For @luna-moon-13 for yesterday's blessing of sorpeli art
Opeli has never liked the winter.
She has a preference for the warmer months, when the sun is bright, and the skies are blue, and the air is pleasant in her lungs. Her father was from the coast, and although she and her sisters grew up in the castle, she has fond memories of spending her summers at his childhood home in the Weeping Bay.
It's been years since those days. Being High Cleric doesn't come with vacation time and she hasn't been out to visit since before she took her vows. There is always something to do here: a treaty to proof or a budget to approve or a novice to train in the ways of the clergy. The summer reminds her of the simpler days, of days by the ocean, of the sun and the sea and of salt in the air.
No one knows, of course, because why would they? She doesn't advertise such things and nobody has ever asked. Her preferences very rarely matter in the grand scheme of things, and anyway, she doesn't mind so much that it's a problem. The winter is simply the winter, and the cold is just something else to deal with.
"Not a fan of the cold, High Cleric?"
Opeli twitches her lips. "What would give you that idea, Captain?"
Soren smirks at her. "You look like you'd rather be... elsewhere."
Opeli snorts at that. She is crossing the courtyard this afternoon. The hem of her robes is dark with melted snow, and beneath her hood, she bundled almost up to her ears in furs. There is laughter in the distance: Ezran has started a snowball fight, and Callum is cowering behind a snow-elf that is apparently now king of Katolis. Sarai and Rayla are out there somewhere too, their giggles bell-like in the frigid air. Their joy is infectious--or it would be, if it wasn't so cold, and if the snow didn't soak through her clothes, and if the ground didn't slip beneath the soles of her boots.
"I have other preferences, yes."
Soren chuckles smugly and offers her his arm. She takes it gratefully, wary of the ice on the path. "You've always been a summer girlie."
Opeli gives him a look from beneath her hood. "I would prefer not to be referred to as girlie."
"No." Opeli gives him a sidelong glance and tries not to let her smile grow too genuine. It's been months since whatever this is started; months of tea on quiet mornings and surreptitious glances and things they won't let themselves say. He knows there is nothing she can do for him, and still, he stays. Still, he he finds reasons to be in her company. Still, he refuses to let anyone else catch his eye. "I don't do well in the cold," she admits after a moment. "I've been a cleric for too long, think. Too much time spent around torches and hearths."
"Those early walks to Temple Hill can't be helping either."
She snorts a little at that. "No, not in the least."
He laughs at that, and the sound is as warm as the summer sun. "Here," he says, unclasping his cloak. Opeli blinks at him, but he has it draped around her shoulders and clasped again before she has the time to object.
"Oh, no, I couldn't ask--"
"You're not," says Soren, his hands lingering for just a moment too long. "Can't let my High Cleric get sick because of all this snow."
Opeli sputters. "I don't get sick," she says stupidly.
"Yes, you do," he snorts. "Don't pretend you don't feel better with it, either. You literally look more comfortable already."
Opeli tries not to flush at the accusation. She is more comfortable, not least because she can still feel his warmth in the fabric. "I--" She falters, her resolve failing at the very thought of facing the cold without it. She sighs. "When should I return it to you, then?"
"Whenever," he says, slowing as they get to the gates of the castle keep. "It's yours for as long as you want it." His eyes grow softer as he says it and Opeli wonders, inwardly, if he's talking about the cloak at all. And then, when he knows the others are too distracted by their games, he bows his head and presses his lips to her knuckles, ever the knight in his shining armour. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, High Cleric."
Opeli does flush at that. "Thank you, Captain."
He throws in a wink for good measure and then he is gone, a snowball in hand and aimed at Callum before the warmth of his lips has faded from her skin.
No, she has never been fond of the winter, but there are moments that aren't so bad.
