her a cup, Ashe focuses on the smell and warmth of the drink to calm himself down.
“I have to admit, things here aren’t very much like home at all. But if you look closely, sometimes you can find little things that are almost like it.” he pours his own cup before settling down across from her. A silence settles between them. He can’t help it--everytime someone arrived, it was like all of his homesickness and worries came flooding back. His siblings, Gaspard, the people who needed him to be there. Were they alright? Ashe wasn’t naive enough to expect total peace after such a violent war--he knew what the death of loved ones could do to someone’s heart. He curls his fingers around a warm cup, blowing on it.
“I’d like to say again that no matter how unlikely it may seem, we are not enemies. At least...I don’t want us to be.”